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Sam took a deep breath and then knocked on the door. He was nervous. Even though he and his brother had been through a lot before they’d never dealt with something quite like this.
“Come in,” a soft and dejected voice said from inside the room. Sam opened the door but didn’t enter the bedroom.
“Hey, Mick,” Sam said with a sad smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I…uh…I don’t know.” The Brit was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at his hands.
Sam continued to stand in the doorway for another minute and then walked inside and sat down next to Mick. “Can I get you something to eat or anything?” Usually Sam was good with talking but he couldn’t think of what to say. Mick had almost been shot in the head by his own people and had lost the only home he’d ever known. That was pretty massive.
“Got any Scotch?” Mick responded, still not looking up from his hands.
Sam sighed. “Yeah but if I get it will you be responsible or will you drink yourself into a drunken stupor?”
“Why does it matter?” Mick asked, some anger showing through the emotional walls he’d hastily put up. “I should be dead anyway.”
***Four Hours Earlier***
“I still don’t understand why we’re driving out here over a stupid text message,” Dean grumbled from behind the wheel of the Impala.
“Because Mick texted me saying he was scared and then didn’t answer his phone,” Sam explained for what felt like the millionth time.
“So now it’s our job to save his posh, British ass?”
“Look, I know the guy hasn’t been perfect but he’s learning,” the younger Winchester insisted. “He helped us out with Claire and he listened to us about not shooting Eileen. I think that’s enough to warrant us helping him if he’s in danger.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said petulantly. Even if the hunter wouldn’t admit it he did kind of like the guy.
When the boys reached the British Men of Letters’ compound they were surprised to find the guard booth empty. Staff had been low since the vampire attack but it still seemed odd not to have someone at the front gate.
“What do we do now?” the older Winchester asked. “Hop the fence?”
“Hold on,” Sam said, taking off his seatbelt and hopping out of the car. He walked around to the handprint scanner by the guard booth and placed his hand on the screen. Mick had added Sam’s prints to the system as a peace offering of sorts. He thought that maybe if Sam felt he was being allowed independence in the compound he’d be more willing to join up. Sam hadn’t had much use for the ability previously but now it could come in handy.
“You didn’t tell me about that,” Dean said when the gate started to open.
Sam just shrugged as he got back into the Impala. “Didn’t come up,” he admitted.
Dean grunted a little but didn’t say anything else as they continued driving for a few minutes before pulling into a parking spot. Sam’s handprint worked on the compound door as well and the brothers quickly drew their guns as they stepped inside. The two hunters made their way through the halls, heading towards the central room. They found it concerning when they still didn’t see any people. That usually wasn’t a good sign. They finally heard voices when they were outside the main meeting room.
“That’s Mick,” Sam whispered.
“Yeah but who’s the chick?” Dean replied quietly.
“No clue.” Sam double checked his gun. ‘On three?’ he mouthed.
Dean nodded and held up his fingers to count. When he got to three Sam opened the door. “Ketch, drop it,” Dean shouted.
“Mck, get down,” Sam yelled at the same time.
“This doesn’t concern you, Winchester,” Ketch growled.
Mick ducked out of the way and dashed over to put himself behind Sam and Dean.
Ketch turned his gun on the Winchesters but the brothers held their weapons up as well.
“Dispose of these men, Mr. Ketch,” the woman said.
Dean glanced over at her briefly. “Sorry, lady, but the only one being ‘disposed of’ today is you,” he responded.
The woman bristled. “My name, hunter, is Dr. Hess.” She said the word ‘hunter’ the way most people would say ‘cockroach.’
While Dean was focused on Dr. Hess, Ketch shifted his aim a little and was about to fire on Mick but Sam beat him to the punch. A shot rang out and a moment later Ketch felt fire tear through his right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun.
“Now, you have two options,” Sam started to explain. He kept his gun trained on Ketch incase the assassin tried anything. “You can let the three of us go unharmed or the two of you can leave in body bags.”
Dr. Hess scowled. “If you kill us the rest of the British Elders will come here and they will be much less patient than I have been,” she threatened.
“You call almost shooting one of your men being patient?” Dean snarked, his weapon now focused on the snobbish woman.
“Unlike you American hunters we have orders and a code to follow,” Ketch cut in, gripping his injured shoulder. “Mick broke that code and knew what the punishment for that would be.”
“And I suppose your code doesn’t allow for people to leave peacefully?” Sam asked.
“The only way to leave the Men of Letters is to die,” Dr. Hess said evenly.
Dean looked over his shoulder and, upon getting a nod from his younger brother, fired a single round right in the center of Doctor Hess’ head. The woman crumpled to the floor and Ketch actually managed to look a little surprised.
“I guess you’re going to kill me next, then?” the Brit asked calmly. He didn’t fear death and he refused to show any weakness to these annoying hunters.
Sam shook his head. “Nope.”
Another shot rang out and Ketch fell to the ground with a shout when the round pierced his left knee.
“See, we need someone to tell the rest of you British sons of bitches to leave us American hunters alone,” Dean said. “If anyone else comes after us or our friends a wounded shoulder will be the least of their worries.” He tucked his gun into his waistband and started towards the door. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s go home.”
***Present Time***
Sam thought back on the tense and awkward ride back to the bunker. When they arrived Mick immediately left the brothers and hid away in the room he had been using. “You don’t deserve to be dead, Mick,” the youngest Winchester finally said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.
“You don’t know the things I’ve done, Sam.” Mick’s head dropped to his hands. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the truth.” What he’d done had never really bothered him before because it was what everyone else did. Spending time with the Winchesters though had opened his eyes to a whole other way of thinking and doing things. Looking back on his past choices now made him cringe because he suddenly realized how terrible he’d been.
Sam sighed, trying to think of a way to get through to the hurt man sitting next to him. “How thorough was the file you had on me?”
“What?” For the first time since they had left the British Men of Letters’ compound Mick looked Sam in the eyes.
“You guys have files on all of us American hunters right? I want to know how much was in mine,” Sam clarified. “Do you know about me drinking demon blood? Setting Lucifer free? Releasing the Darkness?”
“We know about some of that stuff, yeah. What’s your point?”
“My point is that I’m not perfect either. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many times Dean and I have almost ended the world or caused some major disaster.” He put a comforting hand on Mick’s shoulder. “You’re trying to do better now and that’s what matters most.”
Mick scoffed. “You should learn not to to offer absolution before knowing what you're absolving,” the Brit chided.
Sam wanted to roll his eyes but managed to resist the urge. Apparently he would have to try a little harder to prove he was serious. “Fine,” the hunter caved. “Tell me something from your past that you think I couldn't possibly forgive you for.”
Mick hesitated. He craved acceptance and understanding but he knew deep down he'd never find that. If Sam knew the truth he'd leave and Mick didn't want that; especially not after everything else he'd already lost that day. If he didn’t say anything though he would just constantly be on edge waiting for Sam to find out. “I killed my best friend,” Mick said after another moment to think. He closed his eyes and turned away, not wanting to see the disgust on Sam's face.
“Mick, your team getting killed by vampires wasn't your fault. None of you were ready. People die on the job and…" the hunter had to choke down his sob as so many people's faces flashed in front of his eyes. “And it sucks; but you have to let go otherwise the guilt will cripple you.”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” Mick said sternly. “I'm not talking about some acquaintance dying on my watch. I'm talking about killing my best friend, by my own hand, in cold blood.”
“What?” Sam asked, a little shocked. He was definitely bothered by that announcement but he wouldn't pass judgement without hearing the whole story. He owed that to Mick after everything he had said about forgiveness.
Mick took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “It was back at Kendricks when I was still a young lad,” he said, setting the scene. "I wasn’t the most popular kid but I did have one really close friend, Timothy. One day, Timothy and I were called to Doctor Hess’ office. She was headmistress at the time. She explained that we would be put to a…I guess you could call it a test of sorts to decide if we could move onto the next level of training. I’ve now learned that this type of thing was fairly common but at the time we had no idea what to expect.” He shuddered a little, remembering just how scared he had felt when he was standing on that small sheet of plastic on the floor. “She said that the Men of Letters needed people who would follow orders without question.”
Sam had a gut feeling he knew where this story was going. “She made you kill him,” he guessed.
“Only one of us would be allowed to walk out of the room, yeah,” Mick said. “I’m not sure if she cared which of us it was.” He’d always wondered if Hess had been proud or disappointed when she saw him walk out, but now he’d never know. “Timothy thought the whole thing was crazy and wanted to try to run away. I…uh…I picked up the dagger Doctor Hess had put on the table and told him to close the door.” The Brit ran a hand down his face, mildly surprised to find that he was crying a little. “So tell me again, Mr. Winchester, how I don’t deserve to be dead.”
Sam was silent for a minute, thinking through everything he’d just heard. “Mick…what you did…that wasn’t your fault,” the hunter said after coming to a decision about how he felt. “I heard Ketch earlier when he said that breaking the Code meant death. From what I’ve heard I don’t agree with this code at all, but I can understand doing what you have to in order to stay alive.”
Mick stood up—shaking Sam’s hand off his shoulder in the process—and began pacing around the room. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “You saved me, brought me to your home, and now you’re acting like you don’t care about my past. What are you after?” Sam had seemed nice and honest so far but there had to be something else. There was always a catch—and Mick was determined to find out what it was.
“What? Mick I’m not after anything,” Sam said, confused about the sudden shift in the conversation.
“Bullshit. I know how this works so you don’t need to pretend any more.”
The pieces were starting to fit together for Sam. The British Men of Letters didn’t seem like a very friendly, touchy-feely group. Maybe Mick had truly never had someone do something nice for him without an ulterior motive. Sam stood up and took a few steps so that he was right in front of Mick. “I know you probably won’t believe me yet—and that’s okay—but I don’t have a hidden motive here,” Sam said slowly. “When we first met you seemed pretty cold and stuck up, but you’ve really changed and shown me that you can be a caring and free-thinking person. You helped Dean and me. It’s only fair that we help you back.”
“I just…I don’t know,” Mick said. It was clear he felt lost and confused which made sense if experiencing pure kindness was new for him. He’d also just had a near death experience which tended to shake people up. His gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t deserve this, Sam.”
“You’re right,” Sam responded. Mick looked back up at Sam and there was so much pain in his eyes. “You deserve so much better,” the hunter continued, offering Mick a sad smile. “You definitely deserve better than the British Men of Letters and you probably also deserve better than two broken hunters with a troubled past and a mile-long track record of bad decisions, but that’s the best I can offer you right now.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “Look, I can’t promise that we won’t disagree sometimes or that you’ll be entirely free from danger. What I can promise you, however, is a place to stay and learn and grow with people who genuinely care about you without having to be scared that you’ll be punished if you step out of line.” Sam held a hand out. “So what do you say? Want to become the newest member of this ragtag team of ours?”
Mick hesitated, waiting for the other shoe to fall; for Sam to change his mind or say it had all been a cruel joke. Despite waiting, nothing else happened. Sam just continued to stand there patiently. “Alright,” the Brit said, still a little uncertain. He reached out and clasped Sam’s hand. “You’ll have to be patient with me though, mate,” he added with a small chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood a little.
“I think I can handle that,” Sam replied with a laugh of his own. “Just don’t force us to watch The Great British Bake Off.”
“I suppose that’s fair.” Mick slipped off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down a little. He’d probably continue to be a little suspicious for a while but for the time being he’d focus on settling in and getting comfortable. He could deal with the rest later. “Can we have that Scotch now?”
“Yeah, we can have that Scotch now. You’ve definitely earned it.” Sam put a hand on Mick’s shoulder and led him out of the room.