FIC: Accepting The Truth Starts With Denial
TITLE: Accepting The Truth Starts With Denial
AUTHOR: Demona aka azraelz_angel
FANDOMS: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, Jared Padalecki, OFC
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~5,100
SUMMARY: When Dean wasn’t able to a deal with the Crossroads Demon, Sam stayed dead. A year later, Dean finds his brother in a bar in L.A. Only it isn’t Sam, but Jared Padalecki.
NOTES: AU after All Hell Breaks Loose Part I, Real People Fic
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. All Real People belong to themselves and let me state this is purely fiction. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
BETA: the always awesome kaylashay81
WRITTEN FOR: pictures2words
LINK TO ART: ART Please go check out the art and leave yaya-wr8t3r some feedback for her awesome art. Such a pleasure to work with her.
~*~
“No deal,” she said it with a smile, barely able to keep it civil and not beaming as she denied him.
“A year,” he offered, begged as he stared at the demon before him.
Her eyes flashed red and she tilted her back and laughed. “No deal means no deal, Dean. I wouldn’t even do it if you traded your life for his. Sorry sweetheart, your soul just isn’t a good enough.”
He pulled his gun effortlessly, flicking off the safety as he held her gaze. “Bring him back.”
But she slowly shook her head and her lips pulled down in a frown at his actions. “Watching you pathetically wallow over Sam’s death isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. But killing my meatsuit isn’t going to bring him back either. Orders are orders, Dean, and that gun doesn’t scare me.”
“Then I’ll find one that does,” Dean replied and pulled the trigger.
~*~
Dean slowly climbed the worn steps of the house, pushed aside the broken wood door, and made his way inside. The wind howled through broken windows, and a shiver went through his body. His footsteps were heavy, echoing across the floorboards, and he stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.
His knees buckled as he took in the sight of his brother’s dead body sprawled across the filthy mattress. The thick, overwhelming smell of blood hung in the room, and under that was the all too familiar stench of death. Dean gagged, and he stumbled backwards, blindingly turned a corner, and made it to his knees as his stomach emptied itself. His brother was dead. Dead and decaying already in that room and Dean was completely helpless.
He spit what remained in his mouth out onto the floor and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. Tears slowly made their way down his cheeks and he tasted the salt as they pooled in the corners of his mouth. Sam. Sam. Sam. He failed his brother. His father’s voice echoed through his head, reminding him that he’d have to kill Sam if he couldn’t save him. Dean violently shook his head until his father’s voice disappeared but the horrible feeling still churned in his stomach.
No. Sam wasn’t supposed to die. Dean couldn’t just let him go. He pushed himself to his feet, resting against the doorframe to gain his strength. He looked at his brother’s still form on the bed and clenched his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. He needed the Colt. With that the Crossroads Demon wouldn’t have a choice but to make the deal.
~*~
He carefully dug the hole in the gravel at the crossroads before he set the tin box inside. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he glanced back at Impala, almost wished he could see through the metal to see Sam’s body resting on the backseat, before he pushed the gravel over the box, covering it completely.
He didn’t move for a few seconds, remained crouched as he waited for the air to change, to alert him to the fact that the demon had arrived.
“I didn’t figure you for stupid, Dean,” a different female voice, higher pitched, younger, stated from behind him.
Dean reached into his jacket, pulled the Colt from the inside pocket and pulled the hammer back as he rose to his feet. Slowly he turned, gravel crunched underneath his feet, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the pre-teen form the Crossroads Demon had chosen.
“You know, I didn’t really think you’d actually step back into the game. That one surprised us all. And killing Azazel, bet he didn’t see that coming. Should have though, you Winchesters are unpredictable.” She laughed and shook her head, sandy blond hair brushing against her shoulders with the movement. “But I told you last time Dean, your soul’s not good enough and that was before you shot my meatsuit,” she continued as she took a few steps toward him.
Dean gave a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder and then raised the Colt, bringing it level with her, and her eyes dropped to the gun and blue eyes opened wide with shock. “I’m only going to ask once. Bring Sam back,” Dean stated.
“So that’s why you went back, to get the Colt,” she quietly commented, a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke, eyes remained on the gun pointed at her.
“Do we have a deal?” Dean asked, ignoring her comment and the guilt that flooded through him as he thought of Ellen, bleeding in Bobby’s arms after they closed the Gate. He’d taken the Colt, ignored Bobby’s cries for help, and fled. Bringing back Sam was the only thing on his mind.
“I can’t.”
She tilted her head back, and he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed loudly through the fields and Dean watched the hole in the girl’s chest start to light up. Lightning spread through the girl’s body, her legs gave out and she collapsed, twitching slightly until at last the demon died with the girl.
“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he calmly stated and started back toward the Impala.
~*~
Dean slowed the Impala and carefully turned off the road and into the salvage lot next to Bobby’s house. He let the car crawl over the gravel and come to a stop in front of the shop. He shifted the car into park and cut the engine. The familiar rumbling died underneath him and he was left with an empty silence.
He lowered his head, resting his forehead against the steering wheel and sucked in deep gasping breaths. The disturbing reality that he wasn’t going to be able to bring Sam back was suffocating him. His skin felt too tight. He struggled to bring in enough air. Sammy was dead, and Dean didn’t know how to fix it.
A soft rap on his car window brought Dean back to reality. He lifted his head, too exhausted to care about the tears and snot running down his face, and looked out to see the grim, saddened face of Bobby Singer. Dean didn’t object as Bobby pulled the Impala door open, and crouched down in the empty space near Dean. He heard Bobby’s knees pop, joints complaining against the movement, but Bobby didn’t bitch or frown, just focused on Dean. He wiped his hand under his nose, taking away most of the mess, and really looked at Bobby. He looked tired, tired and old, and Dean didn’t remember him looking like that two days ago when they’d gone to rescue Sam.
“They’ve got Ellen stable at the hospital,” Bobby quietly stated.
Resentment slid through Dean. Ellen survived. Sam was dead. It was irrational, deep down he knew it, a part of him was relieved that Ellen had made it, but Sam was still dead. And Dean’s soul was still worth nothing in trade.
“We need to take care of Sam, Dean.”
Dean slowly nodded. Time. He needed more time to find a way to bring Sam back. But it wasn’t going to happen right now. And he couldn’t keep riding around the country with Sam’s body in his backseat. “I’m burying him, Bobby.”
Bobby opened his mouth, probably to object, but shut it after a moment.
“I’d like…” Dean trailed off as more tears came to his eyes. “I’d like to bury him here,” he finished.
Bobby nodded his consent. “I know just the place.”
One year later
Los Angeles, CA
Los Angeles, Dean decided as he took another hefty swallow of his beer, was the perfect place to get drunk. This bar was a comfortable mix of locals and low-level celebrities. Not quite the dive bar that Dean usually inhabited, but not high scale enough that he wouldn’t get in. And this bar was filled with pretty, pretty girls, bouncing around in barely-there clothing, all dolled up, and trying to make it big. All he had to do was hint that he was in the business and getting laid was not a problem.
Dean lifted his almost empty glass and waved it in the direction of the bartender. She gave him a nod, and gave a quick glance down at the tabs on the bar behind her. She looked back at him with a frown on her face. He forced himself to flash her a patented, guaranteed to drop panties, Dean Winchester smile, and she sighed.
“This is the last one, champ,” she informed him as she slid the chilled mug across the bar.
Dean tilted his glass up and downed the rest in two easy swallows before he slid the empty glass in her direction. “You’re cutting me off?” Dean asked not able to keep the shock out of his voice.
The pretty blonde bartender offered him a small smile as she caught the empty glass sliding in her direction. “I’m not going to get fined for over-serving a customer and lose my bartending license,” she explained and moved off down the bar, dropping his dirty glass in the sink.
"Humph,” Dean muttered and closed his fingers around the cold glass. He lifted it up, swallowing another mouthful, and was in the process of setting the mug down when a familiar laugh, loud and bigger than life itself, cut through the bar. The sound rolled down his spine, straightening him out of his drunken hunch over the bar, and Dean was immediately stone-cold sober.
The mug slid through his fingers, glass bouncing against the bar top with a clatter. Dean barely felt the beer slosh over the rim and onto his fingers. He recognized that laugh. Had known it, in every form since he could remember. And had painfully missed it for the last year.
Ignoring his beer, Dean spun around on his stool, eyes searching out the area behind him when he’d heard the laugh. It took a moment, eyes frantically searching through each face in the bar, before his eyes landed on floppy brown hair, his face relaxed and open with a smile at the person opposite him. And Dean’s heart skipped a beat, and he sagged back against the bar in relief, as he stared at the face of his dead brother. Sam looked good. Really good. Better than Dean’d ever seen him before.
Dean looked past Sam, to the beautiful mocha-skinned girl comfortably tucked under one arm. He watched as Sam twirled her loose hair around his fingers, occasionally letting his fingers drop down to skim along her bare shoulder. They were sitting in their booth opposite another couple that looked to be their age. Both good-looking, tanned, and with dark hair.
Confusion and betrayal began to surface through the shocked relief of seeing Sam. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and pushed himself off the bar and in the direction of Sam’s booth. Hours of drinking at the bar took their toll on Dean’s body as he started to weave through the crowd. He pushed his way through, not bothering to apologize as he jostled people, and earned several curses and several dirty looks.
He stumbled through one last group of people and came to a stop right at the edge of Sam’s table. It took them a few moments to look up at him when he didn’t move along, but Dean waited, eyes focused solely on Sam, for the moment when he looked up and spotted his big brother standing in front of him.
When Sam did look up, when he met Dean’s gaze, there was no recognition. Sam looked up at him, with raised eyebrows and confusion on his face.
“Sammy,” Dean breathed out his brother’s name.
Slowly Sam shook his head and licked his lips. “Nah man, I’m not Sammy,” his brother replied.
Dean snorted, annoyed, not understanding what game was playing. Was Sam working a case, using a fake identity? He looked comfortable. Like he’d been here, with these people, especially this beautiful girl, before. “Sammy,” Dean said again, aware that his voice bordered on whining, but he didn’t care. His brother was sitting in front of him. His brother that he’d buried a year ago, and now he was back. He waited again, studied Sam’s face for a clue, a signal, anything to indicate that his brother recognized him but just couldn’t acknowledge it at the moment. However there was nothing, just confusion and irritation starting to show on his face.
Sam pulled his arm off the girl’s shoulder and turned his attention toward Dean. “I’m not Sammy. There’s no Sammy here. Obviously, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
“No. You were dead. And now you’re not. And I wanna know where you’ve been Sam. Why am I running into you in some bar in L.A.?” Dean raised his voice, anger at the situation mixing with the alcohol in his system.
“We got a problem here, guys?” a voice came from Dean’s right and he looked over and took in the two bouncers.
The cool metal of his gun resting against his back made him bite his tongue and clench his fists when he normally would throw a punch.
“This guy just thinks I’m some guy named Sammy,” his brother told the bouncers.
“His name ain’t Sammy,” the taller bouncer, closest to Dean stated. “Come on,” he added and gestured toward the side door.
Dean shook his head, returned his gaze to Sam, and the bouncer reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean’s arm. Dean reacted without thinking, left fist coming across his body and connecting with the face of the bouncer. His momentum, combined with the bouncer not letting go of him as he stumbled to the side, drug Dean away from the booth, away from Sam.
He didn’t get a chance to get in another shot to either of the bouncers, as he was tackled, unable to get away from alcohol slowing his reflexes. His head smacked against the floor and bright spots of light exploded across his vision. His stomach roiled, and he fought back the urge to throw up. He was hauled to his feet by rough hands on either arm. He tried to lash out with feet, swung his head back in an attempt to hit someone, screaming Sam’s name, but the bouncers forced him forward, out of the bar, and Sam didn’t rescue him.
They pushed him out with a hard shove, he tripped over a piece of asphalt, and he went down hard, scuffing his palms as he broke his fall. His gun slid out of his pants and clattered on the parking lot behind him. He supposed it was fortunate that the bouncers had already slammed the side door behind him and didn’t see his gun.
Sam was alive. Sam was alive. Dean kept repeating that thought as he pushed himself to his feet, pushing his hands off on his jeans, and he reached down to pick up his gun. He checked to make sure that his safety was still on and then he tucked it back against the small of his back. He pulled the keys to the Impala out of his jeans and slowly made his way to his car. He might not be able to get Sam aside in the bar and speak with him, but he had no problem in following his brother from the bar.
~*~
It was a few hours before Sam and company headed out of the bar. Dean had sobered up a bit since then, run a dozen scenarios through his head, but wasn’t quite able to come to a reasonable conclusion as to why Sam’d not called.
The group stumbled out the front door. Sam had the beautiful black girl tucked under his arm, she had an arm wrapped around him, head resting against his chest and a happy comfortable smile on her face.
Sam and his girl made their way over to a bright red Corvette and Dean snorted as she saw the parking lights flash as Sam hi the remote.
“Really? A new Corvette Sam?” Dean muttered as he watched Sam open the passenger door for his girl, and shut it behind her after she gracefully slid in.
He waited until Sam was in the car before he turned the key in his ignition and the Impala rumbled to life. He imagined that even across the parking lot Sam’d heard the familiar engine come to life but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Traffic was light which made tailing Sam without being made difficult. The distance Dean’d been forced to keep almost caused him to lose Sam entirely once. Dean cut the lights and pulled the Impala to a spot several houses down from the driveway of the two-story piece of suburbia that Sam’d stopped at.
The girl didn’t wait for Sam to come around and open her door, instead getting out herself and meeting him at the front of the car. The kiss they shared was hot and Dean was quite proud of Sam for scoring such a vixen. They broke apart after a moment and Sam led her into their house.
A hallway light was turned on as they entered and Dean watched through the windows as they made their way upstairs and disappeared into the back of the house.
~*~
“Hello?” Bobby’s gruff, tired voice came in greeting.
“Sam’s alive!” Dean blurted out.
“Dean?”
“He’s in L.A. Bobby.”
“Dean. Sam’s dead.” Dean heard the weariness in that voice. It wasn’t the first time that he’d said that same thing to Dean.
Dean picked up the picture frame from the hallway table and stared at his brother’s smiling face. He’d slept in the Impala, waited until after 10 a.m. for both of them to leave the house before he’d broken in.
“I saw him last night Bobby.”
“Where?”
“In a bar. I got a drink after taking care of that shifter,” Dean explained and set the picture frame back down and walked back into the kitchen.
“Dean,” Bobby started.
“I saw him. I’m in his house right now. There are pictures of him Bobby. At first I thought he was undercover, working a case but now, what if he’s under a spell, came back without his memory?”
There’s a soft, long sigh on the other side of the line and Dean’s fingers tighten around the phone.
“I was just out at Sam’s grave yesterday Dean. It hasn’t been disturbed.”
“It’s him Bobby,” Dean insisted. “It just…can you look into a name for me?”
There’s a pause and then some rustling in the background. “Sure.”
“Jared Padalecki,” Dean told him spelling out the last name. “Bills are coming to the house under that name.”
“I’ll see what I can pull up on him. Dean…”
“It’s him Bobby,” Dean repeated. It had to be Sam. There wasn’t any other possibility.
“Just sit tight Dean. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me,” Bobby added and Dean flipped his phone shut.
Two Days Later
Jared yawned, his jaw cracked, as he pulled the Vette into his driveway. His back hurt from a long day standing on set combined with working through a fight scene. He cut the lights and turned the car off. All he wanted was to get Camille’s leftovers out of the fridge, pop them in the microwave, and woof it down. And after that he knew the shower would be calling his name before crawling into bed and cuddling with Cam. He scrubbed a hand over his face and knew that the dogs would need a run before he could even think about moving onto that shower or bed.
The front porch light wasn’t on and Jared thought that was a little peculiar. Camille normally turned the light on for him before she went up to bed. It was hard for them sometimes. She wasn’t in the business and had normal hours of 7-4 as her job as a local school teacher. Perhaps Cam hadn’t gone to bed yet and was caught up in her school work?
Jared’s key turned easily in the lock and he pushed the front door open. The dogs didn’t greet him at the door, instead there was an empty silence throughout the house.
“Cam!” he called out as he pushed the front door closed and dropped his keys on the table next to the door. He made his way into the kitchen and froze as he stepped into the doorway.
Camille was sitting in a chair, mouth covered in duct tape, and tears spilled out of her frightened eyes down her cheeks. Her left eye was swollen and blood had pooled in her eyes, blocking out the white. It took another moment for Jared to realize Camille was tied to the chair and that she was sitting dead center in a pentagram with some weird designs drawn on their tile floor.
Jared forced his gaze past Camille and to the guy standing behind her. The guy looked vaguely familiar as Jared took him in. He shifted to the side of Camille and Jared forced on the gun he had dangling in his hand.
“Hello Sam,” his voice broke the silence and Jared’s head snapped up in recognition. It was the guy from the bar. The one that had sworn he was Sam, the guy’s dead brother.
Panic slid through him and his suddenly dry mouth made it hard to swallow. Camille had said she’d thought she’d seen the drunk guy from the bar. Had sworn he’d followed her through the grocery store the night before, but Jared dismissed her, told her that she was just stressed, that the guy had just been drunk. Obviously he should have paid a bit more attention to her intuition cause his obviously sucked. His gaze dropped down to Cam’s and he let the guilt show on his face. More tears slid down her face and he held her gaze until the guy moved again.
“Hey,” Jared forced out, not able to tell the guy he was wrong again while he was standing next to Camille with a gun. Jared knew it was loaded - it had to be since this guy seemed completely serious.
A relieved smile slid over the guy’s face at Jared’s greeting, but he gave a little shake of his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again Sammy,” he said and Jared remained where he was, not sure whether moving would make things worse or not. “But you don’t remember, do you? Don’t remember me, the family business?” he continued and made his way around the pentagram and toward Jared.
“Uh…no,” Jared replied, deciding it might be best to go along with this until he could figure a way out for them.
The guy nodded, like it was something he’d decided himself, and Jared looked over his shoulder to Camille. She was trying to struggle against her bonds, but it didn’t look like it was doing any good. The guy followed his gaze and Camille froze at the look he gave her.
“I haven’t been able to get anything out of her. She has to know something, and if she doesn’t then we’ll find something that does. And once we figure out who brought you back; we’ll fix you, give you back your memory.”
“She didn’t have anything to do with this,” Jared told him, taking a step into the room and relaxed his hands at his sides.
The guy snorted. “Sammy, of course she did. She’s here to watch over you. Probably reports back to her boss every day to let him know Sam Winchester still doesn’t remember anything. They’re all probably laughing it up good over this,” the guy told him but then turned back to Camille. “But you won’t be laughing when I send you back to Hell,” his voice lowered and the hair stood up on Jared’s body at the tone.
“Hey,” Jared called out, drawing the intruder’s attention off Camille and back on him, where he was safe as Sam. “Why don’t we sit down, talk about this, see if we can figure this out,” Jared rambled, not quite sure how this was going to end.
“We’ll talk on the way back to Bobby’s. He’s doing some research. He’ll be able to fix you, Sammy. We just gotta deal with her first.”
The guy raised his gun as he turned and Jared didn’t think, just reacted, and slammed into the guy. They went down hard on the floor, Jared’s landing was mostly cushioned by the guy underneath him, but his head still hit and pain exploded behind his eyes, and he heard the gun to go off.
He was shoved off and he went with it, rolling across the floor toward Camille. He managed to get to his knees, blocking Cam just as the guy grabbed the gun and turned back to them.
“Get out of the way Sam.”
“No,” Jared replied, shaking his head.
“Sammy,” his voice turned pleading.
Jared was about to refuse again when another man appeared in his kitchen doorway.
“Dean,” the gruff voice fit the man’s older looks and worn clothes.
Dean froze for a moment and then turned his attention to the older man. “Bobby,” he breathed out, almost in relief.
Bobby’s gaze traveled past Dean and his eyes widened as he took in Jared.
“I told you he’s back,” Dean told him.
Fear slid through Jared at the words. It was horrific enough that one person was convinced he was Sam; he didn’t know how he would deal with a second. But Bobby was slowly shaking his head.
“He’s not Sam.” Jared could tell it hurt the man to have to say it. And for the first time Jared actually felt sorry for Dean.
“Look at him Bobby!”
“I know. He looks just like him, but it ain’t Sam, Dean. Sam’s here,” Bobby stated and held up a black duffel bag.
It took Jared a moment to realize that there were bones in the bag, the remains of Sam.
“Bobby,’ Dean’s voice was broken as he came to his feet and started to move toward the man.
Jared used Dean’s distraction to his to his advantage. He spun around, knees smearing the lines of the pentagram, and his fingers went to the edges of the tape over Camille’s mouth. He pulled at the edge, cringing when the small movements caused her to flinch in pain. He paused and then made the decision. “Hold on,” he whispered and began to pull it off in one quick steady pull. Cam whimpered until it was off completely and Jared kissed her, pressed their foreheads together and whispered that he loved her against her trembling lips.
“Jared,” the gruff voice scared him and he jumped around. Bobby was holding out one of the kitchen knives, handle first, to him. “You’ll need it to cut the ropes,” he explained.
Jared slowly reached out and took the knife from Bobby. The man stepped back to them space and Jared carefully cut away the ropes that held Camille. She was in his lap immediately, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried against his chest, but he held onto the knife. Slowly he pushed her away and rose to his feet, finally somewhat back in control.
“Get out,” he told them, holding the knife in front of him.
“I know you’ve been put through an ordeal here but Dean’s not convinced you’re not Sam. And this ain’t gonna end ‘til he puts his brother to rest,” Bobby stated.
“The police are probably on their way. Gunshots in this area aren’t normal,” Jared added, hoping someone head heard the gun go off.
Bobby nodded and frowned at Dean. “Only need a few minutes and then I promise you’ll never see either of us again.”
Bobby didn’t wait for permission, just shoved Dean through the kitchen door and they disappeared toward the back of the house.
Jared turned to Camille and gently pulled her toward the kitchen phone. “Call 911. Tell them there was a break in,” Jared told her.
“Where’re you going?” she asked, voice quiet and shaking.
“I’m going to see this through,” Jared told her.
“It could be a trap,” she argued and rationally Jared knew she was right. But Bobby looked just as wrecked over seeing Jared until he accepted Jared as Jared. Until Dean did, Jared knew they wouldn’t ever be safe.
“Stay here,” he told her and pressed another kiss on her lips. He waited until she dialed 911 before he followed after Bobby and Dean.
~*~
Jared wasn’t sure what to expect when he found Bobby and Dean in the backyard. But he certainly didn’t expect to see a pile of bones spread out on his pool patio. Bobby caught his eye for a moment as Dean started to sprinkle something over the bones.
“Salt,” Bobby supplied him with the answer. “To lay the spirit to rest,” he added.
Dean put down the salt and picked up a canister. Liquid poured out and Sam could smell that it was gasoline. Dean set the empty can down and picked up something else. In the back of Jared’s mind he knew it was matches but he couldn’t imagine why they would burn the bones.
He felt warmth at his back and Camille’s familiar fingers slid through his and he squeezed her hand gently as she moved around from behind him and pressed against his side.
“You need to let him go Dean. He’s dead. And you’ll never be able to let go until he’s gone for good,” Bobby spoke softly but Jared still heard. “Sam wouldn’t want this for you.”
They stood there in silence for a moment before Dean struck a match and it flared to life. He held it over the bones and Jared wasn’t sure he would do it. The match was almost to his fingertips when he let it fall.
The bones immediately engulfed in flames and over the fire crackling Jared heard the almost inhuman sounds of grief escape Dean. Jared felt Cam’s fingers tighten almost painfully around his. Dean shook as he cried and then Dean turned to glance back at him and tears ran freely down his face.
“I’m sorry Jared,” Dean told him and then turned to Camille. He hesitated as he held Cam’s swollen, bruised gaze and Camille nodded once. Dean looked away.
“We won’t be back. I know my word doesn’t mean much to you, but for what it’s worth I’m real sorry this happened. But we won’t be back,” Bobby told them before he put an arm over Dean’s shoulder and watched the bones burn.
“Come on,” Camille whispered in his ear and pulled at his hand. “Let’s go back inside. The police will be here any minute,” she explained and Jared let her pull him back into the house, back into the false-safety of a roof over their heads.
It wasn’t until they heard the sounds of sirens that they finally began to feel safe.
AUTHOR: Demona aka azraelz_angel
FANDOMS: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, Jared Padalecki, OFC
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: ~5,100
SUMMARY: When Dean wasn’t able to a deal with the Crossroads Demon, Sam stayed dead. A year later, Dean finds his brother in a bar in L.A. Only it isn’t Sam, but Jared Padalecki.
NOTES: AU after All Hell Breaks Loose Part I, Real People Fic
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. All Real People belong to themselves and let me state this is purely fiction. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
BETA: the always awesome kaylashay81
WRITTEN FOR: pictures2words
LINK TO ART: ART Please go check out the art and leave yaya-wr8t3r some feedback for her awesome art. Such a pleasure to work with her.
~*~
“No deal,” she said it with a smile, barely able to keep it civil and not beaming as she denied him.
“A year,” he offered, begged as he stared at the demon before him.
Her eyes flashed red and she tilted her back and laughed. “No deal means no deal, Dean. I wouldn’t even do it if you traded your life for his. Sorry sweetheart, your soul just isn’t a good enough.”
He pulled his gun effortlessly, flicking off the safety as he held her gaze. “Bring him back.”
But she slowly shook her head and her lips pulled down in a frown at his actions. “Watching you pathetically wallow over Sam’s death isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. But killing my meatsuit isn’t going to bring him back either. Orders are orders, Dean, and that gun doesn’t scare me.”
“Then I’ll find one that does,” Dean replied and pulled the trigger.
~*~
Dean slowly climbed the worn steps of the house, pushed aside the broken wood door, and made his way inside. The wind howled through broken windows, and a shiver went through his body. His footsteps were heavy, echoing across the floorboards, and he stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.
His knees buckled as he took in the sight of his brother’s dead body sprawled across the filthy mattress. The thick, overwhelming smell of blood hung in the room, and under that was the all too familiar stench of death. Dean gagged, and he stumbled backwards, blindingly turned a corner, and made it to his knees as his stomach emptied itself. His brother was dead. Dead and decaying already in that room and Dean was completely helpless.
He spit what remained in his mouth out onto the floor and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. Tears slowly made their way down his cheeks and he tasted the salt as they pooled in the corners of his mouth. Sam. Sam. Sam. He failed his brother. His father’s voice echoed through his head, reminding him that he’d have to kill Sam if he couldn’t save him. Dean violently shook his head until his father’s voice disappeared but the horrible feeling still churned in his stomach.
No. Sam wasn’t supposed to die. Dean couldn’t just let him go. He pushed himself to his feet, resting against the doorframe to gain his strength. He looked at his brother’s still form on the bed and clenched his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. He needed the Colt. With that the Crossroads Demon wouldn’t have a choice but to make the deal.
~*~
He carefully dug the hole in the gravel at the crossroads before he set the tin box inside. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he glanced back at Impala, almost wished he could see through the metal to see Sam’s body resting on the backseat, before he pushed the gravel over the box, covering it completely.
He didn’t move for a few seconds, remained crouched as he waited for the air to change, to alert him to the fact that the demon had arrived.
“I didn’t figure you for stupid, Dean,” a different female voice, higher pitched, younger, stated from behind him.
Dean reached into his jacket, pulled the Colt from the inside pocket and pulled the hammer back as he rose to his feet. Slowly he turned, gravel crunched underneath his feet, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the pre-teen form the Crossroads Demon had chosen.
“You know, I didn’t really think you’d actually step back into the game. That one surprised us all. And killing Azazel, bet he didn’t see that coming. Should have though, you Winchesters are unpredictable.” She laughed and shook her head, sandy blond hair brushing against her shoulders with the movement. “But I told you last time Dean, your soul’s not good enough and that was before you shot my meatsuit,” she continued as she took a few steps toward him.
Dean gave a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder and then raised the Colt, bringing it level with her, and her eyes dropped to the gun and blue eyes opened wide with shock. “I’m only going to ask once. Bring Sam back,” Dean stated.
“So that’s why you went back, to get the Colt,” she quietly commented, a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke, eyes remained on the gun pointed at her.
“Do we have a deal?” Dean asked, ignoring her comment and the guilt that flooded through him as he thought of Ellen, bleeding in Bobby’s arms after they closed the Gate. He’d taken the Colt, ignored Bobby’s cries for help, and fled. Bringing back Sam was the only thing on his mind.
“I can’t.”
She tilted her head back, and he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed loudly through the fields and Dean watched the hole in the girl’s chest start to light up. Lightning spread through the girl’s body, her legs gave out and she collapsed, twitching slightly until at last the demon died with the girl.
“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he calmly stated and started back toward the Impala.
~*~
Dean slowed the Impala and carefully turned off the road and into the salvage lot next to Bobby’s house. He let the car crawl over the gravel and come to a stop in front of the shop. He shifted the car into park and cut the engine. The familiar rumbling died underneath him and he was left with an empty silence.
He lowered his head, resting his forehead against the steering wheel and sucked in deep gasping breaths. The disturbing reality that he wasn’t going to be able to bring Sam back was suffocating him. His skin felt too tight. He struggled to bring in enough air. Sammy was dead, and Dean didn’t know how to fix it.
A soft rap on his car window brought Dean back to reality. He lifted his head, too exhausted to care about the tears and snot running down his face, and looked out to see the grim, saddened face of Bobby Singer. Dean didn’t object as Bobby pulled the Impala door open, and crouched down in the empty space near Dean. He heard Bobby’s knees pop, joints complaining against the movement, but Bobby didn’t bitch or frown, just focused on Dean. He wiped his hand under his nose, taking away most of the mess, and really looked at Bobby. He looked tired, tired and old, and Dean didn’t remember him looking like that two days ago when they’d gone to rescue Sam.
“They’ve got Ellen stable at the hospital,” Bobby quietly stated.
Resentment slid through Dean. Ellen survived. Sam was dead. It was irrational, deep down he knew it, a part of him was relieved that Ellen had made it, but Sam was still dead. And Dean’s soul was still worth nothing in trade.
“We need to take care of Sam, Dean.”
Dean slowly nodded. Time. He needed more time to find a way to bring Sam back. But it wasn’t going to happen right now. And he couldn’t keep riding around the country with Sam’s body in his backseat. “I’m burying him, Bobby.”
Bobby opened his mouth, probably to object, but shut it after a moment.
“I’d like…” Dean trailed off as more tears came to his eyes. “I’d like to bury him here,” he finished.
Bobby nodded his consent. “I know just the place.”
One year later
Los Angeles, CA
Los Angeles, Dean decided as he took another hefty swallow of his beer, was the perfect place to get drunk. This bar was a comfortable mix of locals and low-level celebrities. Not quite the dive bar that Dean usually inhabited, but not high scale enough that he wouldn’t get in. And this bar was filled with pretty, pretty girls, bouncing around in barely-there clothing, all dolled up, and trying to make it big. All he had to do was hint that he was in the business and getting laid was not a problem.
Dean lifted his almost empty glass and waved it in the direction of the bartender. She gave him a nod, and gave a quick glance down at the tabs on the bar behind her. She looked back at him with a frown on her face. He forced himself to flash her a patented, guaranteed to drop panties, Dean Winchester smile, and she sighed.
“This is the last one, champ,” she informed him as she slid the chilled mug across the bar.
Dean tilted his glass up and downed the rest in two easy swallows before he slid the empty glass in her direction. “You’re cutting me off?” Dean asked not able to keep the shock out of his voice.
The pretty blonde bartender offered him a small smile as she caught the empty glass sliding in her direction. “I’m not going to get fined for over-serving a customer and lose my bartending license,” she explained and moved off down the bar, dropping his dirty glass in the sink.
"Humph,” Dean muttered and closed his fingers around the cold glass. He lifted it up, swallowing another mouthful, and was in the process of setting the mug down when a familiar laugh, loud and bigger than life itself, cut through the bar. The sound rolled down his spine, straightening him out of his drunken hunch over the bar, and Dean was immediately stone-cold sober.
The mug slid through his fingers, glass bouncing against the bar top with a clatter. Dean barely felt the beer slosh over the rim and onto his fingers. He recognized that laugh. Had known it, in every form since he could remember. And had painfully missed it for the last year.
Ignoring his beer, Dean spun around on his stool, eyes searching out the area behind him when he’d heard the laugh. It took a moment, eyes frantically searching through each face in the bar, before his eyes landed on floppy brown hair, his face relaxed and open with a smile at the person opposite him. And Dean’s heart skipped a beat, and he sagged back against the bar in relief, as he stared at the face of his dead brother. Sam looked good. Really good. Better than Dean’d ever seen him before.
Dean looked past Sam, to the beautiful mocha-skinned girl comfortably tucked under one arm. He watched as Sam twirled her loose hair around his fingers, occasionally letting his fingers drop down to skim along her bare shoulder. They were sitting in their booth opposite another couple that looked to be their age. Both good-looking, tanned, and with dark hair.
Confusion and betrayal began to surface through the shocked relief of seeing Sam. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and pushed himself off the bar and in the direction of Sam’s booth. Hours of drinking at the bar took their toll on Dean’s body as he started to weave through the crowd. He pushed his way through, not bothering to apologize as he jostled people, and earned several curses and several dirty looks.
He stumbled through one last group of people and came to a stop right at the edge of Sam’s table. It took them a few moments to look up at him when he didn’t move along, but Dean waited, eyes focused solely on Sam, for the moment when he looked up and spotted his big brother standing in front of him.
When Sam did look up, when he met Dean’s gaze, there was no recognition. Sam looked up at him, with raised eyebrows and confusion on his face.
“Sammy,” Dean breathed out his brother’s name.
Slowly Sam shook his head and licked his lips. “Nah man, I’m not Sammy,” his brother replied.
Dean snorted, annoyed, not understanding what game was playing. Was Sam working a case, using a fake identity? He looked comfortable. Like he’d been here, with these people, especially this beautiful girl, before. “Sammy,” Dean said again, aware that his voice bordered on whining, but he didn’t care. His brother was sitting in front of him. His brother that he’d buried a year ago, and now he was back. He waited again, studied Sam’s face for a clue, a signal, anything to indicate that his brother recognized him but just couldn’t acknowledge it at the moment. However there was nothing, just confusion and irritation starting to show on his face.
Sam pulled his arm off the girl’s shoulder and turned his attention toward Dean. “I’m not Sammy. There’s no Sammy here. Obviously, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
“No. You were dead. And now you’re not. And I wanna know where you’ve been Sam. Why am I running into you in some bar in L.A.?” Dean raised his voice, anger at the situation mixing with the alcohol in his system.
“We got a problem here, guys?” a voice came from Dean’s right and he looked over and took in the two bouncers.
The cool metal of his gun resting against his back made him bite his tongue and clench his fists when he normally would throw a punch.
“This guy just thinks I’m some guy named Sammy,” his brother told the bouncers.
“His name ain’t Sammy,” the taller bouncer, closest to Dean stated. “Come on,” he added and gestured toward the side door.
Dean shook his head, returned his gaze to Sam, and the bouncer reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean’s arm. Dean reacted without thinking, left fist coming across his body and connecting with the face of the bouncer. His momentum, combined with the bouncer not letting go of him as he stumbled to the side, drug Dean away from the booth, away from Sam.
He didn’t get a chance to get in another shot to either of the bouncers, as he was tackled, unable to get away from alcohol slowing his reflexes. His head smacked against the floor and bright spots of light exploded across his vision. His stomach roiled, and he fought back the urge to throw up. He was hauled to his feet by rough hands on either arm. He tried to lash out with feet, swung his head back in an attempt to hit someone, screaming Sam’s name, but the bouncers forced him forward, out of the bar, and Sam didn’t rescue him.
They pushed him out with a hard shove, he tripped over a piece of asphalt, and he went down hard, scuffing his palms as he broke his fall. His gun slid out of his pants and clattered on the parking lot behind him. He supposed it was fortunate that the bouncers had already slammed the side door behind him and didn’t see his gun.
Sam was alive. Sam was alive. Dean kept repeating that thought as he pushed himself to his feet, pushing his hands off on his jeans, and he reached down to pick up his gun. He checked to make sure that his safety was still on and then he tucked it back against the small of his back. He pulled the keys to the Impala out of his jeans and slowly made his way to his car. He might not be able to get Sam aside in the bar and speak with him, but he had no problem in following his brother from the bar.
~*~
It was a few hours before Sam and company headed out of the bar. Dean had sobered up a bit since then, run a dozen scenarios through his head, but wasn’t quite able to come to a reasonable conclusion as to why Sam’d not called.
The group stumbled out the front door. Sam had the beautiful black girl tucked under his arm, she had an arm wrapped around him, head resting against his chest and a happy comfortable smile on her face.
Sam and his girl made their way over to a bright red Corvette and Dean snorted as she saw the parking lights flash as Sam hi the remote.
“Really? A new Corvette Sam?” Dean muttered as he watched Sam open the passenger door for his girl, and shut it behind her after she gracefully slid in.
He waited until Sam was in the car before he turned the key in his ignition and the Impala rumbled to life. He imagined that even across the parking lot Sam’d heard the familiar engine come to life but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Traffic was light which made tailing Sam without being made difficult. The distance Dean’d been forced to keep almost caused him to lose Sam entirely once. Dean cut the lights and pulled the Impala to a spot several houses down from the driveway of the two-story piece of suburbia that Sam’d stopped at.
The girl didn’t wait for Sam to come around and open her door, instead getting out herself and meeting him at the front of the car. The kiss they shared was hot and Dean was quite proud of Sam for scoring such a vixen. They broke apart after a moment and Sam led her into their house.
A hallway light was turned on as they entered and Dean watched through the windows as they made their way upstairs and disappeared into the back of the house.
~*~
“Hello?” Bobby’s gruff, tired voice came in greeting.
“Sam’s alive!” Dean blurted out.
“Dean?”
“He’s in L.A. Bobby.”
“Dean. Sam’s dead.” Dean heard the weariness in that voice. It wasn’t the first time that he’d said that same thing to Dean.
Dean picked up the picture frame from the hallway table and stared at his brother’s smiling face. He’d slept in the Impala, waited until after 10 a.m. for both of them to leave the house before he’d broken in.
“I saw him last night Bobby.”
“Where?”
“In a bar. I got a drink after taking care of that shifter,” Dean explained and set the picture frame back down and walked back into the kitchen.
“Dean,” Bobby started.
“I saw him. I’m in his house right now. There are pictures of him Bobby. At first I thought he was undercover, working a case but now, what if he’s under a spell, came back without his memory?”
There’s a soft, long sigh on the other side of the line and Dean’s fingers tighten around the phone.
“I was just out at Sam’s grave yesterday Dean. It hasn’t been disturbed.”
“It’s him Bobby,” Dean insisted. “It just…can you look into a name for me?”
There’s a pause and then some rustling in the background. “Sure.”
“Jared Padalecki,” Dean told him spelling out the last name. “Bills are coming to the house under that name.”
“I’ll see what I can pull up on him. Dean…”
“It’s him Bobby,” Dean repeated. It had to be Sam. There wasn’t any other possibility.
“Just sit tight Dean. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me,” Bobby added and Dean flipped his phone shut.
Two Days Later
Jared yawned, his jaw cracked, as he pulled the Vette into his driveway. His back hurt from a long day standing on set combined with working through a fight scene. He cut the lights and turned the car off. All he wanted was to get Camille’s leftovers out of the fridge, pop them in the microwave, and woof it down. And after that he knew the shower would be calling his name before crawling into bed and cuddling with Cam. He scrubbed a hand over his face and knew that the dogs would need a run before he could even think about moving onto that shower or bed.
The front porch light wasn’t on and Jared thought that was a little peculiar. Camille normally turned the light on for him before she went up to bed. It was hard for them sometimes. She wasn’t in the business and had normal hours of 7-4 as her job as a local school teacher. Perhaps Cam hadn’t gone to bed yet and was caught up in her school work?
Jared’s key turned easily in the lock and he pushed the front door open. The dogs didn’t greet him at the door, instead there was an empty silence throughout the house.
“Cam!” he called out as he pushed the front door closed and dropped his keys on the table next to the door. He made his way into the kitchen and froze as he stepped into the doorway.
Camille was sitting in a chair, mouth covered in duct tape, and tears spilled out of her frightened eyes down her cheeks. Her left eye was swollen and blood had pooled in her eyes, blocking out the white. It took another moment for Jared to realize Camille was tied to the chair and that she was sitting dead center in a pentagram with some weird designs drawn on their tile floor.
Jared forced his gaze past Camille and to the guy standing behind her. The guy looked vaguely familiar as Jared took him in. He shifted to the side of Camille and Jared forced on the gun he had dangling in his hand.
“Hello Sam,” his voice broke the silence and Jared’s head snapped up in recognition. It was the guy from the bar. The one that had sworn he was Sam, the guy’s dead brother.
Panic slid through him and his suddenly dry mouth made it hard to swallow. Camille had said she’d thought she’d seen the drunk guy from the bar. Had sworn he’d followed her through the grocery store the night before, but Jared dismissed her, told her that she was just stressed, that the guy had just been drunk. Obviously he should have paid a bit more attention to her intuition cause his obviously sucked. His gaze dropped down to Cam’s and he let the guilt show on his face. More tears slid down her face and he held her gaze until the guy moved again.
“Hey,” Jared forced out, not able to tell the guy he was wrong again while he was standing next to Camille with a gun. Jared knew it was loaded - it had to be since this guy seemed completely serious.
A relieved smile slid over the guy’s face at Jared’s greeting, but he gave a little shake of his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again Sammy,” he said and Jared remained where he was, not sure whether moving would make things worse or not. “But you don’t remember, do you? Don’t remember me, the family business?” he continued and made his way around the pentagram and toward Jared.
“Uh…no,” Jared replied, deciding it might be best to go along with this until he could figure a way out for them.
The guy nodded, like it was something he’d decided himself, and Jared looked over his shoulder to Camille. She was trying to struggle against her bonds, but it didn’t look like it was doing any good. The guy followed his gaze and Camille froze at the look he gave her.
“I haven’t been able to get anything out of her. She has to know something, and if she doesn’t then we’ll find something that does. And once we figure out who brought you back; we’ll fix you, give you back your memory.”
“She didn’t have anything to do with this,” Jared told him, taking a step into the room and relaxed his hands at his sides.
The guy snorted. “Sammy, of course she did. She’s here to watch over you. Probably reports back to her boss every day to let him know Sam Winchester still doesn’t remember anything. They’re all probably laughing it up good over this,” the guy told him but then turned back to Camille. “But you won’t be laughing when I send you back to Hell,” his voice lowered and the hair stood up on Jared’s body at the tone.
“Hey,” Jared called out, drawing the intruder’s attention off Camille and back on him, where he was safe as Sam. “Why don’t we sit down, talk about this, see if we can figure this out,” Jared rambled, not quite sure how this was going to end.
“We’ll talk on the way back to Bobby’s. He’s doing some research. He’ll be able to fix you, Sammy. We just gotta deal with her first.”
The guy raised his gun as he turned and Jared didn’t think, just reacted, and slammed into the guy. They went down hard on the floor, Jared’s landing was mostly cushioned by the guy underneath him, but his head still hit and pain exploded behind his eyes, and he heard the gun to go off.
He was shoved off and he went with it, rolling across the floor toward Camille. He managed to get to his knees, blocking Cam just as the guy grabbed the gun and turned back to them.
“Get out of the way Sam.”
“No,” Jared replied, shaking his head.
“Sammy,” his voice turned pleading.
Jared was about to refuse again when another man appeared in his kitchen doorway.
“Dean,” the gruff voice fit the man’s older looks and worn clothes.
Dean froze for a moment and then turned his attention to the older man. “Bobby,” he breathed out, almost in relief.
Bobby’s gaze traveled past Dean and his eyes widened as he took in Jared.
“I told you he’s back,” Dean told him.
Fear slid through Jared at the words. It was horrific enough that one person was convinced he was Sam; he didn’t know how he would deal with a second. But Bobby was slowly shaking his head.
“He’s not Sam.” Jared could tell it hurt the man to have to say it. And for the first time Jared actually felt sorry for Dean.
“Look at him Bobby!”
“I know. He looks just like him, but it ain’t Sam, Dean. Sam’s here,” Bobby stated and held up a black duffel bag.
It took Jared a moment to realize that there were bones in the bag, the remains of Sam.
“Bobby,’ Dean’s voice was broken as he came to his feet and started to move toward the man.
Jared used Dean’s distraction to his to his advantage. He spun around, knees smearing the lines of the pentagram, and his fingers went to the edges of the tape over Camille’s mouth. He pulled at the edge, cringing when the small movements caused her to flinch in pain. He paused and then made the decision. “Hold on,” he whispered and began to pull it off in one quick steady pull. Cam whimpered until it was off completely and Jared kissed her, pressed their foreheads together and whispered that he loved her against her trembling lips.
“Jared,” the gruff voice scared him and he jumped around. Bobby was holding out one of the kitchen knives, handle first, to him. “You’ll need it to cut the ropes,” he explained.
Jared slowly reached out and took the knife from Bobby. The man stepped back to them space and Jared carefully cut away the ropes that held Camille. She was in his lap immediately, arms wrapped around his neck, face buried against his chest, but he held onto the knife. Slowly he pushed her away and rose to his feet, finally somewhat back in control.
“Get out,” he told them, holding the knife in front of him.
“I know you’ve been put through an ordeal here but Dean’s not convinced you’re not Sam. And this ain’t gonna end ‘til he puts his brother to rest,” Bobby stated.
“The police are probably on their way. Gunshots in this area aren’t normal,” Jared added, hoping someone head heard the gun go off.
Bobby nodded and frowned at Dean. “Only need a few minutes and then I promise you’ll never see either of us again.”
Bobby didn’t wait for permission, just shoved Dean through the kitchen door and they disappeared toward the back of the house.
Jared turned to Camille and gently pulled her toward the kitchen phone. “Call 911. Tell them there was a break in,” Jared told her.
“Where’re you going?” she asked, voice quiet and shaking.
“I’m going to see this through,” Jared told her.
“It could be a trap,” she argued and rationally Jared knew she was right. But Bobby looked just as wrecked over seeing Jared until he accepted Jared as Jared. Until Dean did, Jared knew they wouldn’t ever be safe.
“Stay here,” he told her and pressed another kiss on her lips. He waited until she dialed 911 before he followed after Bobby and Dean.
~*~
Jared wasn’t sure what to expect when he found Bobby and Dean in the backyard. But he certainly didn’t expect to see a pile of bones spread out on his pool patio. Bobby caught his eye for a moment as Dean started to sprinkle something over the bones.
“Salt,” Bobby supplied him with the answer. “To lay the spirit to rest,” he added.
Dean put down the salt and picked up a canister. Liquid poured out and Sam could smell that it was gasoline. Dean set the empty can down and picked up something else. In the back of Jared’s mind he knew it was matches but he couldn’t imagine why they would burn the bones.
He felt warmth at his back and Camille’s familiar fingers slid through his and he squeezed her hand gently as she moved around from behind him and pressed against his side.
“You need to let him go Dean. He’s dead. And you’ll never be able to let go until he’s gone for good,” Bobby spoke softly but Jared still heard. “Sam wouldn’t want this for you.”
They stood there in silence for a moment before Dean struck a match and it flared to life. He held it over the bones and Jared wasn’t sure he would do it. The match was almost to his fingertips when he let it fall.
The bones immediately engulfed in flames and over the fire crackling Jared heard the almost inhuman sounds of grief escape Dean. Jared felt Cam’s fingers tighten almost painfully around his. Dean shook as he cried and then Dean turned to glance back at him and tears ran freely down his face.
“I’m sorry Jared,” Dean told him and then turned to Camille. He hesitated as he held Cam’s swollen, bruised gaze and Camille nodded once. Dean looked away.
“We won’t be back. I know my word doesn’t mean much to you, but for what it’s worth I’m real sorry this happened. But we won’t be back,” Bobby told them before he put an arm over Dean’s shoulder and watched the bones burn.
“Come on,” Camille whispered in his ear and pulled at his hand. “Let’s go back inside. The police will be here any minute,” she explained and Jared let her pull him back into the house, back into the false-safety of a roof over their heads.
It wasn’t until they heard the sounds of sirens that they finally began to feel safe.