Chapter 8 - The Inevitable Fight


    28th of August 1971, London


    When they got back to the motel room after dropping Francis off at the hospital, Sam had immediately gone straight to bed and fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. This was a rare occurrence for Sam, who usually struggled greatly with falling asleep. His night was filled by terrifying dreams of banshees attacking Dean, killing Dean, just out of reach for Sam, who was too weak, and too scared to reach him in time. Sam tosses and turns in his sleep; and when Dean shakes him awake the next morning, to Sam, it feels like both a week has passed and as if he’s only slept for five minutes. His body is still exhausted, and he just wants to go back to sleep, damn it.


    “Dad’s just out getting breakfast, thought I’d give you a few to get ready,” Dean says sheepishly. “He found another case for us, in Ireland this time, Sammy! How exciting is that?”


    Sam looks at Dean then, and.. for a moment, he wonders if he’s actually awake at all. He tries to rub the sleep out of his eye, and sits up in bed, facing his brother.


    “What do you mean? I’m starting school in a few days, Dean.” Sam points out and yawns, squeezing his eyes shut as he does. Dean’s smile falters then, as if he’s just remembered.


    “Yeah but, we thought-”


    “What?” Sam interrupts him then, suddenly wide awake, a shiver running down his spine. He looks to the door, and his father comes in just then. He’s carrying two takeout bags, presumably containing their breakfast.


    “Sammy!” his dad says cheerfully, dropping the takeout bags on the coffee table, rubbing his hands together. “You’re awake!”


    Dean’s brows furrow, and he moves aside, looking at Sam. John hasn’t called Sam “Sammy” since he was a toddler. Both boys know that very well. Sam doesn’t meet John’s eyes, and he immediately gets a stomach ache.


    “I just want to say that I am so happy, and so proud of how you handled that whole situation yesterday, son,” he begins, the chipper tone of his voice a stark contrast to its usual gruffness. Sam can barely believe his ears. His father has never told him he’s been proud of him, ever. Even when, despite changing schools like people change clothes, Sam was able to maintain straight A’s, John didn’t even bat an eye, much less express to Sam he was proud of him. Dean looks dumbstruck too, but he says nothing. “I spoke to Francis earlier this morning, he’s recovering well by the way, all thanks to you I hear.”


    “Oh, that’s good,” Sam doesn’t know what else to say.


    “I’ve been telling you, Sammy, hunting’s in your blood!” John smiles, and begins to unpack the breakfasts, taking the doggy bags out and handing them over to his sons. “I want you to tell me all about it, I can’t believe I wasn’t there to see it all.”


    Sam believes it. Very easily actually. Their dad was very rarely present for anything, really. But Sam doesn’t say that. No, Sam just stays quiet, jaw clenched.


    “You’re not gonna hold out on your old man, are ya Sam?” John says then, unwrapping his own sandwich and taking a bite, looking at Sam expectedly.


    “Uh, what do you wanna know?” Sam asks then, not really hungry, but he unwraps the ham and cheese sandwich and starts picking at it.


    “All of it!” John says heartily, and Sam doesn’t recognize the man before him.


    “Well.. I was securing the house, putting down the salt lines, like you told me to, and.. I was just doing the bathroom, when the door shut behind me, and Francis started screaming. And there was this.. this horrible wailing-”


    “Wailing?” John interrupts. Sam bites his tongue. Did he want to hear “all of it” or was he going to keep interrupting him?


    “Yeah, wailing. Or, well, to me it was more of a shrieking sound, it was so loud I had to cover my ears, and Francis started crying too, everything was so loud,” Sam says, covering his ears just then, to emphasize just how loud it had been. His hands drop and he continues: “I tried kicking the door down, but couldn’t-”


    “How did you get out?”


    “I was getting there,” the words are spilling out before Sam has a chance to stop them, and he pales. But, to his big surprise, and incredible relief, John just chuckles, and waves a hand in a ‘go on, continue’ gesture. Sam does.


    “I think I was .. I don’t know, so full of adrenaline I didn’t check the door for weakspots, and uh, the hinges? Yeah, the hinges were on the end facing me, so I went to remove them,” he considers if he’s going to tell the full story, or lie, and say he used his pocket knife. He swallows. “I got them off, I’d put the pocketknife in my pocket, heh, before we left, and yeah.. that was smart, apparently,”


    “Atta boy,” John comments, then he holds his hands up in mock defeat, and “zips” his mouth shut, gesturing for Sam to go on.


    “Then, I kicked the door down. And.. that’s when.. that’s when I realized that it wasn’t a poltergeist.” He says, looking to Dean now, who’s been watching with a weary look. “I’m sure it was a banshee. The shrieking, her sunken in eyes, the dark mist around her? Oh and her freaky, long tongue? Definitely banshee.”


    “A banshee!” John is slapping his knee now, laughing loudly, eyes wide in shock. “And what did you do then?”


    “I .. I got a hold of the shotgun, it was already loaded, or so I assumed anyways, and I .. I shot it. It was distracted by Francis, I guess, so it was no biggie, really…” Sam says then, stumbling over his words, trying to recount what had happened, while still leaving out how he’d summoned the shotgun to his hands.


    “What happened to the banshee, then?” John asks. “It does sound like it was a banshee at least, your description fits well.”


    Sam nods in agreement. “After I shot it, she just.. like, disappeared? No, she dissipated in a cloud of mist.”


    “Mhm, mhm, what was the hair like?”


    “Floaty.”


    “Yep, sounds like a banshee alright. Especially with the shrieking. We should’ve caught that earlier, when we first questioned Francis.” John is rubbing his chin now.


    “I didn’t remember how to kill them though..” Sam says, feeling very small.


    “Salt and burn the remains,” Dean recites.


    “Yeah.. I figured when she went up in flames..” Sam says sadly. “She looked at me as she died..”


    “She was already dead, Sammy, and she wasn’t a she at all. It was a monster.” John says then, tone back to the harsh one Sam was used to.


    “But it was Hillary, right? The wife Francis killed?” Sam asks, despite himself. He knows not to push this.


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    “One time it was, yes,” John agrees. “But don’t go around saying Francis killed her, we don’t know for sure if he did. And that’s not our problem anyways, we already dealt with the banshee, that is our job.” John puts extra emphasis on ‘our job’ and Sam’s heart sinks. Of course …


    “Banshees are usually very aggressive spirits, right?” Sam asks then, unsure how he’s going to breach the subject and talk about the thing he actually wants to discuss. He knows he has to.


    “Yes, very much so.”


    “But this banshee didn’t attack the kids, only Francis and his new wife.” Sam points out. “And I heard its wails, and uhm, I’m still alive.”


    “Hmm that’s another good point, Sammy. A human turned banshee is a very rare occurrence, usually, when a dead person holds a grudge, it manifests as a poltergeist, which is why we assumed that was the case here too. Banshees are a step higher from poltergeists, and way more dangerous.. perhaps the wife was of Irish descent? That could maybe explain it…” John notes, and continues rambling on further about the encounter. Sam sort of tunes him out then, looking to Dean for help. He can see where this is going. This is probably the most John has spoken to Sam in years. It’s because Sam is finally showing ‘interest’ in the family business, Sam thinks. It’s true he’s tried to be a hunter, he’s tried so hard, but Sam just.. he doesn’t want that life for himself. He wants a family someday, and he can’t imagine himself pushing this lifestyle onto his kids. And it’s not safe, not at all. He doesn’t want to risk his life like that, and couldn''t do that to his wife and child someday. And even now, he just.. doesn’t want to be a hunter. He wants to go to Hogwarts, he wants to learn how to do magic-


    “We’re heading out again tomorrow morning, so take today to rest up, yeah?” John says, mouth full of sandwich. “Looong drive. You can do the first ‘shift’, Dean.”


    Dean nods, jaw tense, and he doesn’t look at Sam.


    “Dad…”


    “It’s going to be great! First a roadtrip with my boys, and I was thinking, Sammy can take the lead on this next job, I have a few ideas of course but-”


    “Dad.”


    “-- seeing how you handled that banshee, this should be no problem for you, you’ll do great-”


    “Dad!” Sam shouts it the third, and final time. John’s eyes fly to his, and he’s.. oh yep, there’s his dad, alright.


    “I’m going to school, Dad, remember? To .. to Hogwarts..” Sam says, and he feels oh so small. He wants to sink into the floor, and not have this conversation. He knows how it ends. Usually, he’s all fired up and ready to verbally brawl with his father, but he thinks that this fight … well, it feels more final, somehow.


    “I thought you’d changed your mind on that.” John says simply, folding his arms across his chest, dropping his sandwich.


    “I’m a wizard, Dad-”


    “Do not-”


    “Dad, please..” Sam begs then. “Please don’t do this…”


    “Me?! You’re telling me, ‘not to do this’?” his father is standing then, towering over Sam, who feels a sudden urge to stand up too. So he does. “You are the one abandoning your family.”


    Okay, ouch. That’s unfair.


    “That’s- that’s unfair!” Holy shit. Sam actually said that. His ears are ringing, and his palms sweaty. Jaw clenched, shoulders tight-


    “You are not going to some school for.. for freaks!”


    It’s as if John had slapped him. Did he actually say that? Sam’s mouth is agape, and he doesn’t know what to say. “First, you spend all my money on toys and then-”


    “I paid for his stuff,” Dean says then, interrupting John, who whips around in disbelief. Dean has never done that. Sam feels warmth spread across his chest, and he is so thankful Dean decided to step in. “You didn’t pay for anything.”


    “That is besides the point, and you,” John turns to Dean, prodding a finger hard into Dean’s chest, pushing him backwards even. “You stay out of this.”


    Dean clenches his jaw, and his gaze drops to the floor. Ever the obedient soldier, despite his love and need to protect his little brother.


    “You are not going to that place. You are staying with us. You’re a hunter, Sam.”


    John leaves no room for discussion. When Sam doesn’t immediately respond, John smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. I will hear no more of this, got it?”


    He turns to pick up his sandwich again.


    “I’m not a hunter, Dad. I never will be.” Sam says then, and he clenches his fists, ready to hold his ground.


    “What was that?”


    “I..” Sam takes a deep breath. “I will never be a hunter. I’ve never wanted to be one.”


    “Don’t lie. I’ve seen you this past year, you’ve finally taken an interest-”


    “I haven’t!” Sam seethes through gritted teeth. “I just did that to make you happy!” He’s sweating profusely, and is starting to get dizzy, unable to control his breathing. His jaw hurts, and he feels like every muscle in his body is spasming, he’s vibrating with anger. Before he can stop himself, the words he’s held onto for so long just comes spilling out: “I don’t want to live in motels! I don’t want to just be dragged across the country, across the ocean, I- I hate it! I hate my life! I don’t wanna wait around for you guys anymore, and I don’t want to do jobs, and I- I just - I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore-”


    “A prisoner?” this time it’s Dean who interrupts him. Sam’s head almost swivels as he looks to his brother, who’s got ‘hurt’ plastered all over his face. John doesn’t say anything, he just looks at his son, disappointment apparent in his expression. His eyes are cold as ice, and he… Doesn’t. Say. Anything. It’s a familiar look, one that doesn’t really hurt Sam anymore. Only a little. He thinks it always will. Despite being so angry he feels like he could explode, Sam looks to Dean apologetically, hurting his brother was the last thing he wanted to do.


    “I’m going.” Sam sputters then, but he gets the words out. And then he holds his breath. “You can’t stop me. I’m going to Hogwarts. I’m living my life.”


    “No, you’re not.” John says, not even turning to face him. “Drop this now, Samuel.”


    “I am. I’m a wizard, I told you, so..” Sam swallows, trying not to let his heart run away from him, despite it beating faster than it probably ever has. He prepares his body for the inevitable slap, he knows it’s coming, it always does- “I am going.”


    “Well,” John says, pausing a beat too long. Dean looks ready to step in, like he always does, but.. Sam holds his breath again. “Then you’re no son of mine.”


    And John walks out the door, leaving the boys alone in uncomfortable silence.


    *


    31st of August 1971, London


    Three days pass before John returns yet again. When he does, he doesn’t talk to Sam, but he orders Dean to get in the car. Now, no questions asked.


    “What about Sammy?” Dean asks, face twisted in an uncomfortable grimace, as if it’s painful to even slightly question his father’s request. The fact he still does, warms Sam’s heart. A little, anyway.


    “He’s not a hunter, is he?” John says coldly, not bothering to look at Sam as he speaks. “He’s made that much clear. He’s made his choice.”


    Dean swallows, and nods sternly. Sam says nothing.


    “Alright, let me grab my bag.”


    “Five minutes, Dean.”


    “Okay.”


    Dean shuts the door quickly, and kneels down in front of Sam.


    “Sammy, please..” Dean begs him. He begs. Sam doesn’t say anything, he just bites the inside of his cheek, takes a deep breath in through his nose, and looks away. Doesn’t meet his brother’s pleading eyes.


    “Fine.” Dean says coldly. “Fuck you too, then.”


    And then Dean gets up too, grabbing his bag and …


    And then he leaves.


    Sam is alone.