-One Month Since Lucien Leaving
The midnight highway stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of black cutting through the Nebraska plains.
Sam gripped the steering wheel of his newly purchased sedan, knuckles white against the dark leather.
The car was reliable but unremarkable - chosen specifically because it wouldn't draw attention. Paid for with Katherine money, from the credit card she left.
One month.
Lucien had been gone for one month.
Headlights briefly illuminated a faded road sign: "Hastings, 15 miles."
Another anonymous town, another dead end.
Sam's bloodshot eyes burned from too many sleepless nights, his tall frame hunched with exhaustion.
At twenty, he shouldn't have had the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders, yet here he was. Going off on his own, despite how much his Dad and Dean try to convince him of otherwise.
The phone on the passenger seat lit up.
Kate's name flashed on the screen, the third call today. Sam's hand hovered over it before he hit the speaker button, unable to bring himself to actually answer.
"Sam, it's Kate again." Her voice filled the car's interior, strained but steady. "Bobby found something in one of his old journals about tracking spells that might help us find Lucien. I've been up all night translating the text. Call me back when you can."
A pause, then her voice softened. "Elena's having nightmares about what happened in Mystic Falls. I'm worried about her, but I don't want to miss anything that could help us find Lucien..."
Sam's jaw tightened as Kate's voice trailed off.
The unspoken words hung in the air: she was being torn in two directions, trying to care for her newly adopted children while desperately searching for her son.
The voicemail ended.
Sam didn't call back.
Instead, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of "The Rusty Nail," a dilapidated bar that had seen better decades.
The blue sedan looked out of place among the pickup trucks and motorcycles, but Sam didn't care. He needed a drink. He needed to stop thinking, just for a little while.
The bar's interior hit him with a wall of sound and smell: classic rock from a jukebox, stale beer, cigarette smoke clinging to every surface despite state laws.
Sam ducked his head instinctively as he entered - a habit from growing too tall too fast. At six-foot-four, he towered over most patrons, drawing unwanted attention despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous.
"Whiskey," he told the bartender, a weathered man with arms like tree trunks. "Neat."
The man raised an eyebrow at Sam's youthful face but didn't ask for ID. In places like this, questions weren't welcome.
"Rough night?" the bartender asked, sliding the glass across the scarred wooden counter.
Sam didn't answer, just handed over a twenty and took his drink to a corner booth with line of sight to all exits. Old habits.
From his jacket, he pulled out a leather-bound journal similar to his father's but newer.
The pages were filled with his meticulous handwriting - notes about Lucien's disappearance, maps marked with red X's where leads had gone cold, newspaper clippings about strange weather patterns that might indicate supernatural activity.
He flipped to a page with a crude drawing of a lightning storm and what appeared to be a hotel.
Reports had filtered through hunter channels about a lot of destruction found outside a roadside hotel in South Dakota.
Trevor and them had gotten there first and been the ones who had cleaned up it all up, the official story though was something about a gas leak.
The whiskey burned down his throat, a welcome distraction from the memories that wouldn't leave him alone.
"I don't blame you one bit that you love Dean and Dad more than me."
Lucien's words from their last real conversation haunted Sam more than any ghost ever could. He signaled the bartender for another drink.
As the second whiskey arrived, exhaustion began to pull at Sam's consciousness. He hadn't slept more than three hours at a stretch in weeks.
His eyelids grew heavy, the bar's sounds becoming distant as his head nodded forward.
'No. Not again.'
But it was too late. The nightmare had him.
A blood-red sun hung suspended in a sickly yellow sky.
Below, an ocean of crimson stretched to the horizon, thick and viscous. Sam found himself floating above the scene, an incorporeal observer to the horror below.
Lucien floated in the blood ocean, his small form barely keeping afloat.
His brother looked so young, so vulnerable - just a thirteen-year-old boy with a burden no child should bear.
Above him hovered a monstrous figure with the head of a jaguar - Tezcatlipoca, the god from Mystic Falls - dangling Elena's limp form from one massive hand.
And then Sam heard it. Not with his ears, but directly in his mind. Lucien's thoughts, crystal clear as if they were his own:
I'm tired. So tired. I want to go home.
Sam tried to move, to reach his brother, but found himself paralyzed, forced to only witness.
Why can't this be someone else's problem. Why is it always on me to save everyone, or bring them all into danger.
Why can't I just be a normal kid.
Sam wanted to scream, to tell Lucien none of this was his fault, but no sound emerged.
Can't I- Can't I just let this one go? Can't this be someone else's problem? Would- Would death really be so bad?
No, Sam thought desperately. No, Lucien, don't think that.
Elena will probably go to Heaven, me though... I'm probably gonna go to Hell, with how much evil shit I bring to my family.
The raw self-hatred in his brother's thoughts made Sam's soul ache.
God probably hates me. I've caused so much harm to my family. Sam, Dean, and Dad constantly nearly die because of me. Mom and Adam can no longer have normal life because of me.
Each thought was a knife twisting in Sam's chest.
Sam can't get out of this shit hole life, because of me.
Sam tried again to reach forward, to grab his brother from the blood, but remained frozen in place.
Dad can't get peace by focusing on hunting yellow-eyes. I just bring so many problems, so why just not... give up?
Lucien began to sink deeper into the crimson ocean, his small form disappearing beneath the surface.
From the depths, monstrous versions of the Winchester family emerged - distorted, horrifying caricatures with elongated limbs and gaping maws.
They reached for Lucien, trying to drag him down.
Something shifted in Lucien's expression.
A realization dawned as he looked at Elena's limp form.
Sam could feel his brother's thoughts changing, determination replacing despair as Lucien considered what would happen to Elena's soul if he gave up - that perhaps she would become like these things, rather than get the peace she deserved.
With renewed purpose, Lucien burst from the blood ocean, flying upward toward Tezcatlipoca.
The god's jaguar face contorted in surprise as Lucien's fist connected with his jaw. In retaliation, the deity's massive jaws clamped down on Lucien's left hand, severing it at the wrist, causing the boy to roar in agony.
"AAAHHHHHH!"
Sam jerked awake with a strangled gasp, knocking over his glass.
Whiskey spilled across the table, dripping onto his jeans. Several patrons turned to stare, but quickly lost interest when Sam steadied himself.
"You okay there, buddy?" the bartender called.
Sam nodded, not trusting his voice. His heart hammered against his ribs, the nightmare's images still vivid behind his eyes. With trembling hands, he signaled for another drink.
As the fresh whiskey arrived, Sam became aware of voices from a corner booth. Three men, speaking low but not low enough to escape his unnaturally sharp hearing.
"-lightning storm like nothing I've ever seen," one was saying. "Hundreds of monster corpses. some hunters apparently covered it up, but word gets around."
"And you're saying a kid caused all that?" a second voice asked, skeptical.
"That's what Pamela said. She's got the sight, you know. Said she saw past echoes of time, whatever the hell that means."
Sam's attention sharpened, his hunter instincts cutting through the alcohol haze.
"Cursed by some piece of shit gods, apparently," the first man continued. "Draws monsters to him like moths to a flame."
"Poor kid," the second voice said. "Can't imagine being marked like that."
"Yeah," agreed the first. "Damned rough luck."
The third man, who had been silent until now, spoke with a harder edge. "If you ask me, the kid should just be put down."
Sam's blood ran cold.
"What the hell, Marcus?" the second man hissed. "We're talking about a kid here."
"Yeah, a kid who's a monster magnet," Marcus replied. "A kid who can apparently summon fucking lightning and kill a hundred monsters at once. The kid's a walking bomb."
Sam's hand tightened around his glass as he strained to hear every word.
"A kid shouldn't have that much power," Marcus continued. "Psychic or not - and I already am iffy about those freaks - now one wherever he goes just draws monsters. What if some poor bastards get eaten on the way these monsters are drawn from, huh? The monsters were in a fucking frenzy."
"That's not the kid's fault," the first man argued.
"The supernatural is at risk of being exposed to the world because of this kid," Marcus insisted. "And besides, I'm not the only one thinking this. There's already an agreement between some groups of hunters that if they found the kid, they should just mercy kill him."
Sam's vision tunneled, rage building with each word. They were talking about a child.
His brother.
Lucien.
"Hell," Marcus continued, taking a swig of beer, "if the kid was in front of me right now, I would just point the gun at his face, and shoot. It's better that way for him and everyo-"
Sam moved before conscious thought caught up with him.
One moment he was seated in his booth, the next he was standing over their table, his fist connecting with Marcus's jaw with a sickening crack.
The hunter flew backward, chair splintering as he crashed into the wall.
"What the fu-" the second hunter began, but Sam was already moving.
The first hunter reached for a weapon, but Sam caught his wrist, twisting until bones ground together. The man howled in pain as Sam drove him face-first into the table.
The second hunter swung a broken bottle at Sam's head.
Sam ducked with surprising speed, the glass whistling harmlessly past his ear. He responded with an uppercut that lifted the man off his feet.
Around them, patrons scattered. Tables overturned as the fight spilled across the bar. Sam moved with a fluid grace that surprised even himself, his body responding beyond how he normally is - especially with how bad he's been treating his body lately.
Marcus had recovered, blood streaming from his nose as he launched himself at Sam. Sam sidestepped, grabbing the man by his jacket and using his momentum to slam him into the jukebox. Glass shattered as music died mid-chord.
"That's ENOUGH!" the bartender bellowed, pumping a shotgun for emphasis.
The sound momentarily broke through Sam's rage. He stood in the center of destruction, chest heaving, surrounded by broken furniture and spilled drinks.
"All of you - OUT!" the bartender ordered, aiming the shotgun at the ceiling.
Two burly patrons grabbed Sam by the arms while others collected the dazed hunters. They were unceremoniously shoved through the door into the parking lot.
Rain had begun to fall, cold drops hitting Sam's flushed skin. But the forced exit hadn't cooled his fury. The moment the door closed behind them, he was moving again.
Marcus had barely regained his footing when Sam's fist caught him in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs.
The other hunters tried to flank Sam, but he moved with uncanny awareness, as if he could sense their positions without looking.
The first hunter charged, but Sam pivoted, using the man's momentum to send him sprawling across the hood of a parked car.
The second swung a heavy flashlight that connected with Sam's shoulder. Sam barely registered the impact, responding with a blow that sent the man staggering.
Rain slicked the pavement, turning the parking lot treacherous.
Sam used it to his advantage, maintaining perfect balance while his opponents struggled for footing. He kicked Marcus's legs out from under him, sending the hunter crashing onto his back.
One hunter pulled a knife. Sam caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting until the weapon clattered to the ground.
With a move John had never taught him, Sam flipped the man over his shoulder, slamming him into the pavement.
The second hunter recognized the technique. "Winchester?" he gasped, eyes widening with recognition.
Sam didn't respond, just drove his knee into the man's sternum, leaving him gasping in a puddle.
Marcus had managed to get to his knees, reaching for an ankle holster. Sam moved fast, stomping on the man's wrist. Bones crunched beneath his boot.
"You son of a bitch!" Marcus screamed, cradling his broken wrist.
Sam grabbed him by the throat, lifting him with one hand until his feet dangled above the ground. The hunter's eyes bulged with fear and confusion at Sam's strength.
"That kid," Sam said, his voice deadly quiet, "is my brother."
Recognition dawned in Marcus's eyes, followed by terror.
Sam dragged all three hunters behind the bar, away from prying eyes. From his pocket, he produced zip-ties - standard hunter equipment - and secured them to a chain-link fence.
Rain washed blood from Sam's knuckles as he crouched before the bound men. His face was a mask of cold fury, eyes burning with an intensity that made even hardened hunters flinch.
"The psychic," Sam demanded. "Who is she? Where can I find her?"
"Go to hell," Marcus spat, blood mixing with rain on his face.
Sam pressed a knife to the man's throat. "You were talking about killing my thirteen-year-old brother. Trust me when I say, you don't want to test me right now."
The first hunter, seeing the dangerous edge in Sam's eyes, spoke up. "Pamela Barnes. Lives outside of Sedalia, Missouri."
"What else do you know?" Sam pressed, the knife still at Marcus's throat. "Who else is looking for him?"
"There's talk," the second hunter admitted. "Word's spreading through hunter networks about a kid who draws monsters. Some think he's the Anti-Christ."
"And these hunter groups planning to kill him?"
"I've heard Gordon Walker's putting together a team," the first hunter said. "He specializes in... unusual cases."
Sam's jaw tightened. Gordon Walker's reputation preceded him - ruthless, efficient, with an especially black-and-white view of the supernatural.
"Tell me everything," Sam demanded, rain streaming down his face as thunder rumbled in the distance. "Every detail, every rumor, every location. Now."
The hunters exchanged glances, recognizing that they were in deep shit.
"Start talking," Sam said, his voice barely audible above the rain, "or I swear to God, I'll show you what a real monster looks like."
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it.
I decided to focus on Sam a bit.
Well, it seems some hunters are after Lucien....
Do tell me, what do you think is going on?
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)