Supernatural: A Long Winter's Night 5/5
Title: A Long Winter's Night
Author: Ada
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season One.
Characters: Dean and ???
Disclaimer: I make no claims to owning anything except the original content of this story.
Note: This is the sequel to The Art of Walking Away. This story is finished, I wrote it almost a year ago and it is part two in the trilogy.
Summary: Sequel to The Art of Walking Away. Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
A Long Winter’s Night
By: Ada C. Eliana
Chapter 5
Dean wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten back to the motel. He remembered spending what felt like hours tramping through the woods searching for Sam, screaming himself hoarse as he tried desperately to locate his sibling. He was sure he had seen Sam; certain it had been his kid brother. He pushed the sleeve up on his coat, staring at the wristband on his right wrist, the one identical to the man that saved him, identical to Sam’s. After he gave up his fruitless search; forced into retreating by the aching in his back, he had collected his tools and then returned to the edge of the woods where his car sat waiting for him.
Now he sat in the motel room, after having patched himself up as well as he could alone. He wasn’t bleeding much, so that was a good sign. His head didn’t hurt so much anymore; he figured that his blacking out in the woods must have been more from the shock of the injury - hitting the tree the way he had - than anything that would cause long-term damage. He didn’t even have a concussion. He had popped a couple of pain pills and taken a shower.
However, he wasn’t well enough to go back to the woods and search some more, not that it would do any good. His little brother had been sloppy today, letting Dean see him; know he was there. He doubted Sam would repeat that if he still hoped to evade Dean.
And besides, now he wasn’t so sure that he had actually seen Sam.
Maybe it had been someone else; someone on the run or something. But then - why would they have tried to comfort him while he was out? Why wouldn’t they have just called an ambulance and left?
Maybe it had been Sam, but just Sam’s ghost, helping out just enough. Maybe he didn’t want Dean to see him and know for sure he was dead. But that - that was just so un-Sammy like. He would want Dean to know what happened; he would know his big brother would be worried; wouldn’t be able to move on until he knew the truth.
So that brought him back to it actually having been Sam. And what was Sam doing in Saratoga Springs anyway? No less in the same woods where Dean was hunting. There was nothing remotely indicating the presence of the demon in that area. Or had Sam been checking up on Dean? Watching him from afar as he and his father did during Sam’s Stanford years? But wasn’t he supposed to be demon hunting? Why wouldn’t Sam stick around to talk to him? Was he angry for some reason? Or was he afraid?
Then again he had hit his head… maybe no one had been there. There were no tracks or anything to indicate that someone had actually helped him out. Maybe he had lit the bones and then blacked out and hallucinated the whole thing.
Night had just begun to set in and Dean stared through the hotel room windows; as if expecting for the answer to his questions to be there somewhere in the darkening sky and the falling snow. And well, maybe it was.
“Christmas miracles, right? Well where’s mine?” he huffed. “Oh, other than that whole saving my life in the woods thing earlier,” he added as an afterthought. He wasn’t sure of who he was talking to - God maybe; not that he would ever admit to believing in anything. But if having a little faith was all it would take to fix this…
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At some point in his musings he had dozed off; jerking awake and discovering that he was hungry. He glanced at the windows and realized it was completely dark outside and yet only 7 p.m. Winters in the Northeast sucked.
Dean glanced around the room, glad that he had cleaned up in the morning, putting everything in its place. He liked the order and the familiarity of things that way. He pulled his clothes bag open and reached for the bag of chips and bottle of soda he had tossed in there at the last gas station he stopped at. The soda was flat but the chips were okay, and eating that was better than going outside again to get food. That was the problem with hunting alone; there was no one to get you dinner when you were injured.
He turned the TV on and channel surfed as he ate. Halfway into his second mini bag of Doritos and an episode of some show that seemed entirely about teenagers having sex, Dean fished his cell phone out of his bag and stared at it. He wondered if he should call his father and tell him what happened. But what would he say “Hey Dad, I think I maybe saw Sam today, but he ran off and I was too out of it to follow him.”? Yeah, that’d go over well. Maybe as well as their last conversation…
“Dammit Dean, you need to get back to work. You can’t keep wasting time anymore; there are people out there who need your help!”
“Wasting time? Dad, I’m looking for my little brother, I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘wasting time’!”
“Sam left Dean, he LEFT. If he wants to see you; he’ll come back. But at this point… son, it’s been a while, you need to accept the possibility that he went up against the demon and didn’t make it.”
“NO! Don’t you dare say that! Sam is alive, and I’m going to find him! If you’ve given up on him than that’s your business, but I’ll keep looking for Sam.”
“Dean… he’s gone… you have to move on…”
“Shut up! You don’t know! You don’t know what might’ve happened, and I won’t stop searching until I find out for sure.”
“Dean you have work to do. Focus on that. Don’t waste your life. Forget about finding Sam.”
At that point he had hung up. He had no desire to repeat that conversation. He flung the phone down and stood up. Suddenly the room seemed too hot, and too small, and too bright.
Suffocating in the small space; the memory of his father’s voice still ringing in his ears, Dean grabbed his coat and shoved the motel room door open. He inhaled the cold night air and felt his panic beginning to ease. Making his way towards the only family he had with him; his snow-covered Impala, Dean began to force the memories away. He leaned against the hood of the car, his breath appearing before him in small puffs of white.
For that moment in time it felt like it was just him and the Impala under the black sky; surrounded by snow. And Dean felt another pang of loneliness hit him. He stared up into the darkness and sighed.
“Nice car,” a hoarse man’s voice said somewhat tentatively from somewhere behind him.
“Yep,” he replied without turning around, without much interest. The voice had sounded cracked and painful, like the way someone sounds after having been strangled or having screamed until their throat tore.
The man took a step towards the Impala, the crunching snow letting Dean know he was about two feet from his baby’s bumper. “Could use a touch-up though; don’t want to get rust,” the man added, somewhat mockingly.
Dean began to turn, intent on telling the guy to fuck-off and mind his own damn business when he froze. Something about that voice was familiar.
No way.
No freakin’ way…
He spun around as fast as he could to see a tall, thin man in a blue knit hat standing in front of the trunk of the Impala, grinning somewhat awkwardly at Dean. He had sea-green eyes that were barely visible in the pale light from the center of the motel parking lot; which were set in a face Dean could never forget.
Sam.
Sam was here - and not just here, but talking to him, grinning at him, and making jokes about his car.
“Sam?” he asked, crossing the space between them in four quick strides.
“Yeah,” Sam said in that same foreign voice as Dean fisted his hands in the Carhartt coat Sam was wearing, anchoring Sam and preventing him from making a hasty getaway. Without another word, Dean released his hold on the coat and swung his arms around Sam, pulling him into an embrace. Sam copied the gesture, dropping the small duffle bag he had been holding and allowing himself to relax at Dean’s touch. It had been a while since he had felt safe enough to relax at all.
The normal amount of time for a hug to last passed, and Dean seemed unwilling to let go. Sam could understand; he had been standing outside the motel room for a while, watching Dean through the window and trying to work up the courage to go knock. He was saved the trouble when Dean came outside and stood by his car. Dean had just looked so… so lost standing there, that Sam couldn’t help but reveal himself.
Dean, his face pressed against Sam’s shoulder, held him close, unable to make himself lose that physical contact.
Because Sam was here.
He was here.
And maybe he had taken some expired medication and was hallucinating the whole thing, but even so, he didn’t care, because right now he was with Sam and he could touch him and that meant more to him than anything.
“Uh… Dean… you okay?” Sam finally whispered. Dean winced as his brother spoke, unused to the strange way his voice now sounded.
“Yeah… yeah, Sam, sorry,” Dean responded, releasing him just enough to take a step back, his hands still on Sam’s shoulders. Dean’s eyes were shining slightly with moisture; just barely visible in the low lighting; and Sam’s were too.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” Dean said, wanting a chance to look at his brother properly; make sure all his limbs were still attached. He led Sam to the motel room, maintaining tactile contact the whole way.
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When they went inside Dean immediately steered Sam to the first bed, and sat down next to him, his hand on his brother’s arm. He had so many questions for Sam that he didn’t even know where to start. Where had he been all this time? Did he kill the demon? Was he okay - really? What had happened in the two years he had been away? Had he been safe? Had he suffered? Why was he in Saratoga? Why approach him now? Why, why, why?
But overpowering the questions was the overwhelming sense of relief and joy to have him back, to see that he was whole and alive and okay. Those two and a half years felt a million times longer than the three years Sam had spent in school, at least then he had known where he was. And to think, just the previous night he had begun to come to grips with the possibility of Sam having died, and now today he had returned to him.
“I missed you,” he finally choked out, surprised to hear himself say it out loud. Sam blinked at him sheepishly.
“I missed you too,” he responded. “Are you okay?” he added, reaching out towards Dean’s bruised back.
“Am I okay? You’re the one that’s been missing! How are you?”
“I’m uh… I’m okay…” he answered. Dean had to watch his lips to know for sure that the rough, gravelly voice he was hearing was really coming from his little brother. But at that moment Sam could have been talking like an 80-year-old smoker with a tube in his throat and it still would’ve been the most beautiful thing Dean ever heard.
Dean reached over and hugged his little brother again, if only to reassure himself that Sam was real. It seemed to take Sam by surprise as he stiffened, but Dean was delighted when Sam held him too, this time with more affection than before. “I’m sorry,” Sam suddenly whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“God Sammy, you have no idea what that was like, man. But you came back.” Dean released him, holding him at arm’s length and studying his face. “And you are back right? You’re not going to take off again are you?”
“No, I’m back now, for good,” Sam assured him, and there was so much relief in his voice that Dean relaxed immediately.
“Was that you in the woods earlier?” he asked. Sam nodded somewhat reluctantly. “Jeez man, why’d you just take off like that?”
“Well other than trying to spare you from the soap opera-grade chick flick moment of opening your fluttering lashes to find your missing brother standing over you and thinking he was a ghost at first… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been avoiding you so long that when you started to wake up I panicked.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, and Dean watched him closely, waiting for the words that would give him some insight into Sam’s current mental state. “I guess I was worried about how you’d… react - that maybe you’d be mad at me.” He was staring at his hands as if they were the most interesting things in the room.
“Mad at you? You thought I wouldn’t want to see you or something? All I’ve thought about for the past two years, and six months is getting you back. I’ve combed this country for you, I’ve flashed your picture at every person I talked to, and the only thing that makes me mad is the thought that you would doubt me for one second. Sammy, you’re my little brother, and I have always tried to look out for you, and when you left in Missouri, it was like the floor fell out, man. I couldn’t look out for you anymore. I had no idea where you were, you’d just disappeared! And then everyone kept telling me to give it up; to give up on you and just go live my life, but I just couldn’t do that. I mean damn, I’ve paid double to get a room with two queens every time I stopped for the night just in case I found you that day. I could never be mad at you for coming back dude.”
For a long moment Sam didn’t say anything, and Dean wondered if his words had any effect, or if Sam had just tuned them out. Then he started to laugh, a low laugh that just got louder.
“What?” Dean asked. “I pour my heart out to you, and you laugh at me?”
“I’m sorry it’s just - wow, Dean Winchester, performing a heartfelt monologue… that was just too much,” Sam smiled, catching Dean’s eye.
“Whatever, bitch,” Dean smirked, playfully putting his arm around his brother’s shoulders.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Sam said wistfully.
“Too long, Sam,” Dean answered suddenly serious. Sam had just used Dean’s own favorite tactic to get out of an emotional situation - sarcasm. And it had been so unusual that Dean fell right for it. “Why did you leave Sam? Where have you been all this time?” Dean demanded; his voice somewhat soft.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Sam sighed, staring at his hands again, it was a new habit that was really starting to get on Dean’s nerves.
“Man… when I woke up in that hospital, and Dad told me you’d left, I just couldn’t believe it.”
“You got my note, right?” Sam questioned, looking up at Dean. Dean caught his gaze, and his eyes looked so wounded, so haunted, that it sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. What had happened to his little brother?
“Yeah I got it,” Dean responded. He felt anger flare up and was immediately ashamed. He finally had his brother back and all he wanted to do was yell at him? What kind of person was he? He decided to steer the topic away for the moment. “How’d you find me? Or did you just come here to spend Christmas in a town with metal horse statues and Victorian street lamps?” he added jokingly.
“Well for one…” Sam smirked before he spoke again. “Your phone has GPS.”
“What?! You’ve been tracking me with my cell phone?” Dean asked, pulling the offending object out of his bag and staring at it like it was possessed.
“I figured you would never trade it in for a new one, because then I wouldn’t know the new number. But I only used it when I needed to.”
“Well that explains how you managed to evade me for two years; if you knew where I was the whole time,” Dean said, feeding his ego for a moment. He knew there was no way Sam could be that good at hiding.
A shadow seemed to pass over Sam’s eyes, but then it was gone and he was smiling. The smile barely touched his eyes, but it warmed Dean anyway. “You did come pretty close a couple times. You know that hotel you stayed in when you were in East Little Ridge, Kentucky? What was it - ‘The One Horse Inn’ or something? I was in my room there when you pulled into the parking lot.” Dean remembered that Kentucky hotel well, it was his first real lead on Sam’s whereabouts, the manager even identified Sam’s picture, and Dean had torn that inn apart searching for him.
“But more recently I haven’t used the GPS,” Sam began hesitantly.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve… uh… sensed for you,” he added sheepishly, pointing to his head.
“You found me with your psychic powers? You can do that now?” Dean asked in surprise.
“Yeah, and I can also sense your feelings and listen in on your thoughts,” Sam smiled. “So you better watch it.”
Dean looked stricken, unsure of how to respond to that. Sam looked at his hands.
Then Sam turned to look up at him, his expression stoic. “Hey Dean, there’s something important that I really need to know….” There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye, and Dean waited for the rest. “Did you really sit in here wishing for a ‘Christmas miracle’? ‘Cause I gotta say, I was wondering if I was ‘reading’ the wrong guy for a minute there. The Dean I know doesn’t have faith in anything, much less the ‘Christmas Spirit’.”
“Why so cynical, Sam? I think it’s time I had some faith, dude. You’re the one who was always touting it before,” Dean pointed out.
“Yeah well, maybe I’ve lost it,” Sam sighed, sounding much older than he was. The mood in the room had shifted once again.
“Then I guess I have to have enough for the both of us. Besides, I’m getting into this whole ‘believing in stuff’ thing, I mean, it’s working out pretty well. I didn’t die today in the woods, and now I’ve gotten what I wanted for Christmas. I mean, Santa must’ve missed me the last two years, but at least he got it right this time,” Dean smiled.
“Dude, you sound like you’re high - or a girl.” There it was again, the sarcasm. And coming from ‘chick-flick’ Sam it raised Dean’s anxiety.
“Yeah well, Merry Christmas to you too, Scrooge,” Dean smirked. He studied Sam for a moment, and he had to admit, his kid brother looked exhausted. He had taken off his coat, but the knit-cap remained firmly in place, and surprisingly no pesky brown strands were peeking out from beneath it - one more mystery. However, all of his questions and everything he wanted to know from Sam could wait a while. What they both needed right now was some sleep.
“Now, if we go to bed, will you promise me that you’ll still be here in the morning? Cause I took some painkillers earlier and I can feel them kicking in now, and I’d rather not pass out in your lap.”
“Yeah, I’ll be here,” Sam answered firmly - music to Dean’s ears.
As Dean settled in to bed and his breathing evened out, Sam relaxed and closed his eyes. Even when he was doped up on painkillers, Sam never felt as safe as he did when he was with Dean. And as he prepared for what would probably be his best night’s sleep for over two years, Sam blocked his mind of the dark thoughts that chased him in the dark and focused on his older brother. And even though he knew Dean was already asleep, he heard himself speak aloud.
“I got what I wanted too - Merry Christmas Dean.”
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Later on Dean would look back on that night and think it was all rather anti-climatic; that after over two years of searching he hadn’t found his brother at all; Sam had come to him in the parking lot of a cheap motel. But he supposed that was the way it was supposed to be. Sam had left him; not been taken, so there was no need for a death-defying rescue, he wasn’t the hero in that story, just a lonely guy leaning against his car.
Sam had finished what he needed to do, he had been the martyr and the hero, and then he had come back to Dean when he was ready. The fact that it was Christmas Eve night had been a coincidence, or so Sam had said. But Dean couldn’t help it if he never thought of Christmas quite the same way again.
And even though he knew that his days of battling weren’t over, if only the battle of overcoming what the years apart had done to them, he would never take back that night, he would never give it away for anything. He and Sam were together again, and they could face anything together; that much he was sure of.
The End.
A/N: I'm a sucker for a happy ending, but keep in mind this story was part two of a trilogy, so all is not fine and dandy after this. There will be a delay in getting the last part up as it isn't finished and needs some more work before posting here.
Thanks for reading!