Fic - Secrets and Lies
Title - Secrets and Lies
Summary - Set late in Season One. An old hunt rears its ugly head and drags both brothers on a dangerous journey down memory lane. Case fic with flashbacks. Featuring hurt!Sam and minor hurt!Dean
Rating - PG13 (language)
Genre - Gen
Word Count - 12,200
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural, that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - Thank you to scullspeare for betaing this monster twice, your time and feedback is priceless and I can't thank you enough for all your help. I've tweaked and tinkered so any mistakes are mine.
Secrets and Lies
Now
The right hook snapped Dean's head to the left, white spots filling his vision as he fell. He landed hard, lungs punched empty as he collided with the asphalt, hearing more than seeing his silver-loaded .45 skitter out of his reach.
Dean blinked, or at least he tried to, his eye already feeling sluggish and swollen. The shapeshifter, a former weight-lifter judging by the size of his biceps, was now hovering over him his fist already inches from Dean's face.
He tried to move but there wasn't time, the punch slamming his cheek into the crumbling asphalt of the road. Two more hits followed in quick succession and Dean was losing track of time, the pain taking over all his senses.
The two gun shots were loud, the blasts echoing down the brick walls of the alley. Peeling his head from the ground, Dean could see the fuzzy outline of Sam, his Taurus smoking as the shifter fell lifelessly to the ground with a dull thud.
Reaching down, Sam gripped Dean's shirt and pulled him to his feet. Dean let him himself lean into his brother, waiting for his ears to stop ringing and his vision to clear.
Sam's brow wrinkled with concern. "You OK?"
Dean groaned as he pushed himself away from Sam's support, trying to blink away the damn spots in his vision. "I think my bruises have bruises."
Sam snorted, shoving his Taurus into the back of his jeans as his phone started ringing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out, frowning at the number on the screen. "Hello."
"Is it Dad?" Dean heard himself ask, his throat suddenly tight.
Sam shook his head. "That depends. Who's this?"
Letting out a deep breath, Dean kicked out his foot, the body of the dead shifter rocking rigidly to one side, the bullet holes in its chest oozing blood, its skin starting to fizzle and melt around the silver. Definitely dead.
"Are you sure? I thought this was over."
The urgency in Sam's tone caught Dean's attention and he watched as Sam listened intently to whomever he was talking to, his face pinched with worry.
"I'm on my way." Sam turned around, his back to Dean as he headed down the alley in the direction of the Impala. "Don't let anybody inside. OK?"
That's when the worry in Dean's stomach began to churn, tumbling and rolling as he eavesdropped. Something was going down and judging by the speed Sam was walking, it was something big and probably bad.
"Harry? You got that?"
Dean followed, wracking his brain for a Harry. Friend of their Dad's? A previous case? But none of them seemed to fit.
"I'll fix this. I promise." Sam said, looking over his shoulder at Dean. "You're at the cabin? Good. Salt the windows and doors and I'll see you soon."
Sam ended the call, his strides speeding up.
"What's going on?" Dean asked as he staggered to Sam's side, his vision still a little skewed. "Who the hell was that?
Sam's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply and Dean saw his brother's fingers shake as he rammed the phone back into his jeans pocket.
"I've got to go."
"Go where?" Dean barked. "It's three in the damn morning and we've got a body to clear up!"
"To California."
And really he'd been thinking that this was bad. But neither of them had been back there since… well, Jess. "Right. And you're going there because..."
Dean let his words float into the silence of the alley, watching his brother closely as Sam clipped his jaw closed and picked up his pace again, like he was trying to ditch his own brother.
Reaching out, Dean clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder, spinning him around. "There's no way in hell you're going alone."
Sam couldn't even look him in the eye, his gaze focussed somewhere over Dean's shoulder. "Dean, I just-"
"I'm coming. End of subject."
Sam huffed. "Fine. But I'm driving."
"Tell me what's going on and I'll think about it. Otherwise, you're walking."
Sam's gaze shifted, boring into Dean and he could feel his resolve start to melt, along with his need for answers. It was like a five-year-old Sam silently pleading for the last of the Lucky Charms all over again.
And damn it, it really bothered him that this shit still worked.
"Please, Dean. I just... I need to do this."
Dean scrubbed his hand across the back of the head. He didn't like this, not even a little bit. "We're gonna have to call someone to clear up that body."
Sam nodded, holding his hand out for the keys to the Impala.
Ignoring the pit in his stomach, Dean pulled them out of his pocket, letting them hover over Sam's palm before reluctantly let them drop. "You so much as graze a pot hole, Sam, I swear to God you'll never drive her again. Period."
Then
Sam opened the kitchen cupboard, cringing at the creaking hinge as it echoed through the silent apartment.
Pausing, he turned his head to the bedroom door. There was no snap of a light switch or flood of light spilling from under the door frame.
Heart racing, Sam released the breath he didn't know he was holding as he shone the flashlight into the cupboard, eyes scanning the contents. Pasta, rice, a collection of dried herbs and yes, cooking salt. Reaching out his hand he grabbed the large container before dumping it into the duffel bag.
Turning around, he carefully avoided the squeaky floorboard as he walked across the room towards the computer desk. Pulling open the bottom drawer, he snaked his arm to the back corner and reached up. Grunting softly, he began to peel off the duct tape from the top of the drawer, feeling the comfortable weight of the Bowie as it dropped into his open palm.
Pulling off the sheath, he inspected the blade, watching as the silver glistened in the flashlight's beam. Not too bad considering how long it had been hidden. His Dad would rip him a new one if he knew how long it had been since he'd sharpened it.
Walking carefully back to the dining table, Sam dropped the knife into the bag.
"Sam? You OK?"
He jumped at the sleep-slurred words. Damn, he must be getting rusty.
Through the shadows, Sam could see Jess leaning against the door jamb, loose curls tumbling over her shoulders. One arm was crossed over her stomach, the head of a blue smurf visible as she ran a hand over her eyes before switching on the light.
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." At least that wasn't a lie.
"Is this about Professor Langton?" Jess was scanning the room, her gaze landing on the packed duffel bag on the dining table. "What's going on?"
And this was why he hid his weapons, why he dodged conversations about his childhood or what school he went to, and why he shied away from questions about his family. He hated lying to her, juggling two separate lives and waiting for the day it would all fall apart.
"Sam?"
"I'm sorry," Sam said, suddenly lost for words as he nervously rolled his shoulders. "I have to go. I won't be long. A day... two tops."
"But where? Where do you have to be at three in the morning?" Jess's voice was slightly raised, the words shaking as they curled off her tongue.
And Sam couldn't blame her; for questioning him, for being angry, for any it. After all, he was sneaking out of their apartment in the middle of the night with a packed bag. It looked bad. Really bad. "Jess, I-"
"Just tell me."
Sam could hear the plea in her voice, her eyes damp as she took a step forward, her hands resting lightly on his chest as she looked him in the eye.
"Please. Whatever it is, just tell me."
He watched her closely, saw the tears in her blue eyes, the frown that crinkled her forehead. It was tearing him in half.
He thought about lying, or about telling her it was a family business thing - at least that was a half truth.
But he couldn't do either. Slamming his eyes closed, Sam cupped her face and brushed his lips across her forehead, the soft curls of her hair running through his fingers as he pulled himself away from her. "I'll call you later."
He turned around, not able to look at her as he dragged himself out of the door, pulling it closed as Jess called his name.
Now
"So spill. What gives?" Dean tapped his fingers impatiently on the passenger door. Sam was overly focused on the road ahead, had been since the moment they got in the car, well over an hour ago.
Dean wasn't surprised by the wall of silence that greeted him. "So, you want me to go into this blind and completely unprepared? Because I don't have a problem flying in guns-a-blazing, shooting first and asking questions later. In fact, that's kinda the way I roll." He shot his brother a side-glance. If Sam could act like petulant kid, then he could play childish games.
Sam remained tight lipped but even through the velvet darkness of the car, Dean could feel more than see him flinch at the words.
"So, this is a job?"
Sam's jeans scraped against the leather of the bench seat as he squirmed, then he cleared his throat. "Yeah."
It was more of a mutter than an actual spoken word, but Dean took what he could get.
"In California?"
"Yeah."
"Old job or new?"
"Old."
Dean swore that even if he got only one-word answers for the next five hours he was going to get the whole story whether Sam liked it or not. "How old? I don't remember a Harry."
"You weren't there."
It was quiet but each syllable was clear.
"This is a hunt you did at Stanford?" Dean asked, trying to piece it all together and suppress the anger he could feel crawling up his spine. "A hunt you did solo?"
"Yeah."
It hit like a punch to his solar plexus, leaving him winded and light-headed.
"So, what? You didn't want to call me? Or Dad?" Dean tried to keep his anger in check. "Hell, you could have called Caleb. Or Pastor Jim. You don't do a job, any job, without back-up!"
A passing car lit up Sam's face and Dean caught a glimpse of his brother's teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.
"I know. I just… I didn't want to bother you. Any of you. It was pretty straightforward and I took care it." Sam paused. "Well, I thought I did."
Dean took a breath, closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. "And this whole time, you didn't think that this was worth mentioning?"
"It didn't seem like a big deal."
Dean was glaring at Sam, fingers digging into the leather bench seat. "So all that talk about getting away from the job to go to school, that was all just crap? Sam, I practically had to beg for you to come with me to find Dad."
And maybe now it all made sense. Back then, Sam had said he'd wanted out; from hunting, from their way of life. But maybe he just wanted away. Away from his family.
"Dean, that's not what I-"
"Damn it, Sam. I don't… what am I supposed to do with this?" Dean pulled a hand over his face, wincing at the pain around his eye.
"It's not what you think." Sam turned his head towards Dean, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "I had to do it. I just couldn't walk away. Not from this. I didn't have a choice."
The words were rambling and hectic and it took a second for them to sink into his bloodstream. It was only then that Dean caught the sharp edge of guilt and pain in his brother's voice, dampening his own anger.
"There's always a choice, Sam."
A passing car highlighted Sam's frown. "No. There wasn't."
Then
Feeling his muscles cramp, Sam let the duffel bag slide off his right shoulder before swapping it onto his left. Glancing at the road ahead, he folded up the map he'd swiped from the bus station back in Palo Alto and shoved it into his back pocket.
The road narrowed into a dirt track and through the treetops Sam could see smoke twirling out of a chimney. He'd been to the cabin only once before, a Christmas party for faculty members and their wives, TA's and a handful of selected students, of which he'd been one.
It looked the same as he remembered. Surrounded by tall trees, it was secluded and quiet. The cabin itself was old but well loved and had most of the modern necessities: running water, electricity, but no phone line or celltowers within range. Sam figured that was why he was here; it was isolated.
Through the dim dawn light Sam could see a light through the cabin window. Heart hammering, his mouth dry, Sam walked up the drive to the front door. Curling his hand into fist, he knocked.
Hearing footsteps approach, Sam took a step back and cleared his throat as the door opened.
The face staring at him was familiar, but the features were twisted into a look that he'd seen too many times in his lifetime. The horror of loss, of sleepless nights and haunting grief all rolled into a single expression of despair.
"Sam?"
"Professor Langton." Sam nodded. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced."
"I see you cracked my secret code," the professor said, his eyes dropping to the floor as he stepped back and welcomed Sam in. "I told my secretary to pass on the message we were staying with relatives."
"I just figured you'd want to be here. I'm sorry, I can go-"
"No. I'd actually welcome the distraction."
The cabin was surprisingly spacious with an open plan kitchen and dining room at the back and a large fireplace surrounded by well-worn leather couches at the front. To the right there were three closed doors; two were bedrooms and the other was a bathroom.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Sam said as he sank down onto the sofa, the cushions supporting his weary limbs.
"Thank you, son." The professor placed a couple of logs onto the open fire, the tall flames licking the wood as it crackled. "It hasn't sunk in yet... that she's never coming home."
Sam wasn't sure it ever would. Even after twenty years, his dad was living a frozen life, not moving forward and still waiting for the nightmare to end, for his wife to return to her family.
"Can I do anything?" Sam asked, feeling helpless but meaning every word. This man had been a solid foundation when he'd struggled with his new life at Stanford. The studying was the easy part, it was the rest that had been the problem: socializing, meeting new people, being alone and separated from his family.
"No, I don't think you can." The professor took a seat by the fire, eyes tracking the dancing flames. "I'm guessing I'm the talk of the campus."
Sam's voice softened. "I've heard some things, but I was hoping to hear it from you."
Sam waited for the change of subject, for harsh words as he was told to leave, for the slamming of a door in his face, but there was nothing.
"I'm not sure I know what happened or how to explain what I saw. Not without risking more than I can afford to lose." The professor looked down at his hands before pulling his gaze up to the nearest closed door, one of bedrooms.
Leaning forward, Sam set his elbows on his knees. "You'd be surprised what I'd believe, sir. What I've seen."
The professor raised his eyes, his gaze locked on Sam.
"What happened to your wife, professor?"
"Harry. We're not in a lecture hall, Sam. There's no need for formalities here."
Sam nodded, gaze fixed on Harry as he turned his attention to the tall flames in the fireplace.
"We were leaving the house and she said she was right behind me, but when she didn't show I went back upstairs to the bedroom. The door wouldn't open and there was smoke coming out from under the door frame. I tried everything I could to open the door but it wouldn't move and then, out of no where, it just opened. There was just so much smoke, but I thought I saw a... man in a long black coat. He was-"
Harry turned his head to the left as the bedroom door squeaked open and a head of sandy hair poked around the corner.
Sam watched as Harry nodded and the small boy, around six years old, pushed open the door and walked into the room. Behind the boy Sam could see a dark-haired chubby toddler, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his other hand gripped tightly by the older boy.
"Sam, these are my boys."
Now
The flaming orange sun was poking through the trees on the horizon when Dean opened his eyes.
Groaning, he sat up, every muscle in his body screeching in agony. "How the hell do you sleep here? I feel like I've aged fifty years."
Dean shifted his weight on the bench seat, his ass was numb and his head was pounding, the skin around his eye tight and hot to the touch.
"That's one helluva shiner you got there." Sam was behind the wheel, fingers flicking on the indicator before turning right. "You want to stop for breakfast?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
Sam snorted and made another turn, driving down what Dean guessed was the main strip of what looked like some dead-end town. There were a handful of stores; an auto body shop, a market, a beauty salon. But no diner.
Popping open the glove box and snatching the map, Dean rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "We'll have to try the next town. Where are we?"
He heard the engine die as Sam removed the key from the ignition. The Impala was parked in front of a diner and judging by the number of cars crammed into the lot, it was a popular one.
"How did you-"
"They have the best short stack I've ever tasted." Sam opened the door, its hinge creaking loudly.
It wasn't that Dean didn't know that Sam had had a life without him; an apartment, a bank account, a group of friends and a girl on his arm. But the knowledge that Sam had been to a town he'd never even heard of, had eaten pancakes at a diner he'd never been to and been on a hunt without him, made the acid burn in his belly.
Following his brother, Dean entered the diner. It was clean and smelled of home cooking, waitresses weaving easily around the stressed parents and screeching toddlers as orders were called with the bing of a bell.
They were ushered to a booth, given two laminated menus and had ordered before Dean could even blink. This place was efficient.
"I'm still waiting to hear what went down." A plate appeared under Dean's nose, stacked high with pancakes and drizzled generously with maple syrup. The side plate of crispy bacon made his mouth water.
"What?"
"The secret hunt you've been lying to me about." Dean winced at his own choice of words, maybe he was more upset about this than he thought.
"You wanna talk about this now?" Sam asked, eyeing his own plate of food.
"I've got an iron constitution." Dean shoveled a folkful of pancake and bacon into his mouth, the syrup trickling down his chin. "I've never heard anything that's put me off my food."
"I don't doubt that." The corner of Sam's lip raised in disgust as Dean wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his mouth.
"They bought the house as a renovation project. No one had lived there for like a hundred years. They did all the work, moved in and lived there almost a year. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no noises, no sightings, nothing." Sam took a sip of his coffee. "Then one day they heard noises in the master bedroom and they could smell smoke when there wasn't a fire. It even set off the fire alarm."
Dean's head snapped up, this sounded a little too familiar.
"It's not the demon." Sam interrupted, face a little pale. "I thought that at first. But it's not. The M.O doesn't fit."
Dean felt every muscle in body relax.
"Then the next day the family dog died of smoke inhalation in the master bedroom."
"Yikes." Dean frowned. "And they stayed in the house after Rover bit the dust?"
Sam set the folk on the plate and pushed it forward. "No, they were packing, just about to leave the house when it happened."
Dean mopped up the maple syrup with the last of his pancake, watching Sam's hands hug the coffee mug.
"I only met her once. She was a published author... one of her books was on my reading list. She was funny and real smart and the way Harry looked at her, you just knew that they were meant for each other, y'know?"
Yeah, Dean knew. He'd seen that look on his father's face a couple of decades ago. Hell, he'd seen it on Sam's face only a few months ago. "So, what happened to her?"
As soon as the words left his lips, Dean wished he'd just put two and two together.
Sam swallowed deeply. "It locked her in the master bedroom. By the time the door unlocked and Harry got inside, it was too late."
Dean nodded, dropping his gaze to his plate. "And there was no fire? Just smoke."
Sam nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.
"So, what happened next? You got your geek on in the library?"
Sam licked his lips as he studied his hands sheepishly. "Not exactly."
"Tell me you didn't just walk into that house totally blind?" Dean's words were shaking as he tried not to holler and draw attention.
Sam's silence said it all.
"You stupid son of a bitch," Dean growled, slamming his fist on the tabletop and feeling smugly satisfied when Sam jumped slightly and shot him a look. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
"I know."
"Do you? Because all those hours of having this shit drilled into your skull doesn't exactly seem to have worked, does it?" Dean could feel his face burn. "Damn it, Sam, that's a rookie mistake. And I know you're better than that. What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam was staring out of the window, watching a family of four scramble into a mini-van. "I don't know if I was."
Part Two
Summary - Set late in Season One. An old hunt rears its ugly head and drags both brothers on a dangerous journey down memory lane. Case fic with flashbacks. Featuring hurt!Sam and minor hurt!Dean
Rating - PG13 (language)
Genre - Gen
Word Count - 12,200
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural, that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - Thank you to scullspeare for betaing this monster twice, your time and feedback is priceless and I can't thank you enough for all your help. I've tweaked and tinkered so any mistakes are mine.
Secrets and Lies
Now
The right hook snapped Dean's head to the left, white spots filling his vision as he fell. He landed hard, lungs punched empty as he collided with the asphalt, hearing more than seeing his silver-loaded .45 skitter out of his reach.
Dean blinked, or at least he tried to, his eye already feeling sluggish and swollen. The shapeshifter, a former weight-lifter judging by the size of his biceps, was now hovering over him his fist already inches from Dean's face.
He tried to move but there wasn't time, the punch slamming his cheek into the crumbling asphalt of the road. Two more hits followed in quick succession and Dean was losing track of time, the pain taking over all his senses.
The two gun shots were loud, the blasts echoing down the brick walls of the alley. Peeling his head from the ground, Dean could see the fuzzy outline of Sam, his Taurus smoking as the shifter fell lifelessly to the ground with a dull thud.
Reaching down, Sam gripped Dean's shirt and pulled him to his feet. Dean let him himself lean into his brother, waiting for his ears to stop ringing and his vision to clear.
Sam's brow wrinkled with concern. "You OK?"
Dean groaned as he pushed himself away from Sam's support, trying to blink away the damn spots in his vision. "I think my bruises have bruises."
Sam snorted, shoving his Taurus into the back of his jeans as his phone started ringing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out, frowning at the number on the screen. "Hello."
"Is it Dad?" Dean heard himself ask, his throat suddenly tight.
Sam shook his head. "That depends. Who's this?"
Letting out a deep breath, Dean kicked out his foot, the body of the dead shifter rocking rigidly to one side, the bullet holes in its chest oozing blood, its skin starting to fizzle and melt around the silver. Definitely dead.
"Are you sure? I thought this was over."
The urgency in Sam's tone caught Dean's attention and he watched as Sam listened intently to whomever he was talking to, his face pinched with worry.
"I'm on my way." Sam turned around, his back to Dean as he headed down the alley in the direction of the Impala. "Don't let anybody inside. OK?"
That's when the worry in Dean's stomach began to churn, tumbling and rolling as he eavesdropped. Something was going down and judging by the speed Sam was walking, it was something big and probably bad.
"Harry? You got that?"
Dean followed, wracking his brain for a Harry. Friend of their Dad's? A previous case? But none of them seemed to fit.
"I'll fix this. I promise." Sam said, looking over his shoulder at Dean. "You're at the cabin? Good. Salt the windows and doors and I'll see you soon."
Sam ended the call, his strides speeding up.
"What's going on?" Dean asked as he staggered to Sam's side, his vision still a little skewed. "Who the hell was that?
Sam's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply and Dean saw his brother's fingers shake as he rammed the phone back into his jeans pocket.
"I've got to go."
"Go where?" Dean barked. "It's three in the damn morning and we've got a body to clear up!"
"To California."
And really he'd been thinking that this was bad. But neither of them had been back there since… well, Jess. "Right. And you're going there because..."
Dean let his words float into the silence of the alley, watching his brother closely as Sam clipped his jaw closed and picked up his pace again, like he was trying to ditch his own brother.
Reaching out, Dean clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder, spinning him around. "There's no way in hell you're going alone."
Sam couldn't even look him in the eye, his gaze focussed somewhere over Dean's shoulder. "Dean, I just-"
"I'm coming. End of subject."
Sam huffed. "Fine. But I'm driving."
"Tell me what's going on and I'll think about it. Otherwise, you're walking."
Sam's gaze shifted, boring into Dean and he could feel his resolve start to melt, along with his need for answers. It was like a five-year-old Sam silently pleading for the last of the Lucky Charms all over again.
And damn it, it really bothered him that this shit still worked.
"Please, Dean. I just... I need to do this."
Dean scrubbed his hand across the back of the head. He didn't like this, not even a little bit. "We're gonna have to call someone to clear up that body."
Sam nodded, holding his hand out for the keys to the Impala.
Ignoring the pit in his stomach, Dean pulled them out of his pocket, letting them hover over Sam's palm before reluctantly let them drop. "You so much as graze a pot hole, Sam, I swear to God you'll never drive her again. Period."
Then
Sam opened the kitchen cupboard, cringing at the creaking hinge as it echoed through the silent apartment.
Pausing, he turned his head to the bedroom door. There was no snap of a light switch or flood of light spilling from under the door frame.
Heart racing, Sam released the breath he didn't know he was holding as he shone the flashlight into the cupboard, eyes scanning the contents. Pasta, rice, a collection of dried herbs and yes, cooking salt. Reaching out his hand he grabbed the large container before dumping it into the duffel bag.
Turning around, he carefully avoided the squeaky floorboard as he walked across the room towards the computer desk. Pulling open the bottom drawer, he snaked his arm to the back corner and reached up. Grunting softly, he began to peel off the duct tape from the top of the drawer, feeling the comfortable weight of the Bowie as it dropped into his open palm.
Pulling off the sheath, he inspected the blade, watching as the silver glistened in the flashlight's beam. Not too bad considering how long it had been hidden. His Dad would rip him a new one if he knew how long it had been since he'd sharpened it.
Walking carefully back to the dining table, Sam dropped the knife into the bag.
"Sam? You OK?"
He jumped at the sleep-slurred words. Damn, he must be getting rusty.
Through the shadows, Sam could see Jess leaning against the door jamb, loose curls tumbling over her shoulders. One arm was crossed over her stomach, the head of a blue smurf visible as she ran a hand over her eyes before switching on the light.
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." At least that wasn't a lie.
"Is this about Professor Langton?" Jess was scanning the room, her gaze landing on the packed duffel bag on the dining table. "What's going on?"
And this was why he hid his weapons, why he dodged conversations about his childhood or what school he went to, and why he shied away from questions about his family. He hated lying to her, juggling two separate lives and waiting for the day it would all fall apart.
"Sam?"
"I'm sorry," Sam said, suddenly lost for words as he nervously rolled his shoulders. "I have to go. I won't be long. A day... two tops."
"But where? Where do you have to be at three in the morning?" Jess's voice was slightly raised, the words shaking as they curled off her tongue.
And Sam couldn't blame her; for questioning him, for being angry, for any it. After all, he was sneaking out of their apartment in the middle of the night with a packed bag. It looked bad. Really bad. "Jess, I-"
"Just tell me."
Sam could hear the plea in her voice, her eyes damp as she took a step forward, her hands resting lightly on his chest as she looked him in the eye.
"Please. Whatever it is, just tell me."
He watched her closely, saw the tears in her blue eyes, the frown that crinkled her forehead. It was tearing him in half.
He thought about lying, or about telling her it was a family business thing - at least that was a half truth.
But he couldn't do either. Slamming his eyes closed, Sam cupped her face and brushed his lips across her forehead, the soft curls of her hair running through his fingers as he pulled himself away from her. "I'll call you later."
He turned around, not able to look at her as he dragged himself out of the door, pulling it closed as Jess called his name.
Now
"So spill. What gives?" Dean tapped his fingers impatiently on the passenger door. Sam was overly focused on the road ahead, had been since the moment they got in the car, well over an hour ago.
Dean wasn't surprised by the wall of silence that greeted him. "So, you want me to go into this blind and completely unprepared? Because I don't have a problem flying in guns-a-blazing, shooting first and asking questions later. In fact, that's kinda the way I roll." He shot his brother a side-glance. If Sam could act like petulant kid, then he could play childish games.
Sam remained tight lipped but even through the velvet darkness of the car, Dean could feel more than see him flinch at the words.
"So, this is a job?"
Sam's jeans scraped against the leather of the bench seat as he squirmed, then he cleared his throat. "Yeah."
It was more of a mutter than an actual spoken word, but Dean took what he could get.
"In California?"
"Yeah."
"Old job or new?"
"Old."
Dean swore that even if he got only one-word answers for the next five hours he was going to get the whole story whether Sam liked it or not. "How old? I don't remember a Harry."
"You weren't there."
It was quiet but each syllable was clear.
"This is a hunt you did at Stanford?" Dean asked, trying to piece it all together and suppress the anger he could feel crawling up his spine. "A hunt you did solo?"
"Yeah."
It hit like a punch to his solar plexus, leaving him winded and light-headed.
"So, what? You didn't want to call me? Or Dad?" Dean tried to keep his anger in check. "Hell, you could have called Caleb. Or Pastor Jim. You don't do a job, any job, without back-up!"
A passing car lit up Sam's face and Dean caught a glimpse of his brother's teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.
"I know. I just… I didn't want to bother you. Any of you. It was pretty straightforward and I took care it." Sam paused. "Well, I thought I did."
Dean took a breath, closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. "And this whole time, you didn't think that this was worth mentioning?"
"It didn't seem like a big deal."
Dean was glaring at Sam, fingers digging into the leather bench seat. "So all that talk about getting away from the job to go to school, that was all just crap? Sam, I practically had to beg for you to come with me to find Dad."
And maybe now it all made sense. Back then, Sam had said he'd wanted out; from hunting, from their way of life. But maybe he just wanted away. Away from his family.
"Dean, that's not what I-"
"Damn it, Sam. I don't… what am I supposed to do with this?" Dean pulled a hand over his face, wincing at the pain around his eye.
"It's not what you think." Sam turned his head towards Dean, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "I had to do it. I just couldn't walk away. Not from this. I didn't have a choice."
The words were rambling and hectic and it took a second for them to sink into his bloodstream. It was only then that Dean caught the sharp edge of guilt and pain in his brother's voice, dampening his own anger.
"There's always a choice, Sam."
A passing car highlighted Sam's frown. "No. There wasn't."
Then
Feeling his muscles cramp, Sam let the duffel bag slide off his right shoulder before swapping it onto his left. Glancing at the road ahead, he folded up the map he'd swiped from the bus station back in Palo Alto and shoved it into his back pocket.
The road narrowed into a dirt track and through the treetops Sam could see smoke twirling out of a chimney. He'd been to the cabin only once before, a Christmas party for faculty members and their wives, TA's and a handful of selected students, of which he'd been one.
It looked the same as he remembered. Surrounded by tall trees, it was secluded and quiet. The cabin itself was old but well loved and had most of the modern necessities: running water, electricity, but no phone line or celltowers within range. Sam figured that was why he was here; it was isolated.
Through the dim dawn light Sam could see a light through the cabin window. Heart hammering, his mouth dry, Sam walked up the drive to the front door. Curling his hand into fist, he knocked.
Hearing footsteps approach, Sam took a step back and cleared his throat as the door opened.
The face staring at him was familiar, but the features were twisted into a look that he'd seen too many times in his lifetime. The horror of loss, of sleepless nights and haunting grief all rolled into a single expression of despair.
"Sam?"
"Professor Langton." Sam nodded. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced."
"I see you cracked my secret code," the professor said, his eyes dropping to the floor as he stepped back and welcomed Sam in. "I told my secretary to pass on the message we were staying with relatives."
"I just figured you'd want to be here. I'm sorry, I can go-"
"No. I'd actually welcome the distraction."
The cabin was surprisingly spacious with an open plan kitchen and dining room at the back and a large fireplace surrounded by well-worn leather couches at the front. To the right there were three closed doors; two were bedrooms and the other was a bathroom.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Sam said as he sank down onto the sofa, the cushions supporting his weary limbs.
"Thank you, son." The professor placed a couple of logs onto the open fire, the tall flames licking the wood as it crackled. "It hasn't sunk in yet... that she's never coming home."
Sam wasn't sure it ever would. Even after twenty years, his dad was living a frozen life, not moving forward and still waiting for the nightmare to end, for his wife to return to her family.
"Can I do anything?" Sam asked, feeling helpless but meaning every word. This man had been a solid foundation when he'd struggled with his new life at Stanford. The studying was the easy part, it was the rest that had been the problem: socializing, meeting new people, being alone and separated from his family.
"No, I don't think you can." The professor took a seat by the fire, eyes tracking the dancing flames. "I'm guessing I'm the talk of the campus."
Sam's voice softened. "I've heard some things, but I was hoping to hear it from you."
Sam waited for the change of subject, for harsh words as he was told to leave, for the slamming of a door in his face, but there was nothing.
"I'm not sure I know what happened or how to explain what I saw. Not without risking more than I can afford to lose." The professor looked down at his hands before pulling his gaze up to the nearest closed door, one of bedrooms.
Leaning forward, Sam set his elbows on his knees. "You'd be surprised what I'd believe, sir. What I've seen."
The professor raised his eyes, his gaze locked on Sam.
"What happened to your wife, professor?"
"Harry. We're not in a lecture hall, Sam. There's no need for formalities here."
Sam nodded, gaze fixed on Harry as he turned his attention to the tall flames in the fireplace.
"We were leaving the house and she said she was right behind me, but when she didn't show I went back upstairs to the bedroom. The door wouldn't open and there was smoke coming out from under the door frame. I tried everything I could to open the door but it wouldn't move and then, out of no where, it just opened. There was just so much smoke, but I thought I saw a... man in a long black coat. He was-"
Harry turned his head to the left as the bedroom door squeaked open and a head of sandy hair poked around the corner.
Sam watched as Harry nodded and the small boy, around six years old, pushed open the door and walked into the room. Behind the boy Sam could see a dark-haired chubby toddler, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his other hand gripped tightly by the older boy.
"Sam, these are my boys."
Now
The flaming orange sun was poking through the trees on the horizon when Dean opened his eyes.
Groaning, he sat up, every muscle in his body screeching in agony. "How the hell do you sleep here? I feel like I've aged fifty years."
Dean shifted his weight on the bench seat, his ass was numb and his head was pounding, the skin around his eye tight and hot to the touch.
"That's one helluva shiner you got there." Sam was behind the wheel, fingers flicking on the indicator before turning right. "You want to stop for breakfast?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
Sam snorted and made another turn, driving down what Dean guessed was the main strip of what looked like some dead-end town. There were a handful of stores; an auto body shop, a market, a beauty salon. But no diner.
Popping open the glove box and snatching the map, Dean rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "We'll have to try the next town. Where are we?"
He heard the engine die as Sam removed the key from the ignition. The Impala was parked in front of a diner and judging by the number of cars crammed into the lot, it was a popular one.
"How did you-"
"They have the best short stack I've ever tasted." Sam opened the door, its hinge creaking loudly.
It wasn't that Dean didn't know that Sam had had a life without him; an apartment, a bank account, a group of friends and a girl on his arm. But the knowledge that Sam had been to a town he'd never even heard of, had eaten pancakes at a diner he'd never been to and been on a hunt without him, made the acid burn in his belly.
Following his brother, Dean entered the diner. It was clean and smelled of home cooking, waitresses weaving easily around the stressed parents and screeching toddlers as orders were called with the bing of a bell.
They were ushered to a booth, given two laminated menus and had ordered before Dean could even blink. This place was efficient.
"I'm still waiting to hear what went down." A plate appeared under Dean's nose, stacked high with pancakes and drizzled generously with maple syrup. The side plate of crispy bacon made his mouth water.
"What?"
"The secret hunt you've been lying to me about." Dean winced at his own choice of words, maybe he was more upset about this than he thought.
"You wanna talk about this now?" Sam asked, eyeing his own plate of food.
"I've got an iron constitution." Dean shoveled a folkful of pancake and bacon into his mouth, the syrup trickling down his chin. "I've never heard anything that's put me off my food."
"I don't doubt that." The corner of Sam's lip raised in disgust as Dean wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his mouth.
"They bought the house as a renovation project. No one had lived there for like a hundred years. They did all the work, moved in and lived there almost a year. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no noises, no sightings, nothing." Sam took a sip of his coffee. "Then one day they heard noises in the master bedroom and they could smell smoke when there wasn't a fire. It even set off the fire alarm."
Dean's head snapped up, this sounded a little too familiar.
"It's not the demon." Sam interrupted, face a little pale. "I thought that at first. But it's not. The M.O doesn't fit."
Dean felt every muscle in body relax.
"Then the next day the family dog died of smoke inhalation in the master bedroom."
"Yikes." Dean frowned. "And they stayed in the house after Rover bit the dust?"
Sam set the folk on the plate and pushed it forward. "No, they were packing, just about to leave the house when it happened."
Dean mopped up the maple syrup with the last of his pancake, watching Sam's hands hug the coffee mug.
"I only met her once. She was a published author... one of her books was on my reading list. She was funny and real smart and the way Harry looked at her, you just knew that they were meant for each other, y'know?"
Yeah, Dean knew. He'd seen that look on his father's face a couple of decades ago. Hell, he'd seen it on Sam's face only a few months ago. "So, what happened to her?"
As soon as the words left his lips, Dean wished he'd just put two and two together.
Sam swallowed deeply. "It locked her in the master bedroom. By the time the door unlocked and Harry got inside, it was too late."
Dean nodded, dropping his gaze to his plate. "And there was no fire? Just smoke."
Sam nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.
"So, what happened next? You got your geek on in the library?"
Sam licked his lips as he studied his hands sheepishly. "Not exactly."
"Tell me you didn't just walk into that house totally blind?" Dean's words were shaking as he tried not to holler and draw attention.
Sam's silence said it all.
"You stupid son of a bitch," Dean growled, slamming his fist on the tabletop and feeling smugly satisfied when Sam jumped slightly and shot him a look. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
"I know."
"Do you? Because all those hours of having this shit drilled into your skull doesn't exactly seem to have worked, does it?" Dean could feel his face burn. "Damn it, Sam, that's a rookie mistake. And I know you're better than that. What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam was staring out of the window, watching a family of four scramble into a mini-van. "I don't know if I was."
Part Two