Fic: Wild By Skye (6/27)
It was when the next month rolled around that Sam was actually worried about Dean and his now-typical once a month nightly disappearing acts. Up until then, it had been a very low-key event in their lives. Routine now, and hardly more disruptive than changing the oil in the car.
They were in New York City taking care of a ghost problem plaguing one unlucky family. The salt and burn wasn't complicated in and of itself, but the research to find the right remains had tripped them up. A hunt that should only have taken one day took four.
Sam was mightily distracted the last day of their frustrating hunt spending his time watching his brother. Something was definitely off. Dean was cranky and irritable. He snapped impatiently at everyone and everything in sight. When a dog on the street took an immediate dislike to Dean (Sam figured even animals could sense the monumentally foul mood of his big brother), Dean had yelled at the dog. The animal turned tail and ran, and Sam could only stare. Dean generally liked dogs, in fact a damn sight more than people (as long as said people were not leggy brunettes with big boobs, who won hands down every time).
This time around, Dean was barely civil, and he was twitchy as hell. Sam was actually leery of him having a weapon.
Sam knew it was the onset of whatever took hold of Dean at the full moon. Sam hated tying Dean's behavior with the lunar cycle (since he'd concluded it was not a determining factor in whatever was going on with Dean), because as a hunter an association with the full moon made him think the worst, but it was the easiest way for Sam to keep track of Dean's strange pattern.
Sam had never seen Dean so touchy before. He was on a hair trigger. This was different than every other month before. Then, Dean had been restive, fidgety, hyped up, but not aggressive. This time he was in a pissy mood to outdo all pissy moods in the history of pissiness.
Sam might have teased Dean about it if he wasn't sure he'd get his block knocked off for his trouble.
Dean reminded Sam of their father when they were growing up and a hunt had gone bad and John drowned his failure in liquor. Sam used to be more scared of his dad than the monsters those nights; he remembered climbing into bed with Dean and fisting Dean's shirt in his tiny hands while their dad stomped around in the other room. Dean used to shush him and promise Sam nothing would get him, nothing, because Dean wouldn't let it.
Sam slammed a mental door on those black memories and returned to the immediate concern. Dean.
Dean was going to hurt someone, and the later the day got the worse it got. Sam could see it. Dean was waiting to explode.
Ghost finally put to rest, the family was immensely grateful to the brothers for ridding them of their supernatural problem, though they addressed all that gratitude to Sam. They could see Dean was not to be spoken to or touched as he paced behind his brother like a caged and heckled tiger. If anything, Sam thought the family sent him sorrowful looks that he had to leave with the man.
Out of kindness, the family offered to have them stay for dinner. Normally, Dean would jump at the offer of free food (home-cooked, no less), but this time he was halfway out the door with just a grunt of impatience.
Sam accepted a small sum of cash instead. He hated taking anything for the service they did, a few twenties seemed to cheapen the act of saving lives, but the fact was that in their unappreciated line of work money was never to be passed up. It might be the only honest money they came by for months. To ease any sense of guilt, Sam tried to think of him and his brother as exterminators, and if a man with the nametag "EARL" on his shirt could get money for ridding a house of roaches, Sam figured there was nothing wrong in accepting a little cash for dispelling evil spirits.
When Sam left the family's apartment, Dean was at the car but not in it. He was too jittery to sit still and wait for his brother. He was walking circles around the Impala, face set furiously in a scowl.
"Dean…"
"About time," he snarled. "Get in the car. We're getting out of here."
Sam frowned and stopped stock still on the sidewalk. "Dean… man, what is wrong with you?"
Dean shot him a murderous look.
"You were really rude to those people," Sam lectured.
"Oh, gee, I'm sorry, Sam. Here I thought wasting the ghost would be enough, but you're right, let me go back in there and make polite conversation and compliment their doilies."
"That's beside the point-"
"Get in the car." Dean turned to slide in behind the wheel.
When Sam didn't jump to obey, Dean slammed a fist on the roof of the car. It gave a loud, resounding 'thud' and Sam flinched. He gaped. Dean hit his car.
Dean glowered, shifted, then looked around… down the street crowded with apartment buildings, up at the skyscrapers cramming the view of the darkening sky, and at the fast-approaching dusk.
Dean clenched his jaw and sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said with almost painful effort at sounding calm. "I was out of line. Can. We. Go. Now?"
Sam blinked, speechless, but he moved to do as Dean had so painstakingly asked. Shocked and mute, he got in the car and watched Dean almost throw himself behind the wheel, start the car, and peel out in his haste to leave.
As they sped out of the city, Sam prayed they didn't get pulled over. Dean might just rip the cop's head off for getting in the way.
As the city finally began to shrink in the rearview mirror, Dean growled, "Never again."
Sam looked over at his brother, who was glued to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip.
"What?"
"No more cities," Dean hissed, and Sam was baffled. Dean had never freaked out about big cities before. They'd lived in a few growing up, and it had never been a problem.
They'd barely passed the suburbs leaving New York City and found themselves in familiar territory - open roads with more space than buildings - when Sam spared a glance toward the sky. The stars were coming out on a maroon and cobalt backdrop. The moon, full and radiant, was doing its damnedest to play the role of the sun in a recurring monthly performance.
Sam glanced at his brother. Dean was rigid behind the wheel. His hands were still clenched in straining fists around the steering wheel. His face was flushed, and Sam could see that he'd broken out in a sweat.
"Dean… what's wrong?" Sam tried to shift across the bench seat closer to his brother.
Dean's sharp, wilting glare in his brother's direction stilled Sam at once.
It stilled Sam from reaching out, but he didn't ignore that there was something very, very wrong with Dean.
"Hey, man… I think we should stop." He thought Dean might be about to be sick. Could he be having a panic attack? What the hell had shaken him up so badly about being in the city?
Sam was worried, confused, and quickly becoming scared.
"You gotta take a leak?" Dean ground out.
"Uh… yeah." If that's what would make Dean stop.
Without another word, Dean pulled over at the next diner they saw.
Sam kept a close eye on Dean the whole time as they got out of the car and headed inside.
Dean looked even worse under the lights.
"Hit the head," he said brusquely, before Sam could start to question him, "I'll get us a table and we'll get something to eat."
Sam nodded and headed toward the restrooms in the back.
He rehearsed just what he would say to try and get past Dean's defensiveness, and when he was fairly confident he could get at least a word in edgewise, he headed back into the diner and scanned the room for his brother.
Nothing.
He glanced out the window and saw the car was still there.
Sam looked around the diner again. Still no Dean.
"You lost something, sugar?" a woman's voice beside him said.
Sam looked over at a waitress, middle-aged with kind eyes.
"Uh… yeah, my brother."
"You Sam?"
Sam blinked. "Yeah."
She nodded. "Your brother came up to the counter right after you two came in, wanted me to tell you he had something he had to take care of, seemed pretty important. Anyway, he left you the keys to your car on that first table." She gave him a smile and moved off to take someone's order.
Sam found the table and the keys to the Impala resting atop a napkin with Dean's handwriting scrawled on it.
had to run. get a room. Dean
Sam pocketed the keys with one hand and crumpled the napkin in his other hand. Dean had just left the car keys and ditched. Where the hell had he gone? Where could he go on foot? What could he possibly need to 'take care of'?
Sam spent three hours driving around, looking for Dean as though he were a lost family dog.
Dean was no where to be found.
Frustrated, tired, and hungry, Sam finally went back to the diner where Dean had bailed on him, got some dinner, and found the closest motel to the diner that he could, figuring it would be the easiest for Dean to find.
Sleep did not come easily that night.
Seven
They were in New York City taking care of a ghost problem plaguing one unlucky family. The salt and burn wasn't complicated in and of itself, but the research to find the right remains had tripped them up. A hunt that should only have taken one day took four.
Sam was mightily distracted the last day of their frustrating hunt spending his time watching his brother. Something was definitely off. Dean was cranky and irritable. He snapped impatiently at everyone and everything in sight. When a dog on the street took an immediate dislike to Dean (Sam figured even animals could sense the monumentally foul mood of his big brother), Dean had yelled at the dog. The animal turned tail and ran, and Sam could only stare. Dean generally liked dogs, in fact a damn sight more than people (as long as said people were not leggy brunettes with big boobs, who won hands down every time).
This time around, Dean was barely civil, and he was twitchy as hell. Sam was actually leery of him having a weapon.
Sam knew it was the onset of whatever took hold of Dean at the full moon. Sam hated tying Dean's behavior with the lunar cycle (since he'd concluded it was not a determining factor in whatever was going on with Dean), because as a hunter an association with the full moon made him think the worst, but it was the easiest way for Sam to keep track of Dean's strange pattern.
Sam had never seen Dean so touchy before. He was on a hair trigger. This was different than every other month before. Then, Dean had been restive, fidgety, hyped up, but not aggressive. This time he was in a pissy mood to outdo all pissy moods in the history of pissiness.
Sam might have teased Dean about it if he wasn't sure he'd get his block knocked off for his trouble.
Dean reminded Sam of their father when they were growing up and a hunt had gone bad and John drowned his failure in liquor. Sam used to be more scared of his dad than the monsters those nights; he remembered climbing into bed with Dean and fisting Dean's shirt in his tiny hands while their dad stomped around in the other room. Dean used to shush him and promise Sam nothing would get him, nothing, because Dean wouldn't let it.
Sam slammed a mental door on those black memories and returned to the immediate concern. Dean.
Dean was going to hurt someone, and the later the day got the worse it got. Sam could see it. Dean was waiting to explode.
Ghost finally put to rest, the family was immensely grateful to the brothers for ridding them of their supernatural problem, though they addressed all that gratitude to Sam. They could see Dean was not to be spoken to or touched as he paced behind his brother like a caged and heckled tiger. If anything, Sam thought the family sent him sorrowful looks that he had to leave with the man.
Out of kindness, the family offered to have them stay for dinner. Normally, Dean would jump at the offer of free food (home-cooked, no less), but this time he was halfway out the door with just a grunt of impatience.
Sam accepted a small sum of cash instead. He hated taking anything for the service they did, a few twenties seemed to cheapen the act of saving lives, but the fact was that in their unappreciated line of work money was never to be passed up. It might be the only honest money they came by for months. To ease any sense of guilt, Sam tried to think of him and his brother as exterminators, and if a man with the nametag "EARL" on his shirt could get money for ridding a house of roaches, Sam figured there was nothing wrong in accepting a little cash for dispelling evil spirits.
When Sam left the family's apartment, Dean was at the car but not in it. He was too jittery to sit still and wait for his brother. He was walking circles around the Impala, face set furiously in a scowl.
"Dean…"
"About time," he snarled. "Get in the car. We're getting out of here."
Sam frowned and stopped stock still on the sidewalk. "Dean… man, what is wrong with you?"
Dean shot him a murderous look.
"You were really rude to those people," Sam lectured.
"Oh, gee, I'm sorry, Sam. Here I thought wasting the ghost would be enough, but you're right, let me go back in there and make polite conversation and compliment their doilies."
"That's beside the point-"
"Get in the car." Dean turned to slide in behind the wheel.
When Sam didn't jump to obey, Dean slammed a fist on the roof of the car. It gave a loud, resounding 'thud' and Sam flinched. He gaped. Dean hit his car.
Dean glowered, shifted, then looked around… down the street crowded with apartment buildings, up at the skyscrapers cramming the view of the darkening sky, and at the fast-approaching dusk.
Dean clenched his jaw and sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said with almost painful effort at sounding calm. "I was out of line. Can. We. Go. Now?"
Sam blinked, speechless, but he moved to do as Dean had so painstakingly asked. Shocked and mute, he got in the car and watched Dean almost throw himself behind the wheel, start the car, and peel out in his haste to leave.
As they sped out of the city, Sam prayed they didn't get pulled over. Dean might just rip the cop's head off for getting in the way.
As the city finally began to shrink in the rearview mirror, Dean growled, "Never again."
Sam looked over at his brother, who was glued to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip.
"What?"
"No more cities," Dean hissed, and Sam was baffled. Dean had never freaked out about big cities before. They'd lived in a few growing up, and it had never been a problem.
They'd barely passed the suburbs leaving New York City and found themselves in familiar territory - open roads with more space than buildings - when Sam spared a glance toward the sky. The stars were coming out on a maroon and cobalt backdrop. The moon, full and radiant, was doing its damnedest to play the role of the sun in a recurring monthly performance.
Sam glanced at his brother. Dean was rigid behind the wheel. His hands were still clenched in straining fists around the steering wheel. His face was flushed, and Sam could see that he'd broken out in a sweat.
"Dean… what's wrong?" Sam tried to shift across the bench seat closer to his brother.
Dean's sharp, wilting glare in his brother's direction stilled Sam at once.
It stilled Sam from reaching out, but he didn't ignore that there was something very, very wrong with Dean.
"Hey, man… I think we should stop." He thought Dean might be about to be sick. Could he be having a panic attack? What the hell had shaken him up so badly about being in the city?
Sam was worried, confused, and quickly becoming scared.
"You gotta take a leak?" Dean ground out.
"Uh… yeah." If that's what would make Dean stop.
Without another word, Dean pulled over at the next diner they saw.
Sam kept a close eye on Dean the whole time as they got out of the car and headed inside.
Dean looked even worse under the lights.
"Hit the head," he said brusquely, before Sam could start to question him, "I'll get us a table and we'll get something to eat."
Sam nodded and headed toward the restrooms in the back.
He rehearsed just what he would say to try and get past Dean's defensiveness, and when he was fairly confident he could get at least a word in edgewise, he headed back into the diner and scanned the room for his brother.
Nothing.
He glanced out the window and saw the car was still there.
Sam looked around the diner again. Still no Dean.
"You lost something, sugar?" a woman's voice beside him said.
Sam looked over at a waitress, middle-aged with kind eyes.
"Uh… yeah, my brother."
"You Sam?"
Sam blinked. "Yeah."
She nodded. "Your brother came up to the counter right after you two came in, wanted me to tell you he had something he had to take care of, seemed pretty important. Anyway, he left you the keys to your car on that first table." She gave him a smile and moved off to take someone's order.
Sam found the table and the keys to the Impala resting atop a napkin with Dean's handwriting scrawled on it.
had to run. get a room. Dean
Sam pocketed the keys with one hand and crumpled the napkin in his other hand. Dean had just left the car keys and ditched. Where the hell had he gone? Where could he go on foot? What could he possibly need to 'take care of'?
Sam spent three hours driving around, looking for Dean as though he were a lost family dog.
Dean was no where to be found.
Frustrated, tired, and hungry, Sam finally went back to the diner where Dean had bailed on him, got some dinner, and found the closest motel to the diner that he could, figuring it would be the easiest for Dean to find.
Sleep did not come easily that night.
Seven