Ides of the Mothmen WIP--Part 2
It has finally happened. Another update on one of my WIPs. This is very exciting. I may even have to throw old New Year's Eve confetti into the air. Many, many thanks to siberian_skys for doing a quick beta once she got to it. I promise your icons shall be done once I get back.
Title: Ides of the Mothmen
Author: MF Luder
Category: Sam/Dean, OFC, Dean/OFC
Summary: A simple poltergeist case turns into something much more haunting and mysterious. Clues towards an impending disaster are around every twist and turn, and three people seem to have the key. When Dean begins experiencing visions, will Sam think he's going crazy? How much can Dean take before he breaks?
Part 1 and the HUGE header can be found here
Part 2/6
Sam woke up feeling slightly chilled. He stretched out on the bed, scratching his stomach, slipping his fingers just below the waistband of his boxers to scratch at his hips, too.
He glanced over at Dean's bed. He wasn't there and the bed hadn't been slept in. What? Oh, he remembered now; they'd both fallen asleep some time during Lethal Weapon. He glanced down, but Dean wasn't next to him anymore-that was why he was so cold.
Must be in the shower then, Sam thought to himself. Dean was constantly taking cool showers, unable to stand the oppressive heat anymore than Sam could stand bone-chilling cold.
But there was no sound of running water. He forced himself off the surprisingly comfortable bed, and checked the bathroom. No Dean. He walked back out and noticed missing shoes. Maybe he'd gone on a run. Sam smiled at that thought. He really hadn't meant what he'd said about the crane and then when he'd seen Dean shirtless...
He shook his head, banishing that image. He caught the glint of keys on the bureau. So, maybe not. Sam slid on flip-flops and walked outside, around the building. Again, no Dean.
“Dean?” he called out, tentatively. Then louder, “Dean!”
Only birds answered him.
He stepped back inside, glancing at the clock. It was only six am. Dean was never up this early unless Sam forced him out of bed. Where the hell had he gone? The lake wasn't close enough for a swim and even then, he'd have taken the keys.
Sam looked at the doorway. The salt lines were scuffed.
“Shit.” Sam practically jumped to check their weapon cache inside the cabin. Nothing was missing. “Oh, Dean, what did you do?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot. He never went anywhere without a gun or weapon of some kind. Shit, shit, shit.
Sam quickly shimmied into a pair of jeans and slung on one of his sweatshirts, a gun, grabbed the keys and ran out the door.
“God, Dean, where are you?” he asked the sky.
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It had to be about twenty minutes later when he finally caught a glimpse of blue and light gold in the sea of green.
He found Dean slumped against a tree, skin turning pale, lips blue. He was wearing only boxers and his tennis shoes.
“Oh, my God, Dean.” Sam crouched down by Dean, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. He tapped it lightly. “Dean.”
No response.
“Dean,” a little more forceful. “Dean, dammit!”
Finally, his older brother stirred, slowly blinking his eyes open. He licked his lips and seemed to have problems focusing. “Sam?”
“Yeah.”
Dean's cracked lips turned up at the corners. “You look like you've seen a ghost, Sammy.”
“I--” Sam gawked. His brother was fucking half-naked in the middle of the forest and he took this time to joke? “What happened? Why are you out here?”
Dean's eyes slid shut. “So cold...”
Sam chided himself. Of course he was cold, it was freezing out here and dew had already formed, covering Dean in moisture. Sam quickly drew off his sweatshirt, wishing he'd thought to bring another, though how he could know Dean wouldn't even have a shirt on...He put it on Dean who didn't seem inclined to move.
“Come on, help me out here.” Sam put his shoulder under Dean's arm, slinging it across them, as he hefted Dean up. “I don't want to have to carry you.”
Dean managed to come to enough to walk back to the cabin, pride obviously still intact, Fortunately, they weren't, in reality, too far away. Making it back to the cabin, he tried to get Dean to stand by the sink, but Dean seemed to shy away from it and Sam ended up plopping him on the toilet seat as he turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm.
“Strip.”
“Bossy, bossy,” came Dean's quiet words, but he stripped, hesitating only a moment before he slid the boxers off, and after, didn't even try to cover himself.
Sam groaned inwardly. Not what he wanted to see this early in the morning. The things he did for his brother...
Finally, the water was warm enough and he and Dean both slid Dean into the tub and let the shower rain down on him. Sam stepped out for a minute, grabbing a clean towel, then went back in to sit on the toilet.
Dean was huddled under the cascading water, arms tight around his knees, looking like a lost little boy. Sam hadn't seem him so vulnerable-seeming since the shtriga a few years back.
He couldn't help but put a hand on Dean's back. Instead of shrugging him off like usual, Dean almost seemed to lean into it, turning his head just enough to rest in the crook of Sam's elbow.
“You ok?”
Dean nodded, but didn't seem to want to move.
Sam didn't really mind, Dean so rarely let Sam hold him-always the big, tough man. Sam was a touchy-feely person, most of the time. There were times since he'd rejoined with Dean he'd wished they could go back to the ease they'd had as kids.
When he asked, “What happened?” though, Dean immediately tensed.
Sam's hand was shrugged off and Dean turned to look at him. “You mind?”
“No,” Sam said, confused. He left the bathroom and five minutes later his brother was back out-almost deja vu of last night-only in a towel, grabbing his boxers and heading back into the bathroom to put them on.
Sam decided to speak up. “So--”
“No, I don't want to talk about it, Sam. I went out for a run and got lost. I was stupid. I sat down to get my bearings and must have fallen asleep, ok?”
“--you want to take a nap or go to the diner now?” Sam finished lamely.
Dean poked his head out of the bathroom, face covered in shaving cream. “Oh.” He looked abashed. “Umm, we can go to the diner right away. Just let me finish here.”
“Ok,” Sam replied.
When Dean exited the bathroom, Sam snuck past him to take a shower, listening to the sound of the TV. God, the crap he had to deal with from his brother.
Sam took himself in his hand, using the soap to ease the way, feeling himself harden.
Why couldn't Dean just fucking talk to him for once? They'd been on the road together ever since Jess had died. Two years. They'd killed that demon and Sam had stayed with him. He hadn't left like he'd wanted, like he'd planned. Because when it came down to it, he hadn't been able to leave Dean again.
His hand sped up, adding a little twist at the end of each stroke. He leaned his head back, mouth parting just a little.
He hadn't been able to stand the thought of Dean's eyes if he'd gone. He knew from the last time how broken they could look, how hard it was to walk away. And this time it had been impossible.
But would it be so hard for Dean to maybe acknowledge that for once? Sure, maybe he was afraid if he ever said something, that Sam might 'wake up' and leave him. And ok, maybe Sam had never said anything to discourage that thought. But still...
He was close, he could feel the build-up in his gut. Shame it wasn't someone else's hand. Another real human being. God, he was so lonely since Jess. If only it wasn't his own...
Dean's.
He shot right there, hand still jacking up and down even as he moaned quietly, afraid his brother could hear him over the TV.
He came down, breathing fast. Oh, shit that did not just happen. He was not going to start that again. No way. Fuck.
He rinsed off quickly, jumping out of the shower frustrated with himself. He wrapped a towel around his waist, but did nothing to his hair, leaving it dripping. The cold water actually felt good as it slid down his body in little rivulets.
“I'll be ready in just...” he faded off.
Dean had fallen asleep.
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Sam hadn't been able to fall back asleep and instead simply watched, concerned, while Dean had a three hour nap. When he woke up they went out to the diner to set the day's plan of attack.
They both had steaming cups of coffee in front of them, Dean had hash browns and an omelet, Sam with pancakes and ham. Sam had been observing Dean all morning; he was closed and drawn, his brow wrinkling at random moments, almost as if he was having an argument with himself.
“Dean,” Sam started.
His brother let out a huge sigh. “Earlier. I lied a little.”
“A little?” Sam scoffed, getting a glare in return.
“Yes, a little. See, I didn't go for a run.”
“Could have guessed that one,” Sam muttered.
“Look. Do you want to hear this or not?”
Sam shut up.
“Ok, then. I woke up in around five and couldn't sleep anymore, so I decided to go for a walk. I was so hot from being next to you and your furnace of a body, that I didn't think I'd end up needing a shirt. Besides, I hadn't planned on being gone for long. But then I got all mixed up in the woods and eventually sat down to try to figure out where the hell I was, and I must have dozed off.”
Dean looked satisfied with himself and took a deep sip of his coffee. But Sam knew he was lying. Dean's spot on the bed had been cold-he hadn't left at only five. And something had really been bugging him that morning. His nap had made him his usual cocky self, but earlier that morning, Dean had been terrified and confused.
“Why didn't you take a weapon? You never leave without one. You get upset because I don't leave a knife under my pillow like you do.”
Dean blinked and bit his lip. “I-I don't know.”
Sam decided not to push it, but he would figure out what was going on. “Alright,” he said, faking acquiescence, “just don't do it again, ok? I really don't want to have to manhandle you into the tub again.”
With a cheeky grin from Dean, everything was back to normal.
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An hour later they were on their way to see Abraham. Much as Sam hated to say it, the house looked more like a shack. At one time it had clearly been nice, but now several of the windows were broken, the garage roof had fallen in and vines grew up the siding. The lawn looked like it was reverting back to natural prairie levels.
Dean looked over at Sam with that patent eyebrow arch.
“Yeah, kind of sad, huh?”
Dean glanced away in that off-handed manner of his, shrugging. “Hey, man, it was you who suggested we visit the crazy guy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They waded through the grass, finding broken bits of an old front walk here and there. Sam stepped up to the door first, about to ring the bell when he noticed it was hanging from its box. He heard Dean chuckle behind him. Jerk.
He steeled himself and knocked on the door. They listened to some shuffling and a muffled, “Hold on there,” before the door opened.
Sam was greeted with exactly what Dean would call a hick. The man had on a trucker hat, a flannel shirt, a beer gut, and held a .45 in his hand. At least he was missing the mullet.
“Who're you?”
“Hi, Mr. Olsen?” Sam asked in a pleasant tone of voice.
“Yeah? What's it to ya?” came accompanied with a scowl.
“Well, sir, me and my--”
“If this is some sort of solicitation, I don't want it. And I don't want no Jehovah Witnesses, neither. I'm a law-abiding Christian and I don't need people coming around and bothering me.”
Sam was speechless. This was a new one in their book of weird responses. Dean stepped forward.
“Mr. Olsen...”
“You.” The man stared at Dean, scruff-covered jaw dropping.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you.”
The brothers exchanged a glance. “I think you must be mistaken, sir. I've never met you before.”
“Oh, no, course you haven't. But I know you. Come on, come in. Your friend can come too.”
Dumbfounded, they followed the man into his house, Sam asking silently what the hell was that, as Dean shrugged.
“Sit, sit.” They were ushered onto a couch that had seen better days in the eighties, next to a bright orange and rust-colored chair, that could have been said to look moldy. Sam wrinkled his nose.
Dean glanced at Sam and then leaned forward, hands on knees, and asked, “Sir--”
“Abraham, please. Or even Abe. Friends call me Abe.”
Sam couldn't imagine the guy had too many friends.
“Abe.” Sam noticed Dean shifting a little closer to him unconsciously, thighs brushing. “How is it you know me?”
“He's shown me you.”
“He?” Sam asked, getting a sharp glance from Abe.
“Yes, he. Now don't go making me sound crazy like everyone else around here. I know what I've seen and I know I ain't crazy. It's real.”
Sam decided to smooth things over. Hopefully. “Actually, Abe, Dean and I-I'm Sam, by the way-we're authors. We're writing about weird goings-on in various parts of the country. We came here to talk about what you've seen.”
“Authors, eh?” He scratched his chin. “Yeah, ok. So you believe in all that spooky stuff? You don't think I'm crazy?” He eyed them up and down.
“Not at all, Abe,” Dean spoke up. “Now, what do you mean by 'he'?”
“He doesn't have a name. But he's told me a lot of things. He said you'd be coming. He said you could help.”
“How can 'he' know these things? How can I help?” Dean sounded frustrated and his leg started bouncing like it did when he got really upset by something.
Sam laid a hand gently on the leg and looked at Dean concerned. Dean abruptly stopped and looked at Sam with unreadable eyes. It had to have something to do with whatever had happened that morning. It had to. Dean turned back to Abe, calm once more.
“Can you start at the beginning?”
The man nodded. “Can I get you fellas anything to drink?”
“Water,” they chorused.
Once Abe made it into the dining room, Sam turned to Dean. “What's up, dude? You're acting like you know what he's talking about. You're the one who thought this was all a dud. Now you're changing your tune?”
Dean refused to look at him. “I just think, maybe he's really seen this demon thing. Maybe he can...lead us to it. Or maybe it's really speaking to him and then we can find out more about it.” He finally glanced up, classic fake smile plastered on. “We wouldn't have to go to the library then. I don't think this town's would help us much, anyway.”
Sam opened his mouth to demand the truth but Abe came back at that moment, extending two, thankfully, clean water glasses at them.
“So the beginning, eh? Alrighty, then. It started in July of last summer. I woke up to this odd noise comin' from my TV. When I turned it off, my dog, Old Blue, started barking.”
Dean blanched and Sam felt shivers pass through him. “Old Blue?” Dean half-whispered.
“Yup. Most faithful dog a man could have. Least until that thing came.”
“Old...” Dean tied again. “Old Blue. What kind of dog was he?”
“Golden Retriever, course. Nothing better to have in these woods. I used to do a lot of huntin' till he ran away.”
“Ran away?” Dean asked.
“Yep, that night. Blue was barking at something and when I crouched down, there it was. Red eyes was all I could make out. Blue was itchin' to get out and I grabbed my rifle. I rattled the door at it and Blue, see, he was real spooked. So I was about to open the door when it rose up in front of me, to about your friend's height here, and then took off, letting out this awful screeching noise. I shot at it, but must have missed and Blue, poor Blue. He ran after it and I haven't seen him since.”
“Haven't...excuse me, where's your bathroom?”
Abe pointed down a hallway that wasn't lit.
“Thanks.”
Sam stared after his brother as he rushed to the bathroom.
“Your friend-he alright?”
“Yeah, he hasn't been feeling too well lately,” Sam lied easily.
“I see. You want to wait for him, then?”
“Actually,” Sam thought a moment. “Would you mind if we came back, maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. I got no where to be. Any time after noon's good.”
“Alright, thank you, Abe. We'll be gone as soon as Dean's ok.”
The man just nodded understandingly.
Sam walked to the bathroom, refraining from plugging his ears when he heard the plop of vomit into the toilet. A moment later it stopped.
“Dean?” He tapped on the door, then noticed it wasn't fully shut. He stepped in.
Dean was hunched over the seat, and when he glanced up, his eyes were haunted and had large circles around them, as though he hadn't gotten any sleep.
“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed as he sat on the tub ledge, taking Dean's head into his lap. “You ok now?”
Dean nodded slightly and Sam flushed the toilet. He ran a hand through his brother's hair; it stood on end, full of sweat and Dean's pomade, but Sam didn't think Dean would actually care right now. Dean kept shivering in his jacket despite the sweat so Sam rubbed his hand along the outside of the soft leather arms, rubbing into Dean's wrists, trying to get blood flowing.
“Too much pie, huh?” Sam joked quietly.
Dean smiled weakly at him. They sat like that for a minute or two before Dean shifted, standing, and rinsed his mouth out. It told a lot about his condition that he didn't argue when Sam pushed him out Abe's front door and to the car, calling a brief “thanks” over his shoulder.
They were silent the entire way back to their cabin and when Sam opened the door, Dean quickly stripped and then slid into his own bed, under the covers, head turned away from Sam. Sam turned off the air conditioning and simply pulled off an extra layer.
Dean slept for several hours while Sam paced the room, trying to figure out what could be wrong. Dean had gotten stressed over some stupid dog's name. And gotten sick. Now, maybe he really was just ill. After all, sleeping naked in the northern Minnesota woods at early hours was not conducive to staying well. Perfect conditions for pneumonia, even. But Dean didn't usually get sick, in fact, rarely did either one of them fall ill.
Instead, it seemed something about what Abraham had said caused this. And that was more frightening. To know something had Dean that shook up...
“Sam,” Dean's voice rasped from the bed and he quickly turned to look at his brother.
Dean was still asleep, but he'd managed to twist the blankets wickedly around his legs and was shivering.
“Goddamn, Dean,” Sam whispered, walking over. He laid a hand on Dean's brow and found it clammy. When Dean's teeth started chattering, Sam let out a huff of exasperation and untangled Dean from the blankets, smoothing them out and then crawled in next to his brother.
Rolling Dean into his embrace, he rested his chin on Dean's head. His brother moaned and moved closer towards Sam and whispered a broken, “Sammy”. Had Sam not known better, he might have guessed Dean was having a different kind of 'dream', but he knew by the way he was tensed, even in sleep, and clutched at his brother's arm, that he sought Sam as some kind of life line, rather than because of a kinky dream.
He rubbed his hand up and down the older's chest and abdomen in a soothing way and a few minutes later, Dean calmed down enough to begin snoring softly and Sam relaxed as well. He faded out to the feeling of Dean's chest rising and falling against his hand.
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They both woke around six in the evening to the rumble of Dean's stomach. Sam laughed at it, startling Dean awake who looked embarrassedly at his stomach. Realizing Sam's arm was around him, Dean practically jumped out of bed.
“Jesus, Sammy. Getting' your rocks off while I'm asleep?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Were that my plan, you think I'd do it fully dressed?” Noticing the stifled air now that his thoughts weren't on a sick Dean, he began unbuttoning his top layer.
“Oh, brother,” Dean said as he ran to the bathroom, escaping any sight of Sam's bare skin as he changed shirts.
When Dean came back, Sam made sure to be both serious and light-hearted at the same time. “Feeling better now?”
“Much,” Dean said with a smile. “And ready to eat a horse.”
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After stuffing their faces and with a parting wink from Elizabeth, Sam leaned back in the booth. “So, I told Abraham we'd be back tomorrow. That cool with you?”
“Definitely. Say, since we have nothing to do till tomorrow, what do you say to stopping by that movie theater?”
Sam nearly choked on his sip of soda. “Excuse me? Did my brother just suggest doing something fun that didn't involve screwing some girl or drinking and playing darts?”
Dean chuckled and at that moment, Sam would have done anything he'd said, so relieved was he to see his confident brother back.
“Really, Sam. I can on occasion think of something besides women. Sometimes it's men. And, if you hadn't noticed, most of this town, so far as we've seen, is either under eighteen or over forty. Odd age gap, actually,” Dean mused and Sam kicked him under the table.
“Don't try to sound smart. Sure, we can go. Do you have any clue what's playing?”
“Nah. Guess we'll find out, huh?”
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A little after nine, they exited the theater into a faint dusk, Dean jumping about like a ten-year-old, brandishing a fake sword, pretending to duel like the protagonist in the last scene.
Sam couldn't help laughing at his brother's behavior. “You know, for all your skills with guns and knives, you couldn't handle a sword worth shit. Not to mention that chivalry is truly dead when it comes to you.”
“Speak for yourself, Geek Boy. If I had a real sword, I'd whup your ass with it. And, I can be quite chivalrous.”
To prove his point, he opened the door for the next person who came out of the theater with a flourish, bowing. When Dean stopped laughing and drew in a short breath, Sam switched his gaze from Dean to whoever had just come out the door.
She was small, only coming up to Dean's shoulder. Her hair was Dean's exact shade, but fell down in long tresses that curled here and there. She wore a light cream sweater despite the heat and a light green skirt that fell to her ankles. It gave her an exotic Bohemian look when paired with her light skin and dark eyes. She was leading a little boy before her, her long fingers resting on his shoulders. His hair was a dark black and he walked more confidently than any little kid Sam had ever seen.
“Hel-hello,” Dean stumbled, his breath clearly taken away at the sight of the woman. Sam sucked in his own breath and suppressed any feeling of jealousy that might worm its way into his heart or mind.
“Hi,” her voice was lilting, with a faint Slavic accent to it.
The little boy looked up at Dean. “Did you just see the movie about the knight? I wanted to see it, but Mama wouldn't let me.”
The woman smiled down at her son. “You're too young, dear. This man wouldn't get nightmares after seeing it.”
“Aw, Mama,” the boy whined, “I wouldn't be scared-I promise!”
Sam snickered.
“Your mom's right there, kid,” Dean said as the little boy pouted. Dean offered out his hand to the woman, grin on his face. “Dean.”
“I'm Elena, and this is Nikolai.” She turned to Sam. “And you are...?”
“I'm Sam, I'm his--”
Dean cut him off. “He's my brother.”
“I might have guessed,” she laughed lightly. “Only a brother would put up with his company jumping around like Nikolai might do.”
Sam grinned, he couldn't help it. Elena was quite charming. He shot a glare at Dean, though. They hadn't brought up the brother thing yet. Dean smiled back at him, eyes clearly reading, hey I found a hot girl-sorry bro.
“You're new around here, no?” she asked politely.
“Well, my brother and I, we're authors, you see. Here to do a bit of an expose of the weird happenings that go on in northern Minnesota.”
Sam watched as Elena's eyes suddenly became cool and she clutched Nikolai a little closer to her. Dean didn't notice, though, infatuated as he was.
“Weird happenings?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know, UFOs, Bigfoot-all those kind of things.”
“And you believe it?”
“Sometimes, yeah. But that's the whole reason we're writing about it. Separate fact from fiction and all,” Dean waved a hand vaguely.
Nikolai stared at him, then pulled away from his mother's grasp and touched Dean's hand. Dean looked down, surprised.
“Mama,” Nikolai said, turning back to Elena, though he still held Dean's hand. “He's seen it.” He turned back to Dean. “You have, haven't you, Mister?”
Elena pulled him back. “Nonsense, honey. That was just a dream, remember?” But she seemed to look at Dean a little different, calculating, but not harsh anymore. She continued, “Nikolai, see, likes to confuse my Russian tales with reality. I always figure if only he'd had a father all this time to show him these things weren't true...”
Dean finally let go of the theater door, and ushered them onto the bench Sam was sitting on already. When Nikolai climbed into his lap, Dean looked down, but did nothing further. “Your husband, he didn't leave, did he?”
Sam was shocked. His brother never was serious around women. Never. To see him honestly concerned with this woman's life, rather than just flirting, was just one more weird thing with Dean. Sam was tempted to call the FBI and report his brother had been abducted by aliens.
“No, no,” she responded, sighing. “When Nikolai was about one, he died in a mining accident at the old mine.”
“The old mine?” Dean asked echoing Sam's confusion.
“Da. The Coleraine Goldton Mine. It was built originally to look for gold, hence the name, but it's actually one of the last true iron ore-producing mines in the state. It's about three miles to the south, on the edge of Trout Lake. Anyway, that was about seven years ago.” She looked lovingly at her son, smoothing down the strand of hair that had gotten windswept in the heavy breeze. Sam swatted at a few flying moths, hoping one of those giant beetles wouldn't land on him. Sick.
“Say,” Dean asked, hesitantly, “could I interview your son, you know, for our book?”
“Oh, no, he's too young and like I said, it's only a fervid imagin--”
“And maybe, you too?” Dean asked.
Sam's eyes bulged. Ok, maybe Dean wasn't completely oblivious to everything but Elena's charm. He must have seen something Sam didn't.
Elena stared at Dean and then slowly nodded her head. “I have to take him to the doctor's tomorrow, but the day after?”
Dean smiled. “That'd be just fine. Where could we meet?”
The way she tilted her head was kind of cute, Sam thought as he watched her consider. “My home would be just fine. It'd probably be more comfortable for Nikolai.” She fumbled in her small purse, producing a piece of paper and writing her address on it.
“Great,” Dean smiled, then lifted Nikolai off his lap, turning him around to face him. “I bet you look just like your daddy, don't you?”
The boy nodded and Sam couldn't help the sad smile that came to his face at seeing how good Dean was with kids. Growing up, he's always taken Dean for granted, the way he'd raised him-more so than Dad ever had. Seeing him actually interact with other kids though...it was clear Dean was a natural.
“Well, Nikolai,” the Russian name came out sounding flat with Dean's mid-west accent, “I'll see you in a few days then, ok? No more bad dreams till then.”
“They're not bad,” he piped. “I learn lots.”
Elena flushed and took hold of her son's hand. “Come on now. We'll see Dean and Sam day after tomorrow.” She nodded at Sam and smiled at Dean, then walked to a small station wagon, and drove off.
Dean turned and grinned at him. “Man, she's something, isn't she?”
“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “She's something, alright.
And he couldn't help it when that seed of jealousy finally rooted as he watched Dean's back on the way to the Impala.
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Later that night, Sam woke to the sound of the phone ringing. He groggily answered, seeing it was pitch black outside.
“Hello?”
Static came over the line. “Is...Dean...the-re?”
“Umm, who's calling?” It didn't sound like anyone they knew, and anyone they knew would use the cell.
More static. “Dean...please...”
“Look, I'm sorry, but it's late. If you really want Dean, call him on his cell.” That should deter whoever it was.
The line clicked dead.
Sam hung up the phone and rolled over, grateful Dean hadn't woken.
Then Dean's cell rang.
Part 3
Title: Ides of the Mothmen
Author: MF Luder
Category: Sam/Dean, OFC, Dean/OFC
Summary: A simple poltergeist case turns into something much more haunting and mysterious. Clues towards an impending disaster are around every twist and turn, and three people seem to have the key. When Dean begins experiencing visions, will Sam think he's going crazy? How much can Dean take before he breaks?
Part 1 and the HUGE header can be found here
Part 2/6
Sam woke up feeling slightly chilled. He stretched out on the bed, scratching his stomach, slipping his fingers just below the waistband of his boxers to scratch at his hips, too.
He glanced over at Dean's bed. He wasn't there and the bed hadn't been slept in. What? Oh, he remembered now; they'd both fallen asleep some time during Lethal Weapon. He glanced down, but Dean wasn't next to him anymore-that was why he was so cold.
Must be in the shower then, Sam thought to himself. Dean was constantly taking cool showers, unable to stand the oppressive heat anymore than Sam could stand bone-chilling cold.
But there was no sound of running water. He forced himself off the surprisingly comfortable bed, and checked the bathroom. No Dean. He walked back out and noticed missing shoes. Maybe he'd gone on a run. Sam smiled at that thought. He really hadn't meant what he'd said about the crane and then when he'd seen Dean shirtless...
He shook his head, banishing that image. He caught the glint of keys on the bureau. So, maybe not. Sam slid on flip-flops and walked outside, around the building. Again, no Dean.
“Dean?” he called out, tentatively. Then louder, “Dean!”
Only birds answered him.
He stepped back inside, glancing at the clock. It was only six am. Dean was never up this early unless Sam forced him out of bed. Where the hell had he gone? The lake wasn't close enough for a swim and even then, he'd have taken the keys.
Sam looked at the doorway. The salt lines were scuffed.
“Shit.” Sam practically jumped to check their weapon cache inside the cabin. Nothing was missing. “Oh, Dean, what did you do?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot. He never went anywhere without a gun or weapon of some kind. Shit, shit, shit.
Sam quickly shimmied into a pair of jeans and slung on one of his sweatshirts, a gun, grabbed the keys and ran out the door.
“God, Dean, where are you?” he asked the sky.
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It had to be about twenty minutes later when he finally caught a glimpse of blue and light gold in the sea of green.
He found Dean slumped against a tree, skin turning pale, lips blue. He was wearing only boxers and his tennis shoes.
“Oh, my God, Dean.” Sam crouched down by Dean, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. He tapped it lightly. “Dean.”
No response.
“Dean,” a little more forceful. “Dean, dammit!”
Finally, his older brother stirred, slowly blinking his eyes open. He licked his lips and seemed to have problems focusing. “Sam?”
“Yeah.”
Dean's cracked lips turned up at the corners. “You look like you've seen a ghost, Sammy.”
“I--” Sam gawked. His brother was fucking half-naked in the middle of the forest and he took this time to joke? “What happened? Why are you out here?”
Dean's eyes slid shut. “So cold...”
Sam chided himself. Of course he was cold, it was freezing out here and dew had already formed, covering Dean in moisture. Sam quickly drew off his sweatshirt, wishing he'd thought to bring another, though how he could know Dean wouldn't even have a shirt on...He put it on Dean who didn't seem inclined to move.
“Come on, help me out here.” Sam put his shoulder under Dean's arm, slinging it across them, as he hefted Dean up. “I don't want to have to carry you.”
Dean managed to come to enough to walk back to the cabin, pride obviously still intact, Fortunately, they weren't, in reality, too far away. Making it back to the cabin, he tried to get Dean to stand by the sink, but Dean seemed to shy away from it and Sam ended up plopping him on the toilet seat as he turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm.
“Strip.”
“Bossy, bossy,” came Dean's quiet words, but he stripped, hesitating only a moment before he slid the boxers off, and after, didn't even try to cover himself.
Sam groaned inwardly. Not what he wanted to see this early in the morning. The things he did for his brother...
Finally, the water was warm enough and he and Dean both slid Dean into the tub and let the shower rain down on him. Sam stepped out for a minute, grabbing a clean towel, then went back in to sit on the toilet.
Dean was huddled under the cascading water, arms tight around his knees, looking like a lost little boy. Sam hadn't seem him so vulnerable-seeming since the shtriga a few years back.
He couldn't help but put a hand on Dean's back. Instead of shrugging him off like usual, Dean almost seemed to lean into it, turning his head just enough to rest in the crook of Sam's elbow.
“You ok?”
Dean nodded, but didn't seem to want to move.
Sam didn't really mind, Dean so rarely let Sam hold him-always the big, tough man. Sam was a touchy-feely person, most of the time. There were times since he'd rejoined with Dean he'd wished they could go back to the ease they'd had as kids.
When he asked, “What happened?” though, Dean immediately tensed.
Sam's hand was shrugged off and Dean turned to look at him. “You mind?”
“No,” Sam said, confused. He left the bathroom and five minutes later his brother was back out-almost deja vu of last night-only in a towel, grabbing his boxers and heading back into the bathroom to put them on.
Sam decided to speak up. “So--”
“No, I don't want to talk about it, Sam. I went out for a run and got lost. I was stupid. I sat down to get my bearings and must have fallen asleep, ok?”
“--you want to take a nap or go to the diner now?” Sam finished lamely.
Dean poked his head out of the bathroom, face covered in shaving cream. “Oh.” He looked abashed. “Umm, we can go to the diner right away. Just let me finish here.”
“Ok,” Sam replied.
When Dean exited the bathroom, Sam snuck past him to take a shower, listening to the sound of the TV. God, the crap he had to deal with from his brother.
Sam took himself in his hand, using the soap to ease the way, feeling himself harden.
Why couldn't Dean just fucking talk to him for once? They'd been on the road together ever since Jess had died. Two years. They'd killed that demon and Sam had stayed with him. He hadn't left like he'd wanted, like he'd planned. Because when it came down to it, he hadn't been able to leave Dean again.
His hand sped up, adding a little twist at the end of each stroke. He leaned his head back, mouth parting just a little.
He hadn't been able to stand the thought of Dean's eyes if he'd gone. He knew from the last time how broken they could look, how hard it was to walk away. And this time it had been impossible.
But would it be so hard for Dean to maybe acknowledge that for once? Sure, maybe he was afraid if he ever said something, that Sam might 'wake up' and leave him. And ok, maybe Sam had never said anything to discourage that thought. But still...
He was close, he could feel the build-up in his gut. Shame it wasn't someone else's hand. Another real human being. God, he was so lonely since Jess. If only it wasn't his own...
Dean's.
He shot right there, hand still jacking up and down even as he moaned quietly, afraid his brother could hear him over the TV.
He came down, breathing fast. Oh, shit that did not just happen. He was not going to start that again. No way. Fuck.
He rinsed off quickly, jumping out of the shower frustrated with himself. He wrapped a towel around his waist, but did nothing to his hair, leaving it dripping. The cold water actually felt good as it slid down his body in little rivulets.
“I'll be ready in just...” he faded off.
Dean had fallen asleep.
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Sam hadn't been able to fall back asleep and instead simply watched, concerned, while Dean had a three hour nap. When he woke up they went out to the diner to set the day's plan of attack.
They both had steaming cups of coffee in front of them, Dean had hash browns and an omelet, Sam with pancakes and ham. Sam had been observing Dean all morning; he was closed and drawn, his brow wrinkling at random moments, almost as if he was having an argument with himself.
“Dean,” Sam started.
His brother let out a huge sigh. “Earlier. I lied a little.”
“A little?” Sam scoffed, getting a glare in return.
“Yes, a little. See, I didn't go for a run.”
“Could have guessed that one,” Sam muttered.
“Look. Do you want to hear this or not?”
Sam shut up.
“Ok, then. I woke up in around five and couldn't sleep anymore, so I decided to go for a walk. I was so hot from being next to you and your furnace of a body, that I didn't think I'd end up needing a shirt. Besides, I hadn't planned on being gone for long. But then I got all mixed up in the woods and eventually sat down to try to figure out where the hell I was, and I must have dozed off.”
Dean looked satisfied with himself and took a deep sip of his coffee. But Sam knew he was lying. Dean's spot on the bed had been cold-he hadn't left at only five. And something had really been bugging him that morning. His nap had made him his usual cocky self, but earlier that morning, Dean had been terrified and confused.
“Why didn't you take a weapon? You never leave without one. You get upset because I don't leave a knife under my pillow like you do.”
Dean blinked and bit his lip. “I-I don't know.”
Sam decided not to push it, but he would figure out what was going on. “Alright,” he said, faking acquiescence, “just don't do it again, ok? I really don't want to have to manhandle you into the tub again.”
With a cheeky grin from Dean, everything was back to normal.
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An hour later they were on their way to see Abraham. Much as Sam hated to say it, the house looked more like a shack. At one time it had clearly been nice, but now several of the windows were broken, the garage roof had fallen in and vines grew up the siding. The lawn looked like it was reverting back to natural prairie levels.
Dean looked over at Sam with that patent eyebrow arch.
“Yeah, kind of sad, huh?”
Dean glanced away in that off-handed manner of his, shrugging. “Hey, man, it was you who suggested we visit the crazy guy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They waded through the grass, finding broken bits of an old front walk here and there. Sam stepped up to the door first, about to ring the bell when he noticed it was hanging from its box. He heard Dean chuckle behind him. Jerk.
He steeled himself and knocked on the door. They listened to some shuffling and a muffled, “Hold on there,” before the door opened.
Sam was greeted with exactly what Dean would call a hick. The man had on a trucker hat, a flannel shirt, a beer gut, and held a .45 in his hand. At least he was missing the mullet.
“Who're you?”
“Hi, Mr. Olsen?” Sam asked in a pleasant tone of voice.
“Yeah? What's it to ya?” came accompanied with a scowl.
“Well, sir, me and my--”
“If this is some sort of solicitation, I don't want it. And I don't want no Jehovah Witnesses, neither. I'm a law-abiding Christian and I don't need people coming around and bothering me.”
Sam was speechless. This was a new one in their book of weird responses. Dean stepped forward.
“Mr. Olsen...”
“You.” The man stared at Dean, scruff-covered jaw dropping.
“Excuse me?”
“I know you.”
The brothers exchanged a glance. “I think you must be mistaken, sir. I've never met you before.”
“Oh, no, course you haven't. But I know you. Come on, come in. Your friend can come too.”
Dumbfounded, they followed the man into his house, Sam asking silently what the hell was that, as Dean shrugged.
“Sit, sit.” They were ushered onto a couch that had seen better days in the eighties, next to a bright orange and rust-colored chair, that could have been said to look moldy. Sam wrinkled his nose.
Dean glanced at Sam and then leaned forward, hands on knees, and asked, “Sir--”
“Abraham, please. Or even Abe. Friends call me Abe.”
Sam couldn't imagine the guy had too many friends.
“Abe.” Sam noticed Dean shifting a little closer to him unconsciously, thighs brushing. “How is it you know me?”
“He's shown me you.”
“He?” Sam asked, getting a sharp glance from Abe.
“Yes, he. Now don't go making me sound crazy like everyone else around here. I know what I've seen and I know I ain't crazy. It's real.”
Sam decided to smooth things over. Hopefully. “Actually, Abe, Dean and I-I'm Sam, by the way-we're authors. We're writing about weird goings-on in various parts of the country. We came here to talk about what you've seen.”
“Authors, eh?” He scratched his chin. “Yeah, ok. So you believe in all that spooky stuff? You don't think I'm crazy?” He eyed them up and down.
“Not at all, Abe,” Dean spoke up. “Now, what do you mean by 'he'?”
“He doesn't have a name. But he's told me a lot of things. He said you'd be coming. He said you could help.”
“How can 'he' know these things? How can I help?” Dean sounded frustrated and his leg started bouncing like it did when he got really upset by something.
Sam laid a hand gently on the leg and looked at Dean concerned. Dean abruptly stopped and looked at Sam with unreadable eyes. It had to have something to do with whatever had happened that morning. It had to. Dean turned back to Abe, calm once more.
“Can you start at the beginning?”
The man nodded. “Can I get you fellas anything to drink?”
“Water,” they chorused.
Once Abe made it into the dining room, Sam turned to Dean. “What's up, dude? You're acting like you know what he's talking about. You're the one who thought this was all a dud. Now you're changing your tune?”
Dean refused to look at him. “I just think, maybe he's really seen this demon thing. Maybe he can...lead us to it. Or maybe it's really speaking to him and then we can find out more about it.” He finally glanced up, classic fake smile plastered on. “We wouldn't have to go to the library then. I don't think this town's would help us much, anyway.”
Sam opened his mouth to demand the truth but Abe came back at that moment, extending two, thankfully, clean water glasses at them.
“So the beginning, eh? Alrighty, then. It started in July of last summer. I woke up to this odd noise comin' from my TV. When I turned it off, my dog, Old Blue, started barking.”
Dean blanched and Sam felt shivers pass through him. “Old Blue?” Dean half-whispered.
“Yup. Most faithful dog a man could have. Least until that thing came.”
“Old...” Dean tied again. “Old Blue. What kind of dog was he?”
“Golden Retriever, course. Nothing better to have in these woods. I used to do a lot of huntin' till he ran away.”
“Ran away?” Dean asked.
“Yep, that night. Blue was barking at something and when I crouched down, there it was. Red eyes was all I could make out. Blue was itchin' to get out and I grabbed my rifle. I rattled the door at it and Blue, see, he was real spooked. So I was about to open the door when it rose up in front of me, to about your friend's height here, and then took off, letting out this awful screeching noise. I shot at it, but must have missed and Blue, poor Blue. He ran after it and I haven't seen him since.”
“Haven't...excuse me, where's your bathroom?”
Abe pointed down a hallway that wasn't lit.
“Thanks.”
Sam stared after his brother as he rushed to the bathroom.
“Your friend-he alright?”
“Yeah, he hasn't been feeling too well lately,” Sam lied easily.
“I see. You want to wait for him, then?”
“Actually,” Sam thought a moment. “Would you mind if we came back, maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. I got no where to be. Any time after noon's good.”
“Alright, thank you, Abe. We'll be gone as soon as Dean's ok.”
The man just nodded understandingly.
Sam walked to the bathroom, refraining from plugging his ears when he heard the plop of vomit into the toilet. A moment later it stopped.
“Dean?” He tapped on the door, then noticed it wasn't fully shut. He stepped in.
Dean was hunched over the seat, and when he glanced up, his eyes were haunted and had large circles around them, as though he hadn't gotten any sleep.
“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed as he sat on the tub ledge, taking Dean's head into his lap. “You ok now?”
Dean nodded slightly and Sam flushed the toilet. He ran a hand through his brother's hair; it stood on end, full of sweat and Dean's pomade, but Sam didn't think Dean would actually care right now. Dean kept shivering in his jacket despite the sweat so Sam rubbed his hand along the outside of the soft leather arms, rubbing into Dean's wrists, trying to get blood flowing.
“Too much pie, huh?” Sam joked quietly.
Dean smiled weakly at him. They sat like that for a minute or two before Dean shifted, standing, and rinsed his mouth out. It told a lot about his condition that he didn't argue when Sam pushed him out Abe's front door and to the car, calling a brief “thanks” over his shoulder.
They were silent the entire way back to their cabin and when Sam opened the door, Dean quickly stripped and then slid into his own bed, under the covers, head turned away from Sam. Sam turned off the air conditioning and simply pulled off an extra layer.
Dean slept for several hours while Sam paced the room, trying to figure out what could be wrong. Dean had gotten stressed over some stupid dog's name. And gotten sick. Now, maybe he really was just ill. After all, sleeping naked in the northern Minnesota woods at early hours was not conducive to staying well. Perfect conditions for pneumonia, even. But Dean didn't usually get sick, in fact, rarely did either one of them fall ill.
Instead, it seemed something about what Abraham had said caused this. And that was more frightening. To know something had Dean that shook up...
“Sam,” Dean's voice rasped from the bed and he quickly turned to look at his brother.
Dean was still asleep, but he'd managed to twist the blankets wickedly around his legs and was shivering.
“Goddamn, Dean,” Sam whispered, walking over. He laid a hand on Dean's brow and found it clammy. When Dean's teeth started chattering, Sam let out a huff of exasperation and untangled Dean from the blankets, smoothing them out and then crawled in next to his brother.
Rolling Dean into his embrace, he rested his chin on Dean's head. His brother moaned and moved closer towards Sam and whispered a broken, “Sammy”. Had Sam not known better, he might have guessed Dean was having a different kind of 'dream', but he knew by the way he was tensed, even in sleep, and clutched at his brother's arm, that he sought Sam as some kind of life line, rather than because of a kinky dream.
He rubbed his hand up and down the older's chest and abdomen in a soothing way and a few minutes later, Dean calmed down enough to begin snoring softly and Sam relaxed as well. He faded out to the feeling of Dean's chest rising and falling against his hand.
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They both woke around six in the evening to the rumble of Dean's stomach. Sam laughed at it, startling Dean awake who looked embarrassedly at his stomach. Realizing Sam's arm was around him, Dean practically jumped out of bed.
“Jesus, Sammy. Getting' your rocks off while I'm asleep?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Were that my plan, you think I'd do it fully dressed?” Noticing the stifled air now that his thoughts weren't on a sick Dean, he began unbuttoning his top layer.
“Oh, brother,” Dean said as he ran to the bathroom, escaping any sight of Sam's bare skin as he changed shirts.
When Dean came back, Sam made sure to be both serious and light-hearted at the same time. “Feeling better now?”
“Much,” Dean said with a smile. “And ready to eat a horse.”
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After stuffing their faces and with a parting wink from Elizabeth, Sam leaned back in the booth. “So, I told Abraham we'd be back tomorrow. That cool with you?”
“Definitely. Say, since we have nothing to do till tomorrow, what do you say to stopping by that movie theater?”
Sam nearly choked on his sip of soda. “Excuse me? Did my brother just suggest doing something fun that didn't involve screwing some girl or drinking and playing darts?”
Dean chuckled and at that moment, Sam would have done anything he'd said, so relieved was he to see his confident brother back.
“Really, Sam. I can on occasion think of something besides women. Sometimes it's men. And, if you hadn't noticed, most of this town, so far as we've seen, is either under eighteen or over forty. Odd age gap, actually,” Dean mused and Sam kicked him under the table.
“Don't try to sound smart. Sure, we can go. Do you have any clue what's playing?”
“Nah. Guess we'll find out, huh?”
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A little after nine, they exited the theater into a faint dusk, Dean jumping about like a ten-year-old, brandishing a fake sword, pretending to duel like the protagonist in the last scene.
Sam couldn't help laughing at his brother's behavior. “You know, for all your skills with guns and knives, you couldn't handle a sword worth shit. Not to mention that chivalry is truly dead when it comes to you.”
“Speak for yourself, Geek Boy. If I had a real sword, I'd whup your ass with it. And, I can be quite chivalrous.”
To prove his point, he opened the door for the next person who came out of the theater with a flourish, bowing. When Dean stopped laughing and drew in a short breath, Sam switched his gaze from Dean to whoever had just come out the door.
She was small, only coming up to Dean's shoulder. Her hair was Dean's exact shade, but fell down in long tresses that curled here and there. She wore a light cream sweater despite the heat and a light green skirt that fell to her ankles. It gave her an exotic Bohemian look when paired with her light skin and dark eyes. She was leading a little boy before her, her long fingers resting on his shoulders. His hair was a dark black and he walked more confidently than any little kid Sam had ever seen.
“Hel-hello,” Dean stumbled, his breath clearly taken away at the sight of the woman. Sam sucked in his own breath and suppressed any feeling of jealousy that might worm its way into his heart or mind.
“Hi,” her voice was lilting, with a faint Slavic accent to it.
The little boy looked up at Dean. “Did you just see the movie about the knight? I wanted to see it, but Mama wouldn't let me.”
The woman smiled down at her son. “You're too young, dear. This man wouldn't get nightmares after seeing it.”
“Aw, Mama,” the boy whined, “I wouldn't be scared-I promise!”
Sam snickered.
“Your mom's right there, kid,” Dean said as the little boy pouted. Dean offered out his hand to the woman, grin on his face. “Dean.”
“I'm Elena, and this is Nikolai.” She turned to Sam. “And you are...?”
“I'm Sam, I'm his--”
Dean cut him off. “He's my brother.”
“I might have guessed,” she laughed lightly. “Only a brother would put up with his company jumping around like Nikolai might do.”
Sam grinned, he couldn't help it. Elena was quite charming. He shot a glare at Dean, though. They hadn't brought up the brother thing yet. Dean smiled back at him, eyes clearly reading, hey I found a hot girl-sorry bro.
“You're new around here, no?” she asked politely.
“Well, my brother and I, we're authors, you see. Here to do a bit of an expose of the weird happenings that go on in northern Minnesota.”
Sam watched as Elena's eyes suddenly became cool and she clutched Nikolai a little closer to her. Dean didn't notice, though, infatuated as he was.
“Weird happenings?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know, UFOs, Bigfoot-all those kind of things.”
“And you believe it?”
“Sometimes, yeah. But that's the whole reason we're writing about it. Separate fact from fiction and all,” Dean waved a hand vaguely.
Nikolai stared at him, then pulled away from his mother's grasp and touched Dean's hand. Dean looked down, surprised.
“Mama,” Nikolai said, turning back to Elena, though he still held Dean's hand. “He's seen it.” He turned back to Dean. “You have, haven't you, Mister?”
Elena pulled him back. “Nonsense, honey. That was just a dream, remember?” But she seemed to look at Dean a little different, calculating, but not harsh anymore. She continued, “Nikolai, see, likes to confuse my Russian tales with reality. I always figure if only he'd had a father all this time to show him these things weren't true...”
Dean finally let go of the theater door, and ushered them onto the bench Sam was sitting on already. When Nikolai climbed into his lap, Dean looked down, but did nothing further. “Your husband, he didn't leave, did he?”
Sam was shocked. His brother never was serious around women. Never. To see him honestly concerned with this woman's life, rather than just flirting, was just one more weird thing with Dean. Sam was tempted to call the FBI and report his brother had been abducted by aliens.
“No, no,” she responded, sighing. “When Nikolai was about one, he died in a mining accident at the old mine.”
“The old mine?” Dean asked echoing Sam's confusion.
“Da. The Coleraine Goldton Mine. It was built originally to look for gold, hence the name, but it's actually one of the last true iron ore-producing mines in the state. It's about three miles to the south, on the edge of Trout Lake. Anyway, that was about seven years ago.” She looked lovingly at her son, smoothing down the strand of hair that had gotten windswept in the heavy breeze. Sam swatted at a few flying moths, hoping one of those giant beetles wouldn't land on him. Sick.
“Say,” Dean asked, hesitantly, “could I interview your son, you know, for our book?”
“Oh, no, he's too young and like I said, it's only a fervid imagin--”
“And maybe, you too?” Dean asked.
Sam's eyes bulged. Ok, maybe Dean wasn't completely oblivious to everything but Elena's charm. He must have seen something Sam didn't.
Elena stared at Dean and then slowly nodded her head. “I have to take him to the doctor's tomorrow, but the day after?”
Dean smiled. “That'd be just fine. Where could we meet?”
The way she tilted her head was kind of cute, Sam thought as he watched her consider. “My home would be just fine. It'd probably be more comfortable for Nikolai.” She fumbled in her small purse, producing a piece of paper and writing her address on it.
“Great,” Dean smiled, then lifted Nikolai off his lap, turning him around to face him. “I bet you look just like your daddy, don't you?”
The boy nodded and Sam couldn't help the sad smile that came to his face at seeing how good Dean was with kids. Growing up, he's always taken Dean for granted, the way he'd raised him-more so than Dad ever had. Seeing him actually interact with other kids though...it was clear Dean was a natural.
“Well, Nikolai,” the Russian name came out sounding flat with Dean's mid-west accent, “I'll see you in a few days then, ok? No more bad dreams till then.”
“They're not bad,” he piped. “I learn lots.”
Elena flushed and took hold of her son's hand. “Come on now. We'll see Dean and Sam day after tomorrow.” She nodded at Sam and smiled at Dean, then walked to a small station wagon, and drove off.
Dean turned and grinned at him. “Man, she's something, isn't she?”
“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “She's something, alright.
And he couldn't help it when that seed of jealousy finally rooted as he watched Dean's back on the way to the Impala.
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Later that night, Sam woke to the sound of the phone ringing. He groggily answered, seeing it was pitch black outside.
“Hello?”
Static came over the line. “Is...Dean...the-re?”
“Umm, who's calling?” It didn't sound like anyone they knew, and anyone they knew would use the cell.
More static. “Dean...please...”
“Look, I'm sorry, but it's late. If you really want Dean, call him on his cell.” That should deter whoever it was.
The line clicked dead.
Sam hung up the phone and rolled over, grateful Dean hadn't woken.
Then Dean's cell rang.
Part 3