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Dean passes Stanford three weeks after his dad went radio silent on the hunt for Yellow Eyes. He doesn’t track down Sam, doesn’t even try to spy a bit on his little brother – it’s an astounding display of self-control.
Instead, Dean is fully locked in for the drive as he passes right by and continues another two hours, to meet with the group of four hunters already studying the job he’ll be joining. It’s both a distraction from dad and Sam, and also a horrible building anxiety the more Dean learns about the situation.
Signs of demons had passed through here a long time ago -as far as the others can tell, this is ground zero- but it’s hard to confirm anything. It’s covered up, any sulphur long gone, all the deaths already approved by authorities as accidents and pushed deep under admin.
But demons don’t hide evidence, either too stupid or too arrogant. Maybe a human took a contract and instead of giving their soul, they have to cover tracks? Weirder things have happened. Must be someone with police access, but it also involves hospitals, and erasing evidence on site.
The other hunters dismiss this possible interloper outright, focusing on the demon problem. They’re planning on splitting into five points to cover the five leads they have – obviously some of them faked because they go in five completely different directions, but there’s nothing else to do about it.
From what Dean’s been able to figure out as he travelled to the meet-up, all the leads skip around. It died down for a long time, then kicked back up in the last couple of months, and it’s taken this long for hunters to realise it's connected. Dozens of demons, they think.
Maybe hundreds.
So Dean accepts the copies of files, climbs back into his car and drives. He checks in when he finds anything, but his calls slow and die off after one week then two, the others not having any more luck than him.
One of the guys drops out entirely, saying his lead is impossible and he’s going to focus on the monsters he can find. The rest falter and slow.
Dean hasn’t contacted them in two weeks, and he’s half distracted with his side job of looking for dad, streaking across the country nearly blind after demons who don’t seem to be doing anything but skittering around like roaches. No signs of dad either.
Dad is probably dead.
He pulls into another motel, headlights swinging across the decrepit front. His eyes are half-lidded from exhaustion and his phone has Bobby’s number inputted but he’s never called. It would have Sam’s number if the little bastard had actually told Dean his number before he left-
Or rather, not so little anymore.
With headlights flooding across his side, Sam is a lanky giant of a man whose shadow stretches even longer across the ground. He’s jiggling a key in the lock of door 9, other hand holding a paper bag of food with a smiling salad on it – that healthy shit he started getting into before he left.
Dean somehow isn’t surprised at seeing Sam. This is exactly the kind of motel dad liked, quiet and dodgy enough no one’s going to say a word if someone comes stumbling to their room at night covered in blood. Dean picked it, so Sam would have as well.
Sam turns the door handle but pauses before he gets it open. He glances to the side -Dean hasn’t moved since he turned into the parking lot, taking too long, acting suspicious- and stares for a long moment like he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing.
Dean jabs a finger down at the passenger seat to call his brother over, forcing a grimace of a smile. He’s unsure if relief is choking him up, or rage. Why is Sam here? Does it matter? Fuck this demon nonsense, can Dean grab him and go after dad or is Sam going to throw a fit?
Sam’s eyes begin to widen in panic and dart over his own shoulder. Dean follows the line of sight, gaze sliding over an old lady on a bench, and then snapping back to the woman. She’s watching him back, with a nasty twist of a smile that crumples her wrinkles into deep furrows. No black eyes, no sulphur smell coming through the rolled-up windows, but he knows she’s a demon.
Dean swings into the parking space outside door 9 and Sam is already tearing open the car door, dragging Dean out and hurrying him inside the tiny room. They step over a salt line and Sam slams the door shut while Dean yanks the curtains closed. He turns to Sam and gets a necklace tossed over his head with a symbol he doesn’t know on it.
“You’re prepared for her?” Dean demands, more of an accusation than a question. He peeks out of the curtain and the old woman has vanished. “She’s gone. Was she here for you?”
“Why are you here?” Sam asks worriedly, bag crinkling in his grip.
“Don't,” Dean snaps. “Don't you fucking dare, Sammy. I ask the questions now. Why aren't you in Stanford?”
Sam huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “You know, just...” He tosses the food onto the table and it skids until it hits Sam’s empty duffel, his freshly laundered clothes on the bed and hidden weapons dotted around in key places that are obvious to Dean’s eyes. Sam takes a step, falling back to sit on the motel bed. The old springs wheeze, sagging. “Demon stuff.”
“The fuck do you mean ‘demon stuff’?” Dean mutters and begins to pace because his body doesn't want to stay still.
Only now does the adrenaline start to hit - not when he's lying through his teeth to witnesses, not seeing a demon outside his motel, only when Sam is in danger. It kicks his tired brain into high gear and he’s not even sure why or how he connects it.
“All of them,” Dean realises. “All the signs. They're following you.”
“Not all of them,” Sam says. He hunches forward, elbows on his thighs and head hanging. “Some are still in Hell, probably.”
“Sam!” Dean whirls around to glare at him.
“What do you want me to say?” Sam whispers, his hair covering his face at this angle but Dean can see his jaw is clenched. Even curled up, he’s so damn big. How’s Dean going to put him in the car?
“Just tell me the truth!”
“I realised my best friend was a demon.”
Dean sits down on the bed too. “I didn’t know demons could do subtle.”
“Yeah, a surprise for me too. So I did what hunters do and took care of the problem.”
Dean stares at the side of Sam's face and sees sorrow and guilt, but not anger - not anymore at least. “And you wanted revenge?” he asks, even when he knows it's not right.
“And then my other friend was possessed,” Sam admits. He laces his fingers, gripping tight enough to bleach his skin white. “And then another and another, until it wasn't even friends, it was just students in my classes, teachers, anyone they could grab.”
“What did they want?” Dean demands.
Sam shakes his head. “They kept...I don't know, at the start they introduced me to people.”
“Deal-making demons?”
“Girls.”
“Demon girls?”
Sam straightens up with a grimace of a smile. “Nice, smart, brave human girls - exactly my type.”
“Weaknesses for you,” Dean says slowly. “No, that's not any demon M.O.”
“I didn't believe it at first too but I tried every test on the girls, did background checks, and they were all clean. Jess, the first one, she realised something was very wrong and...” Sam looks away, regretful. “Anyway, she wasn't a spy.”
“You're such a loser even demons were trying to wingman you,” Dean jokes, strained.
Sam scowls but at least he's not looking so shaky. “The demons stopped after a while, and then just focused on chasing me out.”
“Was there something in Stanford they wanted?” Dean guesses. “No, they’d just kill you. Not that you wouldn't put up a fight, but...shit, you’re only human.”
Sam huffs out a humourless laugh.
“Did they need a hunter for…a fucked up ritual?” Dean mutters, crossing his arms. “Maybe you leaving us didn’t make its way through the grapevine. Or they thought you’d be easy since you left? They ever tell you to do something for them? Something…something about dad?”
Sam looks away, checking the empty gaps around the window’s curtain, the lack of shadows under the door. “Where's dad?”
“Not here. Answer my damn questions.”
“Where is he?”
“Sammy!”
“Dean, please!” Sam looks almost afraid.
Dean gives in, faster than he should have. “He's not here. I'm…travelling alone right now.”
Sam hesitates. “They want me to be a hunter again. To fight, be angry, mean. They chased me out and they stayed away as long as I was on the road, but I tried to go back a few times or I stayed in one place too long, and they came back. They watch all the time now. Sometimes they give me hunts.”
“How long since the first demon?”
“A year now? God, Dean, they're all insane.” Sam rakes a hand through his hair. “They almost look happy when I kill them-“
“How long since you've been on the road?”
“A few months...” Sam trails off, eyes going wide when he realises he made a mistake.
Dean nods again, as calmly as he can manage right now. “You've known about the demons for a year, and been out of Stanford since -what- three months, four? And you didn't call.”
Sam opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I...”
“A year!” Dean snaps. “Chased for a whole fucking year and you didn't call! Didn't once ask for help, from your family! You could have been dead this whole time and I'd learn it when-“
“Dad would have taken me away!” Sam shouts. “I call, and then I'm stuffed into the backseats and never let out again!”
Dean doesn’t even attempt to pretend that it’s an unfounded fear. “Newsflash, you're not even in Stanford anymore! It's too late anyway!”
The air goes out of Sam. “I'm just taking a break,” he pleads. “I'll fix this and then I'll go back.”
“Fix what? Are you going to exorcise every demon in the world?”
“If I have to,” Sam swears. “I'm still studying. I'm going to take my LSATs early.”
Dean stares him down, incredulous. “Are you the one who tries to cover up the demon sightings?”
“I didn’t want hunters coming after me because they’d tell dad,” Sam admits. “But I’m moving so fast now that I can’t anymore. I guess that’s how you found me.”
Dean scrapes a hand down his face. “What the fuck... Who taught you priorities? Okay, fine, fine. We will talk about that later. What do they want with you?”
Sam shakes his head.
“Sam-“
“No! No, Dean, it's crazy. It's - I'm handling it.” Sam gets up and starts packing his duffel on the table, clothes disappearing in seconds, but the weapons take much longer as he pulls them out of hiding spots scattered around the tiny room.
Sam keeps checking for shadows near the door, and moves quietly enough that he’d hear footsteps. Demons don’t need to make footsteps, and the demon traps and salt cover every inch of the room. He’d seen Dean and then looked directly at that old lady meat suit like he knew she was already there and he only panicked when Dean was involved. Sam isn’t scared of demons; he’s wary of humans.
Where's dad? Sam had asked, and then only told Dean what happened after it was confirmed that dad wasn’t here.
“I won't tell dad,” Dean says.
Sam shoves another gun in. “Good, because I’m handling it.”
“Did they tell you to do something to dad?” Sam was chased long before dad left, they might not be connected…
“No! No, he’s not involved.” Sam hesitates and seems to think that needs more evidence. “It’s me. Just me.”
“And I'm with you, Sammy,” Dean promises. “All the fucking way. I only want you safe. If you don’t want dad, we won’t tell dad. If you need me to hide the demon signs, I’ll do it if it makes your life easier. But you need to talk to me so that I can help you.”
Sam’s movements slow. “You’d help, even if I did something bad?”
“You could kill God, and I'd be right there with you for the double tap.” Dean throws up his hands. “I mean, I’m gonna be pretty fucking pissed if you started this shit, but I’m in.”
Sam laughs, real this time, and searches Dean's face for anything but honesty. He takes a step back from his duffel, and then another. “Don't freak out.”
“No promises.”
Every remaining weapon -two knives, a gun, a bottle of holy water with the rosary still floating around inside- in the room rises, smoothly flies over, and tucks itself neatly into Sam's duffel.
“Hm,” Dean says, on the edge of his seat, fists clenched so he doesn’t grab anything.
“I get prophetic dreams,” Sam says. “They give me headaches but I'm starting to control them.”
“Hmmm,” Dean says, jaw clenched.
“I can make people do things when I tell them to. And kill monsters by touching them. And exorcise demons instantly with my mind - sometimes kill them permanently if I concentrate enough, but it really wipes me out.”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmm!”
“Still with me?”
Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth, so deep it's almost painful. “Mh-hm.”
“Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon, fed me his blood when I was a baby and he did it to several other people across generations, and now he wants to make an army so he can rule Hell. He wants us to get stronger, that’s why they chased me out of Stanford.”
Dean holds up a hand because he needs a beer and a fucking nap before he can keep going.
“And he says I'm his favourite,” Sam blurts out, rushing now. “And some demons follow him, but others follow me and say I'll be king.”
“I need a damn minute, Sammy!” Dean snaps.
Sam sits down in the single creaking chair at the table, eyes watering.
“Okay,” Dean says slowly. “So, first of all, we don’t tell dad.”