SPN fic: Man of Steel
Title: Man of Steel
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s Halloween, and Dean’s feeling very domestic about it. Sam can’t relate. 6,000 words.
A/N: This is a Sam + Dean/Bela fic, with every variation thereof- Sam & Dean, Dean/Bela, Bela & Sam. It takes place in a post-canon future (but no spoilers past S4) in which Bela was rescued from Hell and she and Dean are a couple. The boys still hunt, and she still steals, but they’re also all gradually putting down roots at her home in NY. Takes place in the same future as this fic, though you don't have to read that one to read this. Also, warning for vague spoilers for the end of The Dark Knight Rises.
“You could be the Joker. It’d be easy. Get a purple coat, some face paint, hair dye. You’ve already got the crazy hair.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m not being the Joker.”
“You could be Ra’s al Ghul.”
“I’m not being Ra’a al Ghul.”
“You could be…Two-Face.”
“Why are you only suggesting villains?”
A delicate snicker sounded from Sam’s right. Bela lounged on the couch kitty corner from his, her elbow on the armrest and her legs tucked neatly under her. One gloved hand stroked Baldrick, who lounged against her stomach. The resemblance between them was perturbing, even without the catsuit and pointed-ear headband she currently wore. The main difference was in the eyes; both watched the proceedings unblinkingly, but the yellow were slitted and haughty while the green, behind their mask, were unabashedly amused.
Dean shifted weight, making his cape waft. With his hands fisted on his hips and his chest puffed out, Sam had to stifle a chuckle of his own. Dean looked the part, Sam had to give him that. In a cheaper costume he might have just looked ridiculous, but as with everything she did, Bela had spared no expense; no cheesy, $50 cartoon-based costumes for their first his’n’her Halloween if officially licensed Dark Knight outfits were available for several hundred dollars instead.
“You could be Robin,” said Dean. He lowered his register to a Christian Bale growl. “What do you say, young padawan? Every Batman needs his Robin.”
This time Bela’s snort was anything but delicate. Both men looked at her.
“I’m not sure the Batman-Robin vibe is one you want to go for,” she said mildly. “As brothers and all.”
Dean’s face scrunched behind his mask. “Why not?”
“You’ve heard of pederasty?”
“No,” said Dean.
“Yeah,” said Sam. “From Ancient Greek. A relationship between an adult male and an adolescent male that was usually considered to be-” His brain caught up with his mouth, and he gave her a dirty look.
She smirked.
Dean looked between them. “Considered to be what?”
Unbidden, Sam remembered her mirth the first time she looked up the Supernatural fandom and learned what slash was. He winced and then sighed. “Homoerotic.”
“What?” Dean’s head swiveled between them even faster. “Homoe- Batman and Robin are not gay!”
“Not in the Nolan movies, of course,” said Bela. “But I believe the comics are more…ambiguous.”
Dean crossed his arms. “They’re not gay!”
“It’s just one interpretation,” said Bela, in that innocent tone that Sam was never able to understand how she pulled off.
Dean scowled heavily, as though the force of his glare could compel a retraction.
Her eyes danced. “Oh, very in-character.”
Dean snorted. “I’ll show you how gay Batman is,” he muttered and swooped in, cape billowing. Sam just had time to see her grin before her lips became otherwise occupied. Baldrick let out an irritated meow as he was unceremoniously shoved from his spot.
He padded over and leapt onto the couch next to Sam, who scratched his ears obligingly. “Obnoxious, aren’t they,” he joked, smiling at the cat’s reproachful glower; it was a bit like Dean’s, actually.
He looked at Dean and Bela, expecting a leer from at least one of them, but they were both still…engrossed. He glanced away, feeling his cheeks warm and his own smile fade. The spacious living room felt distinctly smaller than it had two minutes ago.
He cleared his throat. After a minute he shifted to the edge of the seat, legs tensed for retreat.
Baldrick meowed again, more plaintively.
“Yeah, I feel you,” said Sam, not bothering to say it quietly, because it wasn’t like Dean and Bela would hear him anyway.
* * *
“Would you look what’s here- Party City!” The Impala slowed and turned into a parking space that was nowhere near the grocery store they’d come for.
“At the shopping center you dragged us to? What a coincidence.”
“It’s not too late to get a costume.”
“Dean, it’s the day before Halloween. I would rather face Hellhounds than go in there.”
Dean’s enthusiasm dimmed perceptibly as they neared the storefront and the hordes inside became apparent. He paused, and Sam could see the wheels turning.
“It’s okay, we’ve fought worse. Here’s the plan: we go in there, you figure out what you want, then you distract the clerk, and I’ll sneak into the back room to get it.”
Sam fought a smile, lest it encourage him. “I appreciate your bravery, but I’ll pass.” He resumed walking toward the Stop & Shop.
Dean caught up to him, walking faster than usual to match Sam’s longer stride. “It’s not like you have to match us. I think Robin’s off the table…” His disgruntled pause lasted until they were through the grocery’s sliding doors. “What about-”
“Do we need a cart? How much are we getting?”
“Uh. Hang on.” Dean dug in his pockets until he found Bela’s list. “Yeah, get a cart.”
“’Kay.” Sam pushed it only a few feet before stopping again. “Candy.”
“Candy,” Dean agreed, eyes lighting up.
The shelves upon shelves of Halloween candy at the front of the store were visibly depleted this late in the season, but the choices still seemed limitless. Dean grabbed two mixed bags of Mars candies and two of Hershey’s and threw them into the cart.
“Dark chocolate, Bela likes dark chocolate,” he muttered, scanning the aisle.
Sam pointed. “Hershey’s Dark Chocolate mix.” He grabbed a bag of M&M’s packs.
“Ooh, get peanut, too!”
They surveyed the contents of the cart.
“Think that’s enough?” asked Sam.
“Probably,” said Dean, and threw in a bag of Reece’s Pieces. He pulled open the peanut M&M’s and tore into a fun-size pack. “Mmm.” He tipped the bag toward Sam.
“No thanks.”
Instead of leaving the Halloween section, Dean drifted from the candy to the decorations. He poked at some fake cobweb and then stepped on a doormat that showed a witch flying on her broomstick. Cackles erupted.
Dean fingered one of the mats hanging from a hook. “This would be cool, huh?”
“I thought Bela nixed that suggestion a few weeks ago.”
Dean sighed and let go of the mat. “Yeah. She did.”
Sam stared at his wistful expression. “Dean, those things are so annoying. A year ago you would have wanted to shoot anyone who owned one.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged, his shoulders hunching. “It’s different when you have a door to put it in front of,” he muttered. He turned away before Sam could think of what to say. “So. We have 24 hours to get you a costume.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “What’s next on the list?”
“Gala. What the hell is Gala? Oh, apples. Organic.”
Sam wheeled the cart toward fruits and vegetables. Dean hurried after him.
“Work with me, man. If you’re scared of Party City, what do you suggest we do?”
“Dean, I don’t want a costume.”
Dean flapped an arm at the cart. “You’re just going to give out all this delicious candy in street clothes?”
“Yup.”
“That is so not in the Halloween spirit!”
“I think the candy is what the kids care about.”
“Sam, it’s Halloween. You need a costume.”
“Funny, I’ve never needed one before.”
“Yeah, well, this is the first time we’ve- you know- done Halloween! You need to dress up!”
“No.” Sam pushed the cart faster.
Dean sped up. “Sam!”
“No.”
Dean turned on the Batman voice. “Sam!”
“No.”
“Sammy!”
* * *
“Trick-or-treat!”
“Happy Halloween!” Dean rumbled back.
A Jedi and Tinker Bell who looked about ten and a princess and Harry Potter who looked about six shrieked with laughter. “Batman!” cried the Harry Potter, jumping up and down.
Sam grinned and bent to offer them a bowl. “Pick your favorites.”
Bela held out a second bowl to the princess, who said shyly, “You’re Catwoman!”
“I am,” Bela purred. “Is there anything you’d like me to steal for you, Princess?”
The little girl giggled and shook her head.
“Your costumes are so cool!” said the Jedi after managing to pick his jaw off the ground.
Harry Potter, who had taken candy from Sam’s bowl, pointed at him. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m no one,” said Sam. He felt his smile freeze.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean and Bela’s heads whip toward him, but before either of them could speak, Tinker Bell piped up, “Did you get married?”
Dean blinked. “What? I mean, what?”
“At the end of the movie, did you get married?” said Tinker Bell impatiently.
“Who cares if they got married,” said the Jedi.
“I do! It’s romantic!”
“Batman’s not supposed to be romantic!”
“Says you!”
“Batman doesn’t have time to get married. He’s too busy saving Gotham.”
“No, he’s not! He retired!”
“Nuh uh, that was stupid. He still fights bad guys.”
“No, he doesn’t, Joseph Gordon-Levitt does! Bruce and Selina are normal people now!”
“Do you want me to tell you what Bruce and I really do?” said Bela loudly, before the Jedi could retort. The children looked at her wide-eyed.
Bela crouched so she was on their eye level. “We do a little of both,” she said, her tone confidential. “We live like normal people most of the time, but if John Blake and Commissioner Gordon ever need help, they call Bruce, and he puts his costume back on to go save Gotham. I steal fantastic artwork and beautiful jewelry-” She eyed the parents, a few feet up the sidewalk. “But only from people who deserve it. And I help the boys when they need saving.” She flashed a smile upward, toward Dean. “We get the best of both worlds, don’t we, Batman?”
“That’s right, Catwoman.”
The Jedi looked between them, expression dubious. “Okay...I guess that’s still cool.”
“Yeah, but are you married?” demanded Tinker Bell.
Sam covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Uh-” Even with the mask covering three-quarters of his face, Dean’s rising panic was obvious. Bela looked equally, uncharacteristically discomfited. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Because I think Bruce and Selina should get married and live happily ever after and have children, and Alfred should be their grandpa!”
The Jedi moaned. “That’s boring.”
“No, it isn’t!”
“Okay, kids, come on,” said a mother. She came forward to grab Tinker Bell’s hand, shooting Bela and Dean an apologetic smile. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you!” chorused the children.
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome. Be safe, children of Gotham.”
More giggles erupted.
“Those are amazing costumes,” called a father.
As the group traipsed off, the little Harry Potter’s plaintive voice drifted back. “But who was the other man?”
Sam hugged the candy bowl and studiously avoided his brother’s gaze.
* * *
“Trick-or-treat! Woah- Dad, look, it’s another Batman!”
“Happy Halloween! What’s this? Catwoman, it’s another Batman!” Dean bent and peered closer at his pint-sized double. “John Blake, is that you? I’m glad to see you’re making use of the Bat Cave.”
Shining eyes still on Dean, the boy elbowed his companion, Spider-Man. “See, I told you Batman was cooler than Spider-Man!”
The boy’s mask muffled his response, but his distressed tone came through loud and clear.
“Hey, now, that’s not true,” rumbled Dean. “Spider-Man is just as cool as we are.”
“He’s a bug.”
Spider-Man yanked his mask up. “You’re a bat!”
Before the other boy could reply, Dean said sternly, “It doesn’t matter what kind of powers or gadgets you have. The important thing is that you’re both heroes. Isn’t that right, Catwoman?"
“Purr-fectly said.”
Sam rolled his eyes. She smirked at him.
“It’s good to see you two working together. So no fighting! Promise?”
“Yes,” they chorused, albeit reluctantly.
“Good men. Have some candy.”
As Sam offered them the bowl, Spiderman asked, “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m-”
“He’s a civilian we rescued!” boomed Dean. “We saved him from the uh, the Penguin.”
Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded encouragingly, and back at the kids. “That’s, uh, that’s right.”
“Oh.” Spider-Man looked up him up and down, frowning.
“Dad, can we take a picture!” yelled mini-Batman.
A middle-aged man halfway down the front walk hurried forward. “Guys, I don’t know if that’s- well-” He fumbled with a camera around his neck and looked at Dean and Bela, his expression almost as adoring as his son’s. “Would that be all right? You look so great!”
“Of course!” boomed Dean. He glanced at Bela, eyes questioning, and shifted almost imperceptibly so as to block her. She tilted her head, gaze locked on his, and after a second joined the pose. If Sam hadn’t seen firsthand the evolution of their silent couple-speak the past few months, he wouldn’t have noticed anything.
Chest feeling tight all of a sudden, he shuffled backward and to the side, out of the porch lights and away from the camera’s flashes.
* * *
“Trick or treat!”
“Happy Halloween!”
“The Dark Knight!” yelled a little pirate.
“Catwoman!” cried a witch.
A boy wearing a bowtie and holding what looked like a screwdriver wrinkled his nose at Sam.
“Who are you? Alfred?”
Both Bela and Dean choked. Bela’s hand flew to her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to hide her smile. Sam felt his face burn.
Dean started guffawing. “Yes! Ahem, yes. This is Alfred, our butler.” He gestured at Sam. “Alfred, will you please give these fine children their treat?”
Sam held out the bowl.
* * *
“‘You wanted me. Here I am.’” Dean strode into the dining room, cape swirling, and struck a pose. “And you said it wouldn’t fit.”
Sam minimized the website for Columbia Law and pushed the screen down so fast he had to keep from wincing at the resulting clack. He summoned his best interested expression and looked Dean up and down. He did indeed look unchanged from a year ago.
“Huh. I don’t know where you put all those pies.” Sam glanced at Bela, who sat across the table from him, bent over floor plans and blueprints and other papers he probably didn’t want to know more about. “Does yours still fit?”
Her head snapped up. The look she gave him could have cut glass.
He coughed. “Uh, never mind.”
“So…” Dean sidled closer to the table. Sam considered telling him that trying to act casual while wearing a giant muscle suit and bat mask was a losing proposition. “Thought about who you’re going to be?"
Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, about that. I’m not dressing up.”
Unsurprisingly, Dean didn’t bat an eye. “Oh c’mon, man, you don’t want people thinking your Alfred again!”
“They’d be less likely to if you didn’t tell them I was.”
“Hey, that was not my idea.”
“No, you just ran with it.”
“You didn’t give me a lot of choice! The kids wanted to know who you were!”
“Well, then, this year I’ll sit out the trick-or-treating and spare you the trouble.”
Below the mask, Dean’s jaw dropped. Sam’s first instinct was to laugh. His second, when Dean’s horrified silence continued, was to take it back. He looked away, only to find Bela watching him, too, face unreadable. He looked down at his computer instead, wishing he’d left the screen open as a distraction.
“You’re not gonna give out candy with us?” Dean pulled off his mask, revealing a face that, indeed, matched his stricken voice.
Sam summoned a jocular tone. “I, uh, I’m surprised you’re using those again.” He glanced at Bela, unable to take Dean’s hurt expression. “The costumes. I figured Dean would try for something new and…entertaining. Cowboy and sexy, politically incorrect Indian. Han Solo and slave Leia.”
Bela arched one perfectly shaped brow. “Well, we were going to do Han and Leia, but the bikini didn’t fit him.”
Dean threw her a dirty look.
Bela shrugged at Sam. “We like them. They fit us.”
Something inside him seemed to sink. He guessed she didn’t mean physically.
“And we have the party to go to. We didn’t do that last year.”
“So, basically, you’re not done showing off?”
Her lips curled. “Never.”
He smiled, despite himself. “You’re seriously going to that thing?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
The answers collided, leaving a brief silence in their wake. Sam tried not to look too pleased. Deflected.
Bela shifted in her seat toward Dean, blueprints forgotten. Genuine frustration had replaced her usual levity. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this.”
Sam couldn’t help himself. “Have you actually gotten to know my brother while you’ve been sleeping with him?”
Identical glares beamed his way. He waved a hand in surrender.
“I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Uh, the big deal is, they hate us.”
“Yes, but to be fair, you did try to kill them.”
“Yeah, for good reason!” He gestured at Sam, as though asking for help. Or maybe saying duh. “We thought she was Ruby!”
“And did you do your due diligence?”
“Our- what?”
Sam didn’t hear her reply. Memories from the ordeal were rising inexorably to the forefront of his mind, as vivid as though it had happened yesterday instead of several months ago.
He remembered the crisp feel of the hundred-dollar bills Bela had given him when she kicked him out because she was leaving the next day for a long heist and third wheels weren’t invited to the good-bye party (“Sam. I’m going to fuck your brother in every room of this house. Take the money and come back tomorrow”). The bitter taste of the beer he’d been nursing while he sulked in a bar, hoping that “every room” was hyperbole. The way his whole body seized up when she sauntered into the room, fearless and careless (beautiful), wearing a slinky red number and on the arm of a blonde who looked just like Lilith’s type. The fear that he was having a heart attack- or worse, that he was hallucinating.
He remembered the hammering of rain on the Impala roof for hours on end as he watched their house from the corner of the street. Dean’s disbelief the next day (“You’re sure she’s not another actress?”). The cold feel of the knife in his hand and his heart bobbing in his throat as they snuck through the unfamiliar living room. Her face, horrified as he’d never seen it before.
A sharp pain on the back of his head-
Waking up in the hospital to learn that the roommate- Ashley Martin- had arrived in the nick of time with a baseball bat and that she- Genevieve Cortese, M.D.- had then sliced him open with Ruby’s- his- very own knife. Oh, and as soon as the doctors released him, he would be joining his brother in prison for attempted murder.
“Sam?”
“Huh?”
Bela was staring at him with a level of concern that told him it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.
“Sorry.” He shook himself, trying to focus. He wasn’t sorry to be pulled from the memories. Even though they’d been in far worse situations with the law before, he didn’t like to think of where he and Dean would be now if Bela hadn’t managed to convince Genevieve that not only were demons real, but that one had possessed her twin sister’s dead body for a year- and that she should consequently drop the charges.
“What did you say?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? To the party? Both of you were invited. Costumes are mandatory, but it’s not too late to get you one.”
Sam spoke slowly. “Didn’t the text message say, ‘And you can bring the two psychopaths if you want’?”
Bela seemed to fight a smile. “That’s an invitation.”
He thought of seeing her again- Genevieve- with Ruby’s face and Ruby’s body- and fought to repress a shiver. He didn’t know what scared him more; the idea of seeing her or the fact that part of him wanted to.
“I’ll pass.”
Bela studied him for a moment before giving a small shrug. “All right.”
“‘All right’? Why does Sam get to pass?”
Sam didn’t know whether to laugh at his brother or feel sorry for him.
She rounded on him, eyes flinty. “In which bed does Sam sleep?”
Dean’s mouth opened. He hesitated.
“Okay. Uh…point,” he said finally. “But seriously, do I have to go?”
“It’ll be fine. You won’t even have to break and enter this time. You can just enter.”
Dean’s pout didn’t change.
Her tone switched to distant, almost careless, and she sat back in her seat. “No. You don’t have to go. I can’t make you do anything.”
Sam snorted.
Bela ignored him. “You can stay here and watch movies, and I’ll go to the party.”
Dean eyed her warily. “Okay…”
Bela began paging through her blueprints. “I’m sure there will be plenty of men there happy to see a Selina Kyle without a Bruce Wayne.”
One look at Dean’s face, and Sam began to laugh.
“Have fun,” he said in between snickers. “Try not to kill anyone.”
“Oh, shut up,” growled Dean.
* * *
“Come with us.”
“No.”
“Please. Don’t make me go alone.”
“You’re not going to be alone. You’ll have Bela.”
“Yeah, but she gets along with them!”
Sam put down his weights and gulped from his water glass to avoid speaking.
“What if…what if we wore different costumes?”
Sam looked at his brother before he could stop himself. Dean brightened.
“We could be a trio! Uh, Han, Luke, and Leia. You can even be Han, as long as you promise not to kiss Leia.”
“I think I’m actually more of a Luke,” Sam hedged, trying not to look like he was considering it.
It wasn’t a good idea. Not really. No matter what they wore, at the end of the night he’d still be a third wheel.
Besides, Dean and Bela’s costumes were perfect for them. He had no equivalent, and theirs weren’t worth changing. Not for Luke. Luke was just…decent.
“Pass. But thanks,” he said, and meant it.
Dean was undaunted. “Okay, what about…Star Trek. The new one. Kirk, Spock, and Zoe Saldana. I’d look good in the ears, right?” He grinned widely, waving at his head. “What do you say, Captain?”
Sam stepped onto the treadmill and started a brisk walk. “Uhura.”
“What?”
“Zoe Saldana’s character is Uhura.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Dean gestured as though to say, ‘no big,’ but Sam could see his mounting frustration. “The ears would probably itch anyway. How about…what’s it. Pirates of the Caribbean. You can be Captain Jack Sparrow!”
“Sorry, I’m all out of eyeliner.”
“Oh, come on!” Dean threw his arms up, turning, and for a second Sam thought he was going to kick the exercise stool like an angry toddler. Instead he leaned against the wall and rubbed his forehead almost wearily.
Sam eyed him. “Dean, if you don’t want to go, you can stay home with me. We’ll watch movies like last year.”
Dean sighed. “Bela wants me to go.”
Sam raised his arm, fingers poised.
“Don’t!”
Sam made the whipped sound anyway. Dean winced.
“So try to have fun,” said Sam. “It’s a party, so there’ll be lots of people. It’ll be easy to avoid Genevieve and Ashley. Drink beer, eat lots of junk food. That’s right up your alley. You’ll have fun.”
“Then why won’t you come?”
“’Cause being a third wheel isn’t my idea of fun!”
For a long moment the only sound was the relentless, uncomfortably loud hum of the treadmill. Sam tried to look anywhere but at his brother. I didn’t mean that, he wanted to say, but there was no way to make it sound like the truth.
“You’re not a third wheel,” said Dean, but most of the vigor- enthusiasm and frustration, both- had left his voice.
Sam didn’t reply.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone at the party.”
Genevieve. He grabbed the side of the treadmill and swallowed.
“N-nah.”
Dean’s shoulders slumped. “Will you at least give candy out with us beforehand? I won’t call you Alfred. And if anyone else calls you Alfred, I’ll punch their lights out.”
Sam hesitated.
“That was a joke,” said Dean. “Since they’re kids.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Sam. “I…I don’t think so.”
“Dammit, Sam! What is your problem?”
Fighting a glare, Sam chewed on his response until he could be sure he wouldn’t yell. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Really? ‘Cause where I’m standing, it kind of seems like you do. It seems like you hate Halloween!”
“I don’t hate Halloween-”
“Then why are you anti everything to do with it?”
Sam slammed the STOP button. The treadmill creaked to a halt. “I don’t know! Maybe because I’d have to lie to everyone I met at the party about what I’ve done with my life! Maybe because the last Halloween party I went to was with Jess. Maybe I don’t want to wear a costume because we’ve spent half our lives pretending to be other people, and unlike you with your perfect Batman- uniform- I’d actually be playing dress-up!”
He had to pant to catch his breath, even though he hadn’t been running. Fighting the urge to go for his water, he glared at his brother, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Dean just stared at him, though. The anger had disappeared from his face, replaced by something far worse. The hair on Sam’s arms prickled, and his heart rate slowed. He waited a few more beats, hoping Dean would shout.
When he didn’t, Sam got off the treadmill and looked away under the guise of pushing back his sweaty hair. “I’m gonna go run outside.”
Dean finally startled. “It’s raining.”
“I know. I have to- not-” Sam gestured helplessly.
“I’ll leave,” said Dean quickly. “You stay.” He turned, saving Sam the trouble of summoning a look of thanks.
Sam stalled, pretending to fiddle with his laces so he wouldn’t have to face his brother, but Dean’s voice made him turn.
“Do you want me to stay home? Bela would understand. We could hang out. Just the two of us.”
Sam felt his lips stretch thinly. “No. Thanks. I’ll be fine. I’ll watch something. Or read a book. I’ll answer the door for any late trick-or-treaters. You go do your couple thing. Really,” he added, when Dean didn’t move. “I’ll be fine.”
Dean finally nodded, though he still didn’t look convinced. Sam couldn’t blame him; it sounded hollow even to his own ears.
* * *
When the knock sounded on his bedroom door, Sam had to rub his eyes to stop multiple-choice questions from dancing in his vision. He closed the LSAT prep book over his pencil to mark his place and leaned down to slide it under his bed.
“Come in.”
Bela entered, carrying a package, and shut the door behind her. Sam sat up straighter, as intrigued by that as by what she held. “Hey. What’s up?”
She sat next to him on the bed. “I got you something.”
He took the plastic-wrapped package she offered. It only took one glance at the blue background and familiar red and yellow symbol for his good humor to vanish. “I’m not-”
“It’s a shirt,” she cut in. “It’s not tights. It’s not a cape. There’s no muscle padding. It’s not even from a Halloween website. It’s just a shirt. I wanted you to have it in case you changed your mind about the party, since costumes are mandatory. You could get away with calling this a costume.”
He stared at it for a moment before remembering to say, “I’m not going to the party.”
“I know,” she said, without missing a beat or sounding patronizing. “But I wanted you to have it.”
Sam smoothed his thumb over the plastic, flattening it against the fabric. “Why…” He hesitated. He knew he was meant to ask, as surely as though he were reading from a script. But the fact that he could sense the strings didn’t matter as much as the answer. “Why Superman?”
“It fits you.”
"What’d you do, check my shirt size?”
“Yes, actually. But you know that’s not what I mean.”
She regarded him evenly. He looked down at the shirt.
“I’m not Superman.”
“See, now we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Just because Dean’s Batman doesn’t make me another comic book character,” he said, trying to sound careless.
“I won’t pretend that’s not where the inspiration came from,” she admitted. “But that’s not why you’re Superman.”
“Then why?”
“For one, you both help people.” She eyed him as though daring him to disagree. When he didn’t, she took a deep breath. “Your powers are innate, like his. You don’t use gadgets like Batman or Iron Man.”
“My-?” His gut clenched as he realized what she meant. “The demon blood? That’s not a super power, that’s a curse!”
“Depends how you use it,” she countered, just as sharply. “Either way, it’s a part of you!”
He glared at her. “Well, I wasn’t born with it! So in the pantheon of comics characters, I think that makes me more of a mutant.”
“I did consider the Incredible Hulk,” said Bela, looking thoroughly and disappointingly unfazed by his anger. “He’s also nerdy and brilliant and has powers that mean you might not like him when he’s angry. But I didn’t want to try my luck getting you into ripped purple cutoffs.”
He stared at her, waiting for a ‘just kidding’ or a tongue-in-cheek smile. Instead she leaned forward, eyes steely.
“You want to know what makes you different from the Hulk? From most of the mutants? And Batman? And the other dozens of comic book characters who have lost their parents?”
He wanted to say something cutting to match her belligerence, but his throat felt stuck. And besides, she didn’t give him the chance.
“You don’t brood,” said Bela. She hesitated, and amusement finally curled her lips. “These past few days notwithstanding, anyway. You don’t spend your life brooding over past mistakes or what could have been. You move on and face the next challenge. And here’s the really important thing: you face those challenges because they come to you. You don’t go after them. You don’t define yourself by- by the next fight, the next bad guy. If no one came after you ever again, I think you’d be happy just being a normal guy with a normal life. Now, I’m speaking strictly of the screen version and not the comics, but I’m pretty sure that if Lex Luthor weren’t around threatening people, Superman would be perfectly happy to just be Clark Kent, to live happily ever after with Lois Lane.”
She paused, giving him the chance to speak. When he didn’t take it, she continued, more lightly, “And speaking of Clark, you’ve got his sexy bookish vibe, too. That’s the other reason you’re Superman. Brainy exterior, superhero underneath.”
He wanted to smile at that, for her sake, but he couldn’t. His fury had disappeared, but it hadn’t been replaced by anything; he just felt hollow. “I’m not a superhero,” he muttered. “Superman never did the things I’ve done.”
His stomach swooped when she didn’t answer. He looked toward the window, unable to look at the shirt, let alone her.
Her voice came softer now. “Sam, how many people have you saved?”
When it became apparent that she was actually waiting for an answer, he swallowed. “That doesn’t cancel out the bad.”
“No, but the bad doesn’t make the good worthless either.” She put her hand over his, on the bedspread between them, and squeezed. “How many people are alive today because of you? You’re lots of people’s Superman, Sam Winchester.”
Her other hand cupped the back of his head, and she kissed his cheek.
He couldn’t look at her. He squinted at the sunlight streaming through the window instead; it could explain why he was blinking so much. He tried to breathe deeply; it came out sounding shaky.
Not for the first time it passed through his mind that she would have been the paragon of a crossroads demon. You wouldn’t just sell her your soul; afterward, you wouldn’t begrudge her the loss.
She let go of his hand and shifted away. He glanced toward her without meaning to but at least managed to keep his gaze down; his vision was a little blurred.
“Who are you…” His voice came out scratchy. He cleared his throat. He had to ask, even if it could hurt. “Who are you doing this for?”
“Both of you.” She stood and added, still gently, “As I said, it’s just a shirt.”
She was at the door when he managed, “Bela-”
This time he forced himself to look at her, even though he wasn’t sure he’d like what she saw. “I-” The words wouldn’t come. “You’re…you’re a good sister-in-law.”
Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She opened the door, only to pause again and say over her shoulder, “Oh, and Sam? Your argumentative skills are getting a little rusty. I think you might need to go back to law school.”
She slipped into the hall before he could say a word.
* * *
The trick-or-treaters were audible from the stairs, filtering easily through the open door.
“So did you get married at the end of the movie?” came a teasing, preteen girl’s voice.
Sam stopped short and held his breath.
“We, uh, we are not married,” he heard Bela say. “But it is…it is not out of the question. It is within the, uh, the realm of possibility…”
“Maybe. Maybe, is what Catwoman means.”
Sam grinned, hoping one of the kids would make a crack about half-cat-half-bat mutant babies. Alas, no one did.
When he heard the group leave and the front door close, he went the rest of the way downstairs.
Dean did a double take, eyes lighting up behind the mask. “You’re here!”
“Yeah. Well.” He tried to sound casual. “I figured I’d pop in. See how things were going.”
Dean’s grin was so absurdly thrilled it was almost touching. Not that Sam would ever tell him that.
“So you’re coming tonight!”
“Uh, no. I mean, maybe. It is…it is not out of the question. It is within the realm of possibility…”
Bela’s eyes narrowed. Sam fought a grin.
“I can work with that!” said Dean, oblivious.
Cackles erupted from outside, following by the doorbell. Dean sprang to answer it, looking much too happy to be Batman.
“Trick or treat!” cried a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four or five. She wore a pink and purple princess costume and held a plastic orange pumpkin half-filled with candy. Her parents stood a few feet down the walk.
“Happy Halloween!” Dean stepped onto the porch, setting off the cackling doormat again, and bent to offer her the bowl of candy. Bela and Sam filed out, taking a place on either side of him.
When the little girl looked up and saw them all aligned, her eyes went as wide and shiny as the animated character’s she was probably dressed as. Her parents looked equally impressed.
“Those are some great costumes,” said the dad.
The mother held up a camera. “Would it be all right if we took a picture?”
“Of course.”
“I want Superman!” Before anyone could react, the little girl flung herself at Sam and hugged his legs.
“Uh- I’m not sure that Superman wants to- I mean, I don’t know if he’ll show up in photographs, all that alien DNA, uh…” Dean looked at Sam, vaguely panicked.
“It’s fine,” Sam assured him. “I’ll show up in photos.” He picked up the little girl. She rubbed a tiny hand over the S on his chest and beamed at him shyly. He smiled back.
As Dean moved to pose, he set off the doormat again. “Crap, hang on,” he muttered. “That is annoying-”
“Told you,” Bela murmured, but she was smiling fondly as he yanked the cord from the outside wall socket.
“Okay. Ready.” Dean moved closer to Sam and crossed his arms, glowering at an imaginary enemy. Bela posed on his other side, looking sultry and bored and enigmatic all at once.
“Thank you so much!” said the mother. “Okay, one…two…”
Sam held the girl tightly and smiled for the camera.
Fin