SPN FIC: A Year and a Day - part fifteen

[maygra]

A Year and a Day - part fifteen
by Maygra

Dean, Sam, Bobby, possibly Dean/Sam.
R overall
WIP

Head's up: Likely to come a little slower because of, you know, having to work and stuff during the week.

The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the CW. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.

Notes: I'm inflicting a WIP on you all, because I'm having a hell of time getting my word count out and thus, feel the need to put it out there as an impetus to finish.

Summary: Breaking the deal Dean made was always a given. How Sam would do it, not so much.

Two recording spirits, reading
All his life's minutest part,
Looking in his soul, and listening
To the beatings of his heart;
Each, with pen of fire electric,
Writes the good or evil wrought;-
Writes with truth that adds not, errs not,
Purpose-action-word, and thought.

~ Forgiveness -John Critchley Prince

+++++



day 84

The only thing familiar about Palo Alto was the cemetery where Jessica was buried.

It wasn't that the university had changed, or even the area -- just that every time Dean had been here, including the times when Sam hadn't known, his entire focus had been on Sam. Everything else faded into the background.

It took him a couple of times driving around the block to realize he really was where Sam's apartment had stood. It had been rebuilt -- entirely from the looks of it, because gone were the somewhat vintage arches of the doorway, the solid look of the place with it's stone and brick. In it's place was a structure that stood out less but probably had better wiring, very likely an elevator instead of the stairs, double paned glass, environmentally friendly siding and not a ounce of character or interest.

Jessica's grave was clear too. Kept up, the marble still sleek and shiny, her picture a little faded. There were no fresh flowers, no pebbles on the top of the marker, no tokens of any kind. Dean ran his fingers through the grass at the base of the headstone to see if it had been disturbed; if there were loose clods to indicate Sam might have been here and buried something new in the dirt near his lost love.

Had it really been three years? Pushing toward four?

He'd survived his thirtieth birthday, something he might not have believed, something he still wasn't sure was actually the way it was meant to be. They hadn't marked it, he and Sam -- they'd been kind of busy. He supposed he hadn't actually survived it by much if you looked at it from a certain way.

Three years meant there wouldn't be that many people around who would even remember Sam. Maybe a few of his professors, but chances were all his friends, his peers, had already either graduated or moved on. Started families, started their lives, heading down the road toward their own futures.

Maybe Bobby had been right. There wasn't much to find here, nothing to see. Move along, move along…

He resisted that tiny voice out of sheer stubbornness. He'd come all this way. Flashing Sam's picture around amid the students that seemed to forever be gathered in the green spaces between Stanford's impressive buildings would be no more a waste of time than the rest of the trip.

A couple of hours, then maybe avail himself of Stanford's impressive library and see if he could rattle any theories free.

Sam's picture gathered nothing but a couple of girls saying they thought Sam was cute. Dean didn't argue with them.

The library was kind of overwhelmingly impressive, not necessarily in a good way. He flashed Sam's picture at the circulation desk but the student interns there didn't recognize him, and chances were, any memories the actual staff librarians might have would be three years old, but still...if Sam had been looking for information, if he'd been here at all, he'd have come here.

Yeah, he was really reaching at this point, but it mattered less. "Look, if I leave a copy of this and my cell phone, could you show it to the rest of the staff -- just in case?'

The kid shrugged and said sure and directed Dean to the line of copiers, and gave him a ticket with a code.

Dean had to fiddle with it. The picture wasn't large, and a copy of it was mostly a blur of grey lines, even if he enlarged it a little. Dean could recognize Sam in it, but he doubted anyone else would. There was a pretty hi-tech looking color copier but he had to wait for it behind a jock-looking red-head making images of larger photos.

"You just got one?" the guys said and Dean nodded. "Go ahead then, I'm going to be awhile," he offered.

"Thanks, man," Dean said but then stared at the array of menu selections and options. He wasn't an idiot, but the control panel on this thing looked like it required a pilot's license.

The guy grinned at him. "What are you trying to do?"

"I just need to make a copy of this picture, maybe make it a little larger."

The only glanced at the small photo in Dean's hand but nodded. "Maybe double the size -- resolution will go to hell if you go much higher," he said. "Image processing, color…150%, there," he said and let Dean slide the picture onto the glass.

Sounded kind of like a jet engine for that matter. He pulled the copy out and stared at it. Not bad. "Thanks," he said and laid it on top, punched the machine for a couple of additional copies, since he was standing there.

"Who is that?"

"My brother," Dean said gathering up his other copies and then noticed the guy staring at Sam's picture like he'd seen a ghost. Dean's eyes narrowed. "You seen him?"

The guy was looking a little white around the mouth. "Your brother…"

"Yeah. Sam. He's missing. Has been for a couple of months."

"From here?"

"No. Last time anyone saw him was in South Dakota. Do you know him? Have you seen him?"

"I…he looks really familiar," the guys said but there was some color coming back into his face. He glanced at Dean then back at the picture. "Does he have…I mean, did he have a tattoo…"

"Yeah. He does. Big one…you've seen him. When? Where?"

"I…look. I'm not sure it's him. It was…a month or so ago. On a survey expedition into Death Valley -- Racetrak Playa. You know it?"

The name nicked at the corner of Dean's brain, "I've heard of it…something about the rocks. The moving rocks."

"Yeah…I think he was there but…"

"But what?"

"I think he might be…I think he was a ghost."

It didn't take much convincing to get the guy to take the conversation elsewhere.

A couple of beers later, Greg looked less shaken but sounded less confident. "I can't even be sure. I mean the whole thing was freaky in that I dropped too much acid in high school way," Greg said.

Dean was pretty sure Greg had never dropped acid in his life.

"Nobody else saw him. I'm not even sure I did."

"Well, you saw something that looked a lot like my brother."

"Yeah. I mean, he looked older than in your picture."

"It's few years old. He got bigger."

"He was a student here?"

Dean nodded. "Close to graduation. Was going into law. So, how many roads are there into the playa?"

"There's just one and it's not much of a road. That was part of why it was so weird. There's not many ways in or out and he just showed up out of nowhere, from a part of the canyon that's all cliff. He said his name was Jacob."

"Did he?" Dean asked.

"Well -- actually he said I could call him that, but he didn't stick around to talk. Told me to get back in my car and then walked away. Then the rocks moved. They moved."

There was nothing much else Greg could tell him, but he told him how to get in the playa, warned him that he'd rip the undercarriage of the Impala to shreds if he tried driving it up the tract and gave Dean his cell phone number in case he found anything.

He called Bobby first and Bobby wondered if Sam hadn't called elementals after all.

"Greg saw him the day that bitch gave me up," Dean said. "It's in the middle of fucking Death Valley, Bobby. Why there?"

"I don't know. Challenges tend to take place in desolate places, places of suffering and trial. Death Valley is certainly that. It didn't get that name on a whim. Chances are he didn't expect anyone to be there. You going?"

"What do you think? I'm going to need to get a truck or something."

"All right. You head out there. I'll see if I've got anyone can set you up with something that won't leave you stranded there."

"Do you know somebody everywhere?"

Bobby snorted. "There's a reason why I warned your Daddy not to piss off everybody he met. Keep it in mind."

"People love me, Bobby," Dean said and grinned at Bobby's grunt.

A guy outside of Bakersfield set him up with a reconditioned military jeep and promised Dean's girl would be fine. He might even give her a nice detail, she was so pretty. There was a time when Dean might have worried more about leaving his baby with a stranger, but he right now, he felt like he was closer to Sam than he'd been in awhile. A little horse-trading got him supplies as well, Dean figuring he'd be there at least over night, maybe longer.

The Jeep rode like hell on the highway, but Dean could see that it was better for the rough roads he'd been warned of, and it seemed to be fine until he was a couple of miles outside of Keeler with dusk approaching.

The engine died with no warning in the middle of the road. He swore and got out and then stopped, feeling the sweat break out on his back and his throat dry up.

It wasn't much of a crossroads. The road he was traveling was paved, but the bisecting track was more dirt, overgrown and barely visible. More a double ridged path that park vehicles might use than an actual road.

It got very quiet and very dark, very quickly.

"Have you missed me, Dean? I've missed you."

He turned around with both gun and holy water at ready but she kept her distance. Not the same face, never the same face, but she had a type she liked -- dark hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders, her little black dress had a slit up the side that went to her waist and a neckline that dipped nearly as low.

Underneath all those curves and flirty smiles were claws and fangs and scales and a hunger for raw liver and bile, acid kisses and nails that could slice the skin from his bones while she licked the blood from his mouth. He could still taste it.

"I didn't call you."

"I know, baby. I'm hurt. No calls, no flowers. Just wham, bam, and not even a thank you, ma'am. I thought what we had was special," she said, circling around.

And suddenly she was on the other side of the jeep, leaning against the roll bar. "No traps. No wards. You're slipping, darling."

The bulk of the jeep between him and her wasn't much comfort.

"What do you want?"

She shrugged. "I told you. I missed you," she said and the "missed" came out with a hiss and flicker of her thick, forked tongue. "He's not there, you know."

"What? Who?"

"Sam. Sammy. Samuel. You'll find nothing but disappointment if you go."

"Oh, really," Dean said, forcing himself to speak slowly, keeping the barely bottled scream in the back of his throat. "What do you know about it? I hear he's making your kind nervous…"

She laughed and sprang into the seat with inhuman quickness and grace, standing on the seat to lean back against the steel frame, her dress slid up over pale hips and thighs when she braced one high-heeled foot on the dash. "Not nervous. Admiring really. We thought he'd really just kind of been a big joke, no balls, no guts…kind of pathetic. Not so much boy king as court jester, flailing around and all flash, no fire…but he surprised us, your Sam did. But you know what they say…too little, too late. You raised him up to be too selfish, Dean. Thinks too much of himself...not enough of others. Good for us, not so good for you."

"You know, your opinion is really not one I put much stock in," he said. "Get the hell off my car."

"Or what?" she said and hoisted herself up, bracing her legs wide across the framing, dress just barely falling between her thighs. "Come on, Dean. You're mine. You made the deal. Not nice to go back on a bargain. You do remember what could happen, don't you?"

He took a half step forward, staring up at her haggish face, seeing the glow in her eyes, and the barely holding façade of beauty.

"Could? I made good on my end," he said. "Not my fault you can't hold onto your winnings," he snarled and watched her eyes narrow. "That's it, isn't it? You can't touch Sam now. No take backs. You've got no leverage."

She sprang at him and he stumbled back. She didn't get quite close enough to touch. "You should know better than anyone that you don't count your winnings until the last hand's been dealt," she said, leaning in close. "Maybe you'll get the lucky draw, but what's it going to cost you, Dean? What's it going to cost Sam? There are worse things than death, don't you remember?"

He tried not to flinch but from her smile he knew he wasn't entirely successful. "You don't have him. That's good enough. You can't get to him. That's even better," he taunted.

"Really? You think the other side is kind, Dean? All the horror and turmoil in the world, wars and babies dying for no reason, things like us coming out of the dark? Do you see them stepping in, showing even the slightest compassion toward any human being, any living thing? Do they even offer you the chance to make a deal?"

"Maybe not," he said, through gritted teeth. She stank of sulfur. "But I don't see them ripping the hearts out of people, either."

"No? What do you think they are doing to him, Dean? Feeding him figs and grapes and patting his itty-bitty head?" she said from behind him, right into his ear. "Oh, wait, they are…they've got him chained up outside the gates, Dean, like a dog. Tossing him scraps when they think about him at all. He wants to ask them one small favor and they keep him dangling outside paradise like a dirty sheet while they debate if he's worthy to even ask. It's not warm in-between. It's cold and empty and they've stripped him of everything. They've got all of eternity to debate this…and really, Sam's not so pure as all that. Not anymore. You made sure of that, didn't you? Driving him to the edge, making him desperate. No concern for the living - he went from refusing to kill anything to not even blinking."

Dean swallowed, clenched his hands around the holy water and turned to face her. "But I'm here, aren't I?" he said tightly. "Right here, and you can't touch me."

The water seared through her dress to her flesh, shriveling it, revealing the monster underneath. She shrieked and scrambled back and he hit her again.

"You think our torments are unbearable?" she hissed. "He's outside of everything, Dean…able to see but not touch, his body's already shriveling and dying and his soul's clinging to it, there's no comfort and no end. Everything he ever wanted just out of his reach...your father's approval, your mother's love. Right there - and they don't even know he's begging at the gates. Untouched, unknown, no more than dirt beneath their feet. He'd come to us if they'd let him, cross the river and climb the cliffs…they keep you apart, not us--"

"In nomine patris…"

"At least I'm offering you damnation together!" she shrieked as he emptied the last of the holy water over her.

The words rolled off his tongue without a break, without hesitation and she shrieked, shuddered, exploded out of the girl with a crackle and spit and spun out into the darkness.

The girl lay there unmoving and Dean sank to his knees, stomach heaving and gut clenching until he vomited up more than just the food he'd eaten earlier in the day.

He couldn't think about it, wouldn't, just yet.

They lie. They lie. They lie. Over and over again, even after he'd stopped shaking and found strength enough to lift the girl into the back of the jeep and head back into Keeler.

They lie. They lie.

There was a FirstMed Clinic and Dean left the girl there. She wasn't hurt, just dazed and confused.

They lie. He told himself again as he found a place to stay for the night, sitting on a too soft motel bed.

Greg had said Sam was bruised and gaunt looking, even before he'd done whatever he'd done.

"They lie," he whispered into the darkness.

Except when they didn't.

+++++

part sixteen