Actions

Work Header

Look Back in Anger

Chapter Text

Bobby,

 

You really want to know, huh? I’m telling you something: you don’t! I wish I didn’t know! Sometimes I really wish I had passed out sooner and never seen what really happened. I’d be up and running all through the country looking for Sam now, and I’m telling you, I’d be worried sick and pissed as hell at him for just running off without a note, but that would still be a lot better than what I’m feeling now.

At least I wouldn’t have to hate him. Dad’s gone, Bobby. Who’s left for me now but Sam?

I don’t feel like talking about this on the phone. To be honest, I don’t want to hear what anyone else has to say about it. No one else could understand, anyway. I was there. So the last thing I want is someone telling me I imagined things, and that Sam had no other choice and felt horrible about it. Yadda yadda.

I fucking saw it. He was smiling!

So, sorry I hung up on you the other day, but frankly, you have no idea what you’re talking about.

But Dad used to be your friend (once, at least), and Sam… Well. I guess you deserve to know.

And it’s not like I have anything better to do than watch TV and wait for another doctor to come in and poke at me. Because the only person left who’d care that I’m hurt and in the hospital… doesn’t. Too busy running – and with reason, too!

It’s not really any consolation that Dad wouldn’t be here with me either.

Anyway. You already know we finally found the yellow eyed demon that killed Mom. Or make that he found us. He possessed Dad and we didn’t notice because holy water didn’t work on him – you ever seen anything like that? Well, anyway, I only got suspicious when Dad wasn’t pissed that I wasted a bullet of the Colt. I thought he would be furious. When he wasn’t, I knew something was wrong.

Too late, though. Bastard pinned both me and Sammy to the wall and then he… well, he hurt me. Pretty badly. But Dad, Dad wouldn’t let him kill me. He got back in control, which gave Sam a chance to grab the Colt. He shot Dad in the leg. Didn’t kill the demon, but it weakened him. The bastard wanted to leave, that was obvious, but Dad didn’t let him go. He kept yelling at Sam to end it, to shoot him while the demon was still inside. Fucking hero till the end.

I told Sam not to do it. I fucking begged him! But he did. He just said he was sorry and then he shot dad in the heart. Just like that.

And you know what? Dad wasn’t dead at once. No, he was alive long enough to realise that his dear son had just shot him. Out of revenge for his dead girlfriend. Sam was so obsessed with killing this thing, he was almost worse than Dad himself. And in the end Dad was just in the way.

And he was happy about it! Can you believe it? He thanked Sam! With his last breath he thanked the guy who killed him, while I was bleeding out beside him. And Sam…

Sam fucking smiled. He killed Dad and smiled at him, and then he said – I wish I was making this up – He said, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Like anything could be okay after that. He wasn’t sorry. Not in the least.

I passed out, then. When I woke up I had been in the hospital for three days, Dad was dead and the guy who’d called the ambulance for me left the moment they arrived, and he hasn’t shown his face here since then.

Fantastic, isn’t it? At least he was kind enough to make sure I got help, so I get a chance to enjoy life all alone.

 


I don't think I'll actually send this letter.

 

Oh, fucking hell.

 

Dean

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Bobby,

 

The police were here again. They keep asking questions about how Dad died and what happened to me. Don’t seem to buy my story. It’s annoying. And it sucks. You’d think after having played the cop so often, I’d know how to convincingly lie to them. Then again, no one’s ever convincingly lied to me, so maybe it comes with the job.

Except for Sam. He lied to me damn well for all those years.

Or maybe he didn’t. I mean, he never even pretended to like Dad, let alone love him – at least not since he’s been – what? Eight, nine? A damn long time, in any case. And me he left. Just like that, because his own happiness was so much more important than his family, More important than me. So yeah, I suppose he never really cared for me all that much. I just didn’t want to see it.

Guess that makes this all my fault, huh? I so desperately wanted to believe that they loved me even half as much as I loved them, and this is what’s become of it.

Dad abandoned me, too. Never spared a thought for me, just let himself be killed for his damn revenge.

There would have been another way, if only any of them had been willing to fucking look for it!

Anyway. No, I didn’t tell the police that my brother shot our father. Don’t know exactly why not. Maybe a part of me still can’t believe it. But no, that would be stupid. I saw it and Sam deserves what’s coming for him. And if he had better reasons than revenge and convenience he missed the chance to share them with me.

So yeah, I don’t know. Maybe being arrested for murder would be too pathetic an end for a Winchester. Besides, I really don’t feel like having the police knock on my door again when they start to investigate the family drama. But this is the last time I protect Sam. If I never see his face again I’ll die happy.

I’m not interested in his excuses. I just don’t want to deal with him anymore. I basically raised him. I sacrificed everything for him. He killed the only man I ever looked up to in cold blood.

I have nothing left to say to him.

 

Dean

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Bobby,

 

I’m leaving the hospital today. The doctors (not to mention the nurses) would like to keep me a little longer, and to be honest, I’m not feeling so peachy yet. Yellow Eyes tore me up good, but the damn cops keep getting on my nerves. My injuries didn’t really get along with the story of the harmless hunting trip turned bad when some psycho-stranger came in, beat me up and shot Dad before fucking off again. Turns out you don’t get injuries like mine by being kicked into the stomach a few times, and the lack of psycho-stranger to be found doesn’t help. Not my best cover story, I admit, but the best I could come up that day, all doped up and in pain, not to mention.

Should have just told them I didn’t remember anything. Oh well.

Anyway, I signed out AMA this morning and will be gone once my taxi shows up. I don’t know where the impala is, but no one mentioned a car full of weapons to me, so I guess Sam took it when he left. You know, at this point even that hardly matters anymore.

There’s so much I have to do. I need a car. I need to get my stuff back from the police. I need to steal Dad’s body so I can give him a proper burial.

I still feel like shit. I don’t think I can do this on my own.

But I have to.

 

Dean

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Bobby,

 

Been a while. I was pretty busy. And still feeling shitty enough that writing was too much of an effort. I had to create a new fake identity, for starters, and get my father’s body out of the morgue. Burned him three days ago.

A funny thing happened after I left the hospital: I was sitting in my taxi driving off the parking lot when I saw the impala parking there between the other cars. So I had the driver stop, ran over, and yeah, it was really my impala. Not that I doubted it – I would recognize her anywhere!

So I sent the taxi on without me and drove off the grounds on my own. I don’t know how she got there. Scratch that – obviously, Sam left her there. What I don’t know is why. She must have been there for a week or more. So Sam dropped her at the hospital for me to find, but he never bothered to drop in himself and see how I’m doing.

Frankly, I’m confused. I don’t like being confused. But I’ve had time to think. And I think there’s something going on with Sam. What he did just doesn’t fit. He can be a stubborn, hot-headed moron, but he’s not a killer.

Doesn’t change the fact that he did it, or the fact that I’m never going to forgive him. The thing is, I can go on speculating about his reasons until the day I die, but I’ll never know for sure. Turns out, as much as I’d like to, I can’t stop thinking about it. I need answers. I need to find Sam and ask him why he did it. Don’t you agree that he fucking owes me an explanation?

After that he can go jump off a cliff for all I care. I just want to hear him give me some reasons, so I can let it go.

Hell, maybe I just want to hear him say he’s sorry.

The problem? Sam’s not coming. I think that’s pretty clear. So I have to find him myself. Because I have nothing better to do than to chase my bitch of a little brother all across the country.

Sadly enough, I really don’t.

Now, Sam’s got a talent for dropping off the map. If he ever learned anything from Dad, it’s that. So I’d appreciate your help. If you hear anything, let me know! (Don’t worry, I don’t want to kill him. I just want to kick him in the ass.)

 

Dean

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Bobby,

 

You were right about that Gordon guy. I paid him a visit in jail and he told me about the asshole who set him up and had him arrested. Kid used another name, but it was definitely Sam. Though, what he was doing there I can’t even guess. The way he got Gordon in jail seemed pretty determined to me, but as far as I can tell, he didn’t even know him. Gordon sure enough didn’t know Sam. He seems like a good hunter, though. No idea why Sam targeted him.

Think he might be after other hunters now?

Okay, yeah, that doesn’t make sense. Unless he was possessed.

Think he might be possessed?

That would make things a lot easier. But I don’t really think he is. Because he’s also hunting, it seems. The hunter that took care of that Rakshasa thing in Medford, Wisconsin was him, too. I didn’t believe it at first because the thing took the shape of a clown to hunt and you know how Sam is with clowns. One of the circus guys took a picture when Sam wasn’t looking, though, and it’s him, without a doubt.

Just showed up, stayed one day at the circus, the next day he’s gone and the Rakshasa is dead. I don’t even know how he got the idea to hunt there, because by the time the article about the family the thing killed was in the papers, Sam had already been there.

I’ve been trying to track him by looking for cases he might be interested in, but maybe I should be looking for weird murders.

Keep your eyes open, Bobby! And not just for things that are obviously supernatural.

And warn your hunter buddies someone might be after their asses.

Or maybe not. I don’t want anyone to kill him out of caution before I can talk to him.

 

Dean

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

It was nearly dawn by the time Dean arrived in Cornwall, Connecticut. He was exhausted, and worst of all, he had that certain feeling that he was once again arriving too late.

One week ago, Sam had taken out a shape shifter in Milwaukee. This time, Dean had seen undeniable proof with his own eyes, for the first time not forced to merely rely on the recounting of others.

This time, the monster Sam was hunting was so kind as to target a bank, and Sam was so kind as to be clearly visible on the tapes made by the security cameras.

He was now also officially wanted for murder.

Figured. If someone was caught on camera while taking a perfectly harmless looking man into a back alley beside a bank, and that perfectly harmless looking person was later found dead in the same back alley, cops had the habit of jumping to conclusions. Dean probably would have jumped to the same conclusion, if he hadn’t been a hunter instead of the federal agent he pretended to be. As it was, before he jumped to any conclusions, he checked for teeth, claws, and finally tested the corpse with a silver knife.

Bingo.

If he was honest to himself he might have admitted to a certain relief at the discovery. Mostly, though, there was the question of how the heck Sam knew that guy was a shape shifter, or that there even was a shifter around. He checked every newspaper article of the past three months, and there was nothing indicating there was a case around here. Nothing at all.

It’s just plain weird, Dean had written in the letter to Bobby he’d sent before leaving town. He keeps solving cases before they become cases. The only explanation I can come up with is he’s seen something happening in his visions.

He remembered in time that Bobby didn’t even know about the visions, but decided that he probably should be told everything there was to know about Sam if he was going to be any help in this. He’d probably be irritated about having been kept in the dark, but it couldn’t be helped.

Damn, it had been odd to see Sam again. Dean couldn’t even name the emotion that made his heart beat faster when he saw his little brother, all black and white and grainy, on the screen when watching the tapes. Sam was standing in front of the bank waiting, and he looked just like he always did: overgrown, with too long hair and jeans that threatened to fall off his hips.

I miss him, Dean had written in his letter that day, then crossed it out so many times the words became unrecognizable to anything less than higher technology.

Sam was there for two days. Just standing before the bank, sometimes wandering up and down, sometimes gone for a couple of minutes, probably to grab a snack or relieve himself. It seemed his vision – and what else could it have been? – wasn’t too accurate when it came to timing.

Eventually Sam disappeared around the corner with the shifter and came out alone. After that, job done, he just left.

Dean found the motel he had stayed in within half a day. Nice guy, the receptionist recalled. Good looking. Polite. Very quiet.

He travelled by hitchhiking, she said – found someone to take him along right before the motel. How very Sam. Dean nearly smiled at the information. In fact, he nearly grinned when the receptionist told him that she overheard which city Sam was aiming for.

And so Dean arrived in Cornwall hours and hours later, driving down the same street Sam passed days ago on the passenger seat of someone else’s car. He was tired, and his enthusiasm had long since died when he realised that he had no idea where in all this city Sam stayed, or what he came for. There had to be a reason for his coming since he didn’t appear to ever do anything just for fun, but the way he handled his cases with the advantage of premonition meant that his actions likely never made it to the local papers.

Unless he seemingly randomly killed someone again, that was.

Since he had to know the police was on the lookout for him he probably was even more careful than before. In the end the tiny glimpse of his brother the cameras had granted Dean did nothing to make his search any easier.

When he checked into a motel a little outside of town, he had no illusions that he would find Sam this time. What he could tell from his brother’s previous actions, judging by what little he knew about them, Sam had never stayed anywhere for longer than two nights even before he was wanted for murder. Obviously, it really helped with getting cases done Andover with quickly if one knew what to do from the beginning – which was just odd, once Dean stopped for a moment to think back to Sam’s visions and how vague they had been. How little time and opportunity they left them to actually do something about what they showed. And how long it still took them to figure out what exactly was going on.

There was only one possible explanation: Sam’s powers were getting stronger. It was a thought Dean didn’t like in the least.

Checking into the motel seemed wrong, somehow. The high speed his brother moved through jobs with barely allowed Dean any break and sleep seemed like a waste of time. Worse, it felt like something that would allow Sam to get even further away from him after he had only just managed to come closer. Eventually, though, Dean had to accept that his body had needs and needed at least a few hours of rest if he wanted to be up for clues-hunting the next day. So Dean buried his face in the pillow and listened to the silence in the room.

He was only just starting to get used to having a room of his own again.

The next day he went to the library for archives of the local newspapers of the past week, but didn’t find a single mention of someone suspicious or Sam-like in them, or of any weird occurrences, no matter how easily explained. In fact, the only thing worth mentioning at all in the paper that had happened around here recently was a fire in an old hotel about a week ago. No one had been hurt.

According to the article, a guest had discovered the fire and helped everyone get out in time. It wasn’t much to go on and could have been anyone, but it was the only thing even remotely worth looking into, so Dean scheduled a meeting with the hotel’s owner first thing after reading about it.

The owner was not what he expected, but better: a pretty woman named Susan who seemed pleasantly surprised by the alleged reporter’s interest in her hotel, instead of being unpleasantly irritated or annoyed. She agreed to meet Dean in the lobby of the hotel she had moved into with her daughter and her elderly mother after the fire.

“I grew up in that house,” she told Dean over her coffee, her eyes looking far away. “As a child, I could never imagine going anywhere else.”

“It must have been hard to lose it,” Dean said with an understanding nod.

“It was. But in the end it only sped up the inevitable. You see, business hasn’t been going well for a long time. Far too long – I had to sell the place anyway, and I don’t even know if the building would have been left standing. Actually, it was almost easier this way. I didn’t have to think about it all the time, fearing the moment of goodbye, you know? As it turned out, during the moment of goodbye, I was only thinking of getting out of there.”

“Do you know what caused the fire?”

“Faulty wiring, apparently.” Susan shuddered, a shadow falling over her face. “It happened in the room of the first guest we’ve had in weeks. If I think what might have happened if he’d been asleep, I feel sick.”

Dean’s attention was raised by a few notches. “It started in his room?”

“Yes, in the morning. My daughter had just left for school and I was in the kitchen downstairs with the housekeeper. Suddenly he comes running down the stairs, and he carries my mother in his arms. She had a stroke a while ago, can’t move or speak. I could see she was terrified, but before I could say anything, Mr. Terrance – that’s his name – Mr. Terrance told me there was a fire and we had to get out. That’s when I smelled the smoke.”

“I see. You were pretty lucky there.”

“You have no idea.” Susan’s face darkened at the memory. “My mother was upstairs in her room. I don’t know how he even knew she was there, but without him… By the time the fire fighters arrived, the entire house was in flames. But most of our personal stuff had already been moved to storage. We were a lot luckier than most other victims of house fires. We didn’t lose everything.” She smiled at Dean, and it looked genuine enough. “Most important, we’re all still alive.”

“That’s right,” Dean agreed, making some notes in his booklet. “Do you have any address for Mr. Terrance? A full name at least?”

“No, I don’t know where he lives. His first name was Eric, though. As I understood, he wanted to travel on later that day anyway. He was gone before I could even thank him for saving my mom.”

“Any idea where he went?”

Susan shook her head. “No. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“That’s okay,” Dean said, hiding his disappointment. It had been a long shot anyway. “You wouldn’t have a picture of him I could use for my article, would you?”

She laughed at that. “Of course not!”

“Of course.” Dean nodded. “Silly question. Well, would you mind describing him to me?”

Susan frowned a little, obviously not seeing the point, but willingly described a young man in his early- to mid-twenties, with longish dark hair, very tall, thin, a little tired looking. “Actually, I thought he was sick,” she admitted. “But I guess he just didn’t sleep very well. I heard him move around all night.”

Dean thanked her and drove back to his motel. Sam was gone from here. He had expected that. What he’d hoped for was an idea where Sam went next. Now that the trail was cold, Dean didn’t know what to do.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Sam’s gone and I have no idea where to go next. The only thing I can tell for sure is that he doesn’t want to be found. Probably figures I’m pissed – rightfully so. He should just stop so we can get this over with and each go on our separate ways. Eventually he’ll have to grow tired of running, right?

If he thinks I’m going to give up just because he makes it a little harder for me, he doesn’t know me very well after all.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Dean stayed in Cornwall for two more days, looking for clues, asking around if anyone had seen Sam, if anyone knew where he’d gone. He tried the local diners, but no one recognized the man in his photos.

On the third day, Bobby left a message on his phone.

“Stop abusing me as your goddamn diary, idjit,” the older hunter’s gruff voice ordered. “I ain’t no journal, and I sure as hell ain’t no priest.” Followed by, “Call me. I’ve got something. If you want to hear about it, use your damn phone.”

Dean hesitated before making the call since after all, it could be a trap. But Bobby kindly refrained from getting sentimental on him or trying to analyze his motives. He merely gave Dean the information he had and then sent him off to find his “goddamn idjit of a brother.”

And Dean did his best. Bobby’s directions led him to Rhode Island – to Providence to be exact, where a very irate priest met him at the church to tell him how the tomb of his predecessor had been desecrated not two days ago. Someone had broken into the church and performed some kind of satanic ritual down there, leaving bones and herbs all over the place. It was easy to recognize the stuff the priest described as ingredients for a summoning ritual. Likely it was Sam, but the old man hadn’t seen the culprit and even though right now Dean had trouble remembering it, other hunters did exist. If the murdered priest had gone evil spirit on this town, he might have attracted anyone.

Except that once again there was nothing about supernatural activities in the papers.

In fact, the only noteworthy occurrences around this town happened only after the church was broken into. The police got an anonymous tip that enabled them to arrest a man who had planned to abduct and murder a thirteen-years-old girl. Another anonymous tip brought them into the basement of another man where they found the body of a missing student buried under the floor. And a young man was arrested for the rape and murder of two women in other states after yet another anonymous tip to the police.

That last one happened only this morning.

Dean got very active when he found that out. He was in the Impala within seconds, driving down the street, then stopped and left his car half-hidden in an alley to hotwire another one when no one was looking. Sam didn’t want to be found, after all, and Dean’s car was not exactly easy to overlook.

For the first time Dean began to think about what he would do once he actually found Sam and took into consideration that he might be forced to beat Sam down first, and tie him up before they could have a conversation.

But first Dean had to find him. Sam was travelling by hitchhiking as usual, it seemed, so Dean would drive down the streets leading out of town in his unsuspicious car, hoping he would find his brother standing at the side of the road somewhere. Maybe Sam would even get in the car before he realised Dean was driving it, and then Dean would lock the doors and they would have their discussion on the highway. It would be better than the ties and the beating in any case – even though Sam really would have deserved that.

Naturally, the brilliant plan would only work if Sam’s visions didn’t warn him of Dean’s arrival.

Along the way, Dean stopped at every motel he found, went inside and showed Sam’s picture. After all, he didn’t know if Sam was done here already. Perhaps he could even surprise him in his bedroom.

…Even if that sounded slightly wrong.

He got lucky in the fourth motel he entered. The girl at the reception desk took one look at the photo, frowned, looked again, and then said, “Looks like the guy in number four. He’s a bit older, though. Hair’s longer, too. And he’s pretty thin.”

Close enough. But then – Dean was already turning to hurry to the room in question – she added, “He left this morning, I think.”

So much for being lucky.

Dean was back on the street within seconds and proceeded to search the city, desperately hoping that Sam had had a long breakfast in the diner around the corner this morning and then failed to find someone to take him along.

The hopes for that were slim. In fact, they were so slim that when he did see Sam, Dean nearly didn’t notice.

He had stopped at a traffic light at one of the busier crossroads and was watching the passing traffic when finally his brain registered the figure standing a dozen or so yards behind the traffic light. Good spot for hikers. The cars were all going in the right direction and there was a spot the potential drivers could stop at.

Dean stared at him for a while, his heart pounding in his throat and his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, too tightly.

Sam was oblivious to his presence. There was a duffle by his side that, by the look of it, was at least half empty. He was too far away for Dean to make out all the details, but Dean could see that his brother had lost weight. Not much, but the clothes were hanging off his frame a little more, and there was a weary set to his shoulders, a lack of energy in his movements. He seemed to move only as much as he absolutely had to, only bothering to hold out his thumb when a car came closer.

The cars turning in from the left side were going past him now, and Dean hardly dared to breathe as he hoped none of them would stop and take his brother away from him again.

Sam didn’t seem to particularly think they would. He looked at them without expectation, cold wind blowing his hair into his face, the very picture of resigned patience. His eyes travelled further up the road without aim, until they stopped on Dean’s car.

Dean kept staring at Sam. He was far enough away, the sunlight reflected in the windshield and Sam wasn’t on the lookout for him. He shouldn’t have noticed who was sitting in this car, but he kept looking right at Dean.

Dean didn’t breathe.

Then Sam picked up his duffle and started running.

Dean curses and yelled and stepped on the accelerator. A second later he stomped on the breaks to avoid being hit by the cars that came from the left. A concert of angry horns sounded while Dean grinded his teeth and could only watch as Sam took a turn and disappeared between two buildings.

He didn’t wait until the signal was green but sped on the moment the cars rushing by gave him a chance to get through. More angry horns, and hopefully no police among them, because Dean was in a stolen car. He pulled said car to the side of the road only a hundred yards later anyway, to jump out and run down the alley Sam had chosen as if his life depended on it.

He didn’t waste his breath yelling for his brother. It was obvious that Sam didn’t want to talk to him.

The alley was long, turned around a corner and ended in a wall. A dead end and no trace of Sam.

Dean didn’t hesitate for one second but used his speed to run up the wall and grab the edge to pull himself on top of it. He jumped down on the other side and kept running.

The alley on the other side of the wall was a lot shorter and led to one of the main streets. Dean stopped at the end, looked left and right, but Sam was already out of sight.

As soon as he got his breath back Dean cursed for a full minute.

He didn’t dare walk back to the stolen car, instead taking the bus to the station closest to the motel. All the way, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what Sam would do now.

What would his little brother do?

He would make sure to get away as quickly as possible, that was what. He wouldn’t risk standing by the side of the road, though, so he would either jump into the nearest bus out of town or steal a car.

Before the bus even reached his stop, Dean knew that Sam opted for the stolen car this time. Even if a bus happened to stop right before his eyes just now, Dean would be able to see where the latest long-distance bus was going. A stolen car probably wouldn’t be noticed for another few hours, and by then Sam would long since have ditched it and moved on to god knows where.

Which meant that Dean wouldn’t be able to start the hunt before a car that seemed likely (or especially unlikely) to be Sam’s choice had been first reported stolen and then found. As soon as they found it, Dean would know Sam’s next stop, but by then his brother would be long gone.

Then, of course, there was the issue of how to get information on stolen cars. Dean might not have missed Sam (very much) but sometimes he did miss his magical laptop that seemed able to get them any information they wanted if Sam was the one using it.

It wasn’t until evening, in some shady-looking internet-café, that Dean found out that within walking distance of where he chased Sam only one car had been stolen that day. By that time the car in question had already been found undamaged by the side of the road in Johnston. Dean left at once, but when finally got to Johnston Sam was somewhere else and the trail had gone cold once again.