Post by anomaly on Mar 2, 2016 6:07:38 GMT
Sam paused in the hallway, tilting his head as he tried to think of exactly where Hartford was. “Six or so hours, Dean drives fast so…” He trailed off with a wince as he realized that he had brought up Dean. He gave out a slight sigh, he wasn’t really sure what he was walking into besides a possible cluster-fuck. “I can come out to see you,” his eyes flicked up to the ceiling, “we’ll put our heads together and figure out stuff.”
With that, he started up down the hallway again, entering his bedroom to grab his bag. He tilted his head to keep the phone secured while he quickly grabbed some items out of his dresser, throwing them into the bag. “Where are you at, exactly?” He pulled away from his bag to grab a notepad on the dresser near the bed, looking around for a pen – it must have rolled away somewhere. He started to say something then shook his head, changing his mind as he threw the notepad into the bag, picking it up to walk out of the bedroom to the main room.
When entering the main room, he picked up the pen near his books while dropping the bag down on the chair. He waited for Ben’s answer while jotting Dean a quick note about grabbing a case, he’d call at some point.
--
Sam said Dean and there was a chill felt on the other side, a darkness that fell between them. "That'd be great," Ben spoke, barely above a whisper, before Sam asked the address.
Ben gave it to him and then hung up briskly, before gesturing to the waitress with a wave. He pulled out a credit card that wasn't his-- stolen. Just like the rest of what's gotten him this far. The kid had become a klepto in the absence of a better set of role models, but he reasoned it made sense, since his dad was some sort of ghost memory-stealer mass-murderer bank-robber and his mom was in prison for the next eighty years if good behavior and parole happens, when given two consecutive life sentences.
Bank robber and felon. Put them together and you get a thief and count your stars that your kid didn't get into drugs.
Hours would while away. as he had two separate meals at the diner, and plenty of coffee, while paging through websites on a laptop. He hated doing research, but he did what he had to, and research meant the difference between life and death sometimes. So he was looking up everything he could on one of the weirder ones he had come across on his following their bloody path. The Rugaru he killed out of luck, and was trying to find out more about it. It seemed so confused.
Sam would see him, before Ben saw him, having stopped being hypervigilant a good bit before the man appeared at the diner. Ben was wearing flannel pushed to his elbows, jeans and a faded t-shirt, typing on a laptop with a pen in his mouth and a notepad next to him, and looked surprisingly muscular. Sam would not be wrong if his first thought was 'hunter'.
Ben's eyes would catch his approach and he'd look up, barely hiding the narrowed, suspicious look. It was likely caught as his face returned to a studied expression of hopefulness. "Hey, Sam. Thanks for coming."
--
The drive had been a long one, but rather short at the same time, as he thought about all the things that he would have to say to both Ben and Dean. Dean and Sam had agreed not to lie to each other from now on, but this would require a bit of creative story-telling because Dean would blow a gasket if he found out where Sam was and what had happened. Sam was also wondering what had happened to the memory wipe, even if he had campaigned against it, it should have worked. He had that much trust in Castiel to know that the Angel rarely ever failed when he put his mind to something.
Sam had to chuckle when he arrived at the diner, some things never really changed, no matter how long you had been away. He crossed the road and saw the kid through the window, taking a moment to himself to study him. Ben wasn’t really a kid anymore, Sam mused as he watched Ben at the laptop, he had grown up into some weird imitation of Dean.
A slow shake of his head as he moved into the diner, nodding to the waitress as he looked over to Ben, a slight tilt of his lips upward as he saw that look pass over the kid’s face. Hell, he couldn’t blame Ben for the look, it had been a while and he probably had a thousand questions, mostly to do with Dean. If Ben had managed to override the wipe, Lisa probably had too – so she probably told Ben things about Dean.
“Hey,” he bobbed his head in greeting as he moved to drop into the seat across from Ben, a slight look on his face. He was unsure about all this, there was a slight feeling of unease, but he contributed it to the fact that Dean didn’t know. “What are the facts of the case?” He paused with an apologetic look on his face, “I’m sorry, your mom isn’t just a case; also,” he hesistated, “I’m sorry about her getting into a mess.”
--
Despite Sam's estimations, Ben provably was not looking at busty Asian porn on the laptop when he was met. It was clearly lore he had been researching. He appeared to be forcibly picking up the slack Dean left Sam to handle. A webpage was up about rougarou, and a picture of a twisted, bestial creature with fire burning it alive, a nice biblical-esque sketch that he had stopped on with that page.
He considered it for a matter, and then sighed, laughing a little to himself. "Screw it," he offered, with a shrug, and turned the laptop. He then hit alt-tab real quick, after Sam saw what was up for a flash of a moment; on the alternate page was a prison registry. And up on it was, bruised, in unflattering tan state facility over-alls, was Lisa Braeden. He let it sit there for a moment, tightening his jaw, before he sat back, frustrated.
"The facts of the case are you assholes left dead bodies-- including my mom's boyfriend-- all over my house. People took educated guesses, and there was plenty of DNA around, of course there was, it was our house. So she went away. I lost the house that they paid for-- which was still in his name by the way-- because of course we did. Oh, also, I went to live with my aunt, because my mom and my-- dad? Was he my dad? Whatever-- because Dean left us with this. Because you left us."
His voice was low, so as not to raise a fuss, but it was so deeply angry.
"I didn't remember anything. But our neighbors do. My aunt did. Because Dean was in our lives, apparently, even though I don't remember it. Neither does my mom. My aunt mentions you came back and were a robotic dickhead and dragged Dean out of my life. So are you the one who did this somehow? A spell or something?"
As Ben had said, screw it. Sam was here; the man wasn't leaving anytime soon. A phone was easy to hang up. A pissed off kid keeping his voice hushed in a diner a lot harder.
"Are you even humans? Am I?"
--
Sam leaned forward a bit to see what was on the laptop when Ben turned it around; once he saw the picture of Lisa, he leaned back again with a sharp intake of breath. He put his hands on the top of the table, tangling his fingers together as he gave a slow exhale, trying to wrap his mind around what had just been shown to him. His eyebrows rose as he tried to figure out an answer to Ben’s questions that came amid the angry verbal vomit.
Finally, he held up his hands as he leaned forward to Ben, keeping his voice low as he spoke, “pay your bill – if you have one, and we’ll go.” He looked towards the curious waitress with a carefully chosen casual smile as he shifted back against the seat. “People are here,” he spoke through that smile, “we’re going outside.”
People remembered Sam and Dean, especially Sam during that time.
Fuck.
Sam was trying to figure out how to explain this whole complicated mess about how he came back without a soul after being brought back. He also had to explain the mess that had been left behind in their house, well, Dean’s house. He should have checked to make sure the house had nothing to do with Dean before all this had been… taken care of.
“We’re humans,” he chuckled, waiting on Ben, a tilt of his head toward the door when Ben was ready. “Trust me,” he frowned a bit, “I know, not easy.”
--
Sam responded with a surprising amount of empathy. The man was not described that way by his aunt, who hadn't met the guy, but had heard an earful from Lisa, as she described the guy. He was some sort of total presumptuous arrogant self-loving dickhead. That was not the guy he was meeting, which made him extra wary, and also confused. "I don't trust you," he said, plainly, as he stepped out of the booth, closing the laptop and taking it with him. He gave a nod to the waitress, who he'd already paid for his last bites well before Sam showed up. He followed the guy out of the building.
Moving out after him, his hand was in his pocket, and Sam got the feeling he was holding something, from the bulge in the jacket. Likely a knife. He didn't look like he was preparing to attack; he looked defensive, wary, as if he was worried he was going to be attacked.
"I've been hunting you two guys for three years. A lot of Google before that. Mass murdering bank robbers?" he asked, just stunned, shaking his head. All the stuff with them-- there was even a rare video that keeps getting deleted off YouTube of them murdering a diner full of people with machine guns, while telling the kid keep filming who had his cellphone out. It was horrific.
Suffice, he didn't trust Sam, no. "I'd say you wouldn't believe the stuff I found out about this world and had to deal with while following you guys, but, yanno, I'm willing to guess you believe it. Killed a guy who ate his brother and sister-in-law and roommate before I got to him, last week. I burned him alive. What the hell is going on? What the hell?! How did you wipe my MIND?!"
He had been keeping himself under control inside, but he was clearly losing his cool outside. This young man had been, by his own report, hunting for answers most likely this entire time, lost and confused, and Sam got the lucky straw pull of having to handle it.
--
Sam made a mental note to kick Dean up and down all over the bunker whenever he saw his brother next; there were witnesses, paper trail, nothing Sam could charm his way out of now. He nodded to the waitress, following Ben outside, “come on,” he gestured toward an alley. His shoulders hunched a bit, he didn’t trust the town anymore; which meant they’d have to find a completely new area that didn’t know either of them.
Sam frowned a bit, it probably would make most sense to take him back to Lebanon, it was his safe place – also, he knew that Ben would be safe. For now.
When Ben’s hand went to his pocket, Sam held up his hands again, “hey man,” he waved his hands slowly, “you see my hands. I need to see yours. You don’t trust me, I don’t trust you.” He moved towards the alley slowly, “but I sure as hell don’t want cops on us, my badges are in the car.” A soft chuckle spilled from his lips as he studied Ben; the kid probably would snap, he wasn’t sure.
“I’d say <i>you</i> wouldn’t believe it, but you’ve been seeing it,” Sam twisted his lips, “welcome to the real world where things go bump in the night.” He paused, considering his words, “you’re doing what we do, hunting. Except,” he frowned, “you’re hunting us.” That really was a new one, he was used to the creatures and whatnot hunting them, not actual humans. “We protect the world, save lives, you know... Family business.”
Sam hunched his shoulders, “looks like you inherited it.” He paused, “I have my laptop in the car, I can show you some stuff.” He stopped, considering his words, “you have a room somewhere, or are you just diner-surfing?”
--
His hands left his pockets, to show he wasn't going to attack... but his eyes on Sam showed he wasn't confident Sam wasn't going to do it, either. The dude was not given a glowing reputation, and he was acting nothing like the news, and his aunt, shared it to him about this guy. "No, I don't have a room. I've just been... whatever, making it work," he grumbled. Mostly stealing cars and sleeping in those, and usually at rest stops, when he could, where he'd do what approximated showers. Every few days he'd find a hotel for a real shower instead of something at a sink, or do his laundry when it got too much.
"I stashed my bag in the car," he said, and gestured, across towards the church. "I'm parked there," he allowed. "We can grab it and go. Because I'm not leaving without some real answers about everything. My memory-- this world-- and how we're getting my mom back."
His voice was iron. The kid did not sound like he'd brook much argument. He gestured Sam onward, and he'd follow, hands out of his pockets.
--
Sam’s eyebrows knit together in a show of concern, it wouldn’t work having Ben trying to make ends meet; that hadn’t been the plan when Dean asked Castiel to wipe Ben’s mind – life was supposed to be better. Ben’s life wasn’t supposed to be the same as theirs; Sam figured that Dean – as much as he lived for the life of a hunter – wouldn’t want that for the kid.
“Good, we’re going home. I’ll get you a room,” he frowned a bit at Ben. “You do need answers and I want to give them to you.” He gestured a bit towards the car that Ben pointed out, “Do you want to take it, or leave it?” He figured it was probably a boosted car.
Sam studied Ben for a sec before nodding as he started walking toward the car, pausing mid-stride. “Look,” he held a hand out to Ben, “you have to trust me, and well, I have to trust you. I will do my best to get your mom out, she deserves that much.” Sam paused while considering his next sentence, “and you deserve to know the truth.” Well, as much of a truth that Sam would be willing to throw at the kid, he had a feeling that Ben wouldn’t be able to handle all of it all at once. “Deal?” He kept that hand there, “I get you safe, I tell you the information. You have to not go batshit on me, or try to kill me in the middle of us driving.”
--
He shook his head. "I've just-- spent a... lot of time in the wind, man, it's hard not to feel a little, I don't know, emotional. You've got the answers and it's right there and I'm... I feel like I'm going to burst."
Sighing, he agreed, nodding his head, mollified slightly. While the questions remained - and the rage that accompanied it all - he just shrugged and looked to the stolen car. "I need my stuff," he said, "but I'd leave the car," he confirmed, but he didn't head over alone. There was a gripping fear that if he hesitated, stopped, let Sam walk from him, that that would be it; he'd lose the guy forever.
The man was only compliant to keep him quiet, Ben was half-sure. If he turned his back, all bets were off. He took Sam's hand, and shook. "Trust has to be earned, and you and your brother took my life away. Let's maybe ask baby steps of me, huh? I agree not to go batshit and try to kill you on the way because you promised to help my mom."
At that, he shrugged again. "Deal?" he asked, hoping for the renewed deal to be accepted.
--
“I get it, well. Kind of,” Sam made a little face, it wasn’t as complicated or confusing for him because he had grown up in this life – but he had run into enough people who were introduced to this life, usually through violence. This kid though… Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts, “just keep cool, you’ll get your answers, I promise. I don’t make promises and flake,” he rolled his shoulders, “that’s not how we do things around here.”
Sam considered standing where he was to let Ben go ahead, but he could see the hesistation on Ben’s part. The kid was wound up tight, it worried him. “Need help?” He gestured to the car, “my car’s got enough room for all your stuff.”
He nodded when Ben took his hand and shook it, a good solid shake. “I know, and I can’t trust that you won’t kill me because of that fact. I can only show you, which is fine. Your mom deserves this, you know? The answers,” he quickly added to make sure there were no confusion. He dropped his hand, gesturing to the car, “yeah, deal. Come on.” Without saying anything else, he walked Ben over to the car, waiting patiently.
--
Sam seemed to give him an 'out' for his fear by permitting the suggestion of walking across with him to help him with his stuff. He didn't respond verbally, but pursed his lips and gave a vague nod in agreement. Hesitantly, Ben followed Sam to the car, watching himself carefully as he followed the older man across the street towards the stolen car. It was a terse few steps they shared as Ben found himself walking beside and behind the Winchester on their way to the car.
There, he unlocked it and grabbed two duffel bags from in the trunk. He tossed one to Sam; it was light, likely clothes, with a heavy point that shifted easily. Books, maybe. Whereas Ben's made the young, muscular man huff with discomfort, and it jostled uncomfortably. Weapons was a good estimation. He gestured Sam on, to follow them back to Sam's car in turn.
He was quiet for the entirety of that walk back to whatever Sam had driven down in. His eyes followed its lines, uncertain, as if he felt there should be something else here instead of what this was.
"She deserves a lot better than what she got," he agreed, tersely. His eyes on Sam still were the eyes of a man who was wondering why a mass murdering bank robbing psychopath was being so pleasant. Was he even aware of his YouTube star presence?
"So. Explain first: why don't we remember anything? Why did you guys do this?"
--
“Jesus Ben,” he looked at him, “would you just let me…” He trailed off, “forget it,” a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he shouldered the lighter duffle bag. The kid had something to prove, Sam understood that much as he decided to let the kid do it. Maybe he’d feel better, or worse, Sam wasn’t sure. When they got to the car, Sam opened the back doors, gently putting Ben’s duffle in, gesturing to Ben to add his. When that was done, he looked over to Ben, “you can sit anywhere you want, but the driver seat. That’s mine.”
He exhaled roughly as he heard the question, “Sure, let’s start with the hard one.” A soft chuckle as he opened his door, holding onto its frame, “we decided we messed you up too much. Your mom was in the hospital, you were… You were ready to go off on your own and go after the bastards that got her.” Sam’s head tilted up as he studied Ben, trying to figure out how much he should tell him without overloading the kid. “We messed up both your mom and you, so we had a friend who had some skills…
“And we wiped your memories.” He rolled his shoulders, “we figured you didn’t need a life with us in it. Not with all that bullshit following us. Dean wanted you to have a real life, one we didn’t have.”
--
"Let's not stand on religious convictions; it's just Ben, my son," he corrected, smiling more than a little sadly, even. The joke was delivered sharply, but he didn't have the mirth in him he wanted, as he followed and then hurled the duffel bag into the back seat to join its companion. Weapons, clothes, some toiletries, a book, just about everything he owned in this world. The second duffel full of weapons came as a surprise to him, but it made more and more sense as time dragged on, that was for sure.
He moved to take a seat in the passenger, and buckled himself into the older vehicle. Older than Ben was, if he had to guess, if not older than Sam. He wasn't sure; Sam was just old, as far as he could tell. Probably forty or whatever.
And as they settled in, and Sam began the drive, he told the story, and it stung instantly. "You did this to protect my mom and I from this," he said, quietly, confused, the words voiced doubtfully to say the least.
"Then... what was with all the dead bodies in our house? Why even get involved in our life if you guys were just gonna... leave? Was it your fault that Dean left? My aunt said he was happy, he was good, and then you showed up and it all went to shit."
He frowned, watching Sam for information, trying to understand remotely what was happening.
--
Sam glanced over his shoulder to Ben, giving a soft chuckle, “we tried,” his eyes flicked back to the road in front of them; “obviously it didn’t work all the way. So, lesson number one,” his hands tightened a bit on the wheel, “always make sure there are no traces of you after you leave. None. Or else something like this happens.”
Sam frowned a bit as he tried to think of how to answer all those questions, he wasn’t sure how to respond to each one without a) confusing the kid, or b) making someone look bad. “Well, we’re hunters, right?” He lifted a hand off the wheel, gesturing as he spoke, “we hunt bad things – demons, vampires, werewolves… You even had a djinn – that’s like an evil genie – in your house.” Sam put the hand back on the wheel, “Dean wasn’t even in the game anymore once he got with your mom and found you again.”
He fell quiet, studying the road with the corners of his lips turning downward. “I came back, but I wasn’t me.” He squinted, “I…” He rolled his shoulders as he tried to choose a way to explain things, “I’ll have to explain that to you after you understand about demons. Real demons, none of your little Twilight shit. I needed help, Dean tried to do both – be a dad and be a brother, and… well, obviously that didn’t work out.
“So the guys at your house? They were going after you and your mom because of us being hunters.” He fell quiet, “Dean would have stayed if I never came back. But he knew he couldn’t stay with all that shit, humans generally don’t hunt us.
“Until you.” He glanced over at Ben, falling silent as he drove some more, “I understand if you want me to pull over and let you out.”
--
His eyes narrow in thought at all of this, one piece at a time digesting and unravelling it. It all just made him ask new questions, really, and he didn't know how to stop that. They need to remember to erase all physical evidence? Was that a joke or an endemic issue they actually have a need to reevaluate? "Do you guys ... erase yourselves from people's lives all the time? Because if you do, you're crap at it. I can show you a YouTube video where you murder a diner full of people in St. Louis like in Pulp Fiction. I stopped by there, by the way. Great cheeseburgers. Best I've ever had." It was better and way more shocking than the news pieces about their bank robbery or death by bombing at a police station.
"Real subtle, you guys are." Ben doesn't even get into ranting about the rest of their lack of subtlety; rock Gods as codenames? Super easy to follow those tracks when they use the same trick every time; look for two members of a hair band named 'Agent'.
Part of why he didn't bitch about that is it got him close enough that here they were, in a car together, getting him some answers at long last.
"Like evil Robin Williams? Grant your wildest dreams and then monkey paw, all the wishes turn bad or something?"
And found you again. He was trying to digest that nugget, too; he was in the game, then out of it for Lisa and Ben, found you again... he remembered, as he thought about it, his mom never answering him about who his real father was. 'When you're old enough'. Was that Dean? He came back to them, or something?
His brows asked questions even when he didn't bother voicing them.
"Why would I want to be let out? You're finally-- giving me something. So Dean is my dad. And he tried to erase that from me. There's no way I'm going back. Especially when my mom's still in jail. I have nothing because of you two. You ruined my life and you took away all my memories of what might have made that worth it, if-- if it even was. I don't even get to know if I like him."
He was angry, but he was under control now. They were resolving things, so he got to just vent, seethe, but not pull out his gun or his knife. It was all verbal fury; he didn't strike out with anything other than righteous indignation.
--
“Some… we do slip out of their lives, we help make things better than we go, well – that’s the hope. We have helped a lot of people,” he looked over at Ben quickly, “<i> a lot</i>.” Sam needed to believe that much – or else all this wasn’t worth shit. “Oh, those, yeah… That wasn’t us either,” he chuckled, “I told you, a lot of things want to hurt us. We’re Winchesters,” he looked over at Ben again with a smile that almost resembled pride, “we hunt things, we kill things, we save people. Family business.” His eyes flicked back to the road, he flexed his fingers on the wheel.
“What?” Sam chuckled, “evil Robin Williams. I’ll have to remember that for the next time,” he shook his head in amusement – the kid definitely was something. “Look, Dean didn’t know about you for a long time, then when he did… Your mom…” He rolled his shoulders, “I don’t know the whole story there either – I was gone for a while.” Sam made a face, this was a sore subject for him – more so now with Ben throwing it back into his face, unintentionally.
“He was doing what he thought was right, we didn’t know your mom would end up in jail. If we had known, we’d have been there in a heartbeat,” he looked over at Ben again. “Believe that. Dean was trying to..” Sam’s fingers flexed again, he wasn’t even sure how to explain this when he had disagreed with it in the first place. “Sometimes people’s hearts are in a good place, even when things don’t go well.” His lips twisted as he gave a nod, looking back at the road.
“Trust me, he’s hard to like, easy to love – and that’s saying a lot as his brother,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “You don’t have anything, but you have us. Sort of. Whatever you decide,” he shrugged, “but you’ll get answers. Keep asking, I’ll tell you what I can.”
--
If we knew. he shook his head, angered by that attempt at consoling. "That's a really shitty excuse, you know. You guys just ... do the Men in Black mindwipe and just figure, we won't even check in for like six years? I was twelve. I'm eighteen. And you never once checked in..."
He shook his head, looking out the window for just a beat, as he tried to stop himself from crying, his face twisting with rage and sadness, before he glanced back. "I mean, what stopped you? You're sorry, now; but if I didn't find you... did you ever even think about us again?" At that, tears did fight through and he cleared his throat, looking away and brushing at his face.
"Awesome. Now I look like a little bitch. Some big scary hunter I am," he whispered, wiping at his face as he willed the waterworks to stop, and managed to fail miserably as he heaved with sobs for a few moments, before, shakingly, managing to take a few slow, deep breaths and regain control.
He didn't look back to Sam, letting his eyes - and the redness of them - find their path out the window again.
"So you weren't really the asshole my aunt talked about, and you weren't really the guys who killed everyone in that diner in St. Louis. You probably weren't the bank robbers or the guys who blew up in that police station, either. So ... you're just innocent hunters, and things just happen to you and nothing's your fault?"
He sounded bitter; and he really, really was.
--
“I’m sure Dean checked in on you, I don’t know. We…” Sam hesistated, “there are some things we just don’t talk about. You being one of them,” a slow nod. “Dean doesn’t wear his heart on the sleeve, but with you and Lisa? This almost killed him.” He looked away from Ben to the road, this was awkward for him to have to talk for his brother. Dean should be the one handling this, after all, he was the dad.
Sam rolled his shoulders, “I actually don’t know Ben. I don’t have the answer for that one,” and it killed him having to say that. Ben had a very valid point, they should have checked in. They would have known about Lisa sooner and been able to fix things – at least something.
Sam said nothing as he chose to let Ben have his time to process things. When he heard Ben speak again, Sam shook his head, “we’re far from innocent,” a soft chuckle. “We’ve done a lot of shit…” Sam flexed his fingers, “we just learn how to deal, somehow. That’s what our dad taught us, put our head down and stay alive somehow.”
--
Sam felt bad, and that changed his demeanor significantly. His anger faded; and he let the depression that accompanied it be the only remainder, as the rage bled out of the young man entirely.
"Put our head down and stay alive. Hunt things, family business. I bet Dean taught me all that, too," he whispered, quietly. It'd explain things, he reasoned; why he wasn't shocked by monsters, how he was so randomly capable of handling them. Other things too; little echoes of himself he couldn't account for, little missing pieces where things didn't quite fit. Things he remembered that his mother didn't.
Such random, jagged pieces, and he had nothing to explain any of it.
"Did your dad leave you guys? Did you hunt him and hate him too? I don't..."
Sighing, his face tightened with his sadness, as he strained against letting his emotions free again. "I don't know what to do with this. All I know is... I feel like a piece of me is missing, and ... and I know the world is wrong and I can do something, but I just walk around, all the time, empty and... in pain, and... I hated you for it. I hated him a lot more, but, you got on the AryaStark list of names, too."
He laughed at that, for himself, shaking his head. Clearly, he thought he was at least a little funny.
--
“One of those bodies? You handled that, you didn’t know how to use the shotgun, Dean was taking care of your mom and you shot the bastard. Then we took you to the hospital because she was dying on us.” He spoke softly, “but you protected her. You did learn that one from him.” Sam nodded slowly as the memories came back, it was still rough remembering everything from that time.
Sam rubbed at his lips at that question, “Dad…” He exhaled, “that’s a hard question. He was always gone, he raised us in this business – so that always came first. That’s why with Dean, hunting is first – Dad taught us that.” His hand settled on the wheel, “but, really? Dad tried. He gave up his life in the end to keep Dean alive.” A slow shake of his head at that memory, “he’d be around if he could, I have to think that, you know? Like you with Dean. Well. I’d hope.
“But I hated him for so long, hell, I went to college to get away from all this.” He gestured slightly to the road with his fingers, “that didn’t work.”
He rolled his eyes, giving a slow nod as he listened to Ben change the subject, “Then we’ll have to bring back the guy who wiped your mind. What do you think?” He paused, frowning, “but that’s tricky… there’s a…” Sam fell quiet as he considered his words, how much did he want to reveal to Ben? “There’s like a wall in your mind that protects you from what was to what really is. Once that comes down, sometimes your mind just fucking loses it. Are you willing to risk that?”
--
Ben looked dumbfounded at this idea he might even hesitate to say yes. "Hell yes. I spent six years chasing ghosts and losing my mind because I was always just a little too late. I would've sold my soul to just know your home address," he said, unaware of the gravity of that statement.
"So, yeah. I'd take my memories back if I could have them. I don't care the risk. But my mom gets hers back, too. She gets to know why she's in jail. Considering I'm sure you can royally kick my ass, I'm in no place to make ultimatums, but that's my ultimatum. GI Joe me up, Sam, because knowing is half the battle."
Breathing heavy, he seemed to have come through it. He had some answers; they were weird, and kind of shitty, but he had them. He wouldn't stab Dean on sight, now, he imagined, even if the urge was there.
But he had answers. And he had more knowledge. And he had direction-- and a goal. It was all enough to put him at something resembling ease. Vaguely resembling it, anyway.
"In the meantime, got a long drive, gauging how long it took you to get here. How about you tell me everything about ... demons and... genies... and... whatever else. You know, because G.I. Joe said so."
It was a nicer use of the reference, and he smiled. It didn't reach his eyes, but he hoped the smile would be taken for the gracious offer it was to stop living in the past and hating so desperately on the Winchesters for the life they took from him. It was an olive branch.
A branch he still planned to use to beat the shit out of Dean and Sam and whoever this eraser guy was, but, an olive branch all the same.
With that, he started up down the hallway again, entering his bedroom to grab his bag. He tilted his head to keep the phone secured while he quickly grabbed some items out of his dresser, throwing them into the bag. “Where are you at, exactly?” He pulled away from his bag to grab a notepad on the dresser near the bed, looking around for a pen – it must have rolled away somewhere. He started to say something then shook his head, changing his mind as he threw the notepad into the bag, picking it up to walk out of the bedroom to the main room.
When entering the main room, he picked up the pen near his books while dropping the bag down on the chair. He waited for Ben’s answer while jotting Dean a quick note about grabbing a case, he’d call at some point.
--
Sam said Dean and there was a chill felt on the other side, a darkness that fell between them. "That'd be great," Ben spoke, barely above a whisper, before Sam asked the address.
Ben gave it to him and then hung up briskly, before gesturing to the waitress with a wave. He pulled out a credit card that wasn't his-- stolen. Just like the rest of what's gotten him this far. The kid had become a klepto in the absence of a better set of role models, but he reasoned it made sense, since his dad was some sort of ghost memory-stealer mass-murderer bank-robber and his mom was in prison for the next eighty years if good behavior and parole happens, when given two consecutive life sentences.
Bank robber and felon. Put them together and you get a thief and count your stars that your kid didn't get into drugs.
Hours would while away. as he had two separate meals at the diner, and plenty of coffee, while paging through websites on a laptop. He hated doing research, but he did what he had to, and research meant the difference between life and death sometimes. So he was looking up everything he could on one of the weirder ones he had come across on his following their bloody path. The Rugaru he killed out of luck, and was trying to find out more about it. It seemed so confused.
Sam would see him, before Ben saw him, having stopped being hypervigilant a good bit before the man appeared at the diner. Ben was wearing flannel pushed to his elbows, jeans and a faded t-shirt, typing on a laptop with a pen in his mouth and a notepad next to him, and looked surprisingly muscular. Sam would not be wrong if his first thought was 'hunter'.
Ben's eyes would catch his approach and he'd look up, barely hiding the narrowed, suspicious look. It was likely caught as his face returned to a studied expression of hopefulness. "Hey, Sam. Thanks for coming."
--
The drive had been a long one, but rather short at the same time, as he thought about all the things that he would have to say to both Ben and Dean. Dean and Sam had agreed not to lie to each other from now on, but this would require a bit of creative story-telling because Dean would blow a gasket if he found out where Sam was and what had happened. Sam was also wondering what had happened to the memory wipe, even if he had campaigned against it, it should have worked. He had that much trust in Castiel to know that the Angel rarely ever failed when he put his mind to something.
Sam had to chuckle when he arrived at the diner, some things never really changed, no matter how long you had been away. He crossed the road and saw the kid through the window, taking a moment to himself to study him. Ben wasn’t really a kid anymore, Sam mused as he watched Ben at the laptop, he had grown up into some weird imitation of Dean.
A slow shake of his head as he moved into the diner, nodding to the waitress as he looked over to Ben, a slight tilt of his lips upward as he saw that look pass over the kid’s face. Hell, he couldn’t blame Ben for the look, it had been a while and he probably had a thousand questions, mostly to do with Dean. If Ben had managed to override the wipe, Lisa probably had too – so she probably told Ben things about Dean.
“Hey,” he bobbed his head in greeting as he moved to drop into the seat across from Ben, a slight look on his face. He was unsure about all this, there was a slight feeling of unease, but he contributed it to the fact that Dean didn’t know. “What are the facts of the case?” He paused with an apologetic look on his face, “I’m sorry, your mom isn’t just a case; also,” he hesistated, “I’m sorry about her getting into a mess.”
--
Despite Sam's estimations, Ben provably was not looking at busty Asian porn on the laptop when he was met. It was clearly lore he had been researching. He appeared to be forcibly picking up the slack Dean left Sam to handle. A webpage was up about rougarou, and a picture of a twisted, bestial creature with fire burning it alive, a nice biblical-esque sketch that he had stopped on with that page.
He considered it for a matter, and then sighed, laughing a little to himself. "Screw it," he offered, with a shrug, and turned the laptop. He then hit alt-tab real quick, after Sam saw what was up for a flash of a moment; on the alternate page was a prison registry. And up on it was, bruised, in unflattering tan state facility over-alls, was Lisa Braeden. He let it sit there for a moment, tightening his jaw, before he sat back, frustrated.
"The facts of the case are you assholes left dead bodies-- including my mom's boyfriend-- all over my house. People took educated guesses, and there was plenty of DNA around, of course there was, it was our house. So she went away. I lost the house that they paid for-- which was still in his name by the way-- because of course we did. Oh, also, I went to live with my aunt, because my mom and my-- dad? Was he my dad? Whatever-- because Dean left us with this. Because you left us."
His voice was low, so as not to raise a fuss, but it was so deeply angry.
"I didn't remember anything. But our neighbors do. My aunt did. Because Dean was in our lives, apparently, even though I don't remember it. Neither does my mom. My aunt mentions you came back and were a robotic dickhead and dragged Dean out of my life. So are you the one who did this somehow? A spell or something?"
As Ben had said, screw it. Sam was here; the man wasn't leaving anytime soon. A phone was easy to hang up. A pissed off kid keeping his voice hushed in a diner a lot harder.
"Are you even humans? Am I?"
--
Sam leaned forward a bit to see what was on the laptop when Ben turned it around; once he saw the picture of Lisa, he leaned back again with a sharp intake of breath. He put his hands on the top of the table, tangling his fingers together as he gave a slow exhale, trying to wrap his mind around what had just been shown to him. His eyebrows rose as he tried to figure out an answer to Ben’s questions that came amid the angry verbal vomit.
Finally, he held up his hands as he leaned forward to Ben, keeping his voice low as he spoke, “pay your bill – if you have one, and we’ll go.” He looked towards the curious waitress with a carefully chosen casual smile as he shifted back against the seat. “People are here,” he spoke through that smile, “we’re going outside.”
People remembered Sam and Dean, especially Sam during that time.
Fuck.
Sam was trying to figure out how to explain this whole complicated mess about how he came back without a soul after being brought back. He also had to explain the mess that had been left behind in their house, well, Dean’s house. He should have checked to make sure the house had nothing to do with Dean before all this had been… taken care of.
“We’re humans,” he chuckled, waiting on Ben, a tilt of his head toward the door when Ben was ready. “Trust me,” he frowned a bit, “I know, not easy.”
--
Sam responded with a surprising amount of empathy. The man was not described that way by his aunt, who hadn't met the guy, but had heard an earful from Lisa, as she described the guy. He was some sort of total presumptuous arrogant self-loving dickhead. That was not the guy he was meeting, which made him extra wary, and also confused. "I don't trust you," he said, plainly, as he stepped out of the booth, closing the laptop and taking it with him. He gave a nod to the waitress, who he'd already paid for his last bites well before Sam showed up. He followed the guy out of the building.
Moving out after him, his hand was in his pocket, and Sam got the feeling he was holding something, from the bulge in the jacket. Likely a knife. He didn't look like he was preparing to attack; he looked defensive, wary, as if he was worried he was going to be attacked.
"I've been hunting you two guys for three years. A lot of Google before that. Mass murdering bank robbers?" he asked, just stunned, shaking his head. All the stuff with them-- there was even a rare video that keeps getting deleted off YouTube of them murdering a diner full of people with machine guns, while telling the kid keep filming who had his cellphone out. It was horrific.
Suffice, he didn't trust Sam, no. "I'd say you wouldn't believe the stuff I found out about this world and had to deal with while following you guys, but, yanno, I'm willing to guess you believe it. Killed a guy who ate his brother and sister-in-law and roommate before I got to him, last week. I burned him alive. What the hell is going on? What the hell?! How did you wipe my MIND?!"
He had been keeping himself under control inside, but he was clearly losing his cool outside. This young man had been, by his own report, hunting for answers most likely this entire time, lost and confused, and Sam got the lucky straw pull of having to handle it.
--
Sam made a mental note to kick Dean up and down all over the bunker whenever he saw his brother next; there were witnesses, paper trail, nothing Sam could charm his way out of now. He nodded to the waitress, following Ben outside, “come on,” he gestured toward an alley. His shoulders hunched a bit, he didn’t trust the town anymore; which meant they’d have to find a completely new area that didn’t know either of them.
Sam frowned a bit, it probably would make most sense to take him back to Lebanon, it was his safe place – also, he knew that Ben would be safe. For now.
When Ben’s hand went to his pocket, Sam held up his hands again, “hey man,” he waved his hands slowly, “you see my hands. I need to see yours. You don’t trust me, I don’t trust you.” He moved towards the alley slowly, “but I sure as hell don’t want cops on us, my badges are in the car.” A soft chuckle spilled from his lips as he studied Ben; the kid probably would snap, he wasn’t sure.
“I’d say <i>you</i> wouldn’t believe it, but you’ve been seeing it,” Sam twisted his lips, “welcome to the real world where things go bump in the night.” He paused, considering his words, “you’re doing what we do, hunting. Except,” he frowned, “you’re hunting us.” That really was a new one, he was used to the creatures and whatnot hunting them, not actual humans. “We protect the world, save lives, you know... Family business.”
Sam hunched his shoulders, “looks like you inherited it.” He paused, “I have my laptop in the car, I can show you some stuff.” He stopped, considering his words, “you have a room somewhere, or are you just diner-surfing?”
--
His hands left his pockets, to show he wasn't going to attack... but his eyes on Sam showed he wasn't confident Sam wasn't going to do it, either. The dude was not given a glowing reputation, and he was acting nothing like the news, and his aunt, shared it to him about this guy. "No, I don't have a room. I've just been... whatever, making it work," he grumbled. Mostly stealing cars and sleeping in those, and usually at rest stops, when he could, where he'd do what approximated showers. Every few days he'd find a hotel for a real shower instead of something at a sink, or do his laundry when it got too much.
"I stashed my bag in the car," he said, and gestured, across towards the church. "I'm parked there," he allowed. "We can grab it and go. Because I'm not leaving without some real answers about everything. My memory-- this world-- and how we're getting my mom back."
His voice was iron. The kid did not sound like he'd brook much argument. He gestured Sam onward, and he'd follow, hands out of his pockets.
--
Sam’s eyebrows knit together in a show of concern, it wouldn’t work having Ben trying to make ends meet; that hadn’t been the plan when Dean asked Castiel to wipe Ben’s mind – life was supposed to be better. Ben’s life wasn’t supposed to be the same as theirs; Sam figured that Dean – as much as he lived for the life of a hunter – wouldn’t want that for the kid.
“Good, we’re going home. I’ll get you a room,” he frowned a bit at Ben. “You do need answers and I want to give them to you.” He gestured a bit towards the car that Ben pointed out, “Do you want to take it, or leave it?” He figured it was probably a boosted car.
Sam studied Ben for a sec before nodding as he started walking toward the car, pausing mid-stride. “Look,” he held a hand out to Ben, “you have to trust me, and well, I have to trust you. I will do my best to get your mom out, she deserves that much.” Sam paused while considering his next sentence, “and you deserve to know the truth.” Well, as much of a truth that Sam would be willing to throw at the kid, he had a feeling that Ben wouldn’t be able to handle all of it all at once. “Deal?” He kept that hand there, “I get you safe, I tell you the information. You have to not go batshit on me, or try to kill me in the middle of us driving.”
--
He shook his head. "I've just-- spent a... lot of time in the wind, man, it's hard not to feel a little, I don't know, emotional. You've got the answers and it's right there and I'm... I feel like I'm going to burst."
Sighing, he agreed, nodding his head, mollified slightly. While the questions remained - and the rage that accompanied it all - he just shrugged and looked to the stolen car. "I need my stuff," he said, "but I'd leave the car," he confirmed, but he didn't head over alone. There was a gripping fear that if he hesitated, stopped, let Sam walk from him, that that would be it; he'd lose the guy forever.
The man was only compliant to keep him quiet, Ben was half-sure. If he turned his back, all bets were off. He took Sam's hand, and shook. "Trust has to be earned, and you and your brother took my life away. Let's maybe ask baby steps of me, huh? I agree not to go batshit and try to kill you on the way because you promised to help my mom."
At that, he shrugged again. "Deal?" he asked, hoping for the renewed deal to be accepted.
--
“I get it, well. Kind of,” Sam made a little face, it wasn’t as complicated or confusing for him because he had grown up in this life – but he had run into enough people who were introduced to this life, usually through violence. This kid though… Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts, “just keep cool, you’ll get your answers, I promise. I don’t make promises and flake,” he rolled his shoulders, “that’s not how we do things around here.”
Sam considered standing where he was to let Ben go ahead, but he could see the hesistation on Ben’s part. The kid was wound up tight, it worried him. “Need help?” He gestured to the car, “my car’s got enough room for all your stuff.”
He nodded when Ben took his hand and shook it, a good solid shake. “I know, and I can’t trust that you won’t kill me because of that fact. I can only show you, which is fine. Your mom deserves this, you know? The answers,” he quickly added to make sure there were no confusion. He dropped his hand, gesturing to the car, “yeah, deal. Come on.” Without saying anything else, he walked Ben over to the car, waiting patiently.
--
Sam seemed to give him an 'out' for his fear by permitting the suggestion of walking across with him to help him with his stuff. He didn't respond verbally, but pursed his lips and gave a vague nod in agreement. Hesitantly, Ben followed Sam to the car, watching himself carefully as he followed the older man across the street towards the stolen car. It was a terse few steps they shared as Ben found himself walking beside and behind the Winchester on their way to the car.
There, he unlocked it and grabbed two duffel bags from in the trunk. He tossed one to Sam; it was light, likely clothes, with a heavy point that shifted easily. Books, maybe. Whereas Ben's made the young, muscular man huff with discomfort, and it jostled uncomfortably. Weapons was a good estimation. He gestured Sam on, to follow them back to Sam's car in turn.
He was quiet for the entirety of that walk back to whatever Sam had driven down in. His eyes followed its lines, uncertain, as if he felt there should be something else here instead of what this was.
"She deserves a lot better than what she got," he agreed, tersely. His eyes on Sam still were the eyes of a man who was wondering why a mass murdering bank robbing psychopath was being so pleasant. Was he even aware of his YouTube star presence?
"So. Explain first: why don't we remember anything? Why did you guys do this?"
--
“Jesus Ben,” he looked at him, “would you just let me…” He trailed off, “forget it,” a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he shouldered the lighter duffle bag. The kid had something to prove, Sam understood that much as he decided to let the kid do it. Maybe he’d feel better, or worse, Sam wasn’t sure. When they got to the car, Sam opened the back doors, gently putting Ben’s duffle in, gesturing to Ben to add his. When that was done, he looked over to Ben, “you can sit anywhere you want, but the driver seat. That’s mine.”
He exhaled roughly as he heard the question, “Sure, let’s start with the hard one.” A soft chuckle as he opened his door, holding onto its frame, “we decided we messed you up too much. Your mom was in the hospital, you were… You were ready to go off on your own and go after the bastards that got her.” Sam’s head tilted up as he studied Ben, trying to figure out how much he should tell him without overloading the kid. “We messed up both your mom and you, so we had a friend who had some skills…
“And we wiped your memories.” He rolled his shoulders, “we figured you didn’t need a life with us in it. Not with all that bullshit following us. Dean wanted you to have a real life, one we didn’t have.”
--
"Let's not stand on religious convictions; it's just Ben, my son," he corrected, smiling more than a little sadly, even. The joke was delivered sharply, but he didn't have the mirth in him he wanted, as he followed and then hurled the duffel bag into the back seat to join its companion. Weapons, clothes, some toiletries, a book, just about everything he owned in this world. The second duffel full of weapons came as a surprise to him, but it made more and more sense as time dragged on, that was for sure.
He moved to take a seat in the passenger, and buckled himself into the older vehicle. Older than Ben was, if he had to guess, if not older than Sam. He wasn't sure; Sam was just old, as far as he could tell. Probably forty or whatever.
And as they settled in, and Sam began the drive, he told the story, and it stung instantly. "You did this to protect my mom and I from this," he said, quietly, confused, the words voiced doubtfully to say the least.
"Then... what was with all the dead bodies in our house? Why even get involved in our life if you guys were just gonna... leave? Was it your fault that Dean left? My aunt said he was happy, he was good, and then you showed up and it all went to shit."
He frowned, watching Sam for information, trying to understand remotely what was happening.
--
Sam glanced over his shoulder to Ben, giving a soft chuckle, “we tried,” his eyes flicked back to the road in front of them; “obviously it didn’t work all the way. So, lesson number one,” his hands tightened a bit on the wheel, “always make sure there are no traces of you after you leave. None. Or else something like this happens.”
Sam frowned a bit as he tried to think of how to answer all those questions, he wasn’t sure how to respond to each one without a) confusing the kid, or b) making someone look bad. “Well, we’re hunters, right?” He lifted a hand off the wheel, gesturing as he spoke, “we hunt bad things – demons, vampires, werewolves… You even had a djinn – that’s like an evil genie – in your house.” Sam put the hand back on the wheel, “Dean wasn’t even in the game anymore once he got with your mom and found you again.”
He fell quiet, studying the road with the corners of his lips turning downward. “I came back, but I wasn’t me.” He squinted, “I…” He rolled his shoulders as he tried to choose a way to explain things, “I’ll have to explain that to you after you understand about demons. Real demons, none of your little Twilight shit. I needed help, Dean tried to do both – be a dad and be a brother, and… well, obviously that didn’t work out.
“So the guys at your house? They were going after you and your mom because of us being hunters.” He fell quiet, “Dean would have stayed if I never came back. But he knew he couldn’t stay with all that shit, humans generally don’t hunt us.
“Until you.” He glanced over at Ben, falling silent as he drove some more, “I understand if you want me to pull over and let you out.”
--
His eyes narrow in thought at all of this, one piece at a time digesting and unravelling it. It all just made him ask new questions, really, and he didn't know how to stop that. They need to remember to erase all physical evidence? Was that a joke or an endemic issue they actually have a need to reevaluate? "Do you guys ... erase yourselves from people's lives all the time? Because if you do, you're crap at it. I can show you a YouTube video where you murder a diner full of people in St. Louis like in Pulp Fiction. I stopped by there, by the way. Great cheeseburgers. Best I've ever had." It was better and way more shocking than the news pieces about their bank robbery or death by bombing at a police station.
"Real subtle, you guys are." Ben doesn't even get into ranting about the rest of their lack of subtlety; rock Gods as codenames? Super easy to follow those tracks when they use the same trick every time; look for two members of a hair band named 'Agent'.
Part of why he didn't bitch about that is it got him close enough that here they were, in a car together, getting him some answers at long last.
"Like evil Robin Williams? Grant your wildest dreams and then monkey paw, all the wishes turn bad or something?"
And found you again. He was trying to digest that nugget, too; he was in the game, then out of it for Lisa and Ben, found you again... he remembered, as he thought about it, his mom never answering him about who his real father was. 'When you're old enough'. Was that Dean? He came back to them, or something?
His brows asked questions even when he didn't bother voicing them.
"Why would I want to be let out? You're finally-- giving me something. So Dean is my dad. And he tried to erase that from me. There's no way I'm going back. Especially when my mom's still in jail. I have nothing because of you two. You ruined my life and you took away all my memories of what might have made that worth it, if-- if it even was. I don't even get to know if I like him."
He was angry, but he was under control now. They were resolving things, so he got to just vent, seethe, but not pull out his gun or his knife. It was all verbal fury; he didn't strike out with anything other than righteous indignation.
--
“Some… we do slip out of their lives, we help make things better than we go, well – that’s the hope. We have helped a lot of people,” he looked over at Ben quickly, “<i> a lot</i>.” Sam needed to believe that much – or else all this wasn’t worth shit. “Oh, those, yeah… That wasn’t us either,” he chuckled, “I told you, a lot of things want to hurt us. We’re Winchesters,” he looked over at Ben again with a smile that almost resembled pride, “we hunt things, we kill things, we save people. Family business.” His eyes flicked back to the road, he flexed his fingers on the wheel.
“What?” Sam chuckled, “evil Robin Williams. I’ll have to remember that for the next time,” he shook his head in amusement – the kid definitely was something. “Look, Dean didn’t know about you for a long time, then when he did… Your mom…” He rolled his shoulders, “I don’t know the whole story there either – I was gone for a while.” Sam made a face, this was a sore subject for him – more so now with Ben throwing it back into his face, unintentionally.
“He was doing what he thought was right, we didn’t know your mom would end up in jail. If we had known, we’d have been there in a heartbeat,” he looked over at Ben again. “Believe that. Dean was trying to..” Sam’s fingers flexed again, he wasn’t even sure how to explain this when he had disagreed with it in the first place. “Sometimes people’s hearts are in a good place, even when things don’t go well.” His lips twisted as he gave a nod, looking back at the road.
“Trust me, he’s hard to like, easy to love – and that’s saying a lot as his brother,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “You don’t have anything, but you have us. Sort of. Whatever you decide,” he shrugged, “but you’ll get answers. Keep asking, I’ll tell you what I can.”
--
If we knew. he shook his head, angered by that attempt at consoling. "That's a really shitty excuse, you know. You guys just ... do the Men in Black mindwipe and just figure, we won't even check in for like six years? I was twelve. I'm eighteen. And you never once checked in..."
He shook his head, looking out the window for just a beat, as he tried to stop himself from crying, his face twisting with rage and sadness, before he glanced back. "I mean, what stopped you? You're sorry, now; but if I didn't find you... did you ever even think about us again?" At that, tears did fight through and he cleared his throat, looking away and brushing at his face.
"Awesome. Now I look like a little bitch. Some big scary hunter I am," he whispered, wiping at his face as he willed the waterworks to stop, and managed to fail miserably as he heaved with sobs for a few moments, before, shakingly, managing to take a few slow, deep breaths and regain control.
He didn't look back to Sam, letting his eyes - and the redness of them - find their path out the window again.
"So you weren't really the asshole my aunt talked about, and you weren't really the guys who killed everyone in that diner in St. Louis. You probably weren't the bank robbers or the guys who blew up in that police station, either. So ... you're just innocent hunters, and things just happen to you and nothing's your fault?"
He sounded bitter; and he really, really was.
--
“I’m sure Dean checked in on you, I don’t know. We…” Sam hesistated, “there are some things we just don’t talk about. You being one of them,” a slow nod. “Dean doesn’t wear his heart on the sleeve, but with you and Lisa? This almost killed him.” He looked away from Ben to the road, this was awkward for him to have to talk for his brother. Dean should be the one handling this, after all, he was the dad.
Sam rolled his shoulders, “I actually don’t know Ben. I don’t have the answer for that one,” and it killed him having to say that. Ben had a very valid point, they should have checked in. They would have known about Lisa sooner and been able to fix things – at least something.
Sam said nothing as he chose to let Ben have his time to process things. When he heard Ben speak again, Sam shook his head, “we’re far from innocent,” a soft chuckle. “We’ve done a lot of shit…” Sam flexed his fingers, “we just learn how to deal, somehow. That’s what our dad taught us, put our head down and stay alive somehow.”
--
Sam felt bad, and that changed his demeanor significantly. His anger faded; and he let the depression that accompanied it be the only remainder, as the rage bled out of the young man entirely.
"Put our head down and stay alive. Hunt things, family business. I bet Dean taught me all that, too," he whispered, quietly. It'd explain things, he reasoned; why he wasn't shocked by monsters, how he was so randomly capable of handling them. Other things too; little echoes of himself he couldn't account for, little missing pieces where things didn't quite fit. Things he remembered that his mother didn't.
Such random, jagged pieces, and he had nothing to explain any of it.
"Did your dad leave you guys? Did you hunt him and hate him too? I don't..."
Sighing, his face tightened with his sadness, as he strained against letting his emotions free again. "I don't know what to do with this. All I know is... I feel like a piece of me is missing, and ... and I know the world is wrong and I can do something, but I just walk around, all the time, empty and... in pain, and... I hated you for it. I hated him a lot more, but, you got on the AryaStark list of names, too."
He laughed at that, for himself, shaking his head. Clearly, he thought he was at least a little funny.
--
“One of those bodies? You handled that, you didn’t know how to use the shotgun, Dean was taking care of your mom and you shot the bastard. Then we took you to the hospital because she was dying on us.” He spoke softly, “but you protected her. You did learn that one from him.” Sam nodded slowly as the memories came back, it was still rough remembering everything from that time.
Sam rubbed at his lips at that question, “Dad…” He exhaled, “that’s a hard question. He was always gone, he raised us in this business – so that always came first. That’s why with Dean, hunting is first – Dad taught us that.” His hand settled on the wheel, “but, really? Dad tried. He gave up his life in the end to keep Dean alive.” A slow shake of his head at that memory, “he’d be around if he could, I have to think that, you know? Like you with Dean. Well. I’d hope.
“But I hated him for so long, hell, I went to college to get away from all this.” He gestured slightly to the road with his fingers, “that didn’t work.”
He rolled his eyes, giving a slow nod as he listened to Ben change the subject, “Then we’ll have to bring back the guy who wiped your mind. What do you think?” He paused, frowning, “but that’s tricky… there’s a…” Sam fell quiet as he considered his words, how much did he want to reveal to Ben? “There’s like a wall in your mind that protects you from what was to what really is. Once that comes down, sometimes your mind just fucking loses it. Are you willing to risk that?”
--
Ben looked dumbfounded at this idea he might even hesitate to say yes. "Hell yes. I spent six years chasing ghosts and losing my mind because I was always just a little too late. I would've sold my soul to just know your home address," he said, unaware of the gravity of that statement.
"So, yeah. I'd take my memories back if I could have them. I don't care the risk. But my mom gets hers back, too. She gets to know why she's in jail. Considering I'm sure you can royally kick my ass, I'm in no place to make ultimatums, but that's my ultimatum. GI Joe me up, Sam, because knowing is half the battle."
Breathing heavy, he seemed to have come through it. He had some answers; they were weird, and kind of shitty, but he had them. He wouldn't stab Dean on sight, now, he imagined, even if the urge was there.
But he had answers. And he had more knowledge. And he had direction-- and a goal. It was all enough to put him at something resembling ease. Vaguely resembling it, anyway.
"In the meantime, got a long drive, gauging how long it took you to get here. How about you tell me everything about ... demons and... genies... and... whatever else. You know, because G.I. Joe said so."
It was a nicer use of the reference, and he smiled. It didn't reach his eyes, but he hoped the smile would be taken for the gracious offer it was to stop living in the past and hating so desperately on the Winchesters for the life they took from him. It was an olive branch.
A branch he still planned to use to beat the shit out of Dean and Sam and whoever this eraser guy was, but, an olive branch all the same.