Before You Ketch Me

I know said I was fifteen when John started teaching me how to hunt. That's mostly true. Before that though, I joined Dean on many of John's 'training sessions'. A whole three years of it. I was lucky to survive most of it at eleven years old. But I remember the day I started getting sick better than most…

My lungs hurt. This part of John's sick 'training' always fucking sucked. It was a rainy day, and of course that meant John felt it was a perfect day for this. He'd buried Dean and me alive again. The whole six feet down. It was suffocating and tight, but once again, I'd managed to crawl up to the topsoil. This time I just bruised a rib and cut my leg on a root, but I also beat my personal best time. At least that meant I had earned a shower at the motel later.

I looked around for Dean as I hauled myself up to the damp earth, rain turning the soft soil to mud as I unintentionally mixed it. I panted, looking at the other patch of recently turned-up dirt, waiting to see if I needed to unbury my half-brother. I was about to start when his hand stabbed through the earth. I fell back onto the wet ground, watching the young boy claw his way up. Mud caked his face and dirty blonde hair when it finally appeared, but he didn't bother to clear it before inhaling deeply, his green eyes bulging as they snapped open. He'd held his breath again, he should know better by now. 

"Use your shirt to cover your face next time," I said, closing my eyes and turning my face up to the sky. I could feel the rain pushing the dust off my face. I'd remembered that rule this time.

"Shut up." Dean wheezed as he flopped onto the wet ground, "You shouldn't even be out here."

"So you're the only one who gets to train now?" I huffed. He was always so stubborn when it came to why I had to train with him. "John said it was time I…"

"I don't care what DAD said." Dean said the word 'dad' as if I'd taken God's name in vain. He always did that. Hated that I didn't call John that too. "You should be watching Sammy. He's more important."

"Ouch," I grumbled, getting to my feet and wiping my hands on my jeans. "We should get back to the car, You know he's timing this."

"Ya, ya." Dean huffed as he too, got to his feet.

We made the slow, wet trudge back the mile up the road John had parked off of. He was waiting for us there, stopwatch in hand, although he was comfortable and dry in the old impala. I smiled at Sam in the back seat, he was watching us from the window, his small smile growing as we got closer.

"There they are Dad! Stop the clock!" I could hear him yell. His dark brown hair was getting long again. It would get in his hazel eyes soon if I didn't cut it.

John looked up at us, clicking stop as he did. "Ah, good job." He scratched at the dark stubble on his cheeks as he stuck the stopwatch back into his jacket.

It was the best we were going to get. A monotone congratulations for surviving another one of his psychopathic tests. It was a wonder Dean idolized him so much. But he did. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see him grinning at his father's 'praise'. I rolled my eyes and reached for the door handle to join Sam in the backseat.

"Not so fast," John said, making my hand freeze. "You're covered in mud. You can't sit on my seat like that."

"Just throw a towel on the seat." I grumbled, "I'm cold and tired."

"Ya, come on Dad. Let them in." Sam said, a small pout on his face. He was cute at this age. Ten years old and still held that childish glow in his eyes.

John looked back at his youngest son, then back to Dean and me still standing in the cold rain. "Fine. There's some towels in the trunk. Hurry up."

Dean and I bolted for the trunk, hurrying to pull the hood up and retrieve the towels so we could be warm again. When we had them in our hands we turned around and went to our respective car doors. I always sat in the back with Sam, it was just how it was. I didn't mind though, Sam was good company and we'd grown very close as we grew up. He felt more like a brother to me than Dean did. 

I slid the towel onto the seat and sat down on top of it, almost instantly soaking the thing, but it was still better than being left in the rain…again. I knew John would've done it if Sam hadn't said anything. He wanted the boys to worship him, he knew he already had Dean wrapped around his finger, but Sam was different. Sam fought back sometimes and questioned his judgment or treatment of me. And that made John frustrated on a good day.

"How fast did you get out this time?" Sam asked me. He was all too excited to know. After all, John hadn't started his training yet.

"Faster than Dean." I smiled as my older half-brother shot daggers at me through the rearview mirror. I leaned closer to Sam and whispered. "Don't tell anyone, but it's pretty easy after a while."

Sam smiled, then playfully pushed me away. "You're gonna get me all wet!"

I laughed. Sam still tried to hold onto his innocence. At least in front of Dean and John. But when it was just the two of us, waiting in the car or holed up in a dingy motel room, we talked a lot about the world we lived in. Sam didn't want to be a monster hunter. He had normal dreams of going to school and becoming something bigger. Something greater. Right now he wanted to be a doctor. Before that, he had wanted to be a racecar driver or astronaut. But I always felt like he'd be good at anything he could pour his big heart into. He was just one of those kids.

My laugh was interrupted by a coughing fit. I quickly threw my hand over my mouth to cover it. Fits like this one have become more and more frequent lately. They always left me feeling like I couldn't breathe or like I had swallowed a bucket of nails. But it was nothing I couldn't get through on my own. And a cup of hot tea usually helped to clear it. It was probably just a bad cold or allergies anyway. 

I pulled my hand away from my mouth after the coughing stopped and looked at my palm. A layer of dark, sticky blood now sat on top of the drying mud. Oh right, that had started a few days ago. It was nothing to worry about though. I was a Winchester now. I had no time to worry about a little blood when I coughed. I sucked in a ragged, painful breath and wiped my hand on my pant leg, smearing the blood into more mud. 

It was a short drive back to the little town the motel was in, but I was exhausted by the time we pulled in. It was hard not to be when you were soaking wet, cold, and had just fought for your life. I was sure Dean felt similar. But as we all got from the car I only saw a huge grin on his face and excitement in his eyes. How was he this excited still?

"I call first shower!" Dean yelled as he raced into the room.

"Ya, ya. You would've gotten there first anyway." I said, starting to cough again. "You're faster than me."

I flopped on the floor in front of one of the beds and leaned back against it. It was getting really hard to breathe now. Each inhale felt like there was sandpaper in my lungs and throat. What the fuck was happening?

"I'm going out. Don't do anything stupid." John said gruffly after he dropped a backpack next to the door, "And…"

"Watch Sammy." I mocked his tone, "I know, I know."

John huffed again and nodded sharply at me before making sure he still had the keys and leaving.

I sighed and closed my eyes, finally relaxing a little. John was always such a hard ass. At least to me, anyway. But that's what I got for not being 'his blood'. He would always treat Sam and Dean better than me. It was just how it was. 

"You ok?" I felt the bed move above me as Sam sat on the edge of it.

"Ya, I'm fine. Probably just got a cold from being out in the rain." I kept my eyes closed but smiled anyway. I hoped it was convincing.

But there was something else going on. I felt hot now like I was starting to get a fever. My lungs hurt more and more with every inhale, and every exhale felt like I was breathing rocks. Something worse than a cold was wrong with me. I opened my eyes again and found the room spinning.

"Sammy," I breathed. "Get Dean."

Sam jumped off the bed and started to shout something as he pounded on the closed bathroom door. It was the last thing I remember seeing before the world around me melted into a cold, dark, nothingness.

I don't remember most of the days that followed. The boys later told me that I had been hooked up to a ventilator for most of it. When I opened my eyes again, a week had already gone by. A week of not breathing on my own and relying on machines to keep me alive. It was a horrible realization. And even after that, it was another week before anyone told me what was going on with me.

"I have what…" I couldn't believe the words. It wasn't true. It couldn't have been.

"You have leukemia." The doctor was so blunt about it, "Stage four. And I'm afraid it's too aggressive to cure. I'm sorry."

"So what?" I asked, "I have weeks? Days?"

"It's hard to tell." The doctor bobbed her head back and forth like she was trying to think of a better answer. "If you had come in a bit sooner it would've been possible to give a better prognosis. But with what little information we have it's hard to tell." She placed a hand on my shoulder, "I would get your family together, and start saying your goodbyes."

I was stunned. How could you tell an eleven-year-old they were going to die just like that? No sugar coating. No 'We'll try everything we can'. No attempt to even jump around the truth. They hadn't even waited for John to be in the room with me as my legal guardian. They had just told me I was going to die and there was no hope. What the fuck?

The next several days felt like a blur. John came into my room at some point. He mentioned something about going somewhere with the boys and they'd be back in a few days. I don't remember how long it was until they'd returned, but by then I still hadn't found a way to tell them. I knew John had to know, the doctors would've told him. But the boys? He would've kept it from them, probably just told them I was sick, and would leave it up to me to tell them or not.

I was finally shaken back to reality when Sam grabbed my arm a few days later.

"Hey. Did you hear me?" He asked.

"Huh? Oh. I'm sorry, Sam." I blinked a few times, refocusing on the world around me again, "I spaced out. What were you saying?"

Sam frowned, "You've done that a lot recently." He was pouting. It made me feel even more guilty. "I was saying how nice it would be to have you back with us tomorrow. It's been kinda lonely with just Dean and Dad."

I chuckled a bit, "You know Dean cares about you right?"

Sam scoffed, "Right, and that's why he always takes dad's side." He crossed his arms over his chest.

I laughed more. He always looked like a small dog when he got all huffy. I honestly hoped he never lost that look. I still hope that someday, he'll have that look in his eyes again.

The impala's door slammed shut as I scooted into the back seat, once again next to Sam. He smiled brightly, no doubt glad to have his dysfunctional family all together again. It felt good to see him that way, especially now that I knew I didn't have long left. 

I sighed, relaxing into the cool leather seats as I thought about my inevitable end. I still felt weak from the injection the hospital staff had given me. It was supposed to help extend what little life I had left. They'd wanted me to come back for more shots, at least twice a month, but I knew that once we left this city, we'd never be back. That's just how John worked. He never wanted to return to the same city twice after a job. It was almost like he took it as an insult.

It was several months later, a month after my birthday when I collapsed again. I had been trying so hard to keep it under control. Or to at least be out of sight of Sam when it happened. But there was only so much you could do to control a body that wanted so badly to die. It had progressed to the point that even breathing had become something I had to focus on to do properly. Every waking moment was one of pain and suffering, but it was the life I had to live to match the boy's progress. But even Sam was starting to outpace me. And John had been whispering to Dean about halting my training. I had even once heard him drunkenly mention leaving me in the next motel we stopped in. So I had to keep up. I had to keep dragging myself through the mud. But it had become so…thick.

"Hey." Sam's voice was the only thing that could still bring me out of this. He had been the one to take care of me the most. Even on the worst nights when I couldn't even sit up enough to throw up properly, he was there to help. "You're gonna be ok."

"Ya?" I asked the voice that came out far from the one I once knew. John had taken Dean on another hunt, about an hour away. Leaving Sam and I to fend for ourselves until they were done. "How do you know that?"

"Because I found a way to fix you." Sam looked excited for the first time in a while.

I rolled my eyes. He'd been thinking of 'ideas' to help me get better since we'd left the hospital. "There's no 'fixing' me, Sammy." I just wanted to sleep. "I'm too far gone for anything to work."

"Don't say that." He pouted. "At least hear me out."

I threw my hands up. "Ok, ok. I didn't mean to make you upset. What new idea do you have?"

"So I was reading Dad's journal and…"

"You got into his stuff?" I sat up as much as I could. "You know he hates it when you do that. 'That's not for your eyes, Sam.'" I tried my best to mock John.

"Ya, ya." Sam plopped down on the bed next to me, his hazel eyes sparkling with a new hope that wouldn't care what John thought. It was hard not to smile at him. "But I found something."

"Go on then." I sighed, too weak to argue with him about another useless plan. Plus, it made him happy to try, so I might as well listen to him.

"Right. So a few years ago, before you found us, Dad had gone to help some guy that was seeing 'ghost dogs'." Sam put finger quotations around the words. "But when he got there to watch the guy, nothing ever came around. Or at least not that dad could see."

"What does this have to do with a cure Sam?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"I'm getting there!" He smacked my arm gently, just enough that I opened my eyes again. "Dad wrote that in the end, he couldn't save the guy. All of a sudden he was just being attacked by…nothing."

"Nothing?" 

"That's what Dad has in his notes. No descriptions. Just 'then he was attacked by…nothingness.' Like he was killed by thin air." Sam swiped his hands through the air as if he was swatting away an invisible bug. "But Dad also said that he heard growling like it was some sort of massive wolf. And the man being attacked kept screaming about great black dogs coming for him."

"An invisible, huge, growling wolf is your answer to stop me from dying?" I raised an eyebrow at my younger brother.

"Well…I haven't had much time to look into it but…"

"Sam, can we be real? Like we always have been?" He was quiet as I asked the question. "You know there's no saving me right? I can't stop this from happening. Neither can you, Dean, or John. I'm sorry Sammy but I'm…"

"Don't." His voice was stern. "I...I know. Ok?"

I wasn't sure when he had started crying, but there were now silent tears streaming down his face. They made me feel guilty. I knew all he wanted to do was help me and extend the life I had. I shouldn't have put him down like that. But he needed to know there was no use to it anymore. There wasn't anything we could do for me anymore.

"Get some sleep. Ok?" Sam said softly. "I'll leave you alone."

"Sammy..I…"

"It's ok. I know." He scooted off the bed again and walked over to the motel room door. 

I watched him open and close it behind himself. There wasn't anything I could say to stop him this time.

Two days later, I lay awake in the same motel room as the sun just started to peek into the window. John and Dean still hadn't come back from that hunt yet. And Sam had been sleeping in the other bed since the night he had told me about the invisible dogs. I hadn't meant to make him that upset. He was all I had left. Dean had never really cared about me, and even though he tried to help now, it was nothing close to what Sam did. We had always been closer. And the guilt from hurting his feelings ate at me now. The feeling that I had burned the last bridge I'd ever have with another person. Maybe that was for the best though. There would be no one to mourn me when I was gone. Other than Dad, I knew John had stopped sending him updates months ago, so he might never even know I had been sick in the first place.

I had been silently crying over those thoughts for hours now, long after Sam had fallen asleep. And now that day was breaking, there was no way I was going to get any sleep. So, I forced myself into a sitting position. I looked over at Sam, he was still soundly asleep. He always slept better when John was gone. Like he was finally able to fully relax without John's overbearing pressure to be perfect. 

I pushed myself out of bed, taking a minute to steady myself on weak legs before slipping my shoes on and leaving the room as quietly as I could. I had to try to fight this, at least for Sam if not for myself. The thoughts of those invisible dogs still hung in my head. If there was a solution with them, then there had to be more about what they were and how to get to it. 

The library wasn't far from where we'd been staying. But on sick legs, it still took me half an hour to reach it. The librarian had looked at me like I was crazy, and I had to reassure her a couple of times that I didn't need medical help before she would give me an idea of where to look. First, she had suggested the Greek section, but that had been no help. The only thing about a giant dog there had been Cerberus, the demon dog of Hades. The next was Norse. But again that only turned up Fenrir and Garmr. The next folklore I checked was Celtic. That felt closer, but still off in some way. Sure the dogs Sam had described from John's notes sounded fae-like, and these were at least described as 'great black dogs', but there was still nothing about them being invisible or why they would attack a person.

"There's gotta be something…" I mumbled to myself.

That was when I opened the book for English folklore. The great black demon dog stared at me from its old English-style painted image. The things pictured even looked like they ate humans for fun. A 'Hellhound', the book called it. They were tied to something called a 'crossroads demon'. A specific type of demon that would come when a human called and made a deal with them.

'A demon deal?' I thought to myself. 'There had to be more on that.'

I went back to the shelves and found all the books I could depicting a demon and the deals made with them. A lot of them were as you would imagine. Some demons that the writer saw as Satan himself came to a person in their time of need and asked for their soul in return for whatever they wanted. But there was often no mention of a 'crossroads' or a 'hellhound'. When they were mentioned they were almost mentioned as separate beings, never together. That was until the last thing I could find to read.

It was an old newspaper clipping from many years ago. The woman in it had been interviewed after her father had died, a very rich man in the community who had done many things to help the city in the ten years before his death. She talked about all the things he had said before right before he had died. How he regretted the deal he had made 'with that damn devil' and how 'the dogs were coming for him now'. She even listed how he had frequented a bar on the edge of town for years before he had become the pillar of the community. After looking it up, it looked like it still sat there, abandoned now, at a crossroads.

It had taken almost an hour too long to convince someone to let me hitch a ride and drop me off at the old abandoned building. Sam had woken up while I had been trying, the small cell phone John insisted on each of us having hadn't stopped buzzing in my pocket. I wasn't sure how many calls I had missed at this point. But I wasn't going to respond until I found the answer I was looking for. And I felt like I was close.

The sky had grown gray and cloudy by the time I had gotten to the old bar. And the distant sound of thunder rolled as I got from the car that had finally agreed to take me to it.

"You sure you don't need any help, hun?" The kind old woman asked again from the driver's seat. 

"Ya, I'm sure. Thanks." I closed the passenger door and walked to the side of the old dirt road. 

I watched for a minute as the old woman turned around and started back towards the city again. I waved at her as she watched me in the rearview mirror. I didn't blame her for being concerned over a twelve-year-old kid who wanted to be left in the middle of nowhere. But she didn't need to see what I was about to do. As soon as her car was far enough away, and I was sure she wasn't going to turn around again, I stepped into where the roads met and started to dig up the earth there with my bare hands.

It didn't take long before my fingers found the cold metal of a long-forgotten lunchbox. I pulled the thing from the ground and opened it. It had been sealed well, and even with all its time underground, still contained the soil that was somehow darker than the rest around it. Graveyard dirt, check. I shuffled the box around and a small white bone rose to the top of the dirt. Hopefully, that was the bone from a black cat. Right, there was only one thing left to do. I pulled the small knife I always carried from my pocket and pulled the blade carefully across the tip of my thumb. I let the blood well on the end, feeling the phone buzz in my pocket again. It was now or never, and nothing was going to stop me if it meant getting better.

"Sorry, Sammy," I whispered before tipping my thumb over and letting the blood drip onto the bone.

It wasn't as immediate as I hoped it would be. There was no big burst of energy or clap of thunder as I reburied the box. There wasn't even a gust of wind as I got to my feet. I wouldn't have ever noticed the man that had suddenly appeared if I hadn't turned around.

He didn't look like a demon. At least there was no black cloak and the smell of brimstone. And he was young. Maybe in his twenties. His short brown hair was slicked back and his natural hazel eyes reminded me of Sam's, though these looked bored and uninterested instead of young and excited. He held a cigarette in his thin lips, the end sizzling softly whenever he took a breath. He wore a black suit with a red tie, the only thing, other than his sudden appearance that led me to think he could've been a demon. 

"Oh shit." He said, his English accent was thick as he spoke around the cigarette. "You buttdial me by accident kid?"

"That depends," I coughed. "Are you a crossroads demon?"

"Ah. I'll take that as a no." He took another drag before throwing the smoke to the ground and stomping it out. "Let's get this over with then."

"Gladly." I coughed again, my throat sore and dry. The air was getting thicker as the coming storm gathered. 

"So what's wrong with you?" The demon asked. "I'm guessing you're a hunter's kid. So what? Your parents stuck somewhere? I don't do rescue calls, kid."

"I could give less of a shit if John was stuck somewhere." I forced a laugh. "No, this is for me. And me alone."

"Oh is it now?" He took a few steps towards me. "And do you know what making a deal with me means?" I could still smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

"Ya. You take my cancer away, make me better, and you get my soul." I was proud of the research I had done until he started laughing.

"So close, little bat." He chuckled. "You were almost all the way there. But you left out a crucial part."

"Sorry. The books at the library aren't that great." I snipped back at the thing. "Just make the deal."

"Whoa now. We'll get there." He towered above me. "But I've gotta read your clauses first. Make sure you understand what you're doing."

"Then get on with it." The thunder was getting closer and now soft raindrops started to fall around us. And only around us, as if some sort of supernatural bubble had been set down with the demon.

"Kids these days, so impatient." He clicked his tongue. "Right. I take your cancer, you get better, I take your soul. You had that right. But, You only get ten more years. And after that, I send my dogs on you and you come down to me." I could almost hear the ghostly howls in the wind. "Still sound like a plan? I'll give you one chance to back out now kid."

"You're not going to scare me off demon." I spat. I was a Winchester for fucks sake.

"Right on. Then you've just gotta sign right…" In a flash of red energy, a scroll and pen appeared in his hands. "Here on the dotted lines." The paper unfurled and held itself open as if by magic. "This just states that I, Crowley, now own your soul. And in ten years I can bring you to Hell and torture you however Hell sees fit."

I took the pen from his other hand, barely giving the old piece of paper much more than a cursory glance before signing the bottom with my name. As soon as it was there, both the pen and paper disappeared again, thunder cracking hard above us.

"It was good doing business with ya, kid." the demon, Crowley, winked at me before disappearing himself. "I'll see you soon."

In the seconds after he left, I stood at the empty crossroads, wondering what I had just signed away as the rain grew heavier, finally hitting my skin. Pain hit my chest hard in the next few seconds. Hard enough to knock me over and pull my breath from me. It felt like every last cell in my body was going to burn me from the inside out. And I lay there, body becoming soaked with rain as I tried to call my breath back to me.