glasslogic | Crossroads of Eden

The room was dark, with only the faintest hints of sunset flame creeping around the edges of the blackout curtains, but darkness hadn’t inhibited his vision for months. Sam frowned and blinked slowly up at the unfamiliar ceiling. His throat didn’t hurt and there was no hint of copper-tinged iron in his mouth, so already the night was off to a better start than he’d had for a while.

The bed he lay on wasn’t any more comfortable than the lumpy twin he had been sleeping on for two weeks, but it was certainly a lot larger. The whir of the air conditioner drowned out any other ambient sound that might have helped him figure out his situation and he sat up with the oddest feeling that his dad should be there. He picked at the t-shirt he was wearing, but it and the sweatpants were the same he had had since he was abducted from the warehouse, a little worse for wear after two weeks of constant use and a few washings in the sink. The hoodie was new, though. Sam examined the front for a logo, but it was blank, and the movement caused something to pull against his throat. He followed the rough cord he found there to some kind of pendant hanging over his heart. It looked like... well, he wasn’t quite sure what it looked like. Some kind of mask maybe. He turned it over in his hands, wondering what all had happened while he had slept the day away.

“Leave that alone.” Familiar hands tugged the pendant from his grasp and tucked it back into his shirt.

“What is it?” Sam asked, too stunned by Dean’s sudden presence to really react.

“Something Bobby gave your dad; it’s a powerful anti-locating charm. While you’re wearing it, the demons could have a pint of your blood, a handful of your hair, and directions to your freaking house-- and they still wouldn’t be able to locate you. No one else can either, for that matter. But the instant it comes off, you light up like Vegas to anyone searching, so don’t mess with it.”

“The demons can’t find me, even with the blood-link between us?” Sam asked.

“No one can, not with magic. You’re safe. For real this time.” But the amulet and what it meant took a backseat as Sam shook off his shock and reached out to haul Dean into a crushing embrace. Dean hugged him back so tightly that Sam thought his ribs might crack. Preferred it to being let go.

“If this is some twisted dream and I wake up and I’m back in that fucking room with the fucking demons-- I’m just going to chance the Hellhounds, okay?”

“I thought being a hunter meant you didn’t wait around to be rescued like some princess in a tower,” Dean said in response. “Aren’t you supposed to break yourself out and be back for breakfast or something?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but before he could pull free of Dean’s grip, Dean mouthed at the skin over his pulse, sucking so that Sam felt only the faintest impression of teeth. After the fear and uncertainty of the last two weeks, even the hint of a bite was more than enough to short-circuit his irritation and bring other, more important things, back into focus. Dean being Dean was actually a relief. “How did you find--”

“Later,” Dean growled, running hands over Sam’s body; impersonal, searching touches that reminded Sam of another reunion, years ago. Of another kidnapping, and a different kind of pain.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“You’re not fine,” Dean snapped; he pushed Sam’s restraining hand away and slid off the bed to the carpet. He dragged one hand down the back of Sam’s thigh, then down his calf to a sock-clad foot. John’s socks. The only thing on Sam that didn’t reek of demons, with the exception of the hoodie.

“I am. They didn’t--”

“You stink like the Pit and if you’re ‘fine,’ then what is that burn and the fucking bandages on your arm about?”

Sam shrugged off the hoodie and pulled his sleeve up while Dean continued counting toes.

“This is from when I tried to rescue myself,” Sam said pointedly, peeling the bandage off so Dean could see the mostly-healed wounds. “It was an early object lesson. What was I supposed to do about a pack of Hellhounds? Hit them with a skillet and take off? The burn was just sun. Apparently, I don’t handle it well now.”

As a response, Dean ran a hand up between Sam’s legs, cupping the bulge there and letting his touch linger, gentle. Sam sucked in a deep breath.

“They didn’t touch me there, Dean,” he managed to get out.

“Are you sure?” The fabric was so thin between his hand and Sam’s rapidly filling erection that Sam might as well have been naked.

Sam nodded almost reluctantly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m... sure.”

Dean trailed his hand slowly upwards to the waistband of the sweatpants. He was still on his knees between Sam’s splayed legs and Sam was finding that there were suddenly a lot of other things he wanted to do besides talk. Dean hooked a fingertip in the elastic, then abruptly slid his hand to Sam’s thigh and pulled himself back up onto the bed. He leaned in and pressed the side of his mouth to the curving slashes in Sam’s bicep, then ran his tongue across them and turned his head to meet Sam’s eyes. “They broke our bond.”

“I...” Sam remembered waking up with tears on his face and the echoing sense of loss. “I know.”

Dean grabbed his chin and Sam fought not to pull back from his expression of feral intensity. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” Sam managed around the pain of the grip on his face. “I know. I told them. I tried to stop them.”

Dean moved his hand from Sam’s chin to his shoulder, grip fierce as he nuzzled under his ear.

“You should have tried harder,” he breathed, the words making Sam’s blood run cold.

“Dean.” Sam tried to push him back, which only made the fingers tighten and a low growl rumble out of Dean’s chest. “I’m yours. I did everything I could. The only other option was to kill myse--”

Which was as far as Sam got before he was shoved back on the bed hard enough to force the air out of his lungs. The look on Dean’s face as he straddled Sam’s waist was wild and not entirely sane.

“Mine.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed, lying very still beneath Dean’s weight. “I know.”

“You smell like them.”

Sam took the forming of complete sentences as a good sign and tentatively rested one hand on Dean’s thigh. “I couldn’t stop them, Dean. They made me swallow their blood; they wanted to turn me back.”

Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back, struggling for his control back. “I know what they did.”

“Dean--”

“Shut up, Sam. Give me a minute.”

Sam didn’t say anything else, but he kept his hand in place and rubbed his thumb back and forth on the worn denim, trying to offer Dean that much of an anchor against whatever was going on in his head.

When Dean looked back down, his expression was calm. “They took you away, and they broke us apart, and I almost lost my fucking mind. I don’t think I can survive that again. I didn’t want to the first time it happened, and this time... at least I knew you were still alive.” He smiled without humor. “It doesn’t even have anything to do with how much I like you, and I do like you, Sam. It’s... biological, to protect a fledgling. Instinctive.” he reached out and ran fingers over the half-healed slashes on Sam’s arm. “You don’t mind if I have a GPS chip shoved up your ass, do you?”

Sam wanted desperately to ask about the first time Dean mentioned on occasion. He knew the woman had died and hunters had been responsible, but there was a deeper story he wanted to pry out. Dean was a master at avoiding the topic, though, and this was not the time. “You don’t think that might be a little... extreme?”

“No,” Dean said flatly. “It’s just all I can think of until something harder to remove comes along. Did anything change while they... had you?”

“Yes,” Sam admitted. “I wake up before it’s fully dark now. And... in the middle of the day. I don’t remember much,” Sam hastened to add, seeing the darkening of Dean’s expression. “It’s just for a few minutes. But it was getting longer every time. And I guess the photosensitivity has gotten a little worse.”

“Nothing else?”

“That’s not enough?” Sam asked, shoving at Dean’s thigh to get him to move off so Sam could sit up. Dean ignored the push, settling more of his weight in an unmistakable indication to knock it off.

“Just checking.”

But there was something else in the searching look and thoughtful tone.

“You’re lying,” Sam said.

Dean’s smile grew lazy and the edges softened into something that Sam was more familiar with.

“Are you sure that’s something you want to be saying to me in this position, Sam?” He ground back a little; teasing Sam’s faded erection into renewed interest.

“That’s not much of an offer. You’re still wearing your jeans,” Sam pointed out, pushing at him again to move, wanting the freedom to strip out of confining cloth and indulge in a more primitive kind of reunion.

“I wouldn’t let you drive, anyways.” Dean’s eyes were hungry and he let them slide from Sam’s face to the vein pulsing in his throat. “I’m feeling the need to reclaim my property. And that claiming is going to be hard, and deep, and often. After everything I’ve been through trying to find you, it’s a mood that’s likely to last awhile, so might as well get used to it.”

Sam didn’t particularly care what direction things went, as long as it happened soon. He grabbed a handful of Dean’s shirt and started to haul him down, but was interrupted by a rumbling growl from his stomach.

Dean pried Sam’s hand loose and his smile lost some of its sexual promise to a wry quirk. “At least something here has its priorities straight. The sooner we get things rolling, the sooner your body will get things sorted out. Fucking monsters,” he spat, “I could happily spend a few centuries hunting them down and pissing all over their plans for this.”

He locked his gaze with Sam’s and bit deeply into his own wrist. Blood immediately welled from the puncture wounds and ran down his hand. His fingers gently brushed Sam’s lips and Sam willingly opened his mouth for the offering, welcoming the communion his body had craved.

But it was... odd. The taste was as Dean’s blood had always been-- not the gagging iron and copper the demons had forced on him, but a sweet heaviness that exploded over his tongue like the flavor of life, desirous and incredible. And it was, but... the first mouthful he swallowed didn’t seem to hit that hollow spot in his belly that had troubled him for days. The second mouthful didn’t either. Sam made a vague sound of discontent and pulled at Dean’s arm, covering the wound itself with his mouth and drinking from the source. After a few seconds, the odd feeling faded and Sam let the strangeness go as another weird effect of what the demons had done.

Dean slid off of Sam until he was able to lie pressed against his side without disturbing the feeding. “Just a little more now.” Sam tightened his grip and Dean smiled. “A little bit more, and then my turn. We’ll do this again later, and then again. It’s going to take a lot of blood between us to undo what they did to you. But we’ll get there, and so much past it... You have no idea what it’s like, Sam. No idea what the world will be like for you.”

He pulled his wrist free after a few minutes, licking deep into Sam’s mouth to taste the flavor of his own blood and claiming Sam’s very breath before he could muster the focus to protest.

“Bite me,” Sam hissed as soon as Dean pulled back enough to let oxygen pass between them.

Dean licked a few drops of blood off Sam’s chin and shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” Something seemed to occur to Sam suddenly and he looked around with a hint of alarm. “Are we safe? Do we need to move?”

“We’re safe,” Dean calmed him. Sort of safe anyway. For a little bit. “We just need to work some things out, and it will probably be easier without fang marks in your throat.”

Sam frowned in confusion, but had other things on his mind than trying to force Dean into explanations he obviously didn’t want to give. “Do it somewhere else then.”

He grabbed one of Dean’s hands and pulled it back down to the waistband of his sweatpants, slipping their entwined fingers beneath the elastic in an unmistakable suggestion of other places he would welcome Dean’s mouth.

Dean heard footsteps approaching the door from the other room and didn’t bother to reclaim his hand, wrapping it around Sam’s dick as he kissed Sam again, deeply and thoroughly. Staking his ownership in the only way time would allow.

“Sorry,” he breathed into Sam’s ear just as the door flew open and the light switch was flipped on.

“What the-- Dad?!” Sam gasped, eyes wide with shock. Dean held him in place against his instinctive jerk to escape, wanting to make sure John got a good eyeful of the situation: the fresh blood on the collar of Sam’s shirt and his lips swollen from kisses--and both of their hands down the front of Sam’s pants. Dean didn’t think John needed more of a roadmap to what exactly had been going on while he paced out front and held some kind of muttered conversation with Bobby on his cell phone.

“I thought you were there...” Sam said in a very confused voice as he stared at his father, not really struggling yet against Dean’s hold as John stood frozen in the doorway. Something was different about his dad, and not just in the subtle changes more than three years of time had wrought. Before his bemused thoughts could isolate the subtle change, the reality of the situation clicked behind Sam’s eyes and broke his stunned stillness. Sam shoved Dean off in a fit of sudden fury, uncaring that he landed on the floor.

“You knew!” Sam said, wiping his mouth in disgust. “You knew he was out there and you... I... Jesus, Dean! What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean propped himself up on his elbows on the carpet and raked Sam’s body with a look of such possessiveness that even through his rage and bewilderment, Sam felt the burn of interest. It didn’t amuse him. Dean gave him a long minute to grasp the picture, and then said simply, “You know what I was thinking.”

Sam’s anger was hardly abated by that, but a screaming fight with the vampire he was sleeping with in front of his dad, of all people, would only compound the embarrassment of what had already been witnessed.

“Get out,” Sam snapped at him.

Dean’s eyes narrowed and his gaze flicked from John back to Sam. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m not asking, Dean,” Sam said. “You leave, or I do. This conversation doesn’t need a third wheel.”

John’s arms were crossed and his expression was grim, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Dean gave Sam another long look, this one more searching. Sam felt an odd shift in Dean’s interest.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked abruptly.

“How am I feeling?” Sam echoed incredulously. “Well, I just spent two weeks in the company of demons that kidnapped me, then was enjoying our reunion when that--” his sweeping gesture took in the bed he was still sitting on and his father in the doorway, “happened, courtesy of you. And now I’m just generally a little pissed and confused. Why? How are you feeling, Dean?”

“You’re not... hungry, or anything?”

“Hungry?” Sam stared at him. Dean stared patiently back, obviously waiting for an answer.

Sam looked to John for any insight, but his dad only raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, I’m fine. We, you know. I’m... fine.” A sudden though occurred to Sam and he wondered if he didn’t know what was behind Dean’s weird behavior after all. “He’s not going to kill me, you know,” he said quietly to Dean. “He could have done that at the house if that’s what he wanted. It was you who pulled me from the room, right?” Sam finally addressed his father.

“Yes,” John said.

“Dean. Please,” Sam sighed. “I’m fine, but I need some space here.”

Dean glanced between them again, then shrugged and stood up. “Well, you might not be hungry now, but you should still eat. I’ll run out and grab some burgers or something. Probably take about half an hour. Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Sam said gratefully. As much as he didn’t want to have this confrontation with his dad, it would be infinitely worse if Dean were there to ‘help’.

Dean picked the hoodie that still carried his scent up off the bed where it had been discarded and held it out wordlessly. Sam slid it back on, accepting the compromise. Dean cast another oddly uncertain look between him and John, and then shrugged and headed out the door. “Thirty minutes, Sam. Be back soon.”

The room was silent in his wake. John and Sam stared at each other, neither really having a good place to start a conversation that was more than three years building. Sam wanted to stand, but thought it might be too confrontational. After what John had walked in on, the room felt close, and too intimate. He wondered if they would still be in the exact same positions when Dean returned, and if it might not be better than what might happen if he spoke.

Finally, John relaxed a little, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Why don’t we go into the other room? I grabbed some drinks from the vending machine outside.”

Sam nodded gratefully and followed him through the doorway into the adjoining motel room. It was identical in layout and the curtains were just as closed, but the bed was crisply made and John sat on the low dresser, leaving Sam the room’s only chair.

“You want Sprite or Dr. Pepper?”

Sam wanted water, but wasn’t about to complain. “Sprite.”

John tossed him the can and he pulled the tab to the familiar hiss of carbonation.

After another minute of awkward silence, Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh... where have you been?”

“Russia,” John grunted, taking a long sip of his own soda.

Sam nodded. “Long way off. I hear they still have phones, though. You know I tried to call?”

“Sam--”

The anger bubbling up took Sam by surprise. “You know they tried to kill me, right? All the other fucking hunters out there? Your friends? I say ‘your’ because they sure as hell aren’t mine. They never liked me, Dad, but I thought... I don’t know, maybe they could just feel something in me they didn’t approve of. Like maybe my dedication wasn’t as rabid as theirs, as yours. But you know what? Turns out that wasn’t it at all, they didn’t like me because the same demon that killed Mom marked me as some kind of pet, and I was the only one who didn’t know.”

“You weren’t the only one who didn’t know,” John snapped. “And I didn’t know what the demon wanted you for, and I wanted to keep you safe. Why do you think I didn’t tell you!?”

“I have no fucking idea why you didn’t tell me! And it sure as hell seemed like I was the only one who didn’t know when they all decided to kill me,” Sam retorted, trying to keep his voice down and not give in to the desire to scream.

“I knew you, Sam,” John said in a low voice. “And I knew what you would do. I was going to tell you when you were old enough, and then... you went to college, and I thought maybe you would never have to know. That you would be safe in your normal life with your normal friends and away from hunting. I thought I would have time to figure everything out. And then that girl died--”

“Jessica,” Sam growled. “That girl was my fiancée and she had a name.”

“When Jessica died,” John stressed, “I couldn’t tell you then... I didn’t want you going after it. I didn’t want you running straight into its arms before I even knew what it wanted, and I knew that was exactly what you would try to do! I’ve been there, I know what you felt.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about how I feel about anything,” Sam said.

“I know you wanted vengeance, I know you wanted to hunt it down and make it scream in pain like she screamed in pain. To watch it die like she died. I know, because twenty years later I still see your mother every time I close my eyes, and at the heart of everything, you are just like me.”

Sam couldn’t meet his father’s eyes, and studied the grain of the fake wood he was sitting on instead. “You’re wrong,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not like you. There are mornings I wake up and I can’t even remember what color her eyes were anymore.”

“Sam--” John sighed.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “No. You should have told me. Of all things, this you should have told me . ”

“Yes. I should have.”

Sam looked up in surprise. In his entire life, he couldn’t remember his father ever admitting to being wrong about something.

“It’s your life, and you aren’t a kid anymore,” John continued, sounding as tired as Sam felt. “But you’re always going to be my kid, and you’re all I have left of her. I wanted to protect you, and I didn’t think...” John trailed off, then finished bitterly, “I didn’t think they would come after you. Not yet. I thought there was time.”

Sam didn’t know what to do with that. “I might have, uh... expedited matters. This thing with Dean... Whatever it is they want with me, I might have made it happen sooner.”

John nodded, looking unsurprised. “Did they tell you?”

“Something about Lucifer, and ‘special’ kids just like me, all over the world. People that have weird powers.” Sam gauged his father’s expression. “You don’t look surprised.”

“I’m not,” John replied grimly. “What do you think I was doing in Russia? There are hunters there who have been dealing with demons longer and with better results than anyone in this country. They already knew about the yellow-eyed demon. I needed to learn from them; I needed to find out everything they could show me.”

“He was at the house,” Sam said.

“The yellow-eyed demon?” John asked sharply.

Sam nodded. “He did this to me. The rest were just taking orders.”

John swore. “The powerful demon that left this morning.”

“He and one of the others.” Sam returned to the previous topic, not done trying to find answers. “Why didn’t you return my calls? I was in trouble, and you weren’t there, and no one would help me. They wouldn’t even tell me why. They tied me up in a basement and tried to beat me to death, and not even Bobby would give me the time of day.”

“I lost my phone.”

Sam laughed without humor. “You... lost your phone? Did you think about getting a new one?! Or calling me and letting me know you were going to fall off the freaking map?”

“I was in Siberia, a couple of hundred miles from the nearest phone booth, Sam. I fell through some ice on a hunt, got swept over a waterfall and hit some rocks. It was weeks before I could get out of my cot, and months before I could hobble around without leaning on things. I wasn’t in the heart of civilization and the only thing those people knew about phones is that you don’t make them out of reindeer parts, which is where almost everything else they have comes from,” John explained. “When I did get back, you weren’t answering anymore, and Bobby said you’d had a bad run-in with some people and had gone underground. He didn’t say anything else and he and I had some words about that later. But back then, I asked him to look for you and contact me if you needed help when he found you. They have whole libraries of information over there that no one here has even seen before, Sam; I felt like I was so close...” John set his own can on top of the television and crossed his arms again.

Sam felt some of his anger deflate. “You were in Siberia convalescing with... reindeer herders?”

“They make a mean moonshine. Don’t ask out of what.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen those guys on National Geographic specials before; they seemed to have phones in those videos,” Sam finally said.

“Some do, some don’t,” John shrugged. “They kept me alive, and when I was well enough, they got me over the mountains and back to where I needed to be. I didn’t spend the time telling them their hospitality was lacking.” He exhaled heavily. “I didn’t tell you about the demon blood, Sam, but I didn’t abandon you either. Not on purpose. I’ve never been father of the year, so I can’t say you should have known better, but... It wasn’t my intention. I wouldn’t have left you like that.”

“Did you even try to send me a message of some sort?” Sam asked.

“There wasn’t exactly a post office. The messages I sent reached town about the same time I did. By then you were already gone.”

An awkward silence fell again. John’s explanation didn’t entirely erase the outrage of betrayal and abandonment, but long experience told Sam it was the best he was going to get. His dad had been chasing the yellow-eyed demon, and he would expect Sam to understand that everything else took second place to that singular goal. There wasn’t anything else to say, so he just nodded and fiddled with his Sprite can.

John cleared his throat. “So... guys, huh?”

Sam watched him warily. This was the part of the conversation he had been dreading the most, and the part most likely to lead to violence. “Just the one.”

“You know it’s not the guy part I’ve got a problem with.”

“Yeah,” Sam said shortly, not offering anything else.

“I just don’t... how could you do this?” John sounded genuinely bewildered, and Sam knew for John it couldn’t have been any more blasphemous than if Sam was a priest who had suddenly announced from the pulpit that he was taking up cocaine and choir boys. “Did he force you?”

“Force... No.” Sam glared. Not entirely anyway, but that was between him and Dean. No parents required. “He saved me from the hunters, and when one of them almost managed to kill me, he offered me a way to live, and to not be some chew-toy for whatever the demons want. He didn’t force anything; this was my choice. Dean is my choice. I wasn’t ready to die. I... trust him. He’s earned it, and this is what I want.”

John’s gaze settled on the fresh bloodstains on Sam’s collar that Dean had left there with his fingers. “This is a relationship of trust?”

Sam resisted the urge to pull the hoodie closed to cover the stain. “He’s there when I need him to be, and I trust him to have my back.”

John accepted the rebuke with a flinch and then it was his turn to look away. The movement gave Sam a clear view of the side of his father’s neck. He had never noticed how he could pick out the faint traces of muscles and veins under the delicate skin before.

“I did what I thought best,” John said.

“I know,” Sam replied. Simple, honest. It was about the bigger picture for his dad, had always been about his grand obsession. He couldn’t blame him for that, but he wouldn’t be sidelined for it again either. He had to come first in something, for someone, and what he had with Dean left him with that security. He might doubt his path sometimes, but he never doubted Dean, or Dean’s intentions. The vampire could be entirely too honest sometimes.

John was still talking. Something about Bobby, and knowing about Dean, and a note with no name delivered to a library in Kiev. Sam caught something about a warehouse and an agreement, about demons, but he was having trouble paying attention. There was a faint buzzing in his ears, and a bruise on his dad’s wrist that looked fascinating. And... enticingly familiar.

“Sam? Sam, are you listening to me at all?”

Sam blinked and forced himself to focus. Something in the back of his mind was screaming for his attention, but it was distant, and swamped by the odd wave of lassitude sweeping through him. He felt good... and... something else.

“Sam?”

His dad’s voice sounded almost like they were underwater, slow and deep. Sam blinked heavily. “Yeah, I’m just...” a word floated to the surface, “thirsty.”

John looked concerned. “Do you want another soda? Or something else?”

The water blurred the words into an unintelligible mess to Sam’s ears, but he liked the sound of his father’s voice and nodded a little. His father had shifted and his sleeves hid his wrists again, so Sam was watching how things moved in his neck as he swallowed and spoke. It was beautiful, and complicated, and he couldn’t believe he had never noticed before...

John walked to the tiny bathroom and unwrapped one of the plastic cups. Sam stood up too and moved a few feet closer. Through the water was a steady thumping; it was the most interesting thing Sam had ever heard and he needed to be closer... his mouth was aching horribly and he couldn’t stop himself from taking another step. His dad had something, and Sam just wanted to see... The pain in his mouth sharpened and suddenly Sam knew exactly what it was he had been craving for days, why the demons had turned his stomach and even Dean hadn’t quite managed to fill the hollow ache of hunger. The buzzing in his ears and the odd lassitude snapped as reality poured back in. Sam’s eyes widened in horror just as his dad noticed him in the mirror and turned with a frown.

“Sam?” John held out the cup.

Sam clapped one hand over his mouth just in case and backed away so fast he caught one foot on the chair leg and stumbled into the bed. He regained his balance and backed closer to the door. “Air,” he managed. “I need some... air.”

“Sam, what the hell--”

“Just give me some space!” Sam found the doorknob with one hand and twisted the lock. “I just... I need a few minutes.”

“You can’t leave.” John started toward him and Sam flung up one hand, grateful when his father stopped. He raked his tongue over his teeth and didn’t feel anything unusual, but his mouth still ached and he needed to get out of the room.

“I’m not going to. I just need a little space. Been cooped up for awhile, you know? I’m going to walk around outside. I won’t be out of shouting distance. Promise.” Sam tried to keep his desperation under control, but if his dad tried to grab him, he had no idea what would happen.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Because his father would really be the person he would go to for help if he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Sam tried a smile-- knew it was a bad attempt from the darkening of his dad’s expression, but didn’t care as long as John let him go.

“Well, I’ll just make some more calls, then,” John said slowly.

Sam nodded and fled outside, leaving his father staring suspiciously in his wake.

Chapter Ten

The woods were thin but fairly deep, and most importantly, deserted. Sam staggered a good twenty feet into them before he fell to his knees, shaking. He was afraid of what he might find if he inspected his mouth with his fingers, so just wrapped his arms around himself while the dampness of the earth beneath his knees seeped slowly into his pants and the light breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The clean, crisp air was clearing his head. He wanted to run until he was so exhausted he couldn’t move, but didn’t dare go any further than he had promised. He still didn’t know the exact situation with the demons, or where they were, or if they might have to leave in a hurry.

Sam heard the soft crunch of a twig behind him and knew it was a deliberate gift. He leaped to his feet and spun. “What the hell is happening to me?”

Dean eyed him appraisingly. “Calm down.”

“You calm down!” Sam yelled, forgetting everything he had been schooling himself on for the last half hour regarding stealth and control. “Do you have any idea what almost happened in there? Because I sure as hell don’t!” He was vibrating with nerves, and resisting the urge to try and shake some comprehension into Dean’s calm face was almost more than he could manage.

Dean crossed his arms patiently. “Are you done?”

“Done?!” The question ended on a note that Sam would have found embarrassing in any other situation; in this case, he didn’t even notice. “I could... I could hear my dad’s pulse, Dean. I wanted to taste it. I couldn’t even stop myself; it’s like I wasn’t in control of my own body. And... I think something was happening in my mouth; it hurt. It still hurts. What the hell is going on?”

Dean reached for his face and Sam dodged his hand, glaring.

“I can’t help you if you won’t let me look, Sam. You want answers, you need to cooperate. Here--” he glanced around, “sit on this log.”

Sam grudgingly complied, feeling his blood pressure start to ebb downwards now that he wasn’t alone, imagining worst-case scenarios and his father’s lifeless body on the motel room floor. Dean brushed a thumb over his lips in silent request and Sam opened his mouth, sitting still while Dean made a brief but thorough exploration.

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not,” Sam insisted, voice thick with tears of frustration and the stress of too much happening in too short a period of time. “I almost ate my father. I almost--” He caught a glimpse of Dean’s face and cut himself off. “You don’t even look surprised,” he accused. “Did you expect this to happen?! Of course you did; that’s why you asked if I was hungry before you left! Why the hell wouldn’t you warn me about this?” Sam had had just about enough of people keeping secrets from him for one day. Or a lifetime.

Dean crouched in front of him and steadied himself with a hand on Sam’s knee. Sam almost shrugged it off but Dean trapped his gaze and there was nothing in his green eyes but patience and concern. “Sam, you need to calm down. Of course I didn’t know; have I done anything to you since you started down this road that would make you think I would sit on that kind of secret? I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have left you alone with your dad if I did-- for your sake. I’d be lying if I said I’d cry a river if something happened to him.”

“Then why did you ask me that in the room?”

Dean sighed and rocked back on his heels a little. “There’s not a book for this, Sam. We don’t turn many people, and even when the general process is the same, it’s not identical. When they took you, I did some asking around, trying to figure out how long you had, what might be happening. As few people as we turn, no one has ever tried to bring over someone tangled up with demons. There were a few stories where there was an interruption of some kind in the transformation but the candidate survived, and there were... issues. With feeding afterwards, you know?”

“Then you at least suspected this could happen and you still left us alone.”

“You threw me out,” Dean shrugged.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I might not have if you’d mentioned there was a chance I might try and eat someone,” he hissed. “I can’t live like this, Dean. I can’t--”

“Be a vampire?” Dean suggested pointedly.

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“Because,” Sam gritted out, “you told me I can live off rabbits and pigeons once I turn and that’s not what I’m... God. Starving for right now. I can’t...”

“Calm down,” Dean repeated.

“Dean!”

“What? We’ll go away; we don’t have to worry about any kind of mystical tracking anymore, so we’ll just go away. Find a place with some distance between us and any humans until this passes. You feel like you want human blood, but you don’t actually need it. None of the others did, and getting them out of population centers helped keep the craving to a dull roar. It’s a phase; hopefully a short one, but it will pass.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “We’ll deal with it. If time gives you nothing else, it gives you perspective, Sam. This too will pass.” He paused. “Did this happen when you were with the demons?”

“No. I knew I needed something, but none of them were--” Sam almost choked on the word, “appetizing.”

“They were probably all dead,” Dean decided. “Even if the hosts were alive when they were taken, demonic possession tends be hard on a body. The part of you that’s craving the blood could tell the difference, so it wasn’t a problem until you ran into your dad.”

“What about my dad? I can’t be around him like this.”

Dean’s face grew serious. “You didn’t think you could stay in touch, did you? That you could be a part of both worlds? Your dad loves you. I don’t even like the man, but I can’t deny that. But he’s a hunter, and pain scoured out room for anything else decades ago. You know it; I know it; hell-- everyone he meets probably knows it. His peace as a father is going to have to be knowing that you’re alive and in a place you choose to be. Because he is never going to make peace with this as a hunter, and that’s the very core of what he is. The best thing for both of you is to walk away. You cannot hunt this demon, and he can’t stop. Let him take revenge for both of you.”

“Good thing I have no choice then,” Sam said acidly.

Dean shrugged again. “Sometimes things fall into place after all. Think about it like this-- even if the demons can’t find you anymore, they can still track your dad, they can still track Bobby. I mean: Bobby? He’s been sitting in that same pile of junk for decades. They probably have his address in the demonic directory of known pests.”

Sam nodded and the quiet sounds of the evening forest were all that filled the air for a few minutes. When he spoke again, it was so soft a human would have had to strain to make out the words. “I thought I’d already given everything up.”

Dean sat on the log beside him and nudged him with an elbow until he turned to look. “He came back for you.”

“To kill me,” Sam agreed in a strained voice. “He changed his mind at some point, and I was a little distracted when he was giving me the explanation, so all I really got was there was some kind of note and he came flying back across the ocean-- but you know, and I know, that someone told him I was trading my humanity in for a pair of fangs and he started soaking wooden bullets in dead man’s blood. Immediately. And... I guess he just couldn’t do it.”

“He came back to save you, Sam; whatever that meant to him. And he did. I would have found you eventually, but maybe not in time.” Dean traced a vein in the back of Sam’s hand with a finger until Sam balled up his fist and stood up out of reach. Dean rolled his eyes and continued. “I didn’t know anything about tracking demons; he was there when I needed his help.”

“He’s not going to take these new changes well,” Sam said in what was probably the biggest understatement he had ever uttered.

“Why would you tell him?” Dean asked with a note of incredulity. “It would be bad for his blood pressure, and he strikes me as the kind of guy who needs to watch that. Plus, it’s not like I’ve been exactly giving him chapter and verse on your new nature. I said ‘vampire’ and then just gave him a good glare when he tried to pry into the differences. He’s still a hunter.”

Dean stood up and grabbed Sam’s arm, hauling him into an embrace when he tried to pull back. After a moment, Sam relaxed and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder.

“He’ll understand why you have to leave, Sam.” Dean rubbed hands gently up and down Sam’s back, trying to coax some of the tension out.

“What about you?” Sam asked suddenly, picking his head up with a frown.

“What about me?”

“The demons can’t track me now, but what about you? How hard is it going to be to find another one of these?” He plucked at the front of his shirt over where the amulet lay. “It’s not like we can be separated for long...”

“I don’t need one,” Dean said with satisfaction. “I’m a shadow in the world.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means... you’ll find out in a few years. Let’s just say I can’t be magically located like most things and let it go at that. I’m not worried about the demons being able to pin me in place with their infernal-whatever. As soon as we say goodbye to Pops in there, we’re off the grid. Completely off, now that we have that charm for you.”

“Wish we’d had it years ago.”

“Yeah, well. You said I can’t kill Bobby.”

Sam remembered something. “My dad has an interesting bruise on his wrist.”

“Humans bruise easy.”

“That’s really going to be your answer?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean asked. “I needed some blood to amp up my strength before we stormed the little country cottage they were keeping you in, and your dad had a problem with me hunting. He made the offer; what was I supposed to do-- argue?”

Sam snorted, not even able to imagine how that conversation had gone. He let his head fall back onto Dean’s shoulder. The height difference meant it wouldn’t be comfortable for long, but a few more minutes would be fine. The easy movements of Dean’s hands were working magic on loosening stiff muscles.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked after a few minutes had passed in companionable silence.

“I’m trying to be supportive. You can’t tell?” Dean sounded crushed. “You’re unhappy; I’m being comforting.”

“The hand down the back of my pants doesn’t really say comfort, Dean.”

“Distracting, then. Is it working?”

Sam felt his mood lighten despite himself but pushed away, dislodging Dean’s wandering hands. “I can’t go back in there, Dean. I can’t... What if I flip out again?”

“I’m not going to let you hurt him, Sam... tempting as that might be.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Sam growled.

“Tell you what. Just stay here for a minute.”

“Why?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Just... stay here. Unless you want to go tell your dad that you’ve decided he’s the flavor of the month? Let me chase him off, then we’ll feed you a little more and see if you can’t at least say goodbye without focusing on his throat.”

Sam slumped back onto the log. “I should do it. I can’t just have you take him some message while I hang out here behind the buildi--”

“You want him with sprinkles or without?”

Sam glared mutinously, but didn’t move when Dean headed back to the motel alone.

~~~~~
John was easy to find, he was leaning against the rough concrete wall outside of the room, arms crossed and looking lost in thought. Dean didn’t disagree with Sam’s estimation that whatever had actually happened, John’s purpose in hunting Sam down had not started out with the goal of extending his life expectancy. In a way, Dean kind of admired that level of dedication to a cause, but not with Sam involved. And definitely not with the new developments.

“You need to leave,” he greeted John, approaching soundlessly from down the walk.

“Where’s my son?” John demanded.

“Hanging out behind the building. You need to leave so I can bring him back inside and get him a little more...” Dean hesitated, “settled down.”

“I thought you got him ‘settled,’ earlier,” John accused. “Wasn’t that what you were doing when I walked in?” John’s lip curled just enough to let Dean know he had understood perfectly why Dean had orchestrated that scene, and that he wasn’t impressed. “I want to talk to Sam.” John straightened up and made to move past Dean. Dean stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Look,” Dean said flatly, “he’s been missing for three weeks. You think I can fix everything they fucked up in ten minutes? He’s stressed out, and screwed up, and you being here is not helping matters. I could have grabbed him and taken off and you would have never heard another peep from him, but I’m trying to show you some courtesy. For Sam’s sake. He needs this, so you can either take off for a little bit and then come back and finish whatever discussion you were having earlier, or I can just knock you out, tie you up, stuff you in your truck, roll the whole package into that lake over there and tell Sam the same thing I’m going to tell him if you actually go find a bar for an hour or two. Guess which way makes my life easier?” Dean managed not to add ‘asshole’ to the end, but it was hard. John just rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

Tasty, though.

John’s eyes narrowed in anger, but Dean thought he also saw a glimmer of grudging respect. “One hour.”

“Fine.”

“If he’s not here...”

“You won’t be able to do a damn thing,” Dean cut in scornfully. “But since this is for Sam, and not for either of us, he will be here-- giving you another opportunity to make everything just that much harder. Now go away.”

John looked like he wanted to snap something back, but just took a deep breath instead and fished his keys from his pocket. Dean watched as the truck pulled out and listened until he couldn’t hear it anymore. Then went back to get Sam.

Section Seven

Crossroads of Eden - Section Six

no subject

no subject