Day 44: Sun Room (4th Shift)
As soon as she had the chance, Sheena ninja'd herself out of the cafeteria and away from the conversation she'd been semi-forced to have. She probably could have just clammed up and told the boys to go away, but she'd kind of owed at least Endrance some kind of explanation. It wasn't everyday the embodiment of darkness pops up and delivers a
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"The hell was that all about?" Dean hissed. "Dude, you're getting sloppy."
And Dean wasn't kidding either. Sam knew better than that, he really did. For all those looks and getting on his case about not being all Civilian Therapist, at least Dean could keep his aliases straight and make sure Sam's were consistent. Dean's smile dropped as he scowled at his brother, and while he didn't think he needed a second kick to get his point across, he'd be ready to do it again if he had to. It wasn't like he needed to know where Sam was at all times like a stalker, but it'd help if he knew who he'd talked to, even if maybe Sam wanted to keep some of the pillow talk to himself. Dean's jaw set as he stopped just short of glaring at Sam.
Dean was pretty sure he'd saved their cover (hopefully), but he really didn't need a repeat of this. They should be focusing on hunting, finding out what was going on, and not tripping up on the stupid details like if Sam was gonna go with his real name or go with Val and really, this was all stuff that should be taken for granted as being on track.
At least they might have a lead, even if Dean wasn't too convinced this kid would be able to come up much with the building. It couldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes though.
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"Ow, jeez," he snapped, more out of principle than anything else. He turned around and fixed his gaze on Dean. Getting the sudden irrational feeling that something was going to blow apart right here-that right here would be when all the secrets came tumbling into the open-he huffed out without thinking, "You really wanna talk about who's getting sloppy?"
For which he immediately felt guilty about; Dean had nothing to do with what'd happened that night with Lelouch or the night before with the sedation or...getting dragged to hell. But the accusation of being sloppy hit a little too close to home because he remembered spending six months thinking, If it's not perfect, Dean will die, and after he got sent back, Dean died again, anyway. And the truth was, he had no idea what he was doing now. It just seemed like whatever he did, it wasn't enough or it wasn't right, that he wasn't good enough to keep his brother safe. Sometimes, he really wished he could blame it on Dean. Or something else entirely. It'd be easier.
Except no, he shouldn't have said that and now he kind of hated himself even more. Which he previously hadn't thought possible. He averted his gaze and shifted his weight, uncomfortable. The only thing he could think of to do was walk away really fast, but that was a little too low, even for him.
Christ. How the hell had they ended up here, anyway?
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His lips parted, but his mind had blanked on him again. Sure, he'd been distracted, but he thought he'd been covering it up and focusing on what had to be done; it wasn't like he'd broke down or anything, except obviously he hadn't been covering his tracks as well as he should've if Sam noticed he wasn't on top of his A-game. Did he suspect about Cold Oak? Or was he just calling him out without knowing what was the problem? Please be Door 2, Dean thought, even though Door 2 was still a crap door when it could easily lead into Sam digging.
Dean's eyebrows drew together. If he acted like he was guilty, then he might as well be guilty to Sam, even if they both knew it. He wasn't gonna fold that easily.
"What're you talking about?" Dean stared right into Sam's face, refusing to look away even if Sam suddenly seemed to change his mind about getting into a fight about this. Dean didn't want to either, but he needed to know just how much his brother suspected, and that meant rolling up his sleeves and getting ready for possible bitchiness. "If you've got something to say, than friggen spit it out."
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Sam furrowed his brow and crossed his arms, but he didn't take a step back. "Nothing," he replied, lifting his eyes back up at Dean. "Nothing, I didn't mean it like that."
If he was backpedaling, so be it. He couldn't exactly tell Dean what he was thinking about, even if he managed to figure out how to put it into words.
Not that he expected Dean would let this go so easily, either. Sam hadn't been oblivious to the tension that had simmered beneath the surface from the very start-that sense that something was off-and he knew Dean must've felt it, too. They'd been ignoring it up until now, but now that Sam had let it out, it was too late to put it back out of sight. Once, he would've thought it was for the best. Put it out in the open and deal with it, that was what he used to do. But these days...these days, he was as content as Dean was to act as if everything was fine. It all felt too much like his fault, like something he didn't know how to make better. And it was his fault, wasn't it? That something was broken between them? His mystery visitor had basically told him flat out just that, and for good reason.
Because it sure as hell wasn't Dean who'd changed. Who was different, in more ways than one, and he thought that if Dean knew-if Dean had had a choice, Dean would've wanted his Sam back. The one before Cold Oak-before that shabby little cabin with Dad, even. Before everything spun so far out of control.
Sam looked at Dean, silent and feeling nothing more than like pretending none of this was happening, and thought: if he couldn't fix himself, if he didn't even know how to find a way to fit with his brother the way he used to, then how was he supposed to fix everything else? How was he supposed to fix Dean?
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Dean didn't take his eyes off Sam, frowning now. His brother had to know something was up, Dean thought, and he wasn't sure if he was just convincing himself of it or just bracing himself for the second when Sam called him out on it. If he did, Dean had no idea what to say. He wanted to tell Sam - or, okay, maybe that was more of a lie, since he was scared shitless about it, but he did think the kid needed to know, sooner than later. Maybe he'd been selfish selling his soul to that Crossroads Bitch but he wasn't gonna pull the same thing and not tell Sammy just 'cause he didn't have enough balls for it. But he didn't want it dragged outta him like this, either. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
It wasn't "nothing", Dean was sure about it now. He'd been thinking maybe he imagined it, that Sam was still hung up on Cold Oak (and who wouldn't be?) but this was more than that. Sammy wasn't telling him something. Now he didn't know if something else happened at Cold Oak or if it was about that night he'd been possessed and he'd done something else besides beat the unholy crap outta his own brother. Dean usually was used to being in the dark. Just was how Dad used to run things.
Now that he was sitting in some nuthouse, most likely knee deep in the same demonic crap as Cold Oak, and wishing Sam would just tell him already 'cause maybe he wasn't as cool with being in the dark as he used to be.
Since when did Sam keep things to himself like this anyway?
Dean couldn't shake the feeling that there was something seriously wrong, and somehow he'd been blind to it until now. The hunter was aware of the buzz of conversation around him, and there was even a part of him that was unconsciously keeping automatic tabs on the patients and clear exits, but most of his attention was focused on his kid brother.
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He shifted his weight again, feeling himself growing defensive as he was pushed even further back into a corner. A corner he'd entirely made on his own, of course, but that didn't change the fact that this was where he was.
God. This was such a mess. He'd questioned before whether he should've maybe told Dean the truth from the start, but even looking at it now, he had no idea if that would've gone over any better. Would it have changed anything? Or would they still be here, only with Dean knowing that Sam hadn't been able to save him like he'd promised, and knowing all the things that he'd done since then?
Sometimes, it felt as if it didn't matter what he did. As if regardless of which path he took, it was always gonna lead nowhere good.
Dean wasn't gonna let this go, though, he could tell. His brother could be just as stubborn, and even if Sam managed to deflect him now, Dean was always gonna wonder what was up, and Sam had no doubt he'd find a way to bring it up again. If he didn't take care of this now somehow-
But he couldn't tell the actual truth, which...left a different kind of truth he could tell. His mind raced. He didn't have a lot of time to contemplate this-seconds, really, and he finally just licked his lips, glancing down before looking back up at Dean to buy an extra half second or so.
"I'm just saying," he replied, quiet but tense, "that maybe you might not wanna make it so obvious you've got a problem with what a pretty large chunk of the population here is."
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Dean didn't visibly relax. While this was a lot safer than Cold Oak or Sam's magically popping back from a fatal injury, it was still shaky ground. Was this about people with abilities or was it just Dean not acting genuinely chummy with a bunch of strangers, many of who were probably gonna eat it and there wasn't a damn thing they could do to stop it - they'd try to save as many as they could and hunt these things down, but Dean was realistic about it. You stopped being all starry-eyed about the job a long time ago. They weren't gonna save everyone, no matter things turned out or if they had the arsenal back. Dean tilted his head.
"I didn't have a problem with Lelouch," Dean said, feeling confused all over again. This couldn't be about the whole psychic thing, was it? It wasn't like every patient here had powers up the ying-yang, and he didn't think Lelouch was psychic anyway. Why was Sammy bringing this up now anyway? Dean felt like he was missing something. "What, are you sweet on him or something? All I did was offer him up a journal, he said yeah and that's it: you're actin' like I'm torching babies or something."
Dean lowered his voice.
"Look, if you're talking about the thing with that psychic on the board, I backed off. If this is about Lelouch: dude, the kid's gotta lighten up." Dean refused to get on the defensive like this when this wasn't even about Cold Oak, "Is that what this's about? Not enough Mr. Rogers? Or is it something else?"
Seriously. Dean didn't get why Sam was busting his chops about something that was days ago, and if this was about Lelouch, then what the hell? It wasn't like he'd treated him much differently than he had other patients, so why was he getting on his case about it? If this was about the bulletin board, then Dean thought he had every good reason to have a "problem": people were giving bad advice on there, and not only that, but it looked like there really were some real pieces of work here. That pedophile trolling for kids on the board, for example. And then the jokers who thought being a werewolf would be "cool". Nevermind that they might have vampires thrown into the mix, right there along with spirits, psychics, demons, goddesses and supernatural mind trips.
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"I wasn't talking about him," Sam said, a little impatiently. Partially because the notion of him giving a damn about anyone being less than nice to Lelouch wasn't even worth consideration, and because as much as this wasn't what he'd been referring to earlier, he couldn't deny that it'd been bothering him from the start. The assumption that these people were all dangerous because of what they could do. He hadn't missed the way Dean would tense up, grow wary. How far did that extend to him?
There was a reason why Sam had kept his mouth shut about the visions until he couldn't any longer. Ever since then...he didn't know anymore. The line between Dean being afraid for him and Dean being afraid of him wasn't so clear.
But Jesus, he didn't know how they'd gone from-whatever to talking about this. He hadn't ever meant for it to get here, with Dean basically asking him to spell out his issues on his abilities. He kind of wished Dean had just caught on and then they could...pretend like the subject was never raised. The way they always did. He didn't know how to address any of this without confessing too much, without sounding as if...
What was he even supposed to say? Hypothetically speaking, if your little brother was a half-blooded demon willingly using his psychic abilities, would you freak out and call him a monster?
"Sometimes I just-" He broke off, stopping short of what he'd wanted to say for awhile. "Look, can we not do this now?"
Despite just wanting Dean to get it, he didn't want to do this now, either. And it made no logical sense, he knew, to want Dean to understand something that he wasn't even willing to explain. But this wasn't something he could shove under a microscope, all neat and tidy. It didn't work like that. He didn't have a clue how it worked.
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It looked like Sam was in full backpedal mode, which meant even if Dean wanted to know what the hell was his problem, he probably wasn't gonna drag it outta his brother. Sam shared when he was ready, whether Dean was ready for it or not, and there'd been plenty of times, especially when Dad died, that he wished Sam would keep it to himself. If he didn't want to do this, fine. Dean knew when he might as well be pulling teeth from his brother and unlike his brother, he knew when to quit. Dean found himself unconsciously reaching up to rub at his shirt over the healing tattoo, itching at it and wishing that weird feeling in the back of his head would just go away - something didn't feel right about this, even something like just arguing with Sam like he'd done before. Why did it feel like they weren't even fighting about the same thing?
Anyway, as much as he wanted to know what it was they were even arguing in the first place, he really didn't want to be fighting with Sam if he could help it. The kid had just died and come back to life less than a week ago (twice, if you counted last night's trip-out), and Dean was all too aware of his own limited time. There wasn't any point in wasting it like this, pushing his brother's buttons 'cause the truth was he was just scared of what might really be the issue here.
"Okay, so what's the deal for tonight?" Dean asked after an awkward pause, dropping his hand from the tattoo. "I dunno about you, but I'm not too jazzed at the idea of headin' up to the morgue to check on Harry."
Maybe it was just being paranoid. Obviously Sam hadn't died, but first the spirit attack, then the both of them seeing Sam turned into a hellhound's bitch? Dean didn't need an encore of that, thanks. They'd already torched Harry, and he was pretty sure all of his remains were taken care of...only he wasn't one hundred percent sure and right now, Dean wasn't proud to say he was looking for an excuse not to go up there.
Dean couldn't believe he was turning chickenshit over this. A hunt was supposed to be a hunt, that was it. Now he was just trying to get outta something as simple as a probably-finished salt 'n burn 'cause Sam might get hurt again. Maybe it was just everything that happened so far, and little to no sleep finally doing a number on him. Giving him crap judgment.
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He stared at his brother for a moment, knowing that if he didn't say it now, he never would. Bringing this up? Not really something he'd planned, to say the least, and he knew that if he had half a chance to think about it next time, he'd keep his mouth shut.
Thinking about it further now, yeah, no, he shouldn't have gone there. Dean didn't need to deal with whatever personal crap Sam had accumulated. Even if it...kind of had to do with Dean, but he knew better than to think that that was all it was. Still-it was too late to take it back and he didn't know if he'd be making it worse or better by keeping it to himself now that Dean already knew that something was wrong in the first place. Even if his brother wasn't going to keep pushing now, Sam had started something and-it'd fester there. And sooner or later, one of them was gonna snap and if it came out then, it was going to definitely be worse.
Yeah, he probably was gonna make it worse either way.
He licked his lips and let out a slow breath. "It's not..." He hesitated, then pushed on, quiet but hurried, like if he took a second out to pause, he was gonna come to his senses about just how horrible of an idea this was and run away.
"It's-I just don't think everyone who decides they want to learn about what the hell it is they can do instead of hiding from it-" until everyone around them dies "-is automatically gonna turn into a monster, okay?"
Oh, goddamn it.
He swallowed, but didn't drop his gaze this time. Instead, he watched Dean warily, a part of him expecting that this was it, that Dean would know, just like that-and he thought: maybe he was sort of relieved, too. It wasn't like he didn't deserve whatever he had coming. Did it really matter whether it came now or later?
...
...Yeah. It kind of did.
About ten seconds too late, he realized that Dean had changed the subject. He couldn't decide if he was grateful or not, but at least it was familiar territory. When in doubt, talk about the hunt. He'd lost track of the amount of times Dad had finally snapped, Let's just go over this again, and in some ways, that change of topic tactic was one of the few things they'd ever agreed on. Sometimes not even then.
He frowned, still troubled, and feeling the urge to get away. "Skuld's filling our request tonight, so I'll have to find you after that. I, uh." He ran a hand through his hair. God, he was tired of this, wasting his time putting together this puzzle when he should've been doing other things. "I don't know. We still need those files, right?"
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But he kept his mouth shut.
Dammit, Sam hadn't forgotten about the files - apparently dying-but-not-really hadn't changed his mind about it, and for a brief second, Dean was annoyed that Sam could still keep his focus on stuff like that even in the middle of a fight; usually it was useful but right now? He wished his brother would space on things here and there like everyone else. Dean reached up, rubbing the back of his neck before dropping his hand and shrugging.
"Guess so. It'd help stick to whatever cover they got for us here," and Dean just barely resisted the urge to pointedly add unlike a certain someone, and went on, "I guess the battle plan will be we'll hook up in my room and check the doctor offices or something. Might have to split up to cover more offices though."
He had a pretty good feeling where his file was, but if he could get Sam off his back for a few minutes, he might be able to stash it away or at least get a look at it and see if it said anything about his deal. Maybe even buy him some time to rip it up. Dean was pretty sure he was gonna tell Sam anyway, but when he was ready, not 'cause some jacked up Institute threw some fake papers at his brother and started making him ask all these questions.
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At least they were agreed on the files. He thought they should check out the file rooms, too (they had to have been identified on those crudely drawn maps as file rooms for a reason, right?) and he wasn't all that comfortable with the idea of splitting up given their track record so far. Dean had been...not himself in one way or another twice, Sam had freaking died, and God knew what else could happen tonight.
But he'd argued enough with Dean for the day, so he decided to keep quiet. He just wanted to get out of here, clear his head before he did or said anything else he'd regret.
Besides, the patients were starting to get herded out now.
He sighed. "All right, I'll...see you tonight."
There was a half-second beat as he hesitated, feeling as if there was more he should say-knowing that there was more he should say-but he just turned around instead and left, slipping into a gap between two patients within the small group filing out the door.
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