Part VI
Sam no sooner caught a glimpse of the Impala pulled off to the side of the road when a silver Ford Focus sedan turned off and parked just ahead of it. Sam slowed as a redhead in office attire made her way to Dean’s window, bending at the waist to peer inside. She turned her head, looking at Sam curiously when he pulled in directly behind the Impala. He recognized her but couldn't place from where.
“Hey there,” he said, approaching the driver’s side door and settling to his haunches so Dean wouldn't have to look up at him. “Everything okay here?”
There was noticeable relief in Dean’s eyes at Sam’s sudden presence.
“Peachy,” he said a little too cheerfully. Dean kept his eyes low, squinting, as if they were sensitive to the early afternoon sun. It was obvious he was in pain and trying not to show it. “I see you got my message.”
The redhead looked back and forth between them. She was noticeably concerned about Dean but was quickly coming to the conclusion that her presence was making him uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” Sam said, meeting her understanding gaze and sending Caleb a silent yet begrudging thank you. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“Well, I see you’ve got more help here than you need,” she all but whispered and Sam could have kissed her. She gave him a quick acknowledging wink and straightened. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Dean slid one hand over his face, blocking the light and bracing his elbow on the door, unable to comment further. Sam frowned in concern but rose to his feet out of courtesy.
“Thanks for stopping, Bev.” He remembered her name about two seconds before he spoke it. Bev Halligan, mid-forties, married, mother of two. He’d briefly met her and her husband Ben after Sunday morning service a few weeks ago.
An elegant auburn brow arched in surprise, pleased and impressed with his memory. “Don’t mention it.” Her eyes strayed to Dean and then back to Sam, worried.
She left with a backward glance and Sam waited until she had pulled back onto the road before crouching next to the car again.
Dean hadn’t moved.
“Headache?” Sam hadn’t seen evidence of additional migraines since the night they all had dinner at Liv’s. He’d been watching, but there was a huge chunk of time when he could not keep vigil.
“Yeah,” Dean replied in a whisper of sound, “Just need…a minute…”
“Do you have anything to take for it?” Sam quietly interrupted.
Dean’s response was delayed. “Home. I need to go…”
“You’re in no condition to drive, man.” Sam pointed out. “Why don't you let me...”
“No.” Soft, but adamant.
"Dean..."
Dean peeked at him out of the corner of one eye. “Dude, I’m not leaving my car on the side of the road."
Sam blinked at him open-mouthed, but Dean had already closed his eyes again. Oh…my...God. What is it with you and this car? “Okay.” He eyed both vehicles in consideration before walking back to his rental. Sam grabbed his messenger bag and laptop before locking it up. When he came back to the Impala he opened the driver’s side door slowly, giving Dean plenty of time to shift his weight. “Slide over.”
Dean looked at him through squinted eyes. Despite the pain, Sam knew that look well. You think I’m gonna let you drive my baby? Just like that?
“It’s your call,” Sam replied, and then added for incentive, “it’s only a matter of time before someone else pulls over to help. Hey - if you wait long enough maybe Nadine will happen by..."
That got him a dirty that's low look, but it was followed by a sigh as Dean scooted slowly across the seat. Sam slid behind the wheel, feeling a sense of home that was second only to Dean. He felt Dean's eyes on him as he reached for the key. The Impala started with a loud rumble for which Dean should have been prepared, but winced at regardless.
"I know,” Sam said, easily anticipating his brother's next words, "not a scratch. Got it."
Dean wasn't quite sure how to interpret that. He stared at Sam until his sensitive eyes could take it no longer and he covered them once again.
Sam searched the dash and console, "Sunglasses?"
"Left 'em at work."
It was likely beyond the point where they would do any good anyways. "Okay then,” Sam waited for a break in traffic and made a wide u-turn, "Let's get you home."
The ride back through town was a silent one. Sam tried to make it as smooth as possible. He could tell by the way Dean's breathing changed that the pain was getting worse. It was a toss up who was more relieved when he pulled the big car to a careful stop in the driveway.
“We’re here,” Sam said when Dean didn’t move.
Dean slid out in a slow, measured movement and took great care to make sure the door made as little noise as possible. “I’ll be right back.”
Sam’s worry increased as he watched Dean make his way carefully to the door and disappear inside. The desire to follow was overwhelming. Forcing himself to stay put, Sam waited. One misstep was all it would take to lose some of the hard-earned ground he'd so diligently and patiently worked to gain. Hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, he waited. And waited.
And waited.
It was just the other side of an agonizingly long fifteen minutes when he could stand it no longer. There was no response when he knocked on the door so he rang the buzzer, wincing in sympathy for Dean as he did so. Nothing. The door was unlocked. He let himself in.
“Dean?”
No response.
Sam eyed the living area, getting his first look at Dean’s home. The décor was a complementing coordination of natural wood and sage green accented by neutral splashes of beige and cream-colored throw pillows and candles. Sam’s first fleeting thought was that the house was surprisingly well kept. He wasn’t quite sure why that surprised him, but it did. Spooky bathed in a patch of sun on the hardwood floor and looked up at him with a lazy blink.
He entered the kitchen and circled the island at its center. “Dean?” he called again, taking in the breakfast dishes in the sink and the scattering of crumbs on the counter left earlier that morning.
Sam passed the breezeway, pausing as he caught site of a pair of Dean’s work boots sitting next to a ridiculously small set of pastel pink sneakers near the door. For a long moment he just stood there, looking down at them. Despite the fact that he’d met Isabella in the flesh, her mere existence still managed to take him by surprise every now and then.
He was beginning to find the complete lack of noise, of any natural movement at all, disturbing. It was too quiet. Sam's worry about overstepping was quickly being overridden by concern.
“Dean?” He paused at the bottom of the stairs. Something was obviously wrong. He took the stairs quickly making enough noise to warn of his presence.
He peeked into the first room he encountered. Isabella’s room was soft mixtures of lilac and ivory that very much befit the pint-sized princess she was. His sense of urgency increasing, Sam moved on quickly.
He found his brother in the next room. Sitting still and silent on the edge of the bed, Dean cradled his head in his hands as if it were a delicate piece of glass on the verge of shattering at the slightest vibration. Sam went to one knee, left hand falling gently to Dean's shoulder, "Dean, hey..."
His brother made a low keening noise in the back of his throat, part warning, part plea, every muscle in his body rock hard in reaction to pain.
Sam understood very quickly that Tylenol wasn't going to fix this. He recalled Liv and Dean's reaction to the last headache and was quite certain that at one time they were an ongoing issue. Dean's desire to get home had to mean that he had something potent enough on hand to take care of it. "Where...?"
Dean was reduced to barely audible one word responses, “Cabinet.”
The cabinet in the attached bathroom held two newly filled prescription bottles. He grabbed both and quickly returned to Dean, kneeling on the floor in front of him, opening the bottle marked for treatment of migraines as he did so.
"Here."
Dean didn’t open his eyes, just held his hand out. Sam placed a small tablet in the center of his palm.
"Two," Dean quietly demanded.
Sam didn't question or hesitate, despite the fact that the bottle said to take one as needed. He had to trust that his brother knew what he needed.
Trying to take the medication without moving his head or opening his eyes proved to be problematic and almost had Sam plucking the tablets from Dean's hand and popping them directly into his mouth. In the end he settled for a steadying hand on the back of Dean's neck and helped guide the pills to their destination, breathing a small sigh of relief once they were swallowed.
His hand on Dean's knee, Sam waited in silence for any indication that the medication was working. After an agonizingly long fifteen minutes, Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, some of the tension melting from his frame as he did so. It was another seven minutes before he could release his head and another five before he could lift it.
“Whoa,” Sam reached to brace him as he swayed to the right, “Easy.”
Eyes closed, Dean swallowed convulsively, holding himself carefully. Sam moved out of the line of fire just in case.
Uncertain if the nausea was a side effect of the medication or a symptom of the headache, Sam gave Dean a moment before asking, “Can you lie down?”
At first Dean didn't move or even acknowledge the question. Then he slowly began to shift, moving in increments to lower himself to the bed. Sam quickly tucked another pillow beneath his head for elevation, and then did his best not to hover. He gave into the temptation to assist when Dean ran out of steam; a hand at the back of his calf to guide Dean's right foot from the floor to the bed.
For a long time Sam just listened to Dean breathing, watched as his body relaxed deeper and deeper into the mattress. Eventually, aching knees had him moving from the floor to the bed, settling hip-to-hip next to his brother.
The pull of pain at the corner of Dean's eyes had eased, but the pronounced crease between his brows had not. When gentle fingers framed his face from crown to jaw Dean gripped Sam's forearms reflexively.
"Let me help you," Sam did his best to keep the plea out of his voice.
Taking the lack of response as permission, Sam lightly massaged Dean's temples, using his thumbs to stroke lightly over the arch of brows and the soft patch of skin beneath each eye.
Dean didn't release him, but his body began to gradually relax. Sam repeated each movement slowly, alternating between soothing strokes and gentle massage.
"My girlfriend, Jess, used to get headaches,” Sam confided quietly, to distract more than anything. "Nothing this severe, but this used to help...I think." He really wasn't sure if it helped at all, but it had made him feel better to be doing something.
When Sam combed his large splayed hands through Dean's hair and cupped his skull, Dean arched back into the touch and Sam had a sudden desire to press his lips to the smooth column of throat in a gesture of comfort. Instead he applied light circular pressure with the pads of his fingers. Dean sighed and released his hold, one hand falling to his chest, the other to the bed.
"Better?" Sam smiled softy.
Dean didn't respond. Sam could tell that the full force of the drugs had taken hold. He traced away the last line of discomfort between sculpted brows when Dean struggled valiantly, lashes fluttering, against another side effect of the medication.
"Don't fight it,” Sam coaxed. “Sleep, Dean. It's probably the best thing for you."
"Can't..." He was exhausted, his speech beginning to slur, "Izzy."
Sam frowned and looked at his watch. It was just after 2:30. Way too early to worry about picking up Isabella - unless Dean was worried he wouldn’t wake up in time.
"I could pick her up for you,” Sam offered.
"Not..." Dean tried to open his eyes. Sam saw a slit of green before they're clamped closed a split second later, still very sensitive to the light, "on the list."
He hadn't thought of that. He was a stranger as far as Miss Chloe was concerned. There's no way he would be allowed to leave with Isabella.
"Liv?" Sam asked. Liv already picked Isabella up on Tuesdays and Thursday's when Dean had class in Millidge.
Dean's hand strayed to the cell phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He struggled to free it from the snug denim, his movements sluggish and slow.
"S'okay," Sam said, covering Dean's hand and stalling the movement, "I've got it.
Easing the phone from Dean's pocket, he flipped it open and scrolled through the contacts until he found Liv's number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Dean, honey, where are you? I was starting to get worried." Her voice was light, but Sam heard the very real concern.
"Hey, Liv." Sam’s voice was low in deference to Dean.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, "Sam?"
"Yeah," his tone of voice acknowledged her concern, "hey, do you think that maybe you could pick Isabella up from daycare this afternoon?"
There was another pause as Liv assessed the situation. "How bad is it?"
He really wasn't sure how much Dean would want him to say, but decided it was best to be honest.
"Pretty bad," Sam admitted, "he couldn't drive. I got him home but he only made it so far before he couldn't move at all."
"Damn," Liv said, worried. "They're getting worse."
"What?" That comment had Sam's immediate attention.
"Has he taken his medication?" Liv overrode his question.
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Two."
"How long ago?"
Sam checked his watch, "Half hour."
"Is he still awake?"
Dean tossed his head restlessly as if he'd heard her. "Barely." Sam covered the hand on Dean's chest with one of his own in an attempt to soothe. "He's fighting it."
"Fighting it?" Liv asked, alarmed. "Why?"
"I don't think he's going to let go until he knows for sure that Isabella is taken care of,” Sam gently reminded.
"Oh, good heavens, yes." Chagrined, Liv was animated and urgent in her response. “Yes, yes, of course I'll pick Bella up. Let him know, Sam. Let him know." Now.
Sam lowered the receiver. "It's okay, Dean. Liv's got Izzy. She'll be fine."
He saw the moment Dean let go and surrendered to the warm loopiness of the medication, face turned into the pillow, toward Sam.
"It's okay." The tenderness of Sam's touch transferred audibly to his voice as his thumb caressed the back of Dean's hand. "Sleep."
Sam relaxed as Dean finally slipped into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.
"Sam?”
Sam was startled to realize he's momentarily forgotten about Liv.
"I'm here."
"Is he out?" She asked.
"Yeah, he's out." Sam lightly traced the line of Dean's jaw with the back of his fingers, thumb hovering perilously close to silky rose colored lips. He hesitated, mouth thinning, and then reluctantly withdrew. It just didn't feel right without Dean's knowledge or consent.
"Can you do me a favor, Sam?" Liv asked. "There’s a delivery I have to be here for this afternoon, could you... I mean I hate to impose, but...would it be possible for you to stay until I get there. I just...I’d feel better if he weren't alone."
It took Sam a minute to figure out exactly what Liv was getting at. To him it was a foregone conclusion. "I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't realize how firmly he'd spoken until his words were met with silence.
"Okay, then." Liv recovered quickly then got down to business. "You need to watch him closely for the first couple of hours, Sam. If he didn't get to his meds in time, it's rare, but he's had seizures in the past."
Sam blinked, eyeing Dean with a new level of concern. He'd been so relieved when Dean finally succumbed to sleep he hadn't stopped to consider any other possible complications.
"If that happens, you call me," she ordered. "With two pills he’ll be out of commission for at least four hours…" Liv left the sentence hanging, letting Sam know what he was in for and a general timeline.
"Not a problem," he assured her.
"Okay. Good. That's good." The urgent edge was fading from Liv's voice. In its place was relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Sam. I know this is asking a lot."
"Its okay, Liv. Really." There's no place else I'd rather be. "It'll give me a chance to prepare for tomorrow's class."
"If anything happens, if you need me at all, just call okay?" Liv seemed hesitant about hanging up now that the conversation was coming to a close.
"He's going to be fine," Sam promised with enough conviction to convince himself. "But if it'll make you feel better, I'll text you with hourly updates."
"Oh, would you?" It was as if a weight had been lifted, he could hear it in her voice. ”That would be great."
"I'd be happy to,” he said sincerely. Liv's genuine fondness for Dean had long since won him over.
The call ended with Liv's assurance that she would pick Bella up at the usual time and then take her back to her house for dinner so that Dean could have as much undisturbed rest as possible.
Setting the phone on vibrate, Sam closed it and put it on the nightstand next to the bed. Taking his cell out, he added Liv's number to his contacts, set it to vibrate as well and then tucked it back into his pocket.
Then, Sam did something he'd wanted to do for a very long time. He looked at Dean. Just looked - enjoying the opportunity to do so unencumbered. Over the course of the weeks, he'd become so careful and accustomed to watching and studying Dean without appearing to do so - always worrying about someone catching him staring for far longer than was likely appropriate.
And it wasn't just Dean he had to worry about. More than once he'd pulled his eyes from his brother to find Liv watching him. It had happened once or twice with Rand as well. Fortunately, those instances also involved some type of mechanical prowess on Dean's part that could easily explain his preoccupation. Such was not the case with Liv.
Intuitive and observant to a fault, Liv's presence was both a blessing and a curse in Sam's plan to infiltrate Dean's life. She was the cornerstone of their little family, a source of maternal support to which his brother responded in a way that made Sam's heart ache for Mary's loss and what could have been - for both of them. And despite the fact that he had to be extra careful when Liv was around, Sam found he simply could not resent her presence. She loved his brother too much.
Sighing in his sleep, Dean pursed his lips, the beginnings of a pout hinting at residual or remembered pain. Sam soothed it away with soft whispers and gentle touches. For close to an hour he did nothing but watch his brother breathe, amazed at how young Dean looked without all his protective barriers in place; some of which were so subtle and ingrained that they’d managed to survive the memory loss.
Sam traced a faint line over the ridge of Dean's nose, admiring the splash of pale freckles there, shook his head at beautifully thick lashes, dark and curved at the edges, and lips that were sweet and full -begging to be kissed. He'd had any number of fantasies about those lips and what they could do to him - what they could reduce him to.
Sam had the decency to blush. At one time, guilt and shame had riddled such ponderings, but those days had long since fallen away. It was hard fought and too long in coming not to enjoy both the acceptance and the anticipation that came with all the hopes and dreams he held for his life with Dean.
Sam smiled and then did something else he'd wanted to do for a very long time. He kissed his brother. Warm lips met cool skin, lightly pressing between brows smoothed in peaceful slumber. Presented this rare opportunity to look and touch without recrimination, Sam took one last liberty and ran a hand through the soft spikes of Dean's hair.
Vulnerable and defenseless, Dean's sleep-softened features hinted an innocence that had long since vanished -a lost little boy rather than the fearsome hunter Sam knew him to be. It stirred within him a protective nature that was as fierce as it was foreign. He after all, was the youngest, one of the protected. Dad and Dean had made sure of it.
It's my turn, bro. I'm gonna take care of you this time.
Twisting around to do a search of the room, Sam spotted a chair in the corner by the window. He removed the magazines stacked on it and set them on the floor; the shirts tossed haphazardly on the back were carefully draped over a nearby dresser. He placed the chair at the foot of the bed and set to removing Dean's work boots. After a second of consideration he removed his socks as well. Going barefoot had always been one of his brothers little known and much treasured pleasures.
Unable to resist the physical contact, Sam wrapped his large hands alternately around each foot, flexing the sole and kneading the inside of each arch. When he caught himself in the midst of gently massing each individual toe, Sam suddenly realized what he was doing and ducked his head. He glanced up through a fringe of bangs, half expecting to see Dean’s, Jesus, you’re such a girl look glaring down at him. Luckily, his brother hadn’t moved a muscle or in any way acknowledged his ministrations, which was just as well. Reluctantly, Sam kept his hands to himself. It wouldn’t do him any favors if Dean woke to find him fondling his feet. That would just be awkward.
A quick check of his watch informed him that it was nearing 4:00. Sam sent a short and reassuring text to Liv that all was well and followed it up with a 'sorry' for being late. It was another hour and a half before the transition to lighter more natural sleep overtook the deep effect of the medication. When Dean actually began to respond to external sounds by tossing his head or shifting minutely and Sam felt certain there was no danger of seizures, he left his brother alone long enough to run down to the Impala to retrieve his laptop.
Once it was powered up and ready to go he snagged the prescription bottles off the nightstand and googled them, starting with the one that had put his brother down for the count. Imitrex - used in the treatment of migraines, Imitrex helps to relieve pain and other symptoms such as sensitivity to light or sound, nausea and vomiting. Prompt treatment may allow a return to one’s normal routine and decrease the need for additional pain medication. It does not, however, prevent future migraines or their frequency. Possible side effects include dizziness, nausea, fatigue, and in some cases, extreme drowsiness. Sam looked up at Dean, brows raised. Ya think?
Unfortunately, those symptoms were mild in comparison to the side effect of the other drug. Depakote - used to treat seizure disorders and prevent migraines, Depakote worked by restoring the balance of neurotransmitters in the brain. A list of the most common and potentially severe side effects ranged from alarming to downright distressing. Sam scanned it with a growing sense of horror. Symptoms included change in appetite, stomach pain, trouble sleeping and vomiting. Those were mild in comparison to what came next: difficulty breathing, tightness in the chest, changes in mood or behavior, confusion, difficulty speaking, fast or irregular heartbeat. Sam had to stop reading when he got to hallucinations and loss of coordination.
While he knew the likelihood of such severe side effects was miniscule, he was unwilling to risk the possibility. Instead of pocketing the bottle as was his first instinct, Sam opened it and did a manual count, relieved to discover that there were thirty pills inside to match the thirty day supply that was prescribed. A precautionary measure then. He certainly hoped so, though he knew that if the frequency of the headaches increased Dean would have no choice but to take them.
Over the course of the next hour, Sam continued to research migraines and then cross reference with any information he could find on amnesia in an attempt to determine if Dean's headaches were a sign that his memory was returning. There was a frustratingly small amount of information available on the combined subjects. What he did find was not overly promising.
It seems that severe traumatic retrograde amnesia, the kind with which Dean was diagnosed was, as the name implies, the most severe form of memory loss. And while there were documented cases of memory recovery, none of those could claim total recall. One article surmised that the best one could hope for was 40 percent return of memory. Another article gave a range of anywhere from 10 to 85 percent.
In all of the articles and studies Sam read, however, there was one consistent and decisive factor in individuals who recovered their lost memories: all were preceded by a precipitating event of some kind - a trigger or some form of external stimuli from something as physical and traumatic as a blow to the head or a sensory issue that could be as gentle and subtle as the smell of fresh cut grass after a summer rain. Whatever the event, it was usually specific and in some way unique to the individual in question.
Sam rubbed his eyes, tired but encouraged. There was a chance that Dean would remember him. It was all the encouragement he needed. If all Dean remembered was him, just him, everything would be okay. He could work with that. He could build from that.
The room had darkened to a pale gray while he read. Dean continued to doze, but it was a light surface sleep and Sam could tell that he would be waking soon. Down the street someone honked an obscenely loud horn. Furrowing his brow in response, Dean angled away from the noise and curled to his right side - not quite ready to face the world.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Sam ran his index finger lightly down the center of the bottom of his brother's foot, feeling vaguely guilty when Dean instinctively pulled away and issued a low muffled complaint. Some irrational sibling instinct almost had him doing it again, but he managed to restrain himself.
It was nearing seven when Sam heard Liv's car pull into the driveway. He looked out the window as Isabella hopped from the car and then ran for the house, Liv following more slowly with a stack of Tupperware. Placing the pill bottles back in the cabinet Sam paused next to Dean, looking down at him for a moment as Liv's voice floated up from below. Fingertips caressed the curve of a cotton clad shoulder as he turned to leave, making his way downstairs.
Liv was pulling items from the refrigerator when he entered. Isabella was nowhere to be seen.
"Hey,” he said, garnering her attention. Liv opened her mouth to speak but whatever she was about to say was curtailed.
"Sam!" Isabella exclaimed, making a beeline for him with Spooky right behind her. She was so legitimately happy to see him that he was taken aback. Even more so when she wrapped an arm around his leg and looked up at him. He took the hint and lifted her easily, amazed at how light she was.
"I had ice-cream for dessert,” she announced unnecessarily. Sam smiled at the telltale evidence staining her face and top.
"I see that." He looked into sparkling eyes, extremely pleased at the unexpected closeness. Over the course of the weeks they'd gotten familiar with one another but had yet to make any real connection - or so he thought.
"Chocolate," Liv chimed in, watching closely. "What was I thinking?"
"Chocolate?" Sam repeated, bringing his attention back to the child in his arms. "Mmmmmm, my favorite."
Isabella looked positively tickled. "Mine too. With sprinkles,” she added with a decisive nod.
"Rainbow or chocolate?" Sam tested.
She gave him a look that he could only interpret as duh! It practically screamed Dean and he almost squeezed her in response. "Choclate, silly."
Then as quickly as she'd latched on to Sam, Isabella decided she had other things to do. She straightened her legs so that Sam was forced to lower her to the ground. Her feet hit the floor and she was off and running.
He looked to Liv, still amazed. He felt as if he'd finally gotten to hold a small bird he'd been cooing at and building trust with for weeks. Understanding the important step for what it was, Liv returned his smile.
"Hungry?" she then asked.
He realized suddenly that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and that he was in fact, "Starving."
"Have a seat. I brought dinner," Liv said, delighted with his response.
Sam didn't have to be told twice. He sat down at the table just as Dean came shuffling in, carrying Isabella. His brother was adorably sleep rumpled and sexy as hell in faded denim and bare feet.
"Oh, Bella,” Liv mildly chastised. "We talked about letting Daddy rest, remember."
"It's okay,” Dean said, voice rough and deep. "I was awake."
He sat down across from Sam, Isabella perched on his knee and chattering away about her day. Despite not being totally recovered from the effects of the medication, Dean gave her his full attention, listening to her jump from one topic to the next with an indulgent, if tired, smile.
In no time at all, Liv had a hot meal on the table in front of them: Spaghetti and meatballs, one of Sam's favorites. She poured them each a glass of ice water and heated some garlic bread in the microwave before focusing her attention on her granddaughter.
"Okay, little miss sticky face." She said with a mock scowl that had Isabella giggling. "Time for a bath."
Sam watched as father and daughter unconsciously leaned into each other before separating, Dean dropping a kiss to Isabella's temple before releasing her.
They listened to the muffled sounds and snatches of conversation from above as Sam dug enthusiastically into his meal. Both elbows on the table, chin resting in one hand, Dean closed his eyes with a long suffering sigh. "Man, this sucks."
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked before taking a sip of water, keeping one eye on Dean.
“Like somebody scraped me off the bottom of their shoe,” Dean said. Despite the honest answer, Sam could tell that his brother was embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
After four hours of sleep, Dean was still exhausted. His eyes were open, but still squinting a little in the glare of the overhead light. He made an attempt to push his food around.
"You should eat something,” Sam said, aware that Dean had not eaten anything since before lunch either. "It'll make you feel better."
Dean made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat but took a few tentative bites of his dinner. When he took a sip of his water, he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. He downed the entire glass in one long swallow as Sam watched his throat work. As soon as the glass hit the table, Sam poured him another. Dean drank half of that as well. He never went back to his food Sam noticed.
They sat in companionable silence for another ten minutes while Sam finished his meal. Eventually he heard tiny footfalls echoing down the stairs. Isabella appeared in robe and slippers, her blonde ringlets darkened and damp at the nape of her neck. Liv followed moments later with an arm full of dirty clothes and towels, disappearing behind a door that Sam assumed led to the basement.
By the time Liv reappeared, Isabella had fetched a DVD and was regarding Dean hopefully.
"Spooky wants to watch Little Bear, Daddy."
Dean tilted his head in her direction, obviously amused at her approach. "Spooky does, huh?"
"Mmmm,hmmm." Isabella continued seriously. "He pooed in the litter box like he's s'pose to, too."
She obviously felt that deserved some type of reward. "He did?" Dean managed to look impressed, but required more clarification. "In the litter box?"
Isabella amended her answer but did so proudly. "Mostly."
Dean did that fascinating thing with his eyebrows where one quirks up and the other down. Sam and Liv were both doing their best not to laugh.
"Mostly,” Dean said decisively, "is an improvement." He nodded to Liv who was awaiting his decision. She followed a happy Isabella into the next room and got her settled with her show.
Dean lowered his head again, one hand straying to the back of his neck. Concerned, Sam asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah,” Dean sounded a little embarrassed. "That stuff just wipes me out, you know."
He straightened in his chair when Liv came back into the room. She paused next to him, looking down at his plate of barely touched food. She didn't say anything, just laid a gentle hand on the side of his face. Dean accepted the touch, looking up at her with tired eyes.
It was a fleeting moment of closeness, but one that Sam envied. He wasn't used to being on the outside when it came to his brother.
"Should I stay?" Liv asked as she began clearing away the dishes.
Dean considered the question, which surprised Sam. “I’ll just tuck Izzy in bed with me tonight. If she wakes, I’ll hear her."
Liv nodded at Dean's reassurance. "Well then,” she turned to Sam. "I guess you'll need a ride back to your car."
He hadn't even thought of that.
"You mind if I jump in the shower before you go?" Dean asked. "Just be a few minutes."
"Of course,” Liv replied for both of them. "Take your time, honey. We'll keep Bella company."
Isabella however was more interested in Little Bear than conversation. Far from offended, Liv simply made her way back to the kitchen to do some more cleaning, leaving Sam to wander around the living room, drawn to the photos on display. Most were Isabella in various stages of growth. But as cute as those were, he found himself focusing more on the few that contained Jenna, looking for any hints to her personality.
The wedding picture on the wall was a variation of the one he'd seen at the library. This time however the bride and groom were facing the camera. Once again Sam marveled at the open, unguarded look of joy on his brother's face. They were a beautiful couple.
"It's not often you see a groom as pretty as the bride, is it?" He hadn't heard her approach and had no idea how long she'd been standing there.
Sam stared, and Liv laughed at the slightly scandalized look on his face. "What?" She asked. "I have eyes. That boy turns heads everywhere he goes. Always has."
You have no idea. Dean was turning heads long before he had any idea what it really meant.
"Jenna," Sam said gesturing towards the picture as if it had been her he was looking at all along, his words sincere. "She's beautiful."
Liv's eyes softened and strayed to the picture. "Yes. She was."
Sam didn't expect the quiet moment of reflection that followed and gathered he had caught her off-guard.
Dean entered a moment later in blue sleep pants and a clingy white tank, towel draped over his shoulder, looking sleepy and relaxed. With perfect timing, Isabella's DVD ended just as goodbyes were exchanged. When she hugged Sam's legs, he kneeled down and kissed her forehead goodnight. He met Dean's gaze and gave a nod before following Liv out the door.
"Sam."
He paused at Dean's voice, turning to face him.
Dean ducked his head a little, looking at him with an endearing mixture of shy vulnerability that had Sam's heart skipping a beat in response. "Thanks."
Sam smiled, dimple flashing.
"Anytime."
Part VII