[AU] two worlds, a lot of demons, and a new set of problems

[gavemea_45]

It's still hard to believe it's over; that the yellow-eyed demonic bastard they'd spent their whole lives hunting is finally dead.

Sam figures it'll sink in eventually. Given everything else -- right now he's still pretty numb.

He's also desperately tired, but that doesn't matter. There's something he needs to do, and he can't afford to delay.

He waits until they've settled in for the night, and then waits still longer. Once Dean's been asleep for half an hour, Sam picks up his messenger bag -- already stuffed with books and his computer -- and heads straight for the bar.

He orders black coffee and snags a table with a good view of both doors and the stairs, then pulls out the first of the old texts and starts to search through it.

There's work to do.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

The picture she’d showed him before flashes across his mind. “Oh, fuck.” Sam stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

[pacificator]

She makes a wry face and toys with another pretzel. "I was never supposed to be the heir. It was Willa. Until they took her."

[gavemea_45]

“They were trying to break the curse their way?” Sam takes another shot for himself, and sets another in easy reach of her. He’ll have to slow down soon or get a room here for a few hours, but this is the kind of conversation that’s better faced with alcohol.

[pacificator]

"I don't know. I've never known. They weren't even supposed to be able to get onto the Homestead."

She appreciates the way he's matching her shot for shot. This hangover will suck a little less knowing someone else is feeling it, too. "They grabbed Willa and pulled her through the window. And Daddy – "

She stops, abrupt, shaking her head, and reaches for the shot he'd set there for her.

[gavemea_45]

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.” It’s not, none of this is, but he wants her to know he’s not going to try to make her explain more than she’s willing to say.

“That left you and your mom and little sister, I guess?”

[pacificator]

"Oh, Mama was long gone by then."

Whether she'd wanted to go or not, Wynonna's never known. "Our aunt did her best to bring us up."

[gavemea_45]

A faint suspicion stirs. Sam reaches for another shot. “Does your aunt know about the curse?”

[pacificator]

"She knows. But we don't talk about it."

She takes a deep breath and mirrors his gesture, picking up a shot of her own. "Didn't talk about it. No one did. Nobody in Purgatory wanted to believe that there were demons, or curses, or that I was anything but crazy."

[gavemea_45]

“Most people don’t want to believe any of it.” In some ways he can understand that. Most of them don’t have to. Don’t need to. But when you do—-

“So they just think they have a high rate of violent crimes for unknown reasons?” It’s dry as dust.

[pacificator]

"A lot of stuff gets blamed on wolves," she says. "Getting lost in the woods. Redneck hillbillies going after each other. Shit like that."

She shrugs. "People will believe anything, as long as you don't say 'demons'."

[gavemea_45]

Sam sighs, slow and weary. "Don't I know it." Not for the first time, he wonders how things would have been different if Dad hadn't been as hard on them as he had. Would he have not been Yellow-Eyes' "favorite"? Or would he have just been dead earlier and gone for good?

"When did you start learning about -- about everything? That you weren't crazy? That what had happened to, to you family... that it was real?"

[pacificator]

"I've known my whole life," she tells him. "Daddy trained Willa to be the heir, but we all knew. Mama, too."

[gavemea_45]

At least there's that, he figures. At least she wasn't trying to figure it all out on her own after everything happened. "Same here," he offers. "Pretty much, anyway. I was eight or so when I learned the truth of things, and started training from then on."

[pacificator]

"The truth," she muses, toying with her empty shot glass. "Well, you got a head start on me on training, but at least I've got some coaches now."

[gavemea_45]

"There's that." Sam considers the snacks, shrugs, and reaches for a bowl of peanuts. "Mind if I ask how much of a head start, exactly?"

[pacificator]

"Nineteen years?"

Look, she'd been thrown into this with no prep aside from the knowledge that it was coming. "Like I said, Daddy was training Willa. Not me."

[gavemea_45]

He nearly fumbles the bowl and stares at her in shock. "I know you said your aunt didn't want to talk about it, but I thought --"

[pacificator]

"We didn't talk about it. We didn't do anything about it. And when I got old enough, I threw Peacemaker in a well and got the fuck out of the Ghost River Triangle."

Flat and uncompromising, as she stares at the table.

[gavemea_45]

He can't say he wouldn't have done the same. When it comes down to it, in a way he guesses he did, when he left for Stanford.

"Why'd you go back?" There's absolutely no judgement in his voice or manner.

[pacificator]

"They killed my uncle," she tells him, glancing back up at him, wry. "I came back for the funeral. Aunt Gus told me to go the hell away again, leave her and Waverly alone, but..."

She shrugs. "So I went and pulled Peacemaker out of the well, and the rest is history."

[gavemea_45]

"But. Yeah." There's deep, rueful understanding in his tone. "They killed my girlfriend after I tried to leave the life. Jessica."

Sam shakes his head and tosses back another shot. "Anyway, if there's anything I can do to help you get all the way up to speed, let me know."

[pacificator]

"Thanks."

She means it sincerely, even if sincere isn't a thing that comes naturally to her. "But I've got Dolls for a fight coach and Doc teaching me to shoot. Can't get better than that."

[gavemea_45]

"No problem. Just remember the offer's on the table." Sam gives her a curious look. "Dolls is your agent contact, you've said, but who's Doc?"

[pacificator]

"Uh..."

She reaches for a brownie and gives him an expectant glance. "The name John Henry Holliday mean anything to you?"

[gavemea_45]

He'd switched over from tequila to take a swallow from his refreshed mug after asking that, and he deeply regrets it now as he chokes on coffee.

"Doc Holliday?" he sputters. "How?"