Always You, without time or space - Sam/Dean - NC-17 (spn_j2_bigbang 2009) - Pt. 1

[benitle_writes]

3:00 AM. Still plenty of time to go.

His back is turned to the Temple when he first feels it. It's nothing more than a breeze at the nape of his neck, brief and soft, like when the person behind you in line at Starbucks stands too close. It lasts only the fraction of a second, almost short enough to miss. He laughs at himself. He heard the talk about weird things going on here. Stuff like ghosts and hauntings, but that doesn't mean he believes it or that it's true.

The thing is - people talk. Especially if you have a job like this: one that consists of walking around for hours, watching the same inanimate objects every night. It does get a little spooky. More importantly though, it gives you plenty of occasions to think and people tend to develop a lot of imagination when they have too much time on their hands.

Again. Another breeze.

He turns around this time. And like he expected, there is nothing except for a 2,000 year old, brightly lit Egyptian temple. He steps closer to the ridge of the giant platform of the installation. The high walls at the back and the little, shallow pool at the front are supposed to represent the original setting from before the temple was removed and brought to its new home. He smiles at all the coins in the water. Tomorrow someone's going to take them out as they do once a week - only to have the game start all over again.

Another shiver runs through him and the coolness at his back increases, almost as if it grows stronger with each step he takes. He shakes his head at himself and laughs softly. Crazy Georgia and her stupid stories. He laughs again, somewhat nervously this time. But then there's a sound. Someone whispering into his ear, words he can't make out, he's not even sure they're actual words. He turns around once more, so that he's facing the Temple, his back toward the water.

He doesn't trust his eyes because things like these - they're not real. They're stories. His eyes widen in shock and then it all happens so fast. His scream dies in his throat on his way down and into the pool of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.



This is good. Not as good as it should feel or as he remembers it. It's almost as if he were missing something, some vital part he just can't figure out, something that doesn't fit. However, it's good enough that Sam doesn't stop kissing Sarah or pouring as much of his soul into it as he can. He likes her enough; not in the I'd sleep with you way, but it's sufficient for wanting to go on a date with her and making out. No matter how many times Dean offers, Sam's glad they're not sticking around because if they did, it would only lead to him justifying himself. It's been nearly a year since they've been back on the road together, and while Sam still has to get used to being with Dean 24/7 again, he knows his brother well enough to anticipate the kind of questions Dean will ask. Quite frankly, having to explain why he doesn't make a move on Sarah when he has the chance is something Sam simply doesn't want to get into. He doesn't understand what's gotten into his brother and why Dean's so determined to see him getting laid, apart from the fact that he apparently needs to relax. Which is total bullshit, if you ask Sam.

Finally, he pulls away from Sarah. She smiles at him, almost shyly and licks her lips. Subconsciously, Sam mimics her expression. When she leans toward him again, as if she were going for another kiss, Sam tilts slightly back. He doesn't know what to say or what to do. He always feels awkward in situations like these - which is one of the reasons he never gets involved in the first place. It all seems to be so much easier for Dean. He sighs. Sometimes Sam wishes he were blunter. Okay, goodbye then. Have a nice life. would be so much more honest than, "I better get going. I'll see you."

Sarah smiles and asks, a hopeful expression on her face, "Stop by when you're in the area?"

"Sure." Only he's certain he will not. He quickly turns away then, knows that the longer they keep looking at each other, the harder it'll get. Sam sighs on his way to the car. He takes the passenger seat without another glance back, not sure he could take the look of disappointment on Sarah's face. Dean's expression is something else entirely though; his grin is almost bordering on creepy. While Sam can only guess the reason, he's pretty sure he's got it all figured out. It's stupid but Sam feels the heat on his cheeks nonetheless.

"If you want we could-"

This is how far Dean gets. Sam gives him a sharp look, one that'll hopefully tell Dean to shut up about it already. And if the look doesn't do, Sam's hiss, "You gonna start the engine?" definitely does. Dean's eyebrows draw together, his upper lip curls into a snarl, but in the end, Dean turns the key in the ignition and maneuvers the Impala out of the parking lot.

After a brief moment of silence, Dean grins broadly - probably to piss Sam off too - and he asks, "Where to next, Captain Love?"

Immediately, Sam goes rigid as if he were frozen to the spot. His cheeks burn again; he's sure he's blushing hard. When Dean heads toward the main road of town he steals a glance to the side. He snorts loudly and Sam hates how stupid it makes him feel. This whole thing is stupid. Sam rubs a hand over his face and eventually manages to answer Dean's question. "New York."

"We are in New York," Dean states the obvious, shrugging.

"New York City, Captain Oblivious," Sam says, finally torn out of his state of mortification with an added pointed look. Dean doesn't react and waits for Sam to go on. "Think I found us a job there. Figured since we're close anyways, we might as well check it out."

"Uh huh." Dean keeps driving. All of their belongings are in the Impala (not that there's much to begin with) and they've already checked out of the motel. Wherever they're going next, they can head straight there.

"Couple of freak accidents at the Metropolitan Museum of Art," Sam explains. "The latest just three days ago. Night guard died during his shift. Drowned in a pool. Official reports say it was an accident. He slipped on the ridge, hit his head and then drowned."

Sam pauses.

"But you don't believe it." It's more of a statement than a question.

"No." Sam bites his lip. "While it could've been an accident, too many weird things happened there. Like, more accidents in the past. Two construction workers died in exactly the same part of the museum. One in 2004, the other in 2001. We should definitely check it out. Who knows what else we'll find if we dig a little deeper. Could be our kind of gig."

Dean seems reluctant at first but in the end, he agrees to look into it. This isn't the first time they're investigating a potential job that might not even turn out to be supernatural. They've certainly worked with less in the past. On top of that, it's not like they have anywhere else to be. After finding Dad a few months ago, they're back to square one. Instead of desperately trying to find a case, Sam would rather be on the road seeking Dad. Their brief meeting in Chicago wasn't long enough to answer any of the burning questions he has. He needs to know what's going on - with him and the dreams he's been having, whether there are more children like him. He needs to know what it has to do with the demon that killed Mom and Jess. But until Sam gets his answers, they've agreed to go back to killing everything that needs to be killed. Might as well take care of a job that's nearby.

"Okay then," Dean says as he turns onto Interstate 87 toward New York City.



It takes them nearly two hours to drive from New Paltz to Manhattan. By the time they arrive, Dean looks as if he is ready to punch someone, probably thanks to the insane traffic. At least if you go by his endless cussing. He comes to a stop in front of the museum, the area is incredibly busy with cars and pedestrians buzzing around. Almost all the way from the suburbs to where they are now, Sam has been clutching the map as if his life depended on it. He hadn't even noticed he'd been doing it until Dean gives him that look with the cocked eyebrow; not that he's surprised though. He tries to relax but just thinking about Dean's suicidal driving makes him tense a little again. It's a wonder Dean hasn't gotten them killed yet.

Sam gives Dean a quick and awkward smile, dropping the map into his lap. He groans and stretches as best as he can in the confined space of the Impala, his hands bumping against the roof of the car. It's just past three in the afternoon and all about organizing the hunt.

"So what now?" Dean asks, stealing a glance at Sam.

"Museum's closed today," Sam points out the obvious, the stairs leading up to the Met mostly deserted, except for a few tourists here and there with their noses buried in travel guides. "Always closed on Mondays. Let's head to the library instead to get a bit more information on the other deaths."

Dean licks his lips and groans, yet doesn't argue with Sam. Sam knows that Dean hates doing research but he also knows that Dean's aware that thorough research can save your life. Checking out a potential case unprepared is never a good idea. They should at least have more information on what they could be dealing with. Or a general head's up about where to start looking. They're both always very determined to get the job done, something they'd learned from Dad during a life on the road, something Sam had loathed more than anything. Yet, it's one of the characteristics that stuck with him. For now, this is what they're doing; hunting things, saving people, the family business. Might as well do everything he can to stay alive long enough to get his revenge. Which only brings him back to the research. He doesn't want to waste any time, so when Dean starts the engine again, Sam immediately directs them to the Main Branch of the Public Library.

They head down from the Upper East Side to Midtown. Trying to find a place to park near Bryant Park, against the back of the library, turns out to be impossible, so that they end up having to walk a few blocks. Sam doesn't mind after having been crammed in the car for so long. Stretching his legs and getting them moving is actually a good thing.

41st Street leads them directly to the dirty white façade of the building. There's an impressive, broad flight of stairs with the two stone lion figures - left and right - that seem to watch over them, stare down the people walking the Midtown. The avenue in front them buzzes with late afternoon traffic, infiltrated with the typical yellow New York City cabs, and the sidewalks are full of people who need to get from A to B quickly. It's been a while since Sam's been to a comparable library. Sure, they've been to plenty of libraries and archives during the last year, but there's never been one big enough that its contents had to be housed below a park spanning over two blocks. He's walking up the stairs, Dean right by his side when he thinks back to his time at Stanford. He can't help it. In a way, it's almost like going back to the libraries at college as if he needs to study for a test, not prepare to kill a ghost. A tingling sensation spreads in his stomach. Something that's not quite excitement and giddiness, not quite dread and nervousness either.

"Okay, let's go," he says, almost racing up the remaining stairs, taking two at a time.

The inside of the library is a little chilly and poorly lit. Sam takes a moment to let the atmosphere get inside of him, let it work its magic on him. He takes a few deep breaths before they head to the information desk on the right side of the foyer. There's a middle-aged woman with blazing red hair behind the counter, dressed in expensive-looking clothing. Her glasses sit on the tip of her nose; the strap around her neck that holds the earpieces is wobbling as she nods her head to herself.

Sam clears his throat and at first she doesn't even blink. He does it again and when there's still no reaction, Dean says, "Excuse me, ma'am." It's sugar-sweet, that voice Dean always uses on women whenever he wants something (usually to get laid). It seems to grab her attention at last, but she looks up, probably annoyed that someone would disturb her precious crossword puzzling time. A big grin spreads across her face as she spots Dean, her interest very clear. It grosses Sam out, not the fact that a mature woman would be into a younger man, that's not it. But rather how blunt she's being about it. When she licks her lips it looks more ridiculous than seductive - though no one's asking Sam about it. His annoyed glances go unnoticed.

"Hi there, sweetheart," Dean purrs, flashing a big grin. Dean's always known how to manipulate women in his favor and now might be one of those times when it comes in handy. Sam sees how Dean's gaze flickers over the desk, probably searching for a name tag somewhere before he says, "Ms.-"

"Magdalena," she interrupts quickly. If the whole thing weren't so pathetic, Sam would burst out laughing.

With another broad grin, Dean repeats, "Magdalena, would you be so kind to point my brother and me to the newspaper section?"

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean trying to sweet talk her but when he gets the answers Sam didn't, he reconsiders it. "You'll have to go to the Microforms Reading Room, that's room 100, darling."

She takes out a map of the library and points out where they need to go. Sam listens closely to her explanations while Magdalena's attention is solely on Dean. Once she's done passing on all the information, she hands the floor plan to Dean, their fingers touching briefly. She uses the moment to grab Dean's hand and strokes it quickly. The fleeting look of discomfort on Dean's face is enough to make Sam snicker, a little gleeful that Dean's getting what he bargained for. Eventually, Sam takes pity on Dean, clasps a hand on his shoulder and starts pulling him away. He smiles awkwardly and nods his thanks at Magdalena, earning himself a hateful glare.

"Real smooth, Romeo," Sam laughs when he's sure they're out of earshot.

Dean shrugs and says, "At least now we know where to go. Bitch."

The "jerk" comes almost out of reflex. In the end, Sam's not going to argue about it. The long corridors of the Public Library are just like the foyer: poorly lit, a little chilly. The overhead lights paint the marble halls in a yellowish hue. The hallways are almost empty at this time of the day and the only footsteps that echo are Sam and Dean's. They hurry along until they find room 100. There are four library employees sitting on the right side when Sam and Dean enter, there are plenty of desks with microfilm readers in front of them.

Dean groans and runs a hand over his face. When he suggests, "Okay, let's get going. The sooner we start, the sooner we're out of here," Sam doesn't disagree.

The room is relatively deserted so they're lucky enough to snag a spot at one of the microfilm readers that'll also print. Dean mutters about hard-earned money when Sam tells him to get a copy card from the dispenser at the side of the room but he goes nonetheless. Sam already did some research before they came to New York when he was still trying to determine whether this would be their kind of gig or not. It'll serve as a good starting point, but now's the moment to dig deeper. He starts with the most recent death because it makes the most sense. However, he's also hoping that the extensive and up-to-date coverage on the night guard's death will lead him to more information on the previous incidents.

Dean comes back, waving a copy card in front of Sam's eyes. The movement fans a slight breeze in Sam's direction; the familiar scent of Dean above everything else, the smell of cheap cologne only faint, the sweat and leather and gun oil mixed with something so essentially Dean. Sam's stomach flutters but he pushes the thought about why away quickly. Finally, Dean whispers, "I'll go check out the printed versions."

They decide that Dean will look into the most recent death, while Sam will investigate the older ones. Dean grabs Dad's journal and Sam unpacks the laptop. They'll compare notes later, but for now, it's all about using what little time they have left as efficiently as possibly before the library closes. Sam loses his sense for time as he reads and prints as many newspaper articles he can find that might be related to their case. He stumbles upon information regarding the deaths of the two construction workers that died in the past: their names, their employers, their families and even some reports from eyewitnesses. He's so deep in thought that he's startled when one of the library employees asks people to finish up because they're closing within the next half hour. Sam rubs his eyes; they hurt from staring at the microfilm reader for too long. It's five thirty and when he looks around the room, he sees that Dean and he are the only people, besides the employees. Dean nods at him and they quietly pack up. Sam makes sure he's got all of his papers and his laptop before he heads out into the hallway.

"Find anything?" Dean asks as soon as he's out of the room too.

"Guess so," Sam yawns, a wave of tiredness washing over him. He stretches his arms, trying to make his back go as long as possible to work out the kinks. "There isn't all that much on the previous deaths, but it's a good starting point."

Dean nods as they walk toward the exit in silence together. They pass the information desk again and when Magdalena winks at Dean, Sam snickers evilly. Dean cringes and makes sure to pass her by quickly; Sam can't help the cackle that escapes his throat. It earns him a slap against the back of his head before Dean hurries ahead. Dean's moment of discomfort is too good to let it spoil Sam's blissful glee.

Even though it's early October, the air outside feels warm. Or, maybe that's just compared to the coolness of inside the library. Sam finds Dean waiting by one of the stone lion figures watching over the steps. He gives Sam a challenging look as if he dares him to comment on what just happened. Sam doesn't. Instead he grins broadly, earning himself another glare.

"Okay, wanna compare what we got?" Sam asks. When Dean shrugs and nods, Sam leads him around the corner of the building and toward the park that sits behind the library. They find two chairs and a little table. Sam boots up the laptop again, grateful for the free wi-fi in the park.

There's still a surprisingly large number of people. Parents laughing and chasing after their kids who squeak in delight, an old couple just a few feet away from Sam and Dean, tourists holding hands and then taking pictures with their big cameras, baseball hats and that slightly lost expression giving them away right off the bat. The streets framing the park are dotted with plenty of small cafés with food to buy. It reminds Sam that they need to find a place to get dinner later on, after they're done.

Turning to Dean, has asks, "What have you got?"

Dean grabs a stack of papers and starts, "Our guy was David Kowalski. Been working as a night guard at the museum for the last three years. Never had anything on his record, apparently he was a popular guy with his colleagues. Always joking and so on. Married with two children. His family lives in Brooklyn. Official records say he must've slipped, hit his head, got knocked out and fell into the pool by the Temple of Dendur where he drowned. This is where it gets interesting though. Another source claims he had a heart attack because there was no reported laceration-"

"Huh, he should have something if he really hit his head," Sam interrupts.

"Exactly, Professor Smart. The heart attack theory was ruled out after the autopsy. His heart seemed perfectly healthy."

Sam scratches the back of his head in thought. "It does seem weird that there are barely any signs of bruising even though his head trauma apparently was severe enough to make him drown in a pool that doesn't even look knee-deep."

"Yeah. That's weird." Dean flips through Dad's journal as if he is searching for whether or not he forgot to mention anything important. "None of the articles really dig deeper into the other deaths. Just mention them. 2004, 2001 and 1998."

This is where Sam takes over. "Yeah, September 2004. Dylan Bookstaver was doing routine maintenance work on the glass roof of the Temple of Dendur installation. He slipped and fell 60 feet and died on the way to the hospital. Happened in the morning so the police interviewed six people who were visiting at that time. One woman claimed she had heard loud noises, but nobody saw anything. His wife and two daughters live in Queens.

"There was another death before that. February 2001. Nathan Reichs, another construction worker who had been checking and cleaning the air-conditioners for over two years. Nobody saw the accident but security cameras filmed him walking around the rooftop. Fell down a 100 feet shaft between the wing that holds the Temple of Dendur and the Chinese Galleries on the second floor. A co-worker and a guard found him later. His family left New York a couple of years ago. You said there was another one in 1998?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, another construction worker. There wasn't much on it. Whatever's responsible for all these deaths, it's got a thing for construction workers."

Hm is Sam's only comment.

Dean looks into Dad's journal again, his notes carefully scribbled down, despite the stack of photocopies on the table; Sam had never really paid much attention to how much alike Dean and Dad are when it comes to approaching a hunt.

"June 1998," Dean says. "Michael Windon. His death is similar to Bookstaver's. He was a construction worker, repairing a crack in the glass façade of the museum. Official reports say he slipped, fell 50 feet and died. No one ever tried to explain what he did up there all by himself. Museum was closed that day so no one saw anything. His co-workers were on a cigarette break. No family."

"Almost looks as if it's breaking a pattern now," Sam says, thinking aloud to himself. "I mean, 1998, 2001 and 2004. Maybe even more before that. Every three years and always construction workers, mostly during the day too. What's making it break that pattern and attack at night?"

Dean shrugs. They both know what's coming at them, the only logical step for the next day.

"We'll have to go to the museum tomorrow, right? That and talking to Kowalski's and Bookstaver's families."

When Sam nods, Dean groans. Sam shakes his head; he doesn't understand Dean's aversion. He's excited. The Met has always been one of those places he has wanted to go to. He's never had the time or money though and now that he's got the chance, he's taking it. It may have been one of the reasons why he'd been so quick to jump on the case, but definitely not the only one. He had heard a lot about the Met during his art class at Stanford, he's seen pictures and he's had a longing to go ever since.

"Pack up, let's go." Sam says and when Dean gives him a weird look, he goes on, "Food?"

That's something Dean doesn't need to be asked twice.



They leave Bryant Park and the library to walk to the car. One of the things Sam had noticed when they entered Manhattan earlier was how busy the streets around the Met are. It is almost a complete contrast to the area they had driven through first, north of the Met; less crowded, less busy. A couple of blocks further up and a car parked for a few days will look less suspicious. Dean must have gotten a similar impression because he heads north and past the Met in silent agreement. Sam loses count of how many blocks Dean drives until the streets become a little more deserted and before he kills the engine somewhere between Fifth and Madison Avenue. It appears to take forever, thanks to the heavy New York City evening traffic. Once they've reached their destination, surprisingly they don't have to search long for a diner to eat at.

Only now that they're finally eating, Sam realizes how hungry he is. They've been so busy all day that he almost totally forgot about it. Dean's flirting shamelessly with their blonde waitress, scoring free onion rings to go with his burger and fries. Sam shakes his head in annoyance but doesn't say anything when Dean gives him a questioning look. He can't explain why it's irking him so much lately when he's never really minded Dean's flirting in the past. He's always been able to accept it as something vitally Dean, just like Dean's been able to accept Sam's interest in books and homework, in learning all kinds of things that have nothing to do with hunting. He keeps calling Sam dorkface and sidekick geekboy, but he's accepting. Sam's clueless as to where his own tolerance went. His train of thought is interrupted by a yawn. He then notices another thing: how tired he is. Driving long hours always takes its toll on Sam, even if he's not the one behind the wheel. He just wants to finish up and leave so that they can go crash.

They haven't talked about this yet but Sam thinks it goes without saying. They've worked on jobs comparable to this one before. Jobs in big cities like New York. They both know that a motel isn't necessarily something you'll find in a place like Manhattan and hotels are going to be expensive. Sure, they're not paying with their own money but even though (or maybe because) this is credit card fraud, they don't want to push their luck. Since they're not here for a vacation, but to get a job done as quickly as possible, staying outside the city isn't really an option either. Besides, who knows what time they might have to be available as they come closer to solving the case. Sam thinks it's only natural that they've mutually agreed - without discussing it - that for now, sleeping in the car is the best option. The area they're parking at, around East 110th Street, right by Central Park looks safe enough that people won't cause them any trouble. Sam sighs. Obviously it's not something he's looking forward to. The confined space and small backseat are going to kill his back. Being with Dean 24/7 can prove to be problematic but yet, he's aware that this is what their current circumstances demand.

They finish dinner and walk back to the car. They've agreed to sleep in the Impala for now, just like Sam knew they would. There's silence but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's disturbed by Dean belching loudly and patting his belly. When Sam gives him a sharp look, Dean grins broadly and does it again; this time on purpose.

"Can't help it," he shrugs. Only Sam knows he's totally lying. It's gonna be a fun time.



Without a doubt this has been the worst night of sleep Sam has ever gotten. Or one of them.

It's been a while since they last had to sleep in the Impala and no matter how much he tried to twist and turn, he just couldn't fold his limbs properly, never finding a position that was comfortable enough to allow him to drift off. There was never sufficient space for his arms and legs. Dean bitched at him, calling him Giantzilla more than once and claiming that Sam constantly kicked against the front seat, which is total bullshit according to Sam.

They're up with the first rays of light, early morning joggers running past the car on the sidewalk or people walking their dogs. No one pays any attention to two dudes sleeping in a car. Sam's glad for that. There's no time (and no place) to shower so after grabbing a cup of coffee and some breakfast, they head directly to the museum.

They're early. The museum opens at 9:30 and it's just a few minutes past that as they walk up the stairs. The building seems huge from the outside and the Beaux-Arts façade is incredibly beautiful. It's decorated with plenty of swirly and flowery elements, faces glancing down on the visitors as they climb up the steps. Sam would like to take just a moment to look and appreciate one of the places he's always dreamed of visiting. Sure, his art course at Stanford turned out to be a good place to meet girls, his girl, but when he added it to his schedule, it was because of a genuine interest in art.

Apparently, Dean's having none of this. As soon as Sam comes to a stand-still, Dean grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulls. "Come on, Sammy. We don't have all day. We don't wanna be here forever. Get moving."

Sam sighs but follows Dean into the museum. The Great Hall has come to life with the first wave of people. Quickly looking around, Sam sees admission desks on the left and right side but somewhat instinctively, both of them head to the right. They're waiting in line behind a couple talking in a foreign language. It sounds like an Eastern European language, could be Russian. Sam's not sure. When it's the couple's turn, the museum employee explains to them that they have an admission system where you pay as much as you want. When he mentions that the suggested rate for adults is $20 and $10 for students, Sam steals a glance at Dean. Just like he expected, Dean's face scrunches up. "Fucking thieves," he mutters. Sam rolls his eyes but doesn't comment.

"Hi," Sam says, giving the museum employee an awkward smile when they're next. "Two adults, please."

He hands the man $40, deliberately ignoring Dean's disapproving look. They're being asked for their zip code and then they're handed two metal clips to pin to their clothes.

"One more question, Sir," Sam says. "Could you maybe point us in the direction of the Temple of Dendur? We're very excited about seeing it for the first time."

The employee's face lights up immediately. Pure happiness spreads across his face as he says, "It's this way, young man. It's in The Sackler Wing. Beautiful installation. Believe me, it will take your breath away."

"Sammy being choked. Now there's a first," Dean mutters only loud enough for Sam to hear. He curses when Sam accidentally steps onto his foot very forcefully. What a satisfying feeling.

"Thank you, Sir."

More smiles are exchanged before Dean's hand lands on Sam's arm; a clear sign to get going. The touch feels unexplainably hot, despite layers of clothing. So, the only logical response is for Sam to shake Dean's grip off, earning himself an irritated look. They go back to the round information desk, which is behind them, right in the center of The Great Hall. Grabbing a floor plan, they finally head off to where the employee pointed them. The Temple of Dendur.

"Could've at least played the 'I'm a Stanford student' card," Dean hisses under his breath as they enter the museum through the section that holds the galleries of Egyptian Art. They're greeted by a temple installation but not the one they came for.

Sam stops dead in his tracks, "Look man, why d'you care? Not our money anyways, Dean."

In the end, it all comes down to them using stolen money anyway, whether it's credit card fraud or hustling pool. Sam's all for reserving their resources and avoiding trouble when possible, but who cares whether they're spending ten bucks more or less? Dean turns around and looks at him. His expression is clouded, something annoyed underneath that Sam can't read. Dean shrugs it off and says, "Whatever."

Sam's tempted to ask Dean what his problem is but he's got a feeling today's not a good day for that. Dean seems to be on edge, has been for a while. It's become worse since the job in New Paltz. At this point Sam believes that a confrontation would only lead to a big scene and this isn't the right time or place for it. They'll have to spend the next few days in each other's personal space and if he can help it, Sam would like to postpone any big blow-out for as long as possible. Reluctantly, he lets Dean usher him past all the display cases. Dean's checking the museum plan frequently, as if he wanted to make it clear that they have a set agenda here and that he doesn't want to lose any time.

The first objects they walk past are over 300,000 years old. Sam can't really make out what they are - might have been weapons or tools - if he wants to keep up with Dean's pace. There are statues, vases, even whole tombs with beautifully crafted stone walls covered in hieroglyphics. There are plenty of sarcophagi and pieces of jewelry. A pair of sandals, entirely made out of gold, catches Sam's attention. So much that he comes to a complete stop, aware that Dean's going to be even more annoyed with him. He can tell that Dean's level of frustration grows proportionally to Sam slowing down his own pace and falling behind more and more. But he just has to look.

"Sammy."

When Sam glances up he thinks it's a miracle that Dean doesn't actually come get him and take him by the hand like the little boy he makes Sam feel. Sam had thought they'd grown out of this 15 years ago. Apparently not. He matches Dean's annoyed expression and gives in eventually, but not before giving the sandals a final, longing look. All they have to do is head around the corner and into a new room to reach their destination.

The Temple of Dendur is installed in a huge, open space, infiltrated by plenty of natural light. If Sam had to guess, he'd estimate the whole wing to be over 20,000 square feet. It's breathtaking. There are a few people but, thankfully, the room is still mostly empty. Quickly giving it a once over, Sam spots a guard standing by the Temple, watching over the visitors with eagle eyes. It's installed on a platform that's maybe a little over 100 feet long and around 70 feet wide. Around the platform is the pool that's supposed to represent the Nile; it's also where Kowalski drowned. While it's relatively wide, it's not deep and immediately Sam feels vindicated. Drowning in such a shallow pool seems unlikely. There are a total of six seated stone statues in the room, in front of the platform. The far wall behind the Temple is sandstone-clad (unlike the other walls in the museum), supposedly to imitate the steep cliffs of its original setting. The right side and the ceiling are entirely made of glass to allow as much light in as possible.

When Dean nudges Sam in the side and points above, he seems to be reading Sam's mind. "Bookstaver and Windon must've fallen from somewhere up there."

Looking all the way up, Sam concludes that the idea doesn't look appealing at all.

"Let's check this out," Sam suggests more to himself than Dean. They take the few steps up to the platform. The Temple consists of a front stonegate, which is nothing more than a sandstone arch and the temple house, made of the same material. They first head to the gate and while they study it, Sam makes a mental note to research whether he can find anything on the hieroglyphics. They walk around it twice and from the corner of his eyes, Sam sees that Dean's just as perplexed as he is. Maybe the answer is in the actual temple house.

They've been working jobs long enough to have this mutual, wordless understanding. They head over to the main part of the temple and step inside. Or as far as they can. There's a barrier that doesn't allow visitors to do more than take a peek. There are three rooms in total; the first one is nearly as big as the combination of the two that lay behind it. There are more hieroglyphics on the walls but Sam doesn't get any chilly vibes. His instincts don't kick in, even if sometimes all he gets is a feeling that something's off. But here? Nothing. Nada. Niente.

Turning around to Dean, he whispers, "Everything seems so normal."

Dean appears just as confused as Sam. As if he can't wrap his mind around the whole thing either. With a shrug, he says, "Maybe ghostie isn't home."

Dean turns around to check for the guard while he slips his hand into his pocket and retrieves the EMF meter. He's pulling out the antenna when the guard walks around the corner. The guy gives them a suspicious look as if Sam and Dean are being inappropriate inside the Temple. Immediately, Sam and Dean turn their focus back to the hieroglyphics on the walls as if they are two interested visitors. Either the guard doesn't buy it and gets only more suspicious or he's just an incredibly fierce guy. Sam can feel the dude's eyes on them for the next five minutes.

"Let's go," Dean whispers, slipping the EMF meter back into his pocket. Both of them know that pointing a funny-looking device at precious objects will be hard to explain away if caught. It certainly doesn't help that the museum guard seems like the kind of guy who doesn't buy excuses that might work on others. With a sigh, Sam admits defeat. They slip out of the Temple and head down the platform.

"Guy's a fucking watchdog," Dean mutters under his breath as they slowly move to where they came from.

Sam snorts. "Try bulldog instead."

Not surprisingly, Dean doesn't argue. Sam's disappointed that they're on their way back out already. He's disappointed that this whole visit has been a waste of time and that they're no closer to solving the case than this morning. Only because they didn't notice anything to be off, it doesn't mean the EMF meter wouldn't have picked up anything. But mostly, he's disappointed that he won't get to see this place he always dreamed of visiting.

They're passing the gold sandals again, when Sam grabs Dean by the arm and says, "Wait."

"What, Sammy?"

There's a curious expression on Dean's face as he turns around. Sam doesn't know where this sudden feeling of insecurity, of awkwardness comes from, but it's there nonetheless. He feels like the dorky 12-year-old Dean always called him. His face is warm when he stammers, "Let's- I- let's look around a little."

Dean cocks an eyebrow at him and Sam hates when he does that.

"What? Why?" Dean asks. "We've got a case to solve."

Sam hastens to phase two: the pleading look. "Dean, come on. Maybe we'll have a better chance with the EMF later when there's a different guard or more people. I mean, we're here anyways. Why not look around a little? We did pay for this, so let's make use of the money. Please."

But Dean's expression doesn't change. "Sammy. We really need to talk to Kowalski's family."

"Dean, I know. I know. But they're still gonna be there in a few hours." Sam doesn't give up, voice a little more desperate. His facial expression too. He clutches both hands to his heart as he tries to convince Dean. "Besides, since when do you only look at one room in a haunted place? It shouldn't matter that this place is a little bigger than the average haunted place we check out."

At this point, Dean even laughs. Not an evil, taunting laugh but a friendly, amused snicker. "Nice try, Sammy. Now don't give me that look."

But that's exactly what Sam is doing. Giving Dean that look. The metaphorical kill.

Sam can tell the exact moment Dean's resistance comes crumbling down. He sees it in Dean's face, a brief look of irritation (probably because he realizes he's getting played), a heaving sigh and then what Sam thinks should come across as blasé acceptance. Sam tries to be not too pleased with himself when Dean finally says, "Dude. Whatever. Okay. But don't expect me to buy you something from the gift shop."

Sam fights the sassy comment and smug expression, he really does, but he just can't help it.

"But we'd get ten percent off," he says, waving the 10% discount coupon they received when buying their tickets. For a brief moment, he takes brotherly comfort in Dean's irritation, but soon enough, it's replaced by the excitement of finally being able to visit the Met. Sure, he had meant what he said earlier, if they're here anyway, they should check out the whole place and maybe try the Temple of Dendur again later on, but that's only part of his reasoning. He grabs the floor plan from Dean, gives it a quick look over and says, "Okay, this way."

Dean groans but follows Sam without further protest. Sam takes them back to the beginning of the Egyptian Art, back to the installation of the Tomb of Perneb, only this time, he allows himself to study it more carefully. He takes his time walking inside, totally fascinated by the old high culture and most importantly, he ignores Dean, who's making it clear how little he cares. A huge grin spreads across Sam's face as he drags Dean to the 300,000 year old tools and weapons, where Dean tells him, "It's a wonder you ever got laid. Your geekiness is kinda scary."

They find William, as it's nicknamed, a small statue of a hippo that's become the Met's unofficial mascot. There are plenty of statues, a real mummy, jewelry, more hieroglyphics and old wall paintings. With each piece of art Sam sees, his good mood elevates and his smile becomes bigger. He's happy here; this is like a dream come true. Maybe it's because it's a taste of normal despite their job, a chance to forget about his worries for a few hours. Sure, he needs to find Dad and he needs answers. It's affecting him, it's fucking with his life and he needs to know what's coming at him, he needs it all to make sense. He doesn't think he can go back to college any time soon, not with these nightmares he's been having and all the questions that cloud his head. But that doesn't mean he, they, can't have something nice, something normal like a visit to a museum for once. Being able to combine it with a case makes it even more awesome, he thinks. After a while, Sam tones out Dean shuffling behind him and his obvious disinterest. Sam doesn't care. He's having an amazing time right now. It takes them a long time to get through the Egyptian Art section. At some point, Sam read that the Met holds the largest collection of Egyptian Art outside of Egypt.

He drags Dean to the Greek and Roman Art next. Seeing the first statue of a woman with bare breasts, Dean's interest starts to perk up a little. Sam should be annoyed that Dean's being, well, Dean, but he's in such a good mood that at this point Sam believes nothing could ruin it. Or almost nothing.

They're standing in a courtyard with plenty of marble statues when Dean says out of the blue, "Wow, look at this dude's tiny dick."

The woman standing next to them glares at Dean as she covers her son's ears. If looks could kill, Sam's sure both Dean and he would have dropped dead immediately. Sam's face is hot and he quickly shoves Dean away and to the next statue, aware of the lady still throwing invisible daggers at them.

"Dude, watch your mouth," Sam hisses as he drags Dean away.

All it earns him is a shit-eating grin from Dean and a shrug. "Just saying it how it is, Sammy."

Thankfully, their next section doesn't contain anybody's junk. They're heading toward the section of Arts of Africa, Oceania and the Americas, starting with African art. Sam's first thought is just how different it is from the previous galleries they'd seen. Maybe Dean's not the right person to ask, but Sam does anyway, "Is it PC to consider this art primitive?"

Dean shrugs, points up and says, "Guess so. Considering the museum called the whole section Museum of Primitive Art."

Dean even bumps his shoulder against Sam's and that's kinda nice. It's nice that they're doing this. Together. Two brothers in a museum. Sam thinks that Dean needs to work on his excitement a little - though he's getting there as long as breasts are involved - and maybe his geekiness, but still, Sam's content that it's the two of them visiting the Met.

Mainly, there are wooden figures, masks, statues and even more masks. Sam's looking at a carved tusk, when Dean grabs him by the arm and says, "Check this out, dude. Now isn't that a friendly laugh?"

He pulls Sam right in front of the statue of a leopard and even though it's probably meant to intimidate with its huge, dangerous teeth, it rather looks as if it is smiling. At this point, Sam's grateful that Dean's warmed up to the museum, that he seems to be enjoying himself even though this isn't Dean's usual idea of a good time. Sam's pleasantly surprised. He's also surprised by the section with South American art. Sam's heart may have skipped a beat or two when he sees all of the shiny things reflecting the light. The whole room's full of gold and silver objects, among them very few stone statues, carefully arranged in Plexiglas display cabinets. He hears Dean take in a sharp breath and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Dean's having similar thoughts. They approach the cabinets, peeking into them with their eyes going wide at the precious treasures.

"Dude," Dean says, "I wonder how much this shit's worth."

"I don't wanna imagine," Sam says, unable to draw his gaze away from a two Peruvian ceremonial knives made of gold, emblazed with turquoise stones. Without a doubt, one of the most beautiful things Sam has ever seen. There are all kinds of ceremonials from various Central and South American countries that used to be ruled by ancient, pre-Colombian high cultures before they were reduced to nothing but minorities during the colonization. Knives, masks, ornaments, earrings and necklaces, everything. There's a special display in the center of the room as if it is to outshine all the marvelous objects in the room. It holds various tools that belonged to an Incan priest, most of them in gold. Something in the room gives Sam the chills and almost magically he's drawn back to the knives. Maybe it's the value of all this that fascinates him so much, just contemplating about how long Dean and he could live off that money. Probably forever. Sam leaves the exhibit only reluctantly. There's a special intrigue he feels but he knows that there's so much more to see.

He meets Dean outside the room and when he says, "Wow. That was really awesome." Dean only nods.

Modern Art is next and it doesn't take long to find out that Dean's not a fan. At all. Sam actually appreciates the occasional Miró, Picasso or Dalí with their bright colors and abstract forms. He bribes Dean with the prospect of food if he'll let Sam take his time in this part of the museum. By the time they're through Modern Art, Sam's feet are almost killing him and his stomach is protesting loudly. He's grateful that they can sit down in the Roof Garden Café, enjoy a snack and rest for a bit.

"We'll be coming back at some point, you know that, right?" Dean says between two bites of sandwich.

They're not any closer to solving the case and Sam's aware that if they don't get a chance to check out the Temple of Dendur when they return to it later, they'll have to change their strategy and find another way to reach their goal. He's confident they will, because they always do, but yes, he's aware that they'll have to pay another visit. There's still a lot to see and if Sam's gonna have the chance to look at it, he will. At this point, he's exhausted. The lack of restful sleep is finally getting to him. When he suggests to slowly head back to the Temple of Dendur to try their luck with the EMF meter again, Dean agrees eagerly. They finish their drinks and food and continue their tour on the second floor. Taking the route through the sections of European Paintings and Sculpture, Ancient Near Eastern Art, over the balcony, along Chinese Art (somewhere around here is where the first construction worker must have fallen), they head down the steps to The Sackler Wing and to the Temple of Dendur. Sam spots a few things he'd like to check out but doesn't feel capable of doing it now. Besides being physically exhausted, he's also maxed out mentally, no longer able to take any more information in without fearing that his head is going to explode.

When they climb down the stairs, Sam's not surprised to see the Temple of Dendur crowded with people. They've been at the museum for several hours and it's another few until it closes. The previous guard is still there and one quickly exchanged look with Dean tells Sam that Dean doesn't see much sense in trying either. They'll have to come back either some other day or find another way to get close to the Temple without raising any suspicion. At this point, Sam wants to return to the car, rest his feet a few more minutes and then go talk to Bookstaver's family in hope that they'll know something to help solve the case. No matter how much fun this day was, Sam knows they're also working a job here.



They're from the workers' union this time and when Mrs. Bookstaver seems surprised that her late husband apparently was part of it, they assure her that he wasn't but that they heard about the case, and if she doesn't mind, they'd like to talk to her to see whether it'll make sense for her to press charges against her husband's employer. A service to the community of construction workers, so to speak. That's how they find themselves sitting on a victim's couch and accepting coffee from his widow. The questioning doesn't help them at all. It turns out that he'd just recently been placed as an additional man on the job at the Met and that he never mentioned anything strange. Of course, he didn't. They give up after an hour.

"So what now?" Dean asks, tone unnerved as soon as they're both inside the car.

"We still have the most recent victim's family to talk to. If I remember correctly, he's been working there for a longer period. Maybe he passed on a few ghost stories," Sam suggests.

Apparently, that's all Dean needs to hear. "Okay then. Lead the way, Sparky."



They take the Brooklyn Queens Expressway down from Astoria, Queens to Brooklyn Heights. It's extremely slow, the amount of cars only allows them to crawl through the evening traffic. They pass plenty of big buildings on their way. Compared to Manhattan, there's a clear distinction in style and shape; they're nothing like their sleek, stylish Manhattan counterparts but Sam might even like the look and feel of this side of the East River better than the hectic stress of Manhattan.

David Kowalski's widow shares a two-bedroom apartment with her two sons in a multi-story house at the dead end of a side road. It's almost got a suburban feel to it, protected from the pulsing main streets. Mrs. Kowalski studies Sam and Dean's fake NYPD badges carefully. No matter how often Sam does this, pretends to be someone else, showing some ID that attests to some profession he can't claim, he can't get used to the thrill and the fear of getting caught, despite the perfection with which the badges have been forged. They are good, without a doubt - Sam's just never eased into the lying and probably never will. Dean's face is sober and emotionless as if it is routine for him to have people check his police badge. Sam always thought if someone's going to blow their cover it's clearly going to be him.

Mrs. Kowalski inspects the badges forever - at least, that's how it feels to Sam - but eventually she seems to find what she's been looking for. Handing the IDs back to Sam and Dean, she unhooks the door chain and invites them in. "I'm sorry about that, Officers. Yesterday two kids pretended to be policemen but really they were just curious or wanted to write an article for their school paper. Can you believe their audacity?"

She swallows. "My husband passed four days ago and someone's trying to take advantage of our horrible situation. I just want to protect my family."

Sam feels like an ass even though he knows that they're not lying in order to still their morbid curiosity or to write an article for some paper. He knows they're trying to help, to save lives but in the end, it doesn't make them much better. A quick glance to the side isn't enough to detect whether Dean's having similar thoughts. Sam's aware that pretending to be someone else, misleading and manipulating people has always been easier for Dean and Dad.

Mrs. Kowalski leads them to the living room and offers drinks. Sam cuts her off before she can get too friendly. He'd rather be done with this already. Clearing his throat, he says, "Mrs. Kowalski, we're aware that you've already spoken to the police but we have new information we cannot share yet so we wanted to double-check your statement."

Sam gives her what he hopes to come across as an empathetic smile. When he mentions new information, her face is clouded for a split second and Sam wonders what she's thinking.

"Mrs. Kowalski," Dean addresses her, "has your husband ever mentioned anything strange about the museum during the years he's been working there? Any weird things?"

Her expression is puzzled, so Sam clarifies, "Did he mention anything like flickering lights? Any weird sounds? Or, uh, sudden drops in temperature? Just anything strange."

She gives them a look that clearly states she thinks they're crazy for asking those questions but both Sam and Dean have mastered the technique of ignoring this kind of judgment.

"Daddy said there was a ghost," a high-pitched voice interrupts. When Sam and Dean turn their heads to the door where the voice is coming from, they spot a young boy, most likely one of the Kowalskis' sons. The boy looks about eight or nine years old. Next to him is another boy, a few years younger, already dressed in Superman PJs.

Sam can't believe his ears and when he glances at Dean, Dean's expression says about the same. He's taken aback because usually their job isn't so easy that people already pass on the story of the ghosts they're going to hunt. If they're lucky, someone will admit to weird things happening but that's usually it.

"Simon, go take your brother and play in your room. Now," Mrs. Kowalski says sharply. She seems to have a different reaction to the mention of a ghost.

Still this is too good of an opportunity for Sam to let it go. "A ghost?"

"It-," she rubs a hand over her face, shaking her head. Some of her earlier anger fades, replaced by resignation. "It was just a story he told the kids sometimes when he kissed them goodnight. Some stupid ghost story he picked up from a colleague who claimed she had seen a ghost on top of the Temple of Dendur, where my husband worked. A ghost!"

Her laugh is shrill and desperate. For the first time, her guard seems to crumble. All of a sudden, she looks tired, exhausted. There are unshed tears pooling in her eyes and almost from one second to the next, she looks about ten years older.

"Hah, a ghost. Don't worry, we're not Mulder and Scully," Dean jokes, trying to lighten the situation.

Sam gives her another empathetic look, leans in a little and asks, "Mrs. Kowalski, do you remember who told your husband that story and what it was about?"

"No. They're just stupid stories."

Her reply is short and cutting, incredibly furious. Combined with her hard look it leaves no room for further questioning. The temperature seems to drop by ten degrees and Sam thinks they should take this as a hint to get going. They ask a few more routine questions: how long had her husband been working there, did he always have the same shifts, same time, same part of the museum, and so on. This information probably won't be relevant to the case but the closer to normal this interrogation looks the better.

Eventually, they thank Mrs. Kowalski for her time and have her show them out.

"Well, that was helpful," Dean mutters on the way to the car. He loosens his tie and throws it onto the backseat, not caring where it lands.

Sam scratches the back of his head and says, "But at least now we know that someone knows something. We'll just have to find the right person and a way to talk to them."

They're on their way back to where they parked the car previously. Sam's not looking forward to another night in the Impala but he knows both of them would rather solve this case quickly. They're already halfway through Manhattan, when Sam suggests, "We should do some more research tomorrow. Let's look at the history of the Temple and see whether anything weird is connected to it. Maybe check out Egyptian culture and gods. We also should try check out the museum again."

Dean doesn't argue and after grabbing a bite to eat, the eternal struggle of getting comfortable in the Impala begins again. They don't try to sleep right away, it's too early for that. At this time of the evening, there is still the occasional person on the streets and it's bad enough that there are two dudes just sitting in a car, Sam certainly doesn't want to chance his luck by turning something obvious into crystal clear. Things are slightly awkward between Dean and him. Usually, they'd have a motel room with a TV or the chance to go to bed early without being frowned upon. The silence between them feels weird. They're both exhausted and tired and it shouldn't be an issue that neither is up for conversation after a long day, yet it's strange.

It's been a while since they've last had to share so little space with each other for so long. Sam actually has to think about it for a few moments before he can recall the last time. It had been a witch hunt in Wyoming with Dad, back in the days before Stanford. Sam smiles to himself. It was a total nightmare. They were at each other's throats in no time, mostly Dad and him and by the time the witches were found they were all ready to kill each other. Ironically, almost doing what the witches had failed to do.

Sam hopes that this time will be different when it's just Dean and him. Sure, Dean and he have their quarrels too but there's no dispute that Dean and he get along a lot better than Dad and him. Things have shifted between them since their first hunt together in Jericho. Sam can't put a name on what's happening but he feels that something between them is changing. Dean's still his big brother and while Sam is no longer the chubby eight-year-old who hero-worships Dean without questioning his actions and decisions, Dean remains his only present family. The current situation's not all that different from when they were kids; a father who's absent, busy fighting their fight without bothering to involve his sons, without worrying whether they'll manage on their own. Ever since they've been back on the road together again, Sam's taken immense comfort from Dean just being there. Something's going on that he doesn't fully understand yet.

Sleeping in the car only adds to the reasons why Sam wants to finish this job quickly. He knows that they had agreed to stop searching for Dad but Sam just can't agree completely. He needs to find answers. He needs to know what's happening to him and if there are other kids like Max and him.

In the end, Sam kills time going through their research again while Dean fiddles with the radio.

Masterpost | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 & Thanks/Acknowledgements | Art Masterpost