Fic: Waiting Till the Shine Wears Off
Title: Waiting Till the Shine Wears Off
Pairing: OMC/Dean, Sam/Dean
Rating: very mild R
Word Count: 10.097
Warnings: wincest, but that's not really a warning
Disclaimer: I own nothing but this fic. Everything is only made up by me and I'm making no profit with this story.
Summary: Red Lake Falls is a small town in Minnesota, where supernatural things just don't happen. So what causes three ordinary people to change dramatically? The Winchesters are bound to find out, accompanied by Ruby and a certain handsome stranger. Set after Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Note: This was written for garvaldmains, because it was her birthday. She wanted a traffic jam fic, but my muse was leaving me and instead she got this fic, lol
Many thanks to the wonderful colbertobsessed because I bothered her with this fic for ages till it was finished XD
Red Lake Falls was a small town, peaceful and quiet, up in the north-west of Minnesota. Not much more than 350 families lived there, population somewhere around 1.960 and steadily decreasing, and as far as one could remember, the last notable event had happened sometime in the 1970's, and still no one could even recall what that event had been all about.
It hadn't exactly been the first choice for Alice Gardner when she and her husband Malcolm had discussed where to settle down, buy a house and raise children, attend community events and be the nice and friendly family next door. Alice had grown up in New York, always busy, every day a new experience, new people and new challenges, so the prospect of living in a town so small and boring had sent shivers down her spine. But Malcolm had always known how to convince her when it came to important decisions.
In the end, she couldn't say that she regretted moving to Red Lake Falls. Sometimes Alice still felt uncomfortable in her own house, a bit out of place even after approximately 13 years of living there , but she'd learned how to accept the quietness of the town and the neighbors watching her every step. She just had to blend in and everything had been fine. Their 12-year-old son Tim had lots of opportunities to play with the other children in a beautiful landscape, with two rivers running through the town and he got a good education at St. Joseph's School, learned how to bow to God's will at St. Joseph's Church on Sundays and, most importantly, learned how to respect the elderly ladies during the various community events.
It was one of those chilly Friday mornings when Alice and Malcolm Gardner were getting ready for work; Malcolm was working at Bill's Garage down the street and Alice had found a job as a librarian in the town's small school library. Tim was bouncing down the steps of their house, school bag already slung over one shoulder, and came to a halt in front of his mother to take his lunch box out of her hand. “Don't want to go to school, Mom,” Tim pouted, hating school just as much as both his parents had done when they'd been his age, but his father simply ruffled his hair affectionately. “Sorry, Timmy, nothing I can do to spare you this. Now get in the car, I'll be there in a minute.”
Tim huffed, clearly not pleased at all. He gave his mom a peck on the cheek when she leaned down to say goodbye and then made a show of stomping out of the house to get in the car. Alice watched him with a fond smile on her lips. “You think he'll get over it?” She asked her husband, turning to him with an amused grin. Malcolm leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Surely he will, eventually. Will you pick him up after school today?” Alice nodded and Malcolm said, “Good, I don't know when I'll be home today. Bill keeps on letting me work extra shifts.” He was already retreating, blowing her a kiss as he went, and then he was out of the door to get to Tim, who was bouncing up and down in the backseat of their car impatiently.
Alice grabbed her own car keys and followed them, closing and locking the front door behind her. She'd stepped down the front steps by the time she noticed her neighbor and good friend, Julie Smith, standing in her driveway. Alice frowned, immediately concerned by the dark shadows she found under Julie's eyes and the pale shade of her usually bright and smiling face. “Julie? Everything okay, darling?” Alice asked whilst taking a step towards her friend.
Julie shook her head silently, lips pressed together into a thin line and her whole body trembling. As Alice got closer to her, she noticed that Julie seemed to be downright covered in sweat. She laid a hand on Julie's arm, shaking her slightly. “Julie, what is it? Tell me,” her voice was getting higher with every passing second, concern clearly audible. “Are you ill? Shall I call a doctor?”
Julie only shook her head again and raised her left hand, still trembling, and by the time Alice felt the cold metal press against her temple, it was already too late to process what was going on. She could see that Julie was crying now, tears spilling down her cheeks while she heaved heavy sobs. “He's mine,” she croaked out eventually, “You can't have him forever.”
The last things Alice heard were a loud shot, frighteningly close to her own ears, before she saw the pavement advancing with an unbelievable speed, and Malcolm screaming her name, somewhere in the distance, while Tim sounded like he was crying. She tried to open her mouth, tell them that everything was okay, that she was okay, but her limbs felt heavy and unmovable.
When the paramedics arrived, 35-year-old Alice Gardner, beloved mother and wife, had long been dead.
* * *
“Bobby got the word out on Bela a month ago and there's still no sign of that skinny bitch,” Dean cursed as he flipped his phone shut and threw it in the back of the Impala, needing to take his anger and frustration out on something that wasn't his brother, because he obviously couldn't throw Sam around in the car.
Sam frowned and watched the phone disappear somewhere in the dark of the backseat, then he turned to his brother again. “Dean,” and holy shit, the tone of his voice made it clear as fucking day that Sammy was in full concerned-baby-brother-mode. Really the last thing Dean needed right now. “I want to find the Colt just as badly as you do,” Sam kept on talking, simply ignoring the glares Dean shot his way to get him to shut his mouth. “But there's not much we can do at this moment, okay? The Colt could be across the ocean by now and hunting down Bela to 'kill the filthy skank' won't get you out of your deal. We would just be wasting time. Your time,” Sam added, as if Dean could somehow forget about this little, really unimportant fact.
Dean suddenly felt white hot anger curse through his body and he whipped around to face Sam, barely keeping from swerving the Impala off the road in the process. “You really think I don't know that, Sam?” Dean spit out, knuckles turning white he was gripping the wheel so hard. “But, and I really hate to break it to you, the Colt's the only damn thing that can get me out of the deal, all right? And if we don't find Bela and beat the location of the Colt out of her, then we're also wasting what's left of my time sitting here with you bitching at me.”
Dean was very much on a roll here and he could just go on happily like this, but instead of bitching back the way his brother was supposed to do, Sam simply kept his mouth shut and stared sullenly out the window. Dean sighed, his anger deflating at once. “You're a real pain in my ass, Sammy,” Dean stated, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye and felt some of the tension leave his body when he saw the corners of Sam's mouth twitch. “Takes one to know one,” Sam countered, leaning back in his seat and stretching his arms as much as possible without knocking against the roof of the Impala, a smug smile appearing on his face when he heard Dean scoff. “So tell me again why we're heading to Bumfuck, Minnesota instead of spanking Bela's bony ass with the Colt?”
“Ew, dude,” Sam replied, making a face of pure disgust. “That's really not a thought I want to entertain.” Dean laughed. “Aw, Sammy, no need to play innocent now. I know you have the hots for that chick.” Instead of laughing, Sam fell silent again and made a point of rustling through the newspaper they bought two states back, his cheeks heating up slightly. Dean raised an eyebrow. Well, that were indeed interesting news. He needed to store that piece of information away for later if some serious blackmailing was needed to keep Sam from running off and getting himself in danger again. The kid really seemed to have developed a thing for shit like that in the last couple of months.
Sam cleared his throat and scanned one of the articles again. “Red Lake Falls, Minnesota. A woman got shot by her neighbor. Nothing indicating that something supernatural had been going on, but,” Sam stressed the last word dramatically and Dean could barely refrain from rolling his eyes. “Three days before that event a wife split her husband's skull with his own ax; again no obvious reason to do so. Just one day before the ax murder, two pupils of the school's town went at each other with a knife and a baseball bat. Winner was the one who got out alive, but he wouldn't name a reason for the fight. So we have now three murders in just one week and that in a town that's so small every death could do quite the damage to their population, man.”
Dean nodded in agreement and said, “Could be a demon wanting to spread anger and hatred, but could be just some small town citizens going crazy as well. Did the victims have something in common?”
“Nothing's said about that in the papers, but I guess we'll find out soon enough,” Sam replied when Dean pulled the car off Minnesota Highway 32 and came to a halt in front of the first, and very much likely the only, motel in the area. Eyeing the motel, Dean smirked at his brother.”Chateau Motel and Liquor Store. Well, if that's not a hint on how we should spend the night, then I don't know what a hint is.” Of course it was needless to make a comment like that, because liquor store or not, Dean already knew how Sam would spend the night. Brooding, doing research, angsting about Dean's deal, taking a shower, brooding some more and finally complaining about Dean eating on his bed. Dean sighed inwardly. Also needless to say that Dean would spend his night trying to annoy Sam as much as possible, instead of going out and maybe finding himself a pretty lady for the night.
Sam chose to ignore Dean's poorly attempt at humor and got their belongings out of the trunk, so there was nothing left for Dean to do but to go and get them a room for the night. When he got back - and damn, that receptionist was a mean old lady - Sam had already unpacked their things and flipped his laptop open. The room was thankfully not as crappy as some they already had to experience, but it clearly had been decorated by a blind dude. There was no other way Dean could possibly explain the friggin' dolphins painted on the walls. But both the beds had a decent size and looked comfy, so Dean wasn't going to complain about those. Hell, even Sam looked kind of small sitting there on one of the huge beds and if you managed to make Big Foot look small, Dean definitely had to give you some credit.
* * *
Malcolm Gardner had once been a handsome man in his mid-thirties, tall and athletic and with eyes that twinkled with wisdom he shouldn't possess at this young age. Sitting opposite from him now, all Dean could see was the empty shell of what formerly must've been a very charming person. Gardner's eyes were downcast and he kept on fidgeting in his seat, but no emotion ever reached his voice when he spoke. As he answered Dean's questions, it seemed like he was only going through the motions while his mind had wandered far off to happier times in his life.
Dean probably hadn't felt this uncomfortable in months. There was a reason he usually let Sam deal with the eyewitnesses. Scratching the back of his head, Dean cleared his throat again. “I really don't want to bother you any longer, Mr Gardner, but you have to tell me in detail what had happened last Friday.”
When Gardner raised his eyes to meet Dean's shortly, Dean was taken aback by the guilt, sorrow and utter despair he found there. Damn it, where was comforting!Sammy when you needed him. “I already told you that I talked to your colleagues about this, Detective Marsen. I don't see a point in going over this again,” he said in a small voice and Dean really wanted nothing more at this moment than to leave the poor bastard alone. Couldn't do that, of course.
“I understand that it's not easy for you, but we have to know why exactly Ms Smith had done that to your wife - if the murder happened in cold blood, did she plan it or did she just shortly before she met your wife decide to do what she had done, etc.” Gardner gave a weak nod at that and Dean was sure this was as much of an Okay as he would get, so he continued. “Had there been any confrontations in the past? Any conflicts between the two?”
Gardner shook his head. “No, not at all.” And for the first time since Dean had entered the house, he saw something come alive in those eyes, even though it was only pure anger and disbelief. “They were friends, best friends even. I mean, they talked every day to each other and sometimes Julie would even pick Tim up from school when we couldn't make it in time. And then one day she simply walks up and - and shoots Alice right in the head. I just - I don't know what to do now.” With that Gardner hunched forward and buried his face in his hands and Dean was honestly afraid the guy would start crying on him. Thank God, he got his composure back and took a deep breath as he straightened back up again. “I'm sorry, Detective, but there's really not much more I can tell you about all of this. If you don't mind - “
“Of course not,” Dean interrupted quickly, being relieved himself that he could put an end to that awkwardness. “I'll keep in touch with you, though, so you'll know when Ms Smith finally states her motive.”
Gardner only nodded and said his goodbye, and Dean found his way out alone. And as he walked out of the door, he could still feel the eyes of the little boy sitting on the stairs on him.
* * *
When Dean was out the door and on the way to the Impala he had parked a few houses down, Sam caught up with him and fell into step beside him. “So,” Sam began, “Turned out that Mr Lewis was a 'cheating bastard' and therefore his wife had decided that he deserved to get his skull split in two. Police got her just in time before Mrs Lewis got to the affair of her husband, though. Our dead schoolboy named Benjamin had been a bully to poor Eric, who then had thought it was best to fight back with a baseball bat. Julie Smith is still not ready for any further interrogation according to the doctors, but by now we have two murders that happened out of revenge. Seems likely that Alice Gardner fits the pattern too.” By the time Sam finished talking, they had both gotten into the car and shut the doors. Dean turned around to face Sam, one arm draped over the back of the seat.
“I don't know, man,” he said,”Gardner said his wife and Smith had been very good friends, without any deeper conflicts or stuff like that. Doesn't sound like an act out of revenge to me. It seems more like an actual coincidence that one murder followed so shortly after the other . I know those happen rarely, but the victims still have nothing in common aside from someone who obviously wanted them dead.” Sam nodded quickly, “I thought so too, at first. But now here's the catch: Mr Lewis did spend a night with another woman, but it had been just that - a night. 16 years ago. And yes, Benjamin had been a bully to Eric in school, but that had been in elementary school. Till last week, they were both high school seniors.”
“And suddenly one of them decides to get his revenge. Just like that? Out of the blue?” Dean asked skeptically and Sam shrugged. “Seems like that. How long has Gardner been living here? Something close to 14 years? I bet there's some dirt to dig up and I'm also pretty sure that Julie Smith is somehow involved in it.”
“So three people who want to take revenge, everyone of them long after the actual thing that got them so mad in the first place had happened, and all in one week? Something's definitely out there to feed on the hatred they held back for all those years.” Sam nodded. “You bet. Thing is, every damn demon in hell and on earth could fit that description. They all have nothing better to do than to spread misery and anger and get off on it.”
“Oh, how I hate those fuckers,” Dean sighed and Sam found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.
* * *
“I swear, Dean, this town thinks of itself as some kind of Noah's Ark.”
Dean frowned and pressed the phone closer to his ear as he rounded a corner. Made it easier for him to speak a bit quieter when he answered. “What do you mean - Noah's Ark? I don't see any huge ships here - “
“It was a metaphor, you idiot. The town's small, economy isn't exactly booming in this area and the number of unemployed is way higher than the number of those who actually have a job. Now they believe that it was God's will for them to gather around this area, because it's so peaceful and uneventful. It makes them think that they're only here to serve God and to bow to his every will, without any distractions.”
Dean nodded, but then remembered that Sam couldn't even see him and replied quickly, “So we have a God-fearing town, where suddenly 3 different and ordinary people run amok. You thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Yep,” Sam said and Dean could hear him rustling around in the background. “No unnatural death happened here since 1986 and that was a schoolboy dying in a car accident. No malice or whatsoever. I think that's as much proof that we'll get that this is some demon's work."
“Seems like that. Listen, Sam, I'm there. I'll call you back when I'm finished here,” and with that Dean flipped his phone shut and looked up the front of the small building he was standing in front of now. Red Lake Falls Asylum. Dean was surprised that such a small town even had an asylum, but really, it looked more like an old warehouse anyway. Huge shiny windows, but the otherwise dirty and neglected. Seemed like the people of Red Lake Falls didn't care all that much about their mentally unstable neighbors.
As Dean entered the asylum, he couldn't help the cold shiver that was running down his spine. This really wasn't a place where people were supposed to live; he felt like vomiting just from visiting it, living here must've be more of a punishment than death sentence itself. The old floor reeked of something Dean didn't even dare to name, the color was peeling off the walls and even the nurses looked like they had seen better days. Maybe it was just Dean, but you shouldn't exactly chew gum and manicure your fingernails when you were supposed to look after people who clearly needed some help.
The woman sitting at the administration desk obviously thought she was working at the street corner and not in an asylum. That was if she didn't have some evil plan to drive the inmates even more insane with the tons of makeup she'd put on to hide her wrinkly face. Dean put on his best charming smile, which didn't come as easily as usual when faced with such an enormous abuse of eyeliner. “Good evening, Ma'am. I'm Detective Marsen, remember? I phoned you yesterday and asked for a meeting with Ms Smith.”
All Dean got for his trouble was a disinterested nod and without so much as demanding an ID she pointed him to Smith's room. Dean hurried to walk down the narrow corridor and prayed to all heavens that he wouldn't get groped by some perverse lunatic. In the end, he made it to Room 103 without one single grope to his poor ass and his dignity intact, but didn't want to stress his luck and quickly opened the door after a short knock.
The woman sitting at the tiny table in the corner of the even smaller room had nothing to do with the young and beautiful woman Dean had seen on pictures. It seemed like a frown was now edged into her ashen face permanently as she stared off in the distance, out of the too large window. Dean was sure the windows were just another form of torturing the inmates of the asylum - bright daylight flooded through them, promising freedom which must've been tempting the inmates wickedly, even though they weren't so much as allowed to go to the toilet alone anymore.
Dean cleared his throat to try and get the woman's attention, but she simply kept on staring out the window, right into the light of day and Dean suddenly felt awkward in his own skin. He knew he should shut the door, but he couldn't bring himself to do so - it would make the room even smaller and more cramped than it already was. Dean wanted out of there. Now.
Instead on turning on his heels and getting out of there as quickly as possible, like he really, really wanted to do right now, he cleared his throat again and took a step towards Smith. There was just one other chair in the room, positioned opposite from Smith at the table and there was just really no way in hell Dean would sit down there. He cleared his throat for the third time now and tried to make his voice as steady as it would get when he began to speak. “Ms Smith, I'm Detective Marsen and I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding Mrs Gardner's death.”
“As far as I know, the doctors said that my client still isn't ready for any further interrogations,” a male voice answered Dean from somewhere behind him and startled Dean for a short moment, then he rolled his eyes. Awesome. Smith was still sitting with her back turned to him and looked like she wasn't even breathing and now some lousy lawyer had to get in the game. Just his luck. Dean turned, a dismissive remark already forming on his lips and then - and then the words just died in his throat because for one insane moment, he saw Sam standing in the door frame. Sam in a suit. Sam wearing glasses. Sammy looking like the lawyer he would be by now.
He had to blink several times until his brain would finally catch up with the information that this was clearly not Sam. The guy standing opposite of him was tall - probably even taller than Sam and Dean had to admit that this kind of freaked him out - and tanned, had floppy brown hair and bangs that were falling into his face, surrounding the glasses pitched high on his nose. The suit he wore didn't look like anything too fancy, but it surely hadn't been cheap either. Yeah, definitely not Sam. But disturbingly close anyway and why the hell did the kids grow up to get so damn tall these days? Dean was sick of having to crane his neck up to look somebody in the eyes while talking to them. Hazel eyes, he noticed. Maybe Dean needed to wear glasses too, maybe then every third person he met would stop looking like Sam to him.
The guy was watching Dean patiently, waiting for him to respond and when Dean just kept on staring at him, contemplating if he could possibly even be the same age as Sam, the guy had the nerve to smirk at him - and Dean would be damned if he couldn't make out a set of dimples right there. “Detective?” The Sammy-doppelganger asked and one eyebrow was raised slightly, disappearing behind the bangs hanging in his face.
Dean definitely had to put an end to that little staring game until it would get really embarrassing. “I.uhm.. well,” he stammered, cursing himself for his lack of eloquence. Fine, then the charming smile and twinkling eyes would have to do the job. “That wasn't even a real interrogation,” he stated quickly, trying his best to seem as arrogant as possible. “I was just checking on your client. The widower really wants to know the reason for what had happened that day and I was hoping Ms Smith had made some progress and was ready for at least a few questions.” The lie sounded awfully lame to his own ears, but he was in the same room with a goddamned lunatic that smelled somewhat of piss, how the hell was he supposed to come up with his usual foolproof lies?
Instead of answering, the guy looked Dean up and down - probably admiring how hot Dean looked in that suit, because really, who wouldn't notice; or seeing right through his lie, which was much more likely at this point - and one corner of his mouth twitched slightly upwards. “You know, you don't really look like a Detective to me,” he said quietly, a small and knowing smile on his lips. Dean was about to open his mouth and give some lame-ass response, but the guy simply kept on talking. “So before I start considering running your ID, I suggest you leave this room immediately.”
And weird wouldn't nearly describe what was going on right now, because suddenly Dean was possessed with the strong urge to do exactly what the guy had just told him. Or to ask him out on a date. Or to... And Dean was really not going there, because hot or not, the guy looked way too much like Sam for Dean's taste. And before Dean had made the conscious decision to move his feet, he was already almost out the door and in the reeking hallway again. Only thing that was standing in his way was the freakishly tall frame of that conceited asshole. This really handsome conceited asshole. But an asshole nonetheless, Dean had to remind himself.
He hadn't felt more dumb in years; without uttering another word Dean walked around the guy and out the door, his feet carrying him away from the room and to the exit of the asylum in no time, even though he didn't even want to leave. He wanted to plant his feet and tell the guy to fuck off, but Dean was already out the building before he even registered what was going on.
Dean recognized a whammy when it was directed at him, especially after the awful experience with Andy and the Impala, and he wasn't stupid. But he was pretty sure there hadn't been some freaky mind control going on: He had no headache, he didn't feel dizzy and he could've told the guy that no, thank you, but Dean was going nowhere.
Problem was that Dean hadn't wanted to tell the guy off. Not really, at least. There was a tiny feeling of hurt pride in the mix, but that was it. Dean had been just fine doing what the guy had told him. With his bright smile and his damn dimples.
And either that guy was the most stupid psychic-weirdo in the world or Dean had just experienced a whole new form of What-the-fuck.
* * *
As it turned out, the handsome conceited asshole was named Aaron Jardine and worked as a public defender in this area for 5 years now and no, he was not Sam's age. He was 32 years old and Dean was kind of too relieved when he found out about that. Jardine had been a good friend of both Smith and Gardner since he'd moved to Red Lake Falls and he wanted to defend Smith for the simple reason to find out why she'd murdered her friend. But since Smith would still not talk to anyone, not even to her lawyer and good friend, Jardine didn't know anything more than Dean did.
And when Dean learned about all these facts over a cup of coffee, after Jardine had caught him in the asylum again 3 days later when Dean had tried talking to Smith for a second time, then so be it. If Jardine decided that he wanted to chat with a certain Dean Marsen, who pretended to be a Detective instead of throwing him out, then that wasn't Dean's problem.
Jardine didn't question Dean's fake ID and Dean didn't question Jardine's strange fascination with Dean's freckles, and Dean could live with that.
* * *
They couldn't solve a case under this circumstances. No one could. You couldn't concentrate on such a complicated case, with murderers that wouldn't talk and witnesses that didn't know a damn thing when it came down to it, and fight with your brother all the damn time.
It's not like Dean wanted to pick fights with Sam, but his idiot of a brother would sometimes just disappear for hours and not tell Dean where the fuck he was going. Dean didn't want to keep a leash on Sam and he wasn't sure that he needed to do so, but Sam was not as smart as Dean had always thought he was, when he really thought he could simply disappear and not tell Dean what was going on.
Sam wasn't working on the case, that much Dean knew for sure. When he came back, he never said a word about what he'd been doing and when it would've to do with the case, Sam would sure as hell rub it right into Dean's face that he'd been able to figure out what was going on while Dean just lounged around on the bed and watched TV. And Sam's disappearances hadn't started in Red Lake Falls. As far as Dean could remember, it had already begun three states back. It had just simply increased steadily.
No, Dean was pretty sure that Sam's strange behavior had nothing to do with the cases they had been working on and everything to do with Dean's deal. Dean didn't know how often he'd have to say it before his brother would start listening: He didn't want to be saved when it meant Sam would've to do some weird shit like embracing the Dark Side. And he sure as hell didn't want to be saved if it meant Sam making a deal and selling his own soul, and Dean was sure that this was what Sam was trying to do all the time.
Dean's theory kind of went to shit by the time Sam came waltzing through the door of their motel room one evening and a triumphant smirk split his face nearly in two. “I finally know why Julie Smith had done what she'd done,” he announced smugly, sitting down on his bed and facing Dean.
“What?” Dean asked confused and sat up. He couldn't help the annoying anger that rushed through him shortly. If Sam wanted to do some research, then he could just as well tell Dean about it and not make a mystery out of it. Before Dean could complain, Sam continued. “Gardner and her husband moved here 13 years ago, right? And how old is their son Tim again?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam nodded to himself. “Exactly. 12 years old. Alice and Malcolm Gardner always wanted to have children, but shortly after they moved here and tried to have their own little family, they discovered that Alice was infertile. Just two months after that Julie Smith got pregnant and it's said that the son she'd born died shortly after she gave birth to him, because of a heart defect. One month later Alice Gardner is seen with a baby in her arms. Adopted, as they said.”
“You saying that Smith is the biological mother of Gardner's son?” Dean asked and Sam nodded again. “Would make sense, after all. Smith was unemployed and would've been a single mom; it's likely that she decided to give her child away because Gardner and her husband could care for him much better than she'd ever be able to.”
Dean nodded and they both fell into silence after that, contemplating that idea and the new ways the case could take after that. When Dean finally thought of it, he didn't know why he hadn't noticed it sooner and turned to Sam with a suspicious look in his eyes. “Sam, how do you know that?” Dean asked warily.
Sam looked at him a bit startled by that question and shrugged quickly. “Smith told me, that's all.”
Dean couldn't help quirking an eyebrow. “Smith told you?” He repeated disbelievingly. “Julie Smith, the woman who would to this point not even talk to her own lawyer, simply spilled her heart out to you?”
“What? I just visited her and asked her, that's all. You're not good with people, dude, no wonder she wouldn't talk to you. And that lawyer's probably a jerk, that's all.” Sam said defensively, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and doing his best to look everywhere but at Dean.
And just to say it again, you couldn't solve a case that way. Not with your own brother lying to you about almost everything lately.
* * *
Dean usually didn't drink coffee. Okay, that's not entirely true. He drank coffee and he liked it just fine, but he usually didn't meet people to have some company whilst drinking his coffee. Dean liked to enjoy his food in peace, even if it was just coffee, because food was food after all and you shouldn't mess with that. That's why he only picked girls up in bars: No need to take them out to a fancy restaurant and have uncomfortable small talk when the only thing you really want to do is devour the juicy steak that's right in front of you. So Dean usually drank his coffee alone and didn't go on dates.
That's why he couldn't exactly explain why he was sipping his coffee contently while Jardine was ranting at him about Smith's non-existent development. Only reassurance Dean found was that this clearly wasn't a date. Two guys meeting and discussing business sure as hell wasn't a date.
“I can't understand how your brother found out about all of this,” Jardine stated, flailing his hands as if he wanted to underline his confusion. “My own client would still not talk to me and your brother just walks up to her and she tells him everything? How's that possible?”
Dean wished he knew it himself. There had been a few hours when he'd had the suspicion that Sam hadn't even talked to Smith and had found out about her and Gardner's deal in a different way and was just not willing to share his sources with Dean. But Jardine had told him that the nurses had seen Sam entering and leaving the room; there had been no trouble, no loud voices or any other noise indicating that something had been wrong. Just Sam walking in and coming out of the room about 5 minutes later.
Dean shrugged and sighed. “I don't know. He - Well, he kinda wouldn't tell me what had been going on there.” Dean admitted and made a face showing his discomfort. There was nothing better than telling a stranger that your brother didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth, really. Dean should do that everyday, it made him feel really awesome.
Jardine just looked at him with an expression that Dean couldn't quite decipher and when he spoke again, his voice was calm and maybe a bit curious. “Is it normal for your brother not to tell you things?”
Yes, it is, because he thinks he can solve every problem better without me. Dean thought bitterly and in the next moment asked himself where the hell that had come from. He blinked a few times and shook his head slightly as if to chase that thought away. That hadn't been fair to Sammy. He always just tried to make things easier for Dean and not to show him that he could just as well go on with Dean gone.
“No, it's not. I don't know what's gotten into him lately,” Dean replied quickly and focused on his lukewarm coffee again.
He somehow was terrible at lying when Jardine was around.
* * *
The question where Sam always disappeared to for hours was solved the evening Dean came back to their room a few days later, grocery bags in both hands and keys dangling from his teeth, just to find Sam sitting at the table having a nice little conversation with Ruby.
Dean felt like he was in a really bad Hollywood movie when he put the bags and keys down slowly and stared at them in disbelief, Ruby's words still ringing in his ears. You need to exercise more, you're getting sloppy, Sam. We don't have much time left, we can't afford this.
“You care to explain to me what the hell's going on?” Dean asked, rage clearly audible in his voice, hands clenching into tight fists to keep him from advancing on Ruby the moment the bitch had decided to stand up and look at him calmly.
“Hey, Dean,” she replied in her usual cockiness, arms crossed in front of her chest. Ready to start a fight at every moment. “How nice of you to join the party. I was just explaining to your brother that he needs to work on his powers a bit more if he really wants to save your sorry ass.”
“Your sorry ass will be the one that needs saving if you don't get the fuck out of here. Now.” Dean replied through gritted teeth, shooting Sam a deadly glare when the jerk had the nerve to have Ruby's back. “Dean, calm down. She's trying to help us here.”
“No, Sam, she's not. She's a lying, plotting demon whore and you're stupid enough to believe in the shit she's selling you!” Dean spat out venomously, anger curling low in his gut. That was just too awesome. His own baby brother lying to him for god knows how long and throwing himself in the arms of a demon, who's training him now, for fuck's sake. How the hell was Dean supposed to get Sam out of that?
Thing is, there was no way he could get Sam out of that, because Sam didn't want to listen to reason. Everything pretty much went to shit after that. Dean's no drama queen, he's really not, but enough is enough and that demon bitch was just more than he could stand.
And as it turned out, Sam had been training with Ruby for months now and had never cared to say one damn word about that to Dean. Sam hadn't wanted Dean to hold him back; in Sam's eyes, everything he'd done been right and necessary to save Dean and if Dean couldn't accept that, then fine, but Sam wouldn't stop.
It was betrayal, that's what it was. Sam had promised Dean over and over again those last few weeks to send Ruby back to hell, to not listen to her and most importantly, to not throw himself into hell's arms. Sam had been selling Dean shit just like Ruby was selling it to Sam.
And for once in his life, Dean didn't know what to do with his baby brother anymore.
* * *
They didn't talk after that. They couldn't leave the town because the case still wasn't solved, but in Dean's eyes, there was no way they would ever solve it. Not with them not speaking one word with each other anymore. They got up in the morning, ate breakfast in the diner and then went their separate ways, Dean trying to do research and Sam probably meeting Ruby, the bastard. Dean wouldn't know - everything they did happened in icy silence and he didn't even want to talk to his brother at this point. All he would get for an answer would be just a new lie anyway.
During that time, Aaron Jardine seemed to have made some progress with Smith, because she was at least recognizing another person's presence by now. She still wouldn't talk, of course.
Jardine also didn't seem to only have an obsession with coffee and Dean's freckles, but with Dean's whole body too. You see, Dean's a progressive kind of guy. He didn't think in labels and he sure as hell wasn't one to turn down hot sex and if he looked back at it, it was where Jardine and him had been heading all the time anyway.
It wasn't love or even mind blowing sex; Jardine couldn't handle Dean the right way, he was always too impatient, too rough and too eager. And even though Dean didn't expect candles, flowers and paper hearts, he'd preferred it if his hair didn't get pulled during sex and if he was able to walk out of this with every limb still intact.
But Jardine was like a warm, unmovable blanket over him, shaggy hair falling into his eyes, hazel eyes turned almost black with need and desire and Dean was lost completely. Dean was not thinking of Sam when Jardine was fucking him, because Dean wasn't a pervert. When Jardine sucked and gripped dark bruises into his skin, Dean didn't pretend it was Sam. When Jardine fucked deep into him, breath coming in short gasps, Dean still didn't pretend it was Sam panting into his ear. And later on when they would lie there, chests heaving with every breath and a goofy, happy smile forming on Jardine's lips as he looked at Dean with smug satisfaction, Dean didn't think of Sam either.
It would be later in the bathroom when he would look at his reflection in the mirror, that he'd think of Sam. With Jardine sound asleep in the next room and Dean touching the dark bruises on his collarbone, he'd think of how to hide them from Sam. He'd think of a way to explain to Sam why he'd been here, fucking some guy he barely knew while Sam was bending over backwards trying to save Dean.
Dean wished he could stop feeling like he was the one betraying his brother's trust now.
* * *
“You care to tell me where you're going?” Sam asked exasperated from his spot on the bed and Dean turned around, his hand still on the doorknob, and looked at Sam surprised. “What?”
“I want to know where you're going. What? You disappear almost every night and don't come back till morning. Since I'm pretty sure you're not doing any research, I think I'm entitled to know.” Sam looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised slightly and Dean sighed inwardly. Awesome, the first time they've spoken a word with each other since the Ruby-incident and it had to be an accusation. Expect Sam to do that.
“Since when do you want to know how I spend the night, dude?” Dean asked and he couldn't quite keep the irritation out of his voice. “It's not like this is any of your business anyway.”
“I'm just wondering. Usually you brag about your nightly adventures, so how come you're keeping so quiet about this one?” The bastard had the nerve to sound smug, because he had to know that he just hit Dean's sore spot with that one. “You ashamed of her? Is she not the usual pretty face?”
“Fuck you,” Dean snapped, a bit more harshly than he intended, and finally turned the damn knob and was out the door in two seconds flat, the door slamming shut behind him. While he stomped the steps down to get to his car, he pretended he didn't still hear Sam's words ringing in his ears.
“You wish, don't you?”
* * *
Dean spent the next two days at Jardine's and was mostly able to forget about Sam and Ruby and his deal. Endless rounds of nearly mind-blowing sex helped with that. One afternoon Jardine's legs had somehow ended up tangled with his and Dean really was too sated and sleepy to do anything about that. He sighed and was ready to turn on his side and sleep the sleep of the sated, but Jardine had to prop himself up on one elbow and look down at him with a concerned look in his eyes. Effectively keeping Dean from getting his well deserved sleep. “You okay, Dean? You seemed a bit.. weird?..today.” Jardine asked, his damn puppy-look in full swing and Dean cursed slightly before looking away.
“Nah, everything's awesome. Would be even more awesome if I was able to sleep now, though,” Dean murmured, trying for casual and, judging by the way Jardine's hand crept up his side to stroke along his arm comfortingly, failing miserably.
“Doesn't seem like everything's awesome to me. Has it something to do with your brother again?” Jardine asked and suddenly Dean was really sure that there was something he wasn't quite getting, something really important, but he just couldn't put his finger on it and before he could think too hard about it, Jardine continued. “He's a lot of trouble, isn't he?”
Yeah, and sometimes I wish I was as selfish as him and could just leave.
Dean nearly bolted upright in bed. That couldn't have been his thoughts, it just couldn't, because he'd never think something like that, no matter what a jerk and selfish bastard Sam would be, Dean just wouldn't.
As girly as it sounded, Dean loved his brother, loved him with all his heart, and he'd never even think of leaving Sam behind, the Dark Side and hell's army be damned.
There had to be something going on, something weird and worth freaking out over, something Dean had no control over at this point, and why the hell was Jardine looking at him like that? All calm and concerned, like he had any reason to care about Dean's issues, and it was simply enough.
Dean was out of bed and fully dressed in no time, while Jardine just sat there and stared dumbfounded at him, mouth working as if to form words but no sound would leave his lips. Dean cleared his throat and made for the door. “I really think I should leave now. Sam's probably worried out of his mind.” Dean explained in a haste and he was just about to reach for the door when he noticed that something was quite clearly wrong.
Dean was horrified to find out he couldn't make his feet move. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move the tiniest bit and he considered panicking for all of three seconds before he forced himself to keep calm. “Aaron,” he said warily, trying to turn around at the sound of rustling sheets and clothes behind him, but still unable to move.
“It's a real pity, Dean.” Jardine said, or at least Dean thought it was Jardine, because the voice had changed, had become a deep rumbling noise that didn't sound like anything human. “I wish I could spare you this, but you Winchesters have a tendency to stick your noses into things that are none of your business.”
“What the -” Dean couldn't finish that sentence, because next thing he knew, he was swirled around by an invisible force and his feet were lifted of the ground, his back crushed against the wall behind him. His lungs seemed to clamp down on themselves, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't fill them with enough oxygen and he just knew that this was it. He was going to choke to death instead of being ripped apart by Hellhounds and he somehow couldn't bring himself to find that thought very comforting.
He actually managed to get angry at himself. Angry for not being prepared for this, for not seeing right through Jardine's facade, for leaving his gun in the car that was helpfully located in the parking lot and especially for not telling Sam where he was going. Dean'd be damned if he ever felt more stupid and embarrassed in his entire life; he wasn't a goddamned chick, for god's sake, he shouldn't fall for a sweet smile and a caring look.
But he was here now, slowly choking while he had to stare into Jardine's eyes, his smug and winning smile - the bastard was tasting sweet victory - and Dean tried to form sentences, tried to tell the bastard that Sam would find Jardine and send his ugly ass back to hell - but all that came out of his throat was a gurgling sound.
It was kind of funny when you thought about it: Dean's love for sex was the thing that would get him killed in the end. If Dean had anything to fill his lungs with enough to do it, he'd laugh his ass off at that.
Dean was feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen and Jardine just kept on smirking at him as if they had all time in the world, and Dean would try to scream his anger right into that bastard's face if it weren't for the fact that his ass had just come in contact with the floor non-too-gently.
Wait.
Why was he sitting on the floor? And why was his breathing not restricted any longer? And, the most important question, what the hell did Sam do here and why was Jardine the one standing frozen in place with a shocked look on his face?
Things kind of became a blur after that. Dean remembered white hot light, someone screaming his heart out and then something that sounded like the same gurgling noises Dean had made earlier. Dean blinked his eyes, tried to focus through the haze that was clouding his mind, but he felt hands grasp for him and he was lifted of the ground again, but this time he was pressed against something warm and wide and solid. He was dragged out of the apartment as fast as possible and they were running - although in Dean's case it was more stumbling than running - down the stairs and were out in the chilly night before Dean could even process what was going on.
Things got a bit clearer by the time Dean was sitting in the Impala. The haze had lifted a bit and, even though it stung like hell, he was able to breathe properly. He was too relieved to even attempt complaining about sitting in the passenger seat.
Dean turned around and could see his brother sitting beside him, hands clutching the wheel and lips pressed into a thin line and Dean was too happy to see Sam to be concerned about the angry look in his brother's eyes.
“Dude,” Dean croaked and tried for a weak smirk. “How does it feel to not be the damsel in distress for a change?”
* * *
When they were back in their motel room, Sam made a show of dumping Dean right there on the bed and then leaving him to the misery that was his hurt dignity while his brother was rummaging around in the small kitchen. Dean tried not to feel too pissed off at that and was about to stand up and get himself something to drink, preferably something strong, but he felt his knees buckle under him.
Jesus, Dean had nearly choked to death. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't even stand up now.
Before Dean could do anything, though, Sam was at his side and pushed him back to sit on the bed again and sat down beside him, holding a glass of water under Dean's nose. His brother was a genius.
Dean took the glass and managed to take about three gulps before the ache in his throat got simply too much. All the while Sam was still keeping quiet, but he was watching Dean with such focus that Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own skin. He tried to clear his throat and avoided Sam's gaze as much as possible. “So. How'd you know it was him?” He asked wearily, voice still a bit too rough for his taste but at least it didn't feel like sandpaper was sliding along the inside of his throat anymore.
Sam simply shrugged and took the glass out of Dean's hands. “The whole case was making no sense, so I called Bobby. I told him about the schoolboys and the two women going insane for no reason at all and it turned out that Bobby had to handle a case like that 10 years ago in a town just 100 miles away from Red Lake Falls. People running amok in a small town for things that happened ages ago. It was the nice doctor that had been new to the neighborhood: All the people going crazy were his patients. So I tried to find out which person connects Smith, Lewis and Eric.”
“Aaron Jardine,” Dean finished for him and he couldn't help feeling a bit defeated and even more dumb. Sam had been out doing all the work while Dean had been.. - He really didn't want to think about that now.
Sam nodded. “The family lawyer. Bobby told me that those creatures are only semi-demonic. They're Cambions - the child of a succubus and a human and no, you really don't want to know how that works. Anyway, they look perfectly human up to a certain age when their hair gets too coarse and their ears too pointed for them to pass as humans. Till then, and Jardine just fitted that description, they're beautiful, charming and extremely cunning. They can't use the whammy on you, but they can invade your thoughts. Make you think things you never thought before and, in the case of the murderers, make you angry and hateful and seek revenge.”
Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “Guess I just fell for that too.” He straightened back up again and dared to look at Sam, who was still staring at him as if he was waiting for something, but Dean seemed to think too slow these days, because he just couldn't understand what Sam wanted from him.
He was too embarrassed, anyway. He really hadn't needed for Sam to find out about Dean being rather open-minded when it came to sex. He especially hadn't needed for his baby brother to find out about Dean falling for a stupid Cambion.
Time for a change in subject. “Sam,” Dean began and fumbled with the hem of his shirt, because you can't ask such a question and be all casual about that. “What did you do to him? It was a damned demon and you - “
“Sent him back to hell,” Sam interrupted him, sounding suddenly defiant, but Dean couldn't let it go. Not now. “Sam, you didn't even chant any latin, there was just all this white light and... Please, don't tell me that was you.”
But Sam's shoulders slumped in that guilty way and he was the one avoiding Dean's gaze now. Dean felt like screaming. Or punching someone, preferably Ruby, several times. “Sammy,” he tried, not caring that he sounded pleading. “You know how not-human that is?”
“It saved you, didn't it?” Sam replied stubbornly.
“You got to stop it.”
“I'll stop it when I got you out of your deal.” And now Sam turned back around to him, but Dean wished he hadn't. His brother's eyes were suspiciously wet and he seemed too desperate, needing Dean to believe in him. “I promise, Dean, I'll stop it then. But I need to do that now, it's helping, can't you see it?”
Damn him, but Dean never had been able to say no to the hurt-puppy-look. He just nodded weakly, not willing to give his okay, but just as unwilling to let his brother down.
They sat in silence for a while after that, side by side and shoulders touching and Dean was beginning to feel calmer now, secure in his own skin again, right up to the moment Sam opened his mouth again. “Dean, you did realize that Jardine looked like me, didn't you?”
Fuck.
No need to panic, Dean told himself, he wouldn't be Dean Winchester if he wasn't the best at lying through his teeth. “So? It's not like we did anything or - “
“Dude,” Sam interrupted him and the bastard was smirking, Dean could tell it even though he was far from looking at his brother right now. “I followed you. You had your hands all over him.”
Shit. Holy fucking Shit.
Dean would simply refuse to talk right now. That's the solution. He wouldn't say a damned thing, so he wouldn't get a problem, it was perfect, he was a genius and -
“Are you all right?” Sam asked suddenly, putting the glass he still held in his hands aside and then turning to Dean with a calculating look in his eyes.
“What?” Dean managed to keep the panic that was bordering on hysteria out of his voice, but his brother didn't even seem to notice because he just kept on staring at him with this strange expression on his face that Dean couldn't make any sense of.
“I asked if you're all right. Are you in pain, have you still problems breathing?”
His brother was the weirdest thing on earth. As if Dean ever had any doubt about that. “Nah, I'm okay. Everything's fine,” he replied while shooting Sam a weary look.
“Good,” was all Sam had to say to that and it was enough, had to be enough, because the next thing Dean knew, he was flat on his back with his brother hovering above him, a triumphant smirk splaying across his lips. Dean huffed and tried to sit up again, but Sam simply pressed him down with his... his body and Sam was a freaking giant, for fuck's sake, how was Dean supposed to get out from under him. And his brother was broad and warm and strong above him, so how the hell was Dean even supposed to want to get out from under him?
“I'm going to kiss you know, so stop making a drama of it and keep still,” Sam said, smirk audible in his voice, and when the hell did Sam get so bossy? But Dean wasn't going to let himself get bossed around by anyone, that's why he bucked up against Sam, trying to get him off, but was only rewarded with a heavy human blanket that covered his body now fully under it.
“You won't,” Dean bit out, because it was about the principle of the thing. There was no way Dean was going to lie here and get assaulted by his baby brother without uttering one word of complaint.
“I will,” Sam replied and leaned down far enough for Dean to feel his warm breath ghosting over his lips, making them tingle. “And then I'll kiss you again and again and again and then some until you're begging me to fuck you. And that's just what I'll do then. You okay with that?” Expect Sam to make fun of you during the foreplay to the foreplay.
And who was Dean to deny Sam anything? He wasn't a selfish bastard, after all. So when he stopped struggling and closed his eyes in something that wasn't quite horror, he totally did it just to do Sam a favor.
The End.
Pairing: OMC/Dean, Sam/Dean
Rating: very mild R
Word Count: 10.097
Warnings: wincest, but that's not really a warning
Disclaimer: I own nothing but this fic. Everything is only made up by me and I'm making no profit with this story.
Summary: Red Lake Falls is a small town in Minnesota, where supernatural things just don't happen. So what causes three ordinary people to change dramatically? The Winchesters are bound to find out, accompanied by Ruby and a certain handsome stranger. Set after Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Note: This was written for garvaldmains, because it was her birthday. She wanted a traffic jam fic, but my muse was leaving me and instead she got this fic, lol
Many thanks to the wonderful colbertobsessed because I bothered her with this fic for ages till it was finished XD
Red Lake Falls was a small town, peaceful and quiet, up in the north-west of Minnesota. Not much more than 350 families lived there, population somewhere around 1.960 and steadily decreasing, and as far as one could remember, the last notable event had happened sometime in the 1970's, and still no one could even recall what that event had been all about.
It hadn't exactly been the first choice for Alice Gardner when she and her husband Malcolm had discussed where to settle down, buy a house and raise children, attend community events and be the nice and friendly family next door. Alice had grown up in New York, always busy, every day a new experience, new people and new challenges, so the prospect of living in a town so small and boring had sent shivers down her spine. But Malcolm had always known how to convince her when it came to important decisions.
In the end, she couldn't say that she regretted moving to Red Lake Falls. Sometimes Alice still felt uncomfortable in her own house, a bit out of place even after approximately 13 years of living there , but she'd learned how to accept the quietness of the town and the neighbors watching her every step. She just had to blend in and everything had been fine. Their 12-year-old son Tim had lots of opportunities to play with the other children in a beautiful landscape, with two rivers running through the town and he got a good education at St. Joseph's School, learned how to bow to God's will at St. Joseph's Church on Sundays and, most importantly, learned how to respect the elderly ladies during the various community events.
It was one of those chilly Friday mornings when Alice and Malcolm Gardner were getting ready for work; Malcolm was working at Bill's Garage down the street and Alice had found a job as a librarian in the town's small school library. Tim was bouncing down the steps of their house, school bag already slung over one shoulder, and came to a halt in front of his mother to take his lunch box out of her hand. “Don't want to go to school, Mom,” Tim pouted, hating school just as much as both his parents had done when they'd been his age, but his father simply ruffled his hair affectionately. “Sorry, Timmy, nothing I can do to spare you this. Now get in the car, I'll be there in a minute.”
Tim huffed, clearly not pleased at all. He gave his mom a peck on the cheek when she leaned down to say goodbye and then made a show of stomping out of the house to get in the car. Alice watched him with a fond smile on her lips. “You think he'll get over it?” She asked her husband, turning to him with an amused grin. Malcolm leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Surely he will, eventually. Will you pick him up after school today?” Alice nodded and Malcolm said, “Good, I don't know when I'll be home today. Bill keeps on letting me work extra shifts.” He was already retreating, blowing her a kiss as he went, and then he was out of the door to get to Tim, who was bouncing up and down in the backseat of their car impatiently.
Alice grabbed her own car keys and followed them, closing and locking the front door behind her. She'd stepped down the front steps by the time she noticed her neighbor and good friend, Julie Smith, standing in her driveway. Alice frowned, immediately concerned by the dark shadows she found under Julie's eyes and the pale shade of her usually bright and smiling face. “Julie? Everything okay, darling?” Alice asked whilst taking a step towards her friend.
Julie shook her head silently, lips pressed together into a thin line and her whole body trembling. As Alice got closer to her, she noticed that Julie seemed to be downright covered in sweat. She laid a hand on Julie's arm, shaking her slightly. “Julie, what is it? Tell me,” her voice was getting higher with every passing second, concern clearly audible. “Are you ill? Shall I call a doctor?”
Julie only shook her head again and raised her left hand, still trembling, and by the time Alice felt the cold metal press against her temple, it was already too late to process what was going on. She could see that Julie was crying now, tears spilling down her cheeks while she heaved heavy sobs. “He's mine,” she croaked out eventually, “You can't have him forever.”
The last things Alice heard were a loud shot, frighteningly close to her own ears, before she saw the pavement advancing with an unbelievable speed, and Malcolm screaming her name, somewhere in the distance, while Tim sounded like he was crying. She tried to open her mouth, tell them that everything was okay, that she was okay, but her limbs felt heavy and unmovable.
When the paramedics arrived, 35-year-old Alice Gardner, beloved mother and wife, had long been dead.
* * *
“Bobby got the word out on Bela a month ago and there's still no sign of that skinny bitch,” Dean cursed as he flipped his phone shut and threw it in the back of the Impala, needing to take his anger and frustration out on something that wasn't his brother, because he obviously couldn't throw Sam around in the car.
Sam frowned and watched the phone disappear somewhere in the dark of the backseat, then he turned to his brother again. “Dean,” and holy shit, the tone of his voice made it clear as fucking day that Sammy was in full concerned-baby-brother-mode. Really the last thing Dean needed right now. “I want to find the Colt just as badly as you do,” Sam kept on talking, simply ignoring the glares Dean shot his way to get him to shut his mouth. “But there's not much we can do at this moment, okay? The Colt could be across the ocean by now and hunting down Bela to 'kill the filthy skank' won't get you out of your deal. We would just be wasting time. Your time,” Sam added, as if Dean could somehow forget about this little, really unimportant fact.
Dean suddenly felt white hot anger curse through his body and he whipped around to face Sam, barely keeping from swerving the Impala off the road in the process. “You really think I don't know that, Sam?” Dean spit out, knuckles turning white he was gripping the wheel so hard. “But, and I really hate to break it to you, the Colt's the only damn thing that can get me out of the deal, all right? And if we don't find Bela and beat the location of the Colt out of her, then we're also wasting what's left of my time sitting here with you bitching at me.”
Dean was very much on a roll here and he could just go on happily like this, but instead of bitching back the way his brother was supposed to do, Sam simply kept his mouth shut and stared sullenly out the window. Dean sighed, his anger deflating at once. “You're a real pain in my ass, Sammy,” Dean stated, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye and felt some of the tension leave his body when he saw the corners of Sam's mouth twitch. “Takes one to know one,” Sam countered, leaning back in his seat and stretching his arms as much as possible without knocking against the roof of the Impala, a smug smile appearing on his face when he heard Dean scoff. “So tell me again why we're heading to Bumfuck, Minnesota instead of spanking Bela's bony ass with the Colt?”
“Ew, dude,” Sam replied, making a face of pure disgust. “That's really not a thought I want to entertain.” Dean laughed. “Aw, Sammy, no need to play innocent now. I know you have the hots for that chick.” Instead of laughing, Sam fell silent again and made a point of rustling through the newspaper they bought two states back, his cheeks heating up slightly. Dean raised an eyebrow. Well, that were indeed interesting news. He needed to store that piece of information away for later if some serious blackmailing was needed to keep Sam from running off and getting himself in danger again. The kid really seemed to have developed a thing for shit like that in the last couple of months.
Sam cleared his throat and scanned one of the articles again. “Red Lake Falls, Minnesota. A woman got shot by her neighbor. Nothing indicating that something supernatural had been going on, but,” Sam stressed the last word dramatically and Dean could barely refrain from rolling his eyes. “Three days before that event a wife split her husband's skull with his own ax; again no obvious reason to do so. Just one day before the ax murder, two pupils of the school's town went at each other with a knife and a baseball bat. Winner was the one who got out alive, but he wouldn't name a reason for the fight. So we have now three murders in just one week and that in a town that's so small every death could do quite the damage to their population, man.”
Dean nodded in agreement and said, “Could be a demon wanting to spread anger and hatred, but could be just some small town citizens going crazy as well. Did the victims have something in common?”
“Nothing's said about that in the papers, but I guess we'll find out soon enough,” Sam replied when Dean pulled the car off Minnesota Highway 32 and came to a halt in front of the first, and very much likely the only, motel in the area. Eyeing the motel, Dean smirked at his brother.”Chateau Motel and Liquor Store. Well, if that's not a hint on how we should spend the night, then I don't know what a hint is.” Of course it was needless to make a comment like that, because liquor store or not, Dean already knew how Sam would spend the night. Brooding, doing research, angsting about Dean's deal, taking a shower, brooding some more and finally complaining about Dean eating on his bed. Dean sighed inwardly. Also needless to say that Dean would spend his night trying to annoy Sam as much as possible, instead of going out and maybe finding himself a pretty lady for the night.
Sam chose to ignore Dean's poorly attempt at humor and got their belongings out of the trunk, so there was nothing left for Dean to do but to go and get them a room for the night. When he got back - and damn, that receptionist was a mean old lady - Sam had already unpacked their things and flipped his laptop open. The room was thankfully not as crappy as some they already had to experience, but it clearly had been decorated by a blind dude. There was no other way Dean could possibly explain the friggin' dolphins painted on the walls. But both the beds had a decent size and looked comfy, so Dean wasn't going to complain about those. Hell, even Sam looked kind of small sitting there on one of the huge beds and if you managed to make Big Foot look small, Dean definitely had to give you some credit.
* * *
Malcolm Gardner had once been a handsome man in his mid-thirties, tall and athletic and with eyes that twinkled with wisdom he shouldn't possess at this young age. Sitting opposite from him now, all Dean could see was the empty shell of what formerly must've been a very charming person. Gardner's eyes were downcast and he kept on fidgeting in his seat, but no emotion ever reached his voice when he spoke. As he answered Dean's questions, it seemed like he was only going through the motions while his mind had wandered far off to happier times in his life.
Dean probably hadn't felt this uncomfortable in months. There was a reason he usually let Sam deal with the eyewitnesses. Scratching the back of his head, Dean cleared his throat again. “I really don't want to bother you any longer, Mr Gardner, but you have to tell me in detail what had happened last Friday.”
When Gardner raised his eyes to meet Dean's shortly, Dean was taken aback by the guilt, sorrow and utter despair he found there. Damn it, where was comforting!Sammy when you needed him. “I already told you that I talked to your colleagues about this, Detective Marsen. I don't see a point in going over this again,” he said in a small voice and Dean really wanted nothing more at this moment than to leave the poor bastard alone. Couldn't do that, of course.
“I understand that it's not easy for you, but we have to know why exactly Ms Smith had done that to your wife - if the murder happened in cold blood, did she plan it or did she just shortly before she met your wife decide to do what she had done, etc.” Gardner gave a weak nod at that and Dean was sure this was as much of an Okay as he would get, so he continued. “Had there been any confrontations in the past? Any conflicts between the two?”
Gardner shook his head. “No, not at all.” And for the first time since Dean had entered the house, he saw something come alive in those eyes, even though it was only pure anger and disbelief. “They were friends, best friends even. I mean, they talked every day to each other and sometimes Julie would even pick Tim up from school when we couldn't make it in time. And then one day she simply walks up and - and shoots Alice right in the head. I just - I don't know what to do now.” With that Gardner hunched forward and buried his face in his hands and Dean was honestly afraid the guy would start crying on him. Thank God, he got his composure back and took a deep breath as he straightened back up again. “I'm sorry, Detective, but there's really not much more I can tell you about all of this. If you don't mind - “
“Of course not,” Dean interrupted quickly, being relieved himself that he could put an end to that awkwardness. “I'll keep in touch with you, though, so you'll know when Ms Smith finally states her motive.”
Gardner only nodded and said his goodbye, and Dean found his way out alone. And as he walked out of the door, he could still feel the eyes of the little boy sitting on the stairs on him.
* * *
When Dean was out the door and on the way to the Impala he had parked a few houses down, Sam caught up with him and fell into step beside him. “So,” Sam began, “Turned out that Mr Lewis was a 'cheating bastard' and therefore his wife had decided that he deserved to get his skull split in two. Police got her just in time before Mrs Lewis got to the affair of her husband, though. Our dead schoolboy named Benjamin had been a bully to poor Eric, who then had thought it was best to fight back with a baseball bat. Julie Smith is still not ready for any further interrogation according to the doctors, but by now we have two murders that happened out of revenge. Seems likely that Alice Gardner fits the pattern too.” By the time Sam finished talking, they had both gotten into the car and shut the doors. Dean turned around to face Sam, one arm draped over the back of the seat.
“I don't know, man,” he said,”Gardner said his wife and Smith had been very good friends, without any deeper conflicts or stuff like that. Doesn't sound like an act out of revenge to me. It seems more like an actual coincidence that one murder followed so shortly after the other . I know those happen rarely, but the victims still have nothing in common aside from someone who obviously wanted them dead.” Sam nodded quickly, “I thought so too, at first. But now here's the catch: Mr Lewis did spend a night with another woman, but it had been just that - a night. 16 years ago. And yes, Benjamin had been a bully to Eric in school, but that had been in elementary school. Till last week, they were both high school seniors.”
“And suddenly one of them decides to get his revenge. Just like that? Out of the blue?” Dean asked skeptically and Sam shrugged. “Seems like that. How long has Gardner been living here? Something close to 14 years? I bet there's some dirt to dig up and I'm also pretty sure that Julie Smith is somehow involved in it.”
“So three people who want to take revenge, everyone of them long after the actual thing that got them so mad in the first place had happened, and all in one week? Something's definitely out there to feed on the hatred they held back for all those years.” Sam nodded. “You bet. Thing is, every damn demon in hell and on earth could fit that description. They all have nothing better to do than to spread misery and anger and get off on it.”
“Oh, how I hate those fuckers,” Dean sighed and Sam found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.
* * *
“I swear, Dean, this town thinks of itself as some kind of Noah's Ark.”
Dean frowned and pressed the phone closer to his ear as he rounded a corner. Made it easier for him to speak a bit quieter when he answered. “What do you mean - Noah's Ark? I don't see any huge ships here - “
“It was a metaphor, you idiot. The town's small, economy isn't exactly booming in this area and the number of unemployed is way higher than the number of those who actually have a job. Now they believe that it was God's will for them to gather around this area, because it's so peaceful and uneventful. It makes them think that they're only here to serve God and to bow to his every will, without any distractions.”
Dean nodded, but then remembered that Sam couldn't even see him and replied quickly, “So we have a God-fearing town, where suddenly 3 different and ordinary people run amok. You thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Yep,” Sam said and Dean could hear him rustling around in the background. “No unnatural death happened here since 1986 and that was a schoolboy dying in a car accident. No malice or whatsoever. I think that's as much proof that we'll get that this is some demon's work."
“Seems like that. Listen, Sam, I'm there. I'll call you back when I'm finished here,” and with that Dean flipped his phone shut and looked up the front of the small building he was standing in front of now. Red Lake Falls Asylum. Dean was surprised that such a small town even had an asylum, but really, it looked more like an old warehouse anyway. Huge shiny windows, but the otherwise dirty and neglected. Seemed like the people of Red Lake Falls didn't care all that much about their mentally unstable neighbors.
As Dean entered the asylum, he couldn't help the cold shiver that was running down his spine. This really wasn't a place where people were supposed to live; he felt like vomiting just from visiting it, living here must've be more of a punishment than death sentence itself. The old floor reeked of something Dean didn't even dare to name, the color was peeling off the walls and even the nurses looked like they had seen better days. Maybe it was just Dean, but you shouldn't exactly chew gum and manicure your fingernails when you were supposed to look after people who clearly needed some help.
The woman sitting at the administration desk obviously thought she was working at the street corner and not in an asylum. That was if she didn't have some evil plan to drive the inmates even more insane with the tons of makeup she'd put on to hide her wrinkly face. Dean put on his best charming smile, which didn't come as easily as usual when faced with such an enormous abuse of eyeliner. “Good evening, Ma'am. I'm Detective Marsen, remember? I phoned you yesterday and asked for a meeting with Ms Smith.”
All Dean got for his trouble was a disinterested nod and without so much as demanding an ID she pointed him to Smith's room. Dean hurried to walk down the narrow corridor and prayed to all heavens that he wouldn't get groped by some perverse lunatic. In the end, he made it to Room 103 without one single grope to his poor ass and his dignity intact, but didn't want to stress his luck and quickly opened the door after a short knock.
The woman sitting at the tiny table in the corner of the even smaller room had nothing to do with the young and beautiful woman Dean had seen on pictures. It seemed like a frown was now edged into her ashen face permanently as she stared off in the distance, out of the too large window. Dean was sure the windows were just another form of torturing the inmates of the asylum - bright daylight flooded through them, promising freedom which must've been tempting the inmates wickedly, even though they weren't so much as allowed to go to the toilet alone anymore.
Dean cleared his throat to try and get the woman's attention, but she simply kept on staring out the window, right into the light of day and Dean suddenly felt awkward in his own skin. He knew he should shut the door, but he couldn't bring himself to do so - it would make the room even smaller and more cramped than it already was. Dean wanted out of there. Now.
Instead on turning on his heels and getting out of there as quickly as possible, like he really, really wanted to do right now, he cleared his throat again and took a step towards Smith. There was just one other chair in the room, positioned opposite from Smith at the table and there was just really no way in hell Dean would sit down there. He cleared his throat for the third time now and tried to make his voice as steady as it would get when he began to speak. “Ms Smith, I'm Detective Marsen and I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding Mrs Gardner's death.”
“As far as I know, the doctors said that my client still isn't ready for any further interrogations,” a male voice answered Dean from somewhere behind him and startled Dean for a short moment, then he rolled his eyes. Awesome. Smith was still sitting with her back turned to him and looked like she wasn't even breathing and now some lousy lawyer had to get in the game. Just his luck. Dean turned, a dismissive remark already forming on his lips and then - and then the words just died in his throat because for one insane moment, he saw Sam standing in the door frame. Sam in a suit. Sam wearing glasses. Sammy looking like the lawyer he would be by now.
He had to blink several times until his brain would finally catch up with the information that this was clearly not Sam. The guy standing opposite of him was tall - probably even taller than Sam and Dean had to admit that this kind of freaked him out - and tanned, had floppy brown hair and bangs that were falling into his face, surrounding the glasses pitched high on his nose. The suit he wore didn't look like anything too fancy, but it surely hadn't been cheap either. Yeah, definitely not Sam. But disturbingly close anyway and why the hell did the kids grow up to get so damn tall these days? Dean was sick of having to crane his neck up to look somebody in the eyes while talking to them. Hazel eyes, he noticed. Maybe Dean needed to wear glasses too, maybe then every third person he met would stop looking like Sam to him.
The guy was watching Dean patiently, waiting for him to respond and when Dean just kept on staring at him, contemplating if he could possibly even be the same age as Sam, the guy had the nerve to smirk at him - and Dean would be damned if he couldn't make out a set of dimples right there. “Detective?” The Sammy-doppelganger asked and one eyebrow was raised slightly, disappearing behind the bangs hanging in his face.
Dean definitely had to put an end to that little staring game until it would get really embarrassing. “I.uhm.. well,” he stammered, cursing himself for his lack of eloquence. Fine, then the charming smile and twinkling eyes would have to do the job. “That wasn't even a real interrogation,” he stated quickly, trying his best to seem as arrogant as possible. “I was just checking on your client. The widower really wants to know the reason for what had happened that day and I was hoping Ms Smith had made some progress and was ready for at least a few questions.” The lie sounded awfully lame to his own ears, but he was in the same room with a goddamned lunatic that smelled somewhat of piss, how the hell was he supposed to come up with his usual foolproof lies?
Instead of answering, the guy looked Dean up and down - probably admiring how hot Dean looked in that suit, because really, who wouldn't notice; or seeing right through his lie, which was much more likely at this point - and one corner of his mouth twitched slightly upwards. “You know, you don't really look like a Detective to me,” he said quietly, a small and knowing smile on his lips. Dean was about to open his mouth and give some lame-ass response, but the guy simply kept on talking. “So before I start considering running your ID, I suggest you leave this room immediately.”
And weird wouldn't nearly describe what was going on right now, because suddenly Dean was possessed with the strong urge to do exactly what the guy had just told him. Or to ask him out on a date. Or to... And Dean was really not going there, because hot or not, the guy looked way too much like Sam for Dean's taste. And before Dean had made the conscious decision to move his feet, he was already almost out the door and in the reeking hallway again. Only thing that was standing in his way was the freakishly tall frame of that conceited asshole. This really handsome conceited asshole. But an asshole nonetheless, Dean had to remind himself.
He hadn't felt more dumb in years; without uttering another word Dean walked around the guy and out the door, his feet carrying him away from the room and to the exit of the asylum in no time, even though he didn't even want to leave. He wanted to plant his feet and tell the guy to fuck off, but Dean was already out the building before he even registered what was going on.
Dean recognized a whammy when it was directed at him, especially after the awful experience with Andy and the Impala, and he wasn't stupid. But he was pretty sure there hadn't been some freaky mind control going on: He had no headache, he didn't feel dizzy and he could've told the guy that no, thank you, but Dean was going nowhere.
Problem was that Dean hadn't wanted to tell the guy off. Not really, at least. There was a tiny feeling of hurt pride in the mix, but that was it. Dean had been just fine doing what the guy had told him. With his bright smile and his damn dimples.
And either that guy was the most stupid psychic-weirdo in the world or Dean had just experienced a whole new form of What-the-fuck.
* * *
As it turned out, the handsome conceited asshole was named Aaron Jardine and worked as a public defender in this area for 5 years now and no, he was not Sam's age. He was 32 years old and Dean was kind of too relieved when he found out about that. Jardine had been a good friend of both Smith and Gardner since he'd moved to Red Lake Falls and he wanted to defend Smith for the simple reason to find out why she'd murdered her friend. But since Smith would still not talk to anyone, not even to her lawyer and good friend, Jardine didn't know anything more than Dean did.
And when Dean learned about all these facts over a cup of coffee, after Jardine had caught him in the asylum again 3 days later when Dean had tried talking to Smith for a second time, then so be it. If Jardine decided that he wanted to chat with a certain Dean Marsen, who pretended to be a Detective instead of throwing him out, then that wasn't Dean's problem.
Jardine didn't question Dean's fake ID and Dean didn't question Jardine's strange fascination with Dean's freckles, and Dean could live with that.
* * *
They couldn't solve a case under this circumstances. No one could. You couldn't concentrate on such a complicated case, with murderers that wouldn't talk and witnesses that didn't know a damn thing when it came down to it, and fight with your brother all the damn time.
It's not like Dean wanted to pick fights with Sam, but his idiot of a brother would sometimes just disappear for hours and not tell Dean where the fuck he was going. Dean didn't want to keep a leash on Sam and he wasn't sure that he needed to do so, but Sam was not as smart as Dean had always thought he was, when he really thought he could simply disappear and not tell Dean what was going on.
Sam wasn't working on the case, that much Dean knew for sure. When he came back, he never said a word about what he'd been doing and when it would've to do with the case, Sam would sure as hell rub it right into Dean's face that he'd been able to figure out what was going on while Dean just lounged around on the bed and watched TV. And Sam's disappearances hadn't started in Red Lake Falls. As far as Dean could remember, it had already begun three states back. It had just simply increased steadily.
No, Dean was pretty sure that Sam's strange behavior had nothing to do with the cases they had been working on and everything to do with Dean's deal. Dean didn't know how often he'd have to say it before his brother would start listening: He didn't want to be saved when it meant Sam would've to do some weird shit like embracing the Dark Side. And he sure as hell didn't want to be saved if it meant Sam making a deal and selling his own soul, and Dean was sure that this was what Sam was trying to do all the time.
Dean's theory kind of went to shit by the time Sam came waltzing through the door of their motel room one evening and a triumphant smirk split his face nearly in two. “I finally know why Julie Smith had done what she'd done,” he announced smugly, sitting down on his bed and facing Dean.
“What?” Dean asked confused and sat up. He couldn't help the annoying anger that rushed through him shortly. If Sam wanted to do some research, then he could just as well tell Dean about it and not make a mystery out of it. Before Dean could complain, Sam continued. “Gardner and her husband moved here 13 years ago, right? And how old is their son Tim again?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam nodded to himself. “Exactly. 12 years old. Alice and Malcolm Gardner always wanted to have children, but shortly after they moved here and tried to have their own little family, they discovered that Alice was infertile. Just two months after that Julie Smith got pregnant and it's said that the son she'd born died shortly after she gave birth to him, because of a heart defect. One month later Alice Gardner is seen with a baby in her arms. Adopted, as they said.”
“You saying that Smith is the biological mother of Gardner's son?” Dean asked and Sam nodded again. “Would make sense, after all. Smith was unemployed and would've been a single mom; it's likely that she decided to give her child away because Gardner and her husband could care for him much better than she'd ever be able to.”
Dean nodded and they both fell into silence after that, contemplating that idea and the new ways the case could take after that. When Dean finally thought of it, he didn't know why he hadn't noticed it sooner and turned to Sam with a suspicious look in his eyes. “Sam, how do you know that?” Dean asked warily.
Sam looked at him a bit startled by that question and shrugged quickly. “Smith told me, that's all.”
Dean couldn't help quirking an eyebrow. “Smith told you?” He repeated disbelievingly. “Julie Smith, the woman who would to this point not even talk to her own lawyer, simply spilled her heart out to you?”
“What? I just visited her and asked her, that's all. You're not good with people, dude, no wonder she wouldn't talk to you. And that lawyer's probably a jerk, that's all.” Sam said defensively, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and doing his best to look everywhere but at Dean.
And just to say it again, you couldn't solve a case that way. Not with your own brother lying to you about almost everything lately.
* * *
Dean usually didn't drink coffee. Okay, that's not entirely true. He drank coffee and he liked it just fine, but he usually didn't meet people to have some company whilst drinking his coffee. Dean liked to enjoy his food in peace, even if it was just coffee, because food was food after all and you shouldn't mess with that. That's why he only picked girls up in bars: No need to take them out to a fancy restaurant and have uncomfortable small talk when the only thing you really want to do is devour the juicy steak that's right in front of you. So Dean usually drank his coffee alone and didn't go on dates.
That's why he couldn't exactly explain why he was sipping his coffee contently while Jardine was ranting at him about Smith's non-existent development. Only reassurance Dean found was that this clearly wasn't a date. Two guys meeting and discussing business sure as hell wasn't a date.
“I can't understand how your brother found out about all of this,” Jardine stated, flailing his hands as if he wanted to underline his confusion. “My own client would still not talk to me and your brother just walks up to her and she tells him everything? How's that possible?”
Dean wished he knew it himself. There had been a few hours when he'd had the suspicion that Sam hadn't even talked to Smith and had found out about her and Gardner's deal in a different way and was just not willing to share his sources with Dean. But Jardine had told him that the nurses had seen Sam entering and leaving the room; there had been no trouble, no loud voices or any other noise indicating that something had been wrong. Just Sam walking in and coming out of the room about 5 minutes later.
Dean shrugged and sighed. “I don't know. He - Well, he kinda wouldn't tell me what had been going on there.” Dean admitted and made a face showing his discomfort. There was nothing better than telling a stranger that your brother didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth, really. Dean should do that everyday, it made him feel really awesome.
Jardine just looked at him with an expression that Dean couldn't quite decipher and when he spoke again, his voice was calm and maybe a bit curious. “Is it normal for your brother not to tell you things?”
Yes, it is, because he thinks he can solve every problem better without me. Dean thought bitterly and in the next moment asked himself where the hell that had come from. He blinked a few times and shook his head slightly as if to chase that thought away. That hadn't been fair to Sammy. He always just tried to make things easier for Dean and not to show him that he could just as well go on with Dean gone.
“No, it's not. I don't know what's gotten into him lately,” Dean replied quickly and focused on his lukewarm coffee again.
He somehow was terrible at lying when Jardine was around.
* * *
The question where Sam always disappeared to for hours was solved the evening Dean came back to their room a few days later, grocery bags in both hands and keys dangling from his teeth, just to find Sam sitting at the table having a nice little conversation with Ruby.
Dean felt like he was in a really bad Hollywood movie when he put the bags and keys down slowly and stared at them in disbelief, Ruby's words still ringing in his ears. You need to exercise more, you're getting sloppy, Sam. We don't have much time left, we can't afford this.
“You care to explain to me what the hell's going on?” Dean asked, rage clearly audible in his voice, hands clenching into tight fists to keep him from advancing on Ruby the moment the bitch had decided to stand up and look at him calmly.
“Hey, Dean,” she replied in her usual cockiness, arms crossed in front of her chest. Ready to start a fight at every moment. “How nice of you to join the party. I was just explaining to your brother that he needs to work on his powers a bit more if he really wants to save your sorry ass.”
“Your sorry ass will be the one that needs saving if you don't get the fuck out of here. Now.” Dean replied through gritted teeth, shooting Sam a deadly glare when the jerk had the nerve to have Ruby's back. “Dean, calm down. She's trying to help us here.”
“No, Sam, she's not. She's a lying, plotting demon whore and you're stupid enough to believe in the shit she's selling you!” Dean spat out venomously, anger curling low in his gut. That was just too awesome. His own baby brother lying to him for god knows how long and throwing himself in the arms of a demon, who's training him now, for fuck's sake. How the hell was Dean supposed to get Sam out of that?
Thing is, there was no way he could get Sam out of that, because Sam didn't want to listen to reason. Everything pretty much went to shit after that. Dean's no drama queen, he's really not, but enough is enough and that demon bitch was just more than he could stand.
And as it turned out, Sam had been training with Ruby for months now and had never cared to say one damn word about that to Dean. Sam hadn't wanted Dean to hold him back; in Sam's eyes, everything he'd done been right and necessary to save Dean and if Dean couldn't accept that, then fine, but Sam wouldn't stop.
It was betrayal, that's what it was. Sam had promised Dean over and over again those last few weeks to send Ruby back to hell, to not listen to her and most importantly, to not throw himself into hell's arms. Sam had been selling Dean shit just like Ruby was selling it to Sam.
And for once in his life, Dean didn't know what to do with his baby brother anymore.
* * *
They didn't talk after that. They couldn't leave the town because the case still wasn't solved, but in Dean's eyes, there was no way they would ever solve it. Not with them not speaking one word with each other anymore. They got up in the morning, ate breakfast in the diner and then went their separate ways, Dean trying to do research and Sam probably meeting Ruby, the bastard. Dean wouldn't know - everything they did happened in icy silence and he didn't even want to talk to his brother at this point. All he would get for an answer would be just a new lie anyway.
During that time, Aaron Jardine seemed to have made some progress with Smith, because she was at least recognizing another person's presence by now. She still wouldn't talk, of course.
Jardine also didn't seem to only have an obsession with coffee and Dean's freckles, but with Dean's whole body too. You see, Dean's a progressive kind of guy. He didn't think in labels and he sure as hell wasn't one to turn down hot sex and if he looked back at it, it was where Jardine and him had been heading all the time anyway.
It wasn't love or even mind blowing sex; Jardine couldn't handle Dean the right way, he was always too impatient, too rough and too eager. And even though Dean didn't expect candles, flowers and paper hearts, he'd preferred it if his hair didn't get pulled during sex and if he was able to walk out of this with every limb still intact.
But Jardine was like a warm, unmovable blanket over him, shaggy hair falling into his eyes, hazel eyes turned almost black with need and desire and Dean was lost completely. Dean was not thinking of Sam when Jardine was fucking him, because Dean wasn't a pervert. When Jardine sucked and gripped dark bruises into his skin, Dean didn't pretend it was Sam. When Jardine fucked deep into him, breath coming in short gasps, Dean still didn't pretend it was Sam panting into his ear. And later on when they would lie there, chests heaving with every breath and a goofy, happy smile forming on Jardine's lips as he looked at Dean with smug satisfaction, Dean didn't think of Sam either.
It would be later in the bathroom when he would look at his reflection in the mirror, that he'd think of Sam. With Jardine sound asleep in the next room and Dean touching the dark bruises on his collarbone, he'd think of how to hide them from Sam. He'd think of a way to explain to Sam why he'd been here, fucking some guy he barely knew while Sam was bending over backwards trying to save Dean.
Dean wished he could stop feeling like he was the one betraying his brother's trust now.
* * *
“You care to tell me where you're going?” Sam asked exasperated from his spot on the bed and Dean turned around, his hand still on the doorknob, and looked at Sam surprised. “What?”
“I want to know where you're going. What? You disappear almost every night and don't come back till morning. Since I'm pretty sure you're not doing any research, I think I'm entitled to know.” Sam looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised slightly and Dean sighed inwardly. Awesome, the first time they've spoken a word with each other since the Ruby-incident and it had to be an accusation. Expect Sam to do that.
“Since when do you want to know how I spend the night, dude?” Dean asked and he couldn't quite keep the irritation out of his voice. “It's not like this is any of your business anyway.”
“I'm just wondering. Usually you brag about your nightly adventures, so how come you're keeping so quiet about this one?” The bastard had the nerve to sound smug, because he had to know that he just hit Dean's sore spot with that one. “You ashamed of her? Is she not the usual pretty face?”
“Fuck you,” Dean snapped, a bit more harshly than he intended, and finally turned the damn knob and was out the door in two seconds flat, the door slamming shut behind him. While he stomped the steps down to get to his car, he pretended he didn't still hear Sam's words ringing in his ears.
“You wish, don't you?”
* * *
Dean spent the next two days at Jardine's and was mostly able to forget about Sam and Ruby and his deal. Endless rounds of nearly mind-blowing sex helped with that. One afternoon Jardine's legs had somehow ended up tangled with his and Dean really was too sated and sleepy to do anything about that. He sighed and was ready to turn on his side and sleep the sleep of the sated, but Jardine had to prop himself up on one elbow and look down at him with a concerned look in his eyes. Effectively keeping Dean from getting his well deserved sleep. “You okay, Dean? You seemed a bit.. weird?..today.” Jardine asked, his damn puppy-look in full swing and Dean cursed slightly before looking away.
“Nah, everything's awesome. Would be even more awesome if I was able to sleep now, though,” Dean murmured, trying for casual and, judging by the way Jardine's hand crept up his side to stroke along his arm comfortingly, failing miserably.
“Doesn't seem like everything's awesome to me. Has it something to do with your brother again?” Jardine asked and suddenly Dean was really sure that there was something he wasn't quite getting, something really important, but he just couldn't put his finger on it and before he could think too hard about it, Jardine continued. “He's a lot of trouble, isn't he?”
Yeah, and sometimes I wish I was as selfish as him and could just leave.
Dean nearly bolted upright in bed. That couldn't have been his thoughts, it just couldn't, because he'd never think something like that, no matter what a jerk and selfish bastard Sam would be, Dean just wouldn't.
As girly as it sounded, Dean loved his brother, loved him with all his heart, and he'd never even think of leaving Sam behind, the Dark Side and hell's army be damned.
There had to be something going on, something weird and worth freaking out over, something Dean had no control over at this point, and why the hell was Jardine looking at him like that? All calm and concerned, like he had any reason to care about Dean's issues, and it was simply enough.
Dean was out of bed and fully dressed in no time, while Jardine just sat there and stared dumbfounded at him, mouth working as if to form words but no sound would leave his lips. Dean cleared his throat and made for the door. “I really think I should leave now. Sam's probably worried out of his mind.” Dean explained in a haste and he was just about to reach for the door when he noticed that something was quite clearly wrong.
Dean was horrified to find out he couldn't make his feet move. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move the tiniest bit and he considered panicking for all of three seconds before he forced himself to keep calm. “Aaron,” he said warily, trying to turn around at the sound of rustling sheets and clothes behind him, but still unable to move.
“It's a real pity, Dean.” Jardine said, or at least Dean thought it was Jardine, because the voice had changed, had become a deep rumbling noise that didn't sound like anything human. “I wish I could spare you this, but you Winchesters have a tendency to stick your noses into things that are none of your business.”
“What the -” Dean couldn't finish that sentence, because next thing he knew, he was swirled around by an invisible force and his feet were lifted of the ground, his back crushed against the wall behind him. His lungs seemed to clamp down on themselves, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't fill them with enough oxygen and he just knew that this was it. He was going to choke to death instead of being ripped apart by Hellhounds and he somehow couldn't bring himself to find that thought very comforting.
He actually managed to get angry at himself. Angry for not being prepared for this, for not seeing right through Jardine's facade, for leaving his gun in the car that was helpfully located in the parking lot and especially for not telling Sam where he was going. Dean'd be damned if he ever felt more stupid and embarrassed in his entire life; he wasn't a goddamned chick, for god's sake, he shouldn't fall for a sweet smile and a caring look.
But he was here now, slowly choking while he had to stare into Jardine's eyes, his smug and winning smile - the bastard was tasting sweet victory - and Dean tried to form sentences, tried to tell the bastard that Sam would find Jardine and send his ugly ass back to hell - but all that came out of his throat was a gurgling sound.
It was kind of funny when you thought about it: Dean's love for sex was the thing that would get him killed in the end. If Dean had anything to fill his lungs with enough to do it, he'd laugh his ass off at that.
Dean was feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen and Jardine just kept on smirking at him as if they had all time in the world, and Dean would try to scream his anger right into that bastard's face if it weren't for the fact that his ass had just come in contact with the floor non-too-gently.
Wait.
Why was he sitting on the floor? And why was his breathing not restricted any longer? And, the most important question, what the hell did Sam do here and why was Jardine the one standing frozen in place with a shocked look on his face?
Things kind of became a blur after that. Dean remembered white hot light, someone screaming his heart out and then something that sounded like the same gurgling noises Dean had made earlier. Dean blinked his eyes, tried to focus through the haze that was clouding his mind, but he felt hands grasp for him and he was lifted of the ground again, but this time he was pressed against something warm and wide and solid. He was dragged out of the apartment as fast as possible and they were running - although in Dean's case it was more stumbling than running - down the stairs and were out in the chilly night before Dean could even process what was going on.
Things got a bit clearer by the time Dean was sitting in the Impala. The haze had lifted a bit and, even though it stung like hell, he was able to breathe properly. He was too relieved to even attempt complaining about sitting in the passenger seat.
Dean turned around and could see his brother sitting beside him, hands clutching the wheel and lips pressed into a thin line and Dean was too happy to see Sam to be concerned about the angry look in his brother's eyes.
“Dude,” Dean croaked and tried for a weak smirk. “How does it feel to not be the damsel in distress for a change?”
* * *
When they were back in their motel room, Sam made a show of dumping Dean right there on the bed and then leaving him to the misery that was his hurt dignity while his brother was rummaging around in the small kitchen. Dean tried not to feel too pissed off at that and was about to stand up and get himself something to drink, preferably something strong, but he felt his knees buckle under him.
Jesus, Dean had nearly choked to death. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't even stand up now.
Before Dean could do anything, though, Sam was at his side and pushed him back to sit on the bed again and sat down beside him, holding a glass of water under Dean's nose. His brother was a genius.
Dean took the glass and managed to take about three gulps before the ache in his throat got simply too much. All the while Sam was still keeping quiet, but he was watching Dean with such focus that Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own skin. He tried to clear his throat and avoided Sam's gaze as much as possible. “So. How'd you know it was him?” He asked wearily, voice still a bit too rough for his taste but at least it didn't feel like sandpaper was sliding along the inside of his throat anymore.
Sam simply shrugged and took the glass out of Dean's hands. “The whole case was making no sense, so I called Bobby. I told him about the schoolboys and the two women going insane for no reason at all and it turned out that Bobby had to handle a case like that 10 years ago in a town just 100 miles away from Red Lake Falls. People running amok in a small town for things that happened ages ago. It was the nice doctor that had been new to the neighborhood: All the people going crazy were his patients. So I tried to find out which person connects Smith, Lewis and Eric.”
“Aaron Jardine,” Dean finished for him and he couldn't help feeling a bit defeated and even more dumb. Sam had been out doing all the work while Dean had been.. - He really didn't want to think about that now.
Sam nodded. “The family lawyer. Bobby told me that those creatures are only semi-demonic. They're Cambions - the child of a succubus and a human and no, you really don't want to know how that works. Anyway, they look perfectly human up to a certain age when their hair gets too coarse and their ears too pointed for them to pass as humans. Till then, and Jardine just fitted that description, they're beautiful, charming and extremely cunning. They can't use the whammy on you, but they can invade your thoughts. Make you think things you never thought before and, in the case of the murderers, make you angry and hateful and seek revenge.”
Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “Guess I just fell for that too.” He straightened back up again and dared to look at Sam, who was still staring at him as if he was waiting for something, but Dean seemed to think too slow these days, because he just couldn't understand what Sam wanted from him.
He was too embarrassed, anyway. He really hadn't needed for Sam to find out about Dean being rather open-minded when it came to sex. He especially hadn't needed for his baby brother to find out about Dean falling for a stupid Cambion.
Time for a change in subject. “Sam,” Dean began and fumbled with the hem of his shirt, because you can't ask such a question and be all casual about that. “What did you do to him? It was a damned demon and you - “
“Sent him back to hell,” Sam interrupted him, sounding suddenly defiant, but Dean couldn't let it go. Not now. “Sam, you didn't even chant any latin, there was just all this white light and... Please, don't tell me that was you.”
But Sam's shoulders slumped in that guilty way and he was the one avoiding Dean's gaze now. Dean felt like screaming. Or punching someone, preferably Ruby, several times. “Sammy,” he tried, not caring that he sounded pleading. “You know how not-human that is?”
“It saved you, didn't it?” Sam replied stubbornly.
“You got to stop it.”
“I'll stop it when I got you out of your deal.” And now Sam turned back around to him, but Dean wished he hadn't. His brother's eyes were suspiciously wet and he seemed too desperate, needing Dean to believe in him. “I promise, Dean, I'll stop it then. But I need to do that now, it's helping, can't you see it?”
Damn him, but Dean never had been able to say no to the hurt-puppy-look. He just nodded weakly, not willing to give his okay, but just as unwilling to let his brother down.
They sat in silence for a while after that, side by side and shoulders touching and Dean was beginning to feel calmer now, secure in his own skin again, right up to the moment Sam opened his mouth again. “Dean, you did realize that Jardine looked like me, didn't you?”
Fuck.
No need to panic, Dean told himself, he wouldn't be Dean Winchester if he wasn't the best at lying through his teeth. “So? It's not like we did anything or - “
“Dude,” Sam interrupted him and the bastard was smirking, Dean could tell it even though he was far from looking at his brother right now. “I followed you. You had your hands all over him.”
Shit. Holy fucking Shit.
Dean would simply refuse to talk right now. That's the solution. He wouldn't say a damned thing, so he wouldn't get a problem, it was perfect, he was a genius and -
“Are you all right?” Sam asked suddenly, putting the glass he still held in his hands aside and then turning to Dean with a calculating look in his eyes.
“What?” Dean managed to keep the panic that was bordering on hysteria out of his voice, but his brother didn't even seem to notice because he just kept on staring at him with this strange expression on his face that Dean couldn't make any sense of.
“I asked if you're all right. Are you in pain, have you still problems breathing?”
His brother was the weirdest thing on earth. As if Dean ever had any doubt about that. “Nah, I'm okay. Everything's fine,” he replied while shooting Sam a weary look.
“Good,” was all Sam had to say to that and it was enough, had to be enough, because the next thing Dean knew, he was flat on his back with his brother hovering above him, a triumphant smirk splaying across his lips. Dean huffed and tried to sit up again, but Sam simply pressed him down with his... his body and Sam was a freaking giant, for fuck's sake, how was Dean supposed to get out from under him. And his brother was broad and warm and strong above him, so how the hell was Dean even supposed to want to get out from under him?
“I'm going to kiss you know, so stop making a drama of it and keep still,” Sam said, smirk audible in his voice, and when the hell did Sam get so bossy? But Dean wasn't going to let himself get bossed around by anyone, that's why he bucked up against Sam, trying to get him off, but was only rewarded with a heavy human blanket that covered his body now fully under it.
“You won't,” Dean bit out, because it was about the principle of the thing. There was no way Dean was going to lie here and get assaulted by his baby brother without uttering one word of complaint.
“I will,” Sam replied and leaned down far enough for Dean to feel his warm breath ghosting over his lips, making them tingle. “And then I'll kiss you again and again and again and then some until you're begging me to fuck you. And that's just what I'll do then. You okay with that?” Expect Sam to make fun of you during the foreplay to the foreplay.
And who was Dean to deny Sam anything? He wasn't a selfish bastard, after all. So when he stopped struggling and closed his eyes in something that wasn't quite horror, he totally did it just to do Sam a favor.
The End.