Who killed Tabaqui (9/?)
Title: Who killed Tabaqui
Author:marlowe78
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: a lot
Beta: soncnica
Spoilers: for s6, the basics
Warnings: Language, some blood is spilled.
Summary: Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp
Edit: Thanks to caluk, I now have a header! Yeah!
a/n:
Me again, late again, sorry. Longer chapter as apology.
Previous
Back at the room, after Dean had proved to Sam that no, he didn’t have superior strength by shoving and being shoved back, getting a proper talking to from the old lady who he’d stumbled into from Sam’s freakishly long arms, they settled down to call Alyssa O’Toole, Bobby’s friend.
The call was short. The woman was abrupt, telling them in her rough voice to be at her place soon as they could make it and that better be before the full moon. Sam jotted down the address and direction and before he could thank her, she’d disconnected.
Dean raised his eyebrows, Sam simply shrugged. “She’s a real sweetheart, don’t cha think, Sam?”
“I don’t care if she’s a bitch as long as she can help” Sam threw back, clearly pissed off about something. What, Dean couldn’t tell. Wasn’t the first time, and usually, it ran its course, so he lay back and tried to find some comfortable position.
His brother, though, wouldn’t have any of it. “We can’t take the time, Dean. We need to get to Backwood Creek soon as we can, so let’s move it”
“Sam. We’re here to sleep. Remember? That thing where you close your eyes and shut your freaky brain off? I’m tired as fuck, and I need to sleep”
“You can sleep in the car.”
“You’re tired as fuck too, Sam, and don’t think I don’t know. Look, let’s sleep for a few hours. We set the alarm and take off early tonight, before mid…” he trailed off when he noticed Sam’s stony expression. “What?”
“Dean, you’ll shift. I don’t want you to shift in the car! It’s kinda amazing that you didn’t freak in a motel-room, but a moving car? Are you really that crazy? Did you really forget that little glitch?”
“No … no. I just..:”
“You just didn’t think it through. Awesome. You can’t just ignore it! You can’t just… just … you’re not normal anymore-“
“Stop preaching, Sam!” Dean snarled back, sitting up and leaving the bed to reduce the height-advantage Sam had on him to at least a comfortable level. “What the hell is your problem? I’m the one who’s losing his mind every night, and yeah, so I forgot for a minute! I’ve not forgotten any freaking second these last days. Hell, it’s not like I’d go out to pick up a girl or anything! So sorry for raining on your parade, darling” He glared at Sam, trying to mask the feeling of despair that was spreading in his guts. Fuck, he’d just gotten used to feeling some lightness, after all the angel-war-apocalypse-Sam’s-turning-evil-Dad-disappearing-crap of the last years. He was so damn tired, and he wanted it all gone. Everything. He wanted to sleep and wake up like he was before. Simple, if not actually safe or anything. But simple.
“Dean…”
“Shut up, Sam. Just… shut up”. And he slipped past his brother and out the door, not bothering to turn around. Before Sam could say anything, he growled over his shoulder “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before the sun is down”.
***
Dean was back two hours later, silent and broody, and Sam did not secretly sniff at him to find out if he’d drunken alcohol. It was a close call, but he managed to stop himself. Without a word, Dean held up the plastic-bags from the pet-store that had been in the car still and took out the collar, staring at it and the leash with disgust.
Sam watched as his older brother put the leather around his neck and only because he was feeling guilty for his outburst before did he watch him close enough to catch the tremor in his fingers, saw the shudder that ran over his spine. Still, Dean had slung the collar over his neck and tried to close the buckle. It didn’t seem to work right, though, and from where Sam was standing, it looked like his hands were trembling.
“Wait” Sam said and went over, standing right behind him “not too much. You’ve got a big mane, so don’t pull it too tight”. He grabbed his shoulder and turned the leather so the buckle was on the back, and Dean literally jumped away.
“Dean?”
“Uh… yeah…” Dean grinned manically, fingers working against each other, hands smoothing over the cloth of his jeans. Over and over and over and over. He didn’t meet his brother’s eyes, was skittish and when Sam took a step closer to calm him down, hands spread wide, Dean shifted backwards until his legs hit the bed, then sideways. Away from Sam.
“Dean? You ok?”
“Yes, yes. Fine, I’m fine, Sam. Uh, just startled me. Dude. I get it, I’ll … I’ll do it, but th-thanks.”
He hurried to the bathroom, never leaving his back to Sam and peeking up every two steps as if he was reassuring himself that his brother was still where he left him. And really, who could blame him? If he’d ever been into collars and such, Hell had certainly put a damper to that.
Sam bit his lip. He should’ve thought about that before acting and shaking his brother so much that he was hiding himself away, probably trying hard to not completely lose it.
A clang and a “Shit” from the bathroom made him look up.
“Dean?”
“Uh…”
Sam stepped to the open door. He’d not followed, knowing he wasn’t strictly banned but feeling the need to give his brother some space. Now, though, help was needed, not space.
Dean stood in front of the mirror, head hung in shame or maybe resignation, the collar in a tight grip. There was a chip missing in the sink, probably from where the heavy buckle had hit the cheap porcelain when the collar had either slipped or had been thrown. Dean’s shoulders were trembling slightly. Just a little, but Sam knew his brother’s movements better than his own, and he could see it.
“Let me help, ok?” he asked, deliberately speaking low, staying outside the door to leave room for escape.
His brother didn’t look up but held out the hand with the leather-band. Carefully, Sam slipped behind him and placed the ugly black thing around his neck. When the leather touched skin, Dean froze and Sam stopped moving, didn’t do anything but watch in the mirror the man he’d known all his life, in one form or another, eyes screwed shut and gripping the counter so hard that his knuckles were bone- white.
With a dry tongue, Sam started to whisper “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll be… I just pull the leather through here, not too tight. Uhm, don’t… it’ll be a bit cold, I guess, when the metal goes on the skin…” just babbling along to make sure his brother knew who was behind him, knew he wasn’t Down There.
Slowly, Dean unfroze and bent his neck so Sam could work easier with the buckle. The leather was stiff, even though they had invested in the more expensive, doubly padded collar instead of the cheaper single-layer leather.
When Sam looked up into the mirror, he was stunned: his hard-backed, cocky, never-back-down brother had bent his head forward, baring his neck to Sam, whose larger frame was nearly looming over him, making Dean look oddly small and vulnerable. Up close, the fine sheen of sweat on his neck and forehead was visible and the smell of fear was heavy enough to fill Sam’s senses, the shallow breaths shaky and hitched while Sam was as calm as he could be, breathing in Dean’s terror and trying hard to give some of his own calm to him. The skin under his hands was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.
It was an odd sight and situation. It showed so much more trust to him than any outsider would ever see. They’d never get how much it meant for Dean to wear a collar, even if it was put on voluntarily, and couldn’t ever understand how much baring his neck like this took out of his brother.
But Sam knew. He knew that Dean hated this more than any normal person would, knew the silent, downplayed suffering in front of him equaled a freak-out of epic proportions to any sane, normal person. Anyone but Dean.
Sam knew the signs because he’d seen it on him more than once. Not just this last year, but ever since he’d returned from Hell. Sam’d long ago chosen to ignore it, to not vocalize his concern. Not by choice but by not getting any response. He couldn’t do more than offer to listen whenever Dean wanted to talk, and he had to force himself to not keep digging.
He wasn’t one to throw stones, since he had his own problems. He might not really remember The Cage, but there were flashes, memories of memories, like déjà-vu but even more indistinct, even less clear. They came when he stood too close to the fire from a salt-and-burn, smelled charred bacon or, strangely, when he heard a baby cry.
He‘d seen that Dean went slightly pale whenever he was restrained, and Sam had the same issues. But that, the two of them could handle, could live with, could work through. Mostly because they had to. Apparently, a collar was too close to unbearable for his brother, though, and Sam hoped this wouldn’t turn into a regular thing. Dean staying a wolf was just not an option.
He slipped the last piece of leather into the flap and only now noticed that his throat was parched and his voice rough. He coughed and smiled into the mirror, clapping his brother on the shoulder.
“That’s it”
Seeing Dean look up, noticing the heavy swallow and watching the leather move with the adams-apple, a sudden burst of power and strength deep in his bones rushed over Sam, not unlike the demon-blood had felt, exhilarating and oh-so-wicked.
As fast as it had come, Sam shoved it back down, not allowing it more than a brief flash. This felt wrong, so wrong, and yet it was sweet and tantalizing. Like some invisible balance had shifted, some weight put on him that was his to use, to form and to control. But also to protect, and that feeling of protectiveness was what he held on to, what felt safe, not tainted like when he’d been with Ruby. Dean was in his hands. Without him, the wolf would be lost, and with it Dean. That was… a heady thrill, terrifying. Sam’d already experienced what it felt like to lose the wolf, the terror and fear, and he’d witnessed his brother die over and over and still wasn’t used to the feeling of loss it brought. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
He’d put a collar on him and he’d buckle a leash to the collar and he’d use the freaking muzzle he’d purchased if it meant that Dean would be safe, even if he hated the idea and feared his brother’s hatred for doing it. It was a familiar feeling, dangerous even, but the basics of the year after Dean’d returned from Hell stayed the same: He would protect his family however necessary, even if it meant to cause some discomfort. He’d just be smarter about it and trust his instincts, not that of some Hell-bitch with pretty brown eyes.
Sam straightened and took a step away from his brother, coughing and turning back to the other room, to the computer. “Ok. You’re gonna be fine. Nothing to worry about.”
He could hear Dean swallow, the slight click of his throat.
“Yeah” the answer was rough, was trying for normal and damn it all, Sam would let it go. “So, uh, I think we should wait for me to turn and then you’ll … uh, get me in the car?” Sam turned when the voice was closer than the bathroom, seeing Dean had sat down on one of the beds and taken off his shoes “Think I’ll follow? Or use the leash?”
Sam smiled but wasn’t sure. He was pretty certain that his brother would follow him wherever he went, no matter what form, but how much Dean was there in wolf? He eyed the leash and shrugged. “I think it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”
Dean nodded, crawled back on the lumpy mattress, moved until he’d found a comfortable spot and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long until his breathing evened out, and Sam decided that he’d read enough about wolves for today, even though it was interesting and they bore enough resemblance to his brother to be remarkable. He went over to his own bed, set the alarm to an hour before midnight and lay back, trying to relax.
He was nearly under when he heard a silent groan from Dean, not really unexpected.
Ironically, Dean’s nightmares came out to play and wreck havoc most when there was nothing to hunt, nothing to do, no recent horror to get over. Free-time should be used for relaxation, not for waking up shivering and sweat-soaked and sometimes needing to be rescued by your brother from some hard-clinging scene in your head that had you moaning in pain and fear.
Sam knew from personal experience, though, that the dreams didn’t care about the word ‘holiday’ all that much. His own nightmares weren’t as clear as Dean’s, or so he assumed. More shadows and hidden memories of bad things, but that didn’t mean they were less disturbing. Maybe even more so.
There was some shuffling, some hitched breaths and broken-off moans and Sam waited for it to get worse. It sometimes did, causing Dean to shake and groan and sigh in pain, which was when he needed to be woken up or it would get really nasty. Sam’d figured that out from trial and error, because it’d be easier to carry the Impala than to make the stubborn jerk talk about his nightmares.
Weirdly enough, he had no problems to talk about Sam’s nightmares.
It had taken some time for Sam to realize that Dean wasn’t trying to shove his issues away - not more than usual at least - but that he saw their experiences as completely different and the results should therefore be different as well.
They weren’t; both had nightmares, flashbacks and bouts of unexplainable anger, followed by gut-wrenching sorrow, spiced up with manically good moods, and for some reason, the fact that both brothers should show the same symptoms pissed Dean off. Sometimes Sam thought that his brother was embarrassed about the lingering effects of Hell, that because he was there less time than Sam was in the Cage, he should’ve been over the crap already.
Once, Sam had tried talking about that, but he’d been shot down fast and hard and had come to the conclusion that torturing souls because he was too weak to hold on any longer was reason enough in Dean’s head to have deserved Hell, no matter how good you might have started out.
For Dean, Sam’s issues were a badge of honor, where his own were a sign of weakness and should’ve been gone a long time ago, no matter what anyone else said. When he’d once carefully asked if maybe their father had never been meant to break the seal, tentatively suggested that Alistair had lied and John’d never been given the choice, Dean had stared at him hard and long before leaving the room and staying away for two nights. Sam’d never asked again, or voiced any of his thoughts about Dad’s time in Hell to his brother.
The shuffling on the next bed didn’t get worse. Instead the breathing evened out again and piece by piece, Sam let himself relax again and finally fell asleep.
***
When the alarm from Sam’s cell went off, Dean had already been awake for a while. Not really long, but long enough.
He’d woken from a nightmare, nothing new, just the same old stuff, but for a second after waking, in the space between dream and reality, he’d felt the leather at his neck and panicked. He’d been there, not just believed but known that he was in Hell, that he’d never left and the whole sordid story of over two years and angels and Lucifer was nothing but an exceptionally cruel mindfuck presented by Alistair.
It had taken minutes of slow, deliberate breaths to get the shivers back under control and stop the tears from falling, and although it was disgusting, the unusually heavy smell of stale cigarette-smoke, cheap detergent and lingering sweat that had the room reeking of years worth of neglect helped with finding his center and back to now. Sam hadn’t woken for once, and he didn’t seem to have his own nightmares today for which Dean was grateful. As much as his dreams freaked him out, his brother’s made him want to hide under a rock and only come out when they had passed.
He never did, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch Sam stare wide-eyed into some unseen horror, stiff as a plank, and try to get him to wake up, all the while knowing that whatever his own experiences had taught him, they were nothing like what Sam was facing again in his dreams.
When Dean’d finally realized that this was reality and he was wearing the collar for a completely different reason than before, it was nearly time to wake up anyway and he’d grabbed the laptop to send an e-mail to Ben. The leather was itchy where it shifted against his neck when he moved, but he didn't want to take it off. Sure, it would be possible, they still had time enough, but he was trying to get used to it, hoping that his wolf-him would then accept it easier. Another reason was that wearing it already would soften the stiff material and warm the metal, and yes, there was the firm belief in facing his fears to overcome them. It wouldn't do any good to one day freeze and get the shakes just because some villain had the brilliant idea to give him a collar.
He’d just hit ‘Send’ when the cell peeped and Sam woke with a start. “Holy… Dean?”
“The one and only” he teased, closed the laptop and stood up. “Gonna skip the shower, not that my cute little necklace shrinks or somethin’”
“Fine with me, but brush your teeth. Doggy-breath’s bad enough but combined with your own … whew,” Sam bantered back, even though his heart didn’t seem to be fully in it. “I’ll get some coffee, there’s still time till midnight.”
Dean just nodded and went to the bathroom, trying hard to ignore his image in the mirror. It was awkward and in the end, he just bit the bullet and looked.
The leather was a bit rough still, and the collar hung loose around his neck. It was too tight to get it up over his head, but there was room enough to put his whole hand through the loop, and it didn’t restrict him in any way. The metal had warmed during sleep and if it wouldn’t rub against his skin on the back of his neck, he might’ve even been able to ignore it completely.
And it didn’ look too bad, a bit kinky, maybe. It was just the dog-look he couldn’t ignore.
”Good boy, Dean, come here, I’ll show you something”
When Dean’d first heard Bobby call his dogs ‘Good boys’ in the same voice his dad would praise Dean, a world had shattered. He’d been young and stupid then, teenage-hormones wracking havoc with his brain. For a while, he’d nearly cried at night, woken from dreams where his dad just left him at a shelter or dropped him off with someone to train him. He’d been terrified to be left alone, so much so that he’d been willing to leave Sammy just so his father wouldn’t be able to skip on him.
Oh, he’d gotten over that stupid idea fast. Faster than he’d liked, really, because the pure terror in Dad’s eyes when Dean’d been taken and had nearly died for the first time, the relief and love that shone in them when he’d gotten him back, the power of the hug he’d given Dean when he was safe had told him more than any words ever could.
He’d taken the punishment gladly, knowing deep in his heart that his dad wouldn’t bother if he really thought of him as a dog. But it had still been close enough to the surface to come back up and bury him in despair when he’d realized his father finally had abandoned him, had left him alone.
Years later, after he’d given in, Alistair had used the same sentence, the same voice-coloring to praise him on a particularly well-carved piece of soul, but there hadn’t been any affection in it. Only insult and degradation, usually followed by a tug on his chain to get him back to his Master’s heels.
“Good boy my ass” he muttered to his reflection, baring his teeth until it reminded him too much of a snarling dog. “Wolf, not dog” he whispered “wolf. It’s not the same…”
Before he could get even crazier and started to talk with his toothbrush or something, he heard Sam come back in and he smelled the coffee-aroma wafting in with him.
Coffee tasted horrible with toothpaste, so he just rinsed his mouth and grinned at himself. Sam would have to deal with his breath, he decided.
Sam would have to deal with a lot more than just breath, Dean knew a few minutes later. There was just no way wolf-him wouldn’t be cranky after so long without coffee, and foamy milk with chocolate-syrup and a hint of espresso was no substitute, no matter how nice the thought and how admittedly tasty the crap was.
So yeah, he’d drunk it and tried to ignore the delicious, mouth-watering smell from Sam’s cup. Why’d his brother have to get the really good stuff, now of all times? Usually Sam went for cheap and fast, just like Dean, and left the girly stuff for special occasions. Now though the scent suggested that the coffee was of a good brand, strong and heady and …
Sighing, he took another sip of his milky drink, trying to pretend he enjoyed it. Because even though he’d bitched at Sam for quite some time, and would probably continue to do so while his …condition was as it was, it felt kinda good that Sam remembered this stuff and was thinking about his health. It was a bit cute, even, so yeah.
Milk wasn’t terribly healthy for canines, Dean’d read yesterday, but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. Because he wouldn’t stay a wolf, so there.
“Now what? We sit here and wait until I turn?”
“Uh…yeah?” Sam answered, a frown on his face. “You got a better idea?”
He didn’t, so he sighed and leaned back against the squeaky chair, drumming his fingers on the horribly green table-top. “How long till midnight?”
“’Bout fifty minutes”
“Hm”
More drumming, some hidden glances from Sam, some covert glances from Dean.
“Anything on TV?”
“It’s broken, I checked while you were talking to Bobby.”
“Oh.”
“How about some poker?”
A relieved sigh from Sam and a nearly happy smile and Dean got the cards while Sam grabbed the stash of candy that was their usual poker-stake whenever they didn’t have enough coins to play for money.
A few hands in, Dean had forgotten about midnight and was so concentrated on his cards that he didn’t notice Sam’s uncomfortable stare until his brother coughed into his hand.
“What?”
“Uh… It’s kinda nearly midnight. And… you maybe should… uh…”
“What? I should what? Hey, I don’t know what happens, so gimme a clue here, Sam! Only thing I remember was that it hurt like a bitch, and that was the first time.”
Did he imagine Sam flushing red? “Maybe you should … undress?”
“Un…what?” Dean growled, because there wasn’t much modesty left between them, growing up and sticking as close together as they had, but they didn’t ask the other to undress as long as there was no injury to sew shut.
Sam answered fast and low, not really looking up, moving around the ugly room to not meet his eye. “You rip apart your clothes when you’re a wolf and we don’t have that many and there won’t be time to buy more and I dunno I thought you would maybe wanna save the clothes you still have and there is …” he trailed off and Dean huffed, annoyed.
Yeah, Sam was right about that. Whenever he woke up after turning back, he was naked and even though he’d never consciously thought about his clothes, it made a lot of sense to take them off before turning. Just as it’d made a lot of sense to put the collar on while human.
He didn’t like it, though, not one bit.
Grumbling insults to some unknown power that was at fault for this situation, Dean went into the bathroom and undressed, wearing only a bath-towel when he came back into the room.
Sam was sitting like a puddle of misery on his bed, staring at the puke-brown floor and Dean’s anger melted away. Wasn’t Sam’s fault.
“Nothing you haven’t seen, Sammy” he grinned and flopped on the bed, trying for levity and stuffing every bit of discomfort deep into his mind, closing the door after it and eating the key. This was just him relaxing on the bed after a shower, nothing worse. Just him, wearing a tiny towel like he’d done millions of times in front of Sam, not even the most exhibitionistic pose Sam’d ever seen him in. The leather-band on his neck shouldn’t make much of a difference, but it did, Hell, it did. “If someone comes in, he’s gonna believe he stepped into some weird kinky sex-scene” he joked, feeling anything but funny, but Sam smiled a little and he relaxed.
“You wish” his brother said and shuffled back so he was with his back against the headboard, legs spread out in front of him. “I was thinking… you didn’t seem to have so much of a problem shifting when you were asleep. So maybe… maybe you hurt so much the first time because you were fighting it? You were fighting it, right?”
Dean frowned, thinking back to the little wooded area, only two nights ago. “Sure I was” he confirmed. “So, you think I should just… relax? Or what?”
“I… I don’t know” Sam deflated. “I just don’t really… Maybe?”
It sounded reasonable and Dean tried to find a comfortable position on the bed, covered himself a bit more with the thin, scratchy, horribly smelly blanket - man, did this room reek! - and told himself he did it only because it was a bit chilly.
Relax, relax, relax… he told himself, cramping his hands into the blanket in the effort to do so. Relax, relax, relaxrelaxrelaxrelaxrelaxfreakingrelax!
“Dean.”
“What?” he grit out, knowing he was making an ass of himself but couldn’t…
“…so close, no matter how far…” Sam started, and Dean huffed out a laugh, losing some tension in his body. He started to hum with his brother, both absolutely off-key. Sam more often than not didn’t know the text and simply hummed. It didn’t matter how horribly they sounded, it worked.
Until a cramp in his calf had Dean upright in bed. “Holy fuck!” Before he could jump on his toes to make it go away, his fingers cramped as well and his toes followed suit. His spine seemed to want to crawl out of his back and he moaned, not even able to make an effort to hold it down. He could hear Sam shouting something, felt his hands on his skin.
“Don’t fight it, Dean! Relax, I got ya. Don’t fight it.”
“M not” he groaned, his voice shot to hell already. He howled in pain when some ligaments shifted, elongated and others shortened. Still, Sam’s hand on him, his voice in his ears did make it easier, or maybe his body had practice. He let himself sink into the mattress and tried to think of nothing. This wasn’t even half as bad as Hell, and he wouldn’t have to face it for long.
Relaxrelaxrelax he told himself, hearing every breath Sam took as loud as a tornado and the sound of the cars from the highway like he was standing next to it. The room didn’t just reek anymore, it was drilling spikes of painful scents into his nose and right up to his brain. He heard himself howl again and tried to let his mind step away, observe the sensations for the sake of remembering them later.
When he could smell Sam’s tears, he was already four-legged and panting in exhaustion.
Chapter 10
Author:marlowe78
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: a lot
Beta: soncnica
Spoilers: for s6, the basics
Warnings: Language, some blood is spilled.
Summary: Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp
Edit: Thanks to caluk, I now have a header! Yeah!
a/n:
Me again, late again, sorry. Longer chapter as apology.
Previous
Back at the room, after Dean had proved to Sam that no, he didn’t have superior strength by shoving and being shoved back, getting a proper talking to from the old lady who he’d stumbled into from Sam’s freakishly long arms, they settled down to call Alyssa O’Toole, Bobby’s friend.
The call was short. The woman was abrupt, telling them in her rough voice to be at her place soon as they could make it and that better be before the full moon. Sam jotted down the address and direction and before he could thank her, she’d disconnected.
Dean raised his eyebrows, Sam simply shrugged. “She’s a real sweetheart, don’t cha think, Sam?”
“I don’t care if she’s a bitch as long as she can help” Sam threw back, clearly pissed off about something. What, Dean couldn’t tell. Wasn’t the first time, and usually, it ran its course, so he lay back and tried to find some comfortable position.
His brother, though, wouldn’t have any of it. “We can’t take the time, Dean. We need to get to Backwood Creek soon as we can, so let’s move it”
“Sam. We’re here to sleep. Remember? That thing where you close your eyes and shut your freaky brain off? I’m tired as fuck, and I need to sleep”
“You can sleep in the car.”
“You’re tired as fuck too, Sam, and don’t think I don’t know. Look, let’s sleep for a few hours. We set the alarm and take off early tonight, before mid…” he trailed off when he noticed Sam’s stony expression. “What?”
“Dean, you’ll shift. I don’t want you to shift in the car! It’s kinda amazing that you didn’t freak in a motel-room, but a moving car? Are you really that crazy? Did you really forget that little glitch?”
“No … no. I just..:”
“You just didn’t think it through. Awesome. You can’t just ignore it! You can’t just… just … you’re not normal anymore-“
“Stop preaching, Sam!” Dean snarled back, sitting up and leaving the bed to reduce the height-advantage Sam had on him to at least a comfortable level. “What the hell is your problem? I’m the one who’s losing his mind every night, and yeah, so I forgot for a minute! I’ve not forgotten any freaking second these last days. Hell, it’s not like I’d go out to pick up a girl or anything! So sorry for raining on your parade, darling” He glared at Sam, trying to mask the feeling of despair that was spreading in his guts. Fuck, he’d just gotten used to feeling some lightness, after all the angel-war-apocalypse-Sam’s-turning-evil-Dad-disappearing-crap of the last years. He was so damn tired, and he wanted it all gone. Everything. He wanted to sleep and wake up like he was before. Simple, if not actually safe or anything. But simple.
“Dean…”
“Shut up, Sam. Just… shut up”. And he slipped past his brother and out the door, not bothering to turn around. Before Sam could say anything, he growled over his shoulder “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before the sun is down”.
***
Dean was back two hours later, silent and broody, and Sam did not secretly sniff at him to find out if he’d drunken alcohol. It was a close call, but he managed to stop himself. Without a word, Dean held up the plastic-bags from the pet-store that had been in the car still and took out the collar, staring at it and the leash with disgust.
Sam watched as his older brother put the leather around his neck and only because he was feeling guilty for his outburst before did he watch him close enough to catch the tremor in his fingers, saw the shudder that ran over his spine. Still, Dean had slung the collar over his neck and tried to close the buckle. It didn’t seem to work right, though, and from where Sam was standing, it looked like his hands were trembling.
“Wait” Sam said and went over, standing right behind him “not too much. You’ve got a big mane, so don’t pull it too tight”. He grabbed his shoulder and turned the leather so the buckle was on the back, and Dean literally jumped away.
“Dean?”
“Uh… yeah…” Dean grinned manically, fingers working against each other, hands smoothing over the cloth of his jeans. Over and over and over and over. He didn’t meet his brother’s eyes, was skittish and when Sam took a step closer to calm him down, hands spread wide, Dean shifted backwards until his legs hit the bed, then sideways. Away from Sam.
“Dean? You ok?”
“Yes, yes. Fine, I’m fine, Sam. Uh, just startled me. Dude. I get it, I’ll … I’ll do it, but th-thanks.”
He hurried to the bathroom, never leaving his back to Sam and peeking up every two steps as if he was reassuring himself that his brother was still where he left him. And really, who could blame him? If he’d ever been into collars and such, Hell had certainly put a damper to that.
Sam bit his lip. He should’ve thought about that before acting and shaking his brother so much that he was hiding himself away, probably trying hard to not completely lose it.
A clang and a “Shit” from the bathroom made him look up.
“Dean?”
“Uh…”
Sam stepped to the open door. He’d not followed, knowing he wasn’t strictly banned but feeling the need to give his brother some space. Now, though, help was needed, not space.
Dean stood in front of the mirror, head hung in shame or maybe resignation, the collar in a tight grip. There was a chip missing in the sink, probably from where the heavy buckle had hit the cheap porcelain when the collar had either slipped or had been thrown. Dean’s shoulders were trembling slightly. Just a little, but Sam knew his brother’s movements better than his own, and he could see it.
“Let me help, ok?” he asked, deliberately speaking low, staying outside the door to leave room for escape.
His brother didn’t look up but held out the hand with the leather-band. Carefully, Sam slipped behind him and placed the ugly black thing around his neck. When the leather touched skin, Dean froze and Sam stopped moving, didn’t do anything but watch in the mirror the man he’d known all his life, in one form or another, eyes screwed shut and gripping the counter so hard that his knuckles were bone- white.
With a dry tongue, Sam started to whisper “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll be… I just pull the leather through here, not too tight. Uhm, don’t… it’ll be a bit cold, I guess, when the metal goes on the skin…” just babbling along to make sure his brother knew who was behind him, knew he wasn’t Down There.
Slowly, Dean unfroze and bent his neck so Sam could work easier with the buckle. The leather was stiff, even though they had invested in the more expensive, doubly padded collar instead of the cheaper single-layer leather.
When Sam looked up into the mirror, he was stunned: his hard-backed, cocky, never-back-down brother had bent his head forward, baring his neck to Sam, whose larger frame was nearly looming over him, making Dean look oddly small and vulnerable. Up close, the fine sheen of sweat on his neck and forehead was visible and the smell of fear was heavy enough to fill Sam’s senses, the shallow breaths shaky and hitched while Sam was as calm as he could be, breathing in Dean’s terror and trying hard to give some of his own calm to him. The skin under his hands was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.
It was an odd sight and situation. It showed so much more trust to him than any outsider would ever see. They’d never get how much it meant for Dean to wear a collar, even if it was put on voluntarily, and couldn’t ever understand how much baring his neck like this took out of his brother.
But Sam knew. He knew that Dean hated this more than any normal person would, knew the silent, downplayed suffering in front of him equaled a freak-out of epic proportions to any sane, normal person. Anyone but Dean.
Sam knew the signs because he’d seen it on him more than once. Not just this last year, but ever since he’d returned from Hell. Sam’d long ago chosen to ignore it, to not vocalize his concern. Not by choice but by not getting any response. He couldn’t do more than offer to listen whenever Dean wanted to talk, and he had to force himself to not keep digging.
He wasn’t one to throw stones, since he had his own problems. He might not really remember The Cage, but there were flashes, memories of memories, like déjà-vu but even more indistinct, even less clear. They came when he stood too close to the fire from a salt-and-burn, smelled charred bacon or, strangely, when he heard a baby cry.
He‘d seen that Dean went slightly pale whenever he was restrained, and Sam had the same issues. But that, the two of them could handle, could live with, could work through. Mostly because they had to. Apparently, a collar was too close to unbearable for his brother, though, and Sam hoped this wouldn’t turn into a regular thing. Dean staying a wolf was just not an option.
He slipped the last piece of leather into the flap and only now noticed that his throat was parched and his voice rough. He coughed and smiled into the mirror, clapping his brother on the shoulder.
“That’s it”
Seeing Dean look up, noticing the heavy swallow and watching the leather move with the adams-apple, a sudden burst of power and strength deep in his bones rushed over Sam, not unlike the demon-blood had felt, exhilarating and oh-so-wicked.
As fast as it had come, Sam shoved it back down, not allowing it more than a brief flash. This felt wrong, so wrong, and yet it was sweet and tantalizing. Like some invisible balance had shifted, some weight put on him that was his to use, to form and to control. But also to protect, and that feeling of protectiveness was what he held on to, what felt safe, not tainted like when he’d been with Ruby. Dean was in his hands. Without him, the wolf would be lost, and with it Dean. That was… a heady thrill, terrifying. Sam’d already experienced what it felt like to lose the wolf, the terror and fear, and he’d witnessed his brother die over and over and still wasn’t used to the feeling of loss it brought. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
He’d put a collar on him and he’d buckle a leash to the collar and he’d use the freaking muzzle he’d purchased if it meant that Dean would be safe, even if he hated the idea and feared his brother’s hatred for doing it. It was a familiar feeling, dangerous even, but the basics of the year after Dean’d returned from Hell stayed the same: He would protect his family however necessary, even if it meant to cause some discomfort. He’d just be smarter about it and trust his instincts, not that of some Hell-bitch with pretty brown eyes.
Sam straightened and took a step away from his brother, coughing and turning back to the other room, to the computer. “Ok. You’re gonna be fine. Nothing to worry about.”
He could hear Dean swallow, the slight click of his throat.
“Yeah” the answer was rough, was trying for normal and damn it all, Sam would let it go. “So, uh, I think we should wait for me to turn and then you’ll … uh, get me in the car?” Sam turned when the voice was closer than the bathroom, seeing Dean had sat down on one of the beds and taken off his shoes “Think I’ll follow? Or use the leash?”
Sam smiled but wasn’t sure. He was pretty certain that his brother would follow him wherever he went, no matter what form, but how much Dean was there in wolf? He eyed the leash and shrugged. “I think it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”
Dean nodded, crawled back on the lumpy mattress, moved until he’d found a comfortable spot and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long until his breathing evened out, and Sam decided that he’d read enough about wolves for today, even though it was interesting and they bore enough resemblance to his brother to be remarkable. He went over to his own bed, set the alarm to an hour before midnight and lay back, trying to relax.
He was nearly under when he heard a silent groan from Dean, not really unexpected.
Ironically, Dean’s nightmares came out to play and wreck havoc most when there was nothing to hunt, nothing to do, no recent horror to get over. Free-time should be used for relaxation, not for waking up shivering and sweat-soaked and sometimes needing to be rescued by your brother from some hard-clinging scene in your head that had you moaning in pain and fear.
Sam knew from personal experience, though, that the dreams didn’t care about the word ‘holiday’ all that much. His own nightmares weren’t as clear as Dean’s, or so he assumed. More shadows and hidden memories of bad things, but that didn’t mean they were less disturbing. Maybe even more so.
There was some shuffling, some hitched breaths and broken-off moans and Sam waited for it to get worse. It sometimes did, causing Dean to shake and groan and sigh in pain, which was when he needed to be woken up or it would get really nasty. Sam’d figured that out from trial and error, because it’d be easier to carry the Impala than to make the stubborn jerk talk about his nightmares.
Weirdly enough, he had no problems to talk about Sam’s nightmares.
It had taken some time for Sam to realize that Dean wasn’t trying to shove his issues away - not more than usual at least - but that he saw their experiences as completely different and the results should therefore be different as well.
They weren’t; both had nightmares, flashbacks and bouts of unexplainable anger, followed by gut-wrenching sorrow, spiced up with manically good moods, and for some reason, the fact that both brothers should show the same symptoms pissed Dean off. Sometimes Sam thought that his brother was embarrassed about the lingering effects of Hell, that because he was there less time than Sam was in the Cage, he should’ve been over the crap already.
Once, Sam had tried talking about that, but he’d been shot down fast and hard and had come to the conclusion that torturing souls because he was too weak to hold on any longer was reason enough in Dean’s head to have deserved Hell, no matter how good you might have started out.
For Dean, Sam’s issues were a badge of honor, where his own were a sign of weakness and should’ve been gone a long time ago, no matter what anyone else said. When he’d once carefully asked if maybe their father had never been meant to break the seal, tentatively suggested that Alistair had lied and John’d never been given the choice, Dean had stared at him hard and long before leaving the room and staying away for two nights. Sam’d never asked again, or voiced any of his thoughts about Dad’s time in Hell to his brother.
The shuffling on the next bed didn’t get worse. Instead the breathing evened out again and piece by piece, Sam let himself relax again and finally fell asleep.
***
When the alarm from Sam’s cell went off, Dean had already been awake for a while. Not really long, but long enough.
He’d woken from a nightmare, nothing new, just the same old stuff, but for a second after waking, in the space between dream and reality, he’d felt the leather at his neck and panicked. He’d been there, not just believed but known that he was in Hell, that he’d never left and the whole sordid story of over two years and angels and Lucifer was nothing but an exceptionally cruel mindfuck presented by Alistair.
It had taken minutes of slow, deliberate breaths to get the shivers back under control and stop the tears from falling, and although it was disgusting, the unusually heavy smell of stale cigarette-smoke, cheap detergent and lingering sweat that had the room reeking of years worth of neglect helped with finding his center and back to now. Sam hadn’t woken for once, and he didn’t seem to have his own nightmares today for which Dean was grateful. As much as his dreams freaked him out, his brother’s made him want to hide under a rock and only come out when they had passed.
He never did, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch Sam stare wide-eyed into some unseen horror, stiff as a plank, and try to get him to wake up, all the while knowing that whatever his own experiences had taught him, they were nothing like what Sam was facing again in his dreams.
When Dean’d finally realized that this was reality and he was wearing the collar for a completely different reason than before, it was nearly time to wake up anyway and he’d grabbed the laptop to send an e-mail to Ben. The leather was itchy where it shifted against his neck when he moved, but he didn't want to take it off. Sure, it would be possible, they still had time enough, but he was trying to get used to it, hoping that his wolf-him would then accept it easier. Another reason was that wearing it already would soften the stiff material and warm the metal, and yes, there was the firm belief in facing his fears to overcome them. It wouldn't do any good to one day freeze and get the shakes just because some villain had the brilliant idea to give him a collar.
He’d just hit ‘Send’ when the cell peeped and Sam woke with a start. “Holy… Dean?”
“The one and only” he teased, closed the laptop and stood up. “Gonna skip the shower, not that my cute little necklace shrinks or somethin’”
“Fine with me, but brush your teeth. Doggy-breath’s bad enough but combined with your own … whew,” Sam bantered back, even though his heart didn’t seem to be fully in it. “I’ll get some coffee, there’s still time till midnight.”
Dean just nodded and went to the bathroom, trying hard to ignore his image in the mirror. It was awkward and in the end, he just bit the bullet and looked.
The leather was a bit rough still, and the collar hung loose around his neck. It was too tight to get it up over his head, but there was room enough to put his whole hand through the loop, and it didn’t restrict him in any way. The metal had warmed during sleep and if it wouldn’t rub against his skin on the back of his neck, he might’ve even been able to ignore it completely.
And it didn’ look too bad, a bit kinky, maybe. It was just the dog-look he couldn’t ignore.
”Good boy, Dean, come here, I’ll show you something”
When Dean’d first heard Bobby call his dogs ‘Good boys’ in the same voice his dad would praise Dean, a world had shattered. He’d been young and stupid then, teenage-hormones wracking havoc with his brain. For a while, he’d nearly cried at night, woken from dreams where his dad just left him at a shelter or dropped him off with someone to train him. He’d been terrified to be left alone, so much so that he’d been willing to leave Sammy just so his father wouldn’t be able to skip on him.
Oh, he’d gotten over that stupid idea fast. Faster than he’d liked, really, because the pure terror in Dad’s eyes when Dean’d been taken and had nearly died for the first time, the relief and love that shone in them when he’d gotten him back, the power of the hug he’d given Dean when he was safe had told him more than any words ever could.
He’d taken the punishment gladly, knowing deep in his heart that his dad wouldn’t bother if he really thought of him as a dog. But it had still been close enough to the surface to come back up and bury him in despair when he’d realized his father finally had abandoned him, had left him alone.
Years later, after he’d given in, Alistair had used the same sentence, the same voice-coloring to praise him on a particularly well-carved piece of soul, but there hadn’t been any affection in it. Only insult and degradation, usually followed by a tug on his chain to get him back to his Master’s heels.
“Good boy my ass” he muttered to his reflection, baring his teeth until it reminded him too much of a snarling dog. “Wolf, not dog” he whispered “wolf. It’s not the same…”
Before he could get even crazier and started to talk with his toothbrush or something, he heard Sam come back in and he smelled the coffee-aroma wafting in with him.
Coffee tasted horrible with toothpaste, so he just rinsed his mouth and grinned at himself. Sam would have to deal with his breath, he decided.
Sam would have to deal with a lot more than just breath, Dean knew a few minutes later. There was just no way wolf-him wouldn’t be cranky after so long without coffee, and foamy milk with chocolate-syrup and a hint of espresso was no substitute, no matter how nice the thought and how admittedly tasty the crap was.
So yeah, he’d drunk it and tried to ignore the delicious, mouth-watering smell from Sam’s cup. Why’d his brother have to get the really good stuff, now of all times? Usually Sam went for cheap and fast, just like Dean, and left the girly stuff for special occasions. Now though the scent suggested that the coffee was of a good brand, strong and heady and …
Sighing, he took another sip of his milky drink, trying to pretend he enjoyed it. Because even though he’d bitched at Sam for quite some time, and would probably continue to do so while his …condition was as it was, it felt kinda good that Sam remembered this stuff and was thinking about his health. It was a bit cute, even, so yeah.
Milk wasn’t terribly healthy for canines, Dean’d read yesterday, but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. Because he wouldn’t stay a wolf, so there.
“Now what? We sit here and wait until I turn?”
“Uh…yeah?” Sam answered, a frown on his face. “You got a better idea?”
He didn’t, so he sighed and leaned back against the squeaky chair, drumming his fingers on the horribly green table-top. “How long till midnight?”
“’Bout fifty minutes”
“Hm”
More drumming, some hidden glances from Sam, some covert glances from Dean.
“Anything on TV?”
“It’s broken, I checked while you were talking to Bobby.”
“Oh.”
“How about some poker?”
A relieved sigh from Sam and a nearly happy smile and Dean got the cards while Sam grabbed the stash of candy that was their usual poker-stake whenever they didn’t have enough coins to play for money.
A few hands in, Dean had forgotten about midnight and was so concentrated on his cards that he didn’t notice Sam’s uncomfortable stare until his brother coughed into his hand.
“What?”
“Uh… It’s kinda nearly midnight. And… you maybe should… uh…”
“What? I should what? Hey, I don’t know what happens, so gimme a clue here, Sam! Only thing I remember was that it hurt like a bitch, and that was the first time.”
Did he imagine Sam flushing red? “Maybe you should … undress?”
“Un…what?” Dean growled, because there wasn’t much modesty left between them, growing up and sticking as close together as they had, but they didn’t ask the other to undress as long as there was no injury to sew shut.
Sam answered fast and low, not really looking up, moving around the ugly room to not meet his eye. “You rip apart your clothes when you’re a wolf and we don’t have that many and there won’t be time to buy more and I dunno I thought you would maybe wanna save the clothes you still have and there is …” he trailed off and Dean huffed, annoyed.
Yeah, Sam was right about that. Whenever he woke up after turning back, he was naked and even though he’d never consciously thought about his clothes, it made a lot of sense to take them off before turning. Just as it’d made a lot of sense to put the collar on while human.
He didn’t like it, though, not one bit.
Grumbling insults to some unknown power that was at fault for this situation, Dean went into the bathroom and undressed, wearing only a bath-towel when he came back into the room.
Sam was sitting like a puddle of misery on his bed, staring at the puke-brown floor and Dean’s anger melted away. Wasn’t Sam’s fault.
“Nothing you haven’t seen, Sammy” he grinned and flopped on the bed, trying for levity and stuffing every bit of discomfort deep into his mind, closing the door after it and eating the key. This was just him relaxing on the bed after a shower, nothing worse. Just him, wearing a tiny towel like he’d done millions of times in front of Sam, not even the most exhibitionistic pose Sam’d ever seen him in. The leather-band on his neck shouldn’t make much of a difference, but it did, Hell, it did. “If someone comes in, he’s gonna believe he stepped into some weird kinky sex-scene” he joked, feeling anything but funny, but Sam smiled a little and he relaxed.
“You wish” his brother said and shuffled back so he was with his back against the headboard, legs spread out in front of him. “I was thinking… you didn’t seem to have so much of a problem shifting when you were asleep. So maybe… maybe you hurt so much the first time because you were fighting it? You were fighting it, right?”
Dean frowned, thinking back to the little wooded area, only two nights ago. “Sure I was” he confirmed. “So, you think I should just… relax? Or what?”
“I… I don’t know” Sam deflated. “I just don’t really… Maybe?”
It sounded reasonable and Dean tried to find a comfortable position on the bed, covered himself a bit more with the thin, scratchy, horribly smelly blanket - man, did this room reek! - and told himself he did it only because it was a bit chilly.
Relax, relax, relax… he told himself, cramping his hands into the blanket in the effort to do so. Relax, relax, relaxrelaxrelaxrelaxrelaxfreakingrelax!
“Dean.”
“What?” he grit out, knowing he was making an ass of himself but couldn’t…
“…so close, no matter how far…” Sam started, and Dean huffed out a laugh, losing some tension in his body. He started to hum with his brother, both absolutely off-key. Sam more often than not didn’t know the text and simply hummed. It didn’t matter how horribly they sounded, it worked.
Until a cramp in his calf had Dean upright in bed. “Holy fuck!” Before he could jump on his toes to make it go away, his fingers cramped as well and his toes followed suit. His spine seemed to want to crawl out of his back and he moaned, not even able to make an effort to hold it down. He could hear Sam shouting something, felt his hands on his skin.
“Don’t fight it, Dean! Relax, I got ya. Don’t fight it.”
“M not” he groaned, his voice shot to hell already. He howled in pain when some ligaments shifted, elongated and others shortened. Still, Sam’s hand on him, his voice in his ears did make it easier, or maybe his body had practice. He let himself sink into the mattress and tried to think of nothing. This wasn’t even half as bad as Hell, and he wouldn’t have to face it for long.
Relaxrelaxrelax he told himself, hearing every breath Sam took as loud as a tornado and the sound of the cars from the highway like he was standing next to it. The room didn’t just reek anymore, it was drilling spikes of painful scents into his nose and right up to his brain. He heard himself howl again and tried to let his mind step away, observe the sensations for the sake of remembering them later.
When he could smell Sam’s tears, he was already four-legged and panting in exhaustion.
Chapter 10