What Comes After, 3/?, [PG-13], SN Fic, Gen
banner by JessicaRae
Title: What Comes After (WIP)
Author: November’sGuest
Character’s: Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam’s Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU
Rating: T (PG-13)
Spoilers: None beyond second season if any…it’s pretty much AU.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun and not profit.
Summary: Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call." Sam and Dean travel to Palo Alto to investigate recent deaths. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam.
Chapter One ~*~ Chapter Two
A/N: Yes, I was very, very derelict in getting this chapter up and I heartily apologize to all of you. I had a horrible case of writer’s block and a healthy, hectic schedule amongst many other very personal reasons I won’t bore you with. Please, forgive the HUGE, inexcusable absence-I’m sure you probably don’t have clue where we were it’s been so long. Do I expect another long absence such as this? No, but life likes to throw me curveballs and I’ve learned never to say never-some of my issues may be ongoing for a while. However, I am very, very indebted and thankful to all of you still following along and will do my best not to let more than a month slip by at most. Hugs to you all and thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading :) .
For those who might be interested, I’m currently doing a re-write of The Wake-Up Call (first two chappies done and up) with Sodakey’s generous help. Also, I just finished a vid I’ve been working on since February and will post it on my LJ sometime today. So, yeah. I’ve got things happening! I’m not just slacking-HA! I rhymed.
If I missed thanking anyone for their reviews for the last chapter-I’m so sorry. My inbox got a way from there for a while. I tried to dig everyone’s up, but I may have missed someone…but know I do appreciate and cherish each one.
Huge thanks and gratitude to Sodakey, Mady Bay and Tidia for looking this chapter over for me. You all have no idea how thankful I am for your input.
Chapter 3: Little Things
He snagged his sunglasses from the review mirror and slid them on, needing the protection from the painfully bright light glaring off the car’s hood. All four windows were up, trapping the warmth of the sunrays bearing down on the black car as effectually as a brick oven. It baked his skin and pulled sweat from every pore… and yet he still felt cold, unable to prevent shiver after shiver from shaking his body. He wished Sam would hurry the hell up. He needed to get away from here.
Dean watched Sam through the windshield. Watched as his brother used an elbow to push playfully at Aaron, a big grin spreading across his smooth face. Then their expressions grew solemn and Dean wondered what had been said. Suddenly both sets of eyes lifted in his direction. Sadness and concern shadowed Sam’s face before he looked away again.
He’s worried, Dean thought. Worried about me when he should be worrying about himself. Not Sam’s responsibility. He needs to stay sharp, not get distracted. Dean cursed himself and rubbed his forehead. Retreating to the car had helped lessen the full feeling in his ears, but had eased the headache only marginally.
At least out here he could breathe.
He scrunched down in the seat, leaning his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The sun feels good, he thought even as his clothes grew damp with sweat. He listened as someone somewhere slammed a door shut. A particularly happy bird chirped to his left, sounds of wind chimes bouncing off one another in the breeze took over where the bird left off. In the distance, he could hear rush hour traffic. The baritone growl of a semi, the high buzz of a motorcycle and the whoosh-whoosh of car after car speeding by on the busy streets. He relaxed, felt himself beginning to float as the soothing sounds eased the coil of tension within.
“Dean.” A soft whisper of wind and nothing more…his imagination getting actively creative with his ears.
“Dean.”
The voice sounded so…scared. Scared and female. This time he froze, eyes still shut, ears straining to filter the background noise.
“De-”
A heavy weight clamped onto his shoulder, startling him upright. He reacted with a loud grunt.
“Whoa, dude!” Sam’s surprised face sharpened in front of him. “Take it easy. It’s just me.” Sam was sitting behind the Impala’s wheel, looking like maybe he’d been there a minute or two, his jaw ticking tight.
How did he get in the car without me knowing?
Dean rubbed a palm over his face, buried whatever expression he’d been wearing, dreaded-no, loathed-the coming words even as they dropped from Sam’s lips.
“You okay?”
He slid his eyes to Sam’s and then quickly away. “Yeah. Must’ve nodded off.”
Sam tilted his head back and Dean could feel his brother’s x-ray vision probing every inch. Oh, Gawd. “Dude, I’m fine. Can we please just go?”
Sam didn’t answer right away, just kept squinting at him with suspicion. Finally, his brother twisted the keys in the ignition with a sigh.
“Yeah, sure, Dean.”
The ride to the motel was tense, setting Dean on edge even more. It was taking more concentration than he presently had to walk this tightrope between his brother's worry and his own need to be all right. Sam’s angled jaw flexed. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as if he were trying to strangle it-letting Dean know in all his little ways that he wasn’t convinced nor was he letting this go.
Probably biding his time, building his case and going over every piece of evidence, Dean thought. It’s a wonder he doesn’t strain something.
Sam pulled up to the manager’s office and cut the engine. He continued to sit frozen behind the wheel, face torn, seemingly trying to make up his mind on a course of action. Finally, Sam shook his head and blew out another long sigh.
Turning toward Dean he asked, “After we get checked in, you want to go find something to eat?”
Was it a peace offering or another sign of concern?
“Naw. I think I’m just gonna crash for a while. Maybe after?”
Sam opened his mouth, then paused. Taking another stab at it, he asked, “You know, we haven’t had anything to eat since we left Missouri’s yesterday.”
Dean rolled his eyes over to his brother’s. “Look, if you’re hungry, go without me.” Sam’s face tightened. Dean groaned inwardly. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to worry Sam more. He softened his voice and offered, “How ‘bout you bring something back for me. Okay?” He added with it his most confident smirk, did his best to look reassuring-to look well-to help Sam see whatever Sam needed to see.
Sam pressed his lips together. He blinked then rubbed a finger over his brow. He didn’t say anything else, just shoved the door open and disappeared into the motel office.
WCAWCAWCA
“I need a room with two beds,” Sam said, slapping their fake credit card down.
The kid behind the counter barely looked up from his Playstation Portable, held up one finger indicating the need for another minute to score the winning point. Sam stared pointedly at his profile, but seeing the hint go unnoticed, turned to check on Dean. His brother was rubbing at his temple again, a wince plain on his face.
He’d have pushed the issue, but Dean’s Oscar worthy performance intended to reassure Sam he was ‘fine, just tired’ made it difficult. Dean might have sold it had it not been for the paleness of his features and the strange expression in his eyes. And that expression was the thing. That look. Sam couldn’t place it, wasn’t sure what it meant and it had shut him up better than any spoken words could have.
“Dude.”
Sam turned around to find the shaggy, black-haired boy jabbing room keys at him, credit card already slid back across the counter.
“Thanks.”
Sam took the keys and the card. He looked at the engraved numbers on the keychain-room twenty-seven, other end of the court. That suited him fine-more privacy. Getting back in the Impala, he handed the spare to Dean and drove them to their room.
When they got there, Sam didn’t miss a thing, not the way Dean stood blinking a few seconds after he’d exited the car, the slight sway he quickly compensated for…or how he’d white-knuckle-gripped the lip of the trunk as he’d hauled out his duffels. Sam stepped forward, stretched his hand and started to open his mouth, but his brother’s face was granite, immoveable and set against it.
Fine, asshole. Get your own bags then.
Sam huffed loudly, then jerked his own bags out of the trunk and followed Dean into the room.
Dean slumped onto the nearest bed as soon as they entered the room, falling back with a weary sigh, leaving his bags abandoned on the floor.
Toeing off his unlaced boots, he spared a glance at Sam. “You look like you could use some shuteye yourself. You did drive through most of the night. Get some rest, Sam.”
Guilt. Always with the guilt, eh, Dean? It’s okay to lean on me once in a while. Jerk.
“Maybe later. I want to check into a few things, maybe grab some food. What sounds good?” And maybe he was wearing his pinched up bitch-face, but Dean had that effect on him.
Dean waved a dismissive hand at him and scooted up into the bed, coat still firmly in place. “Whatever sounds good to you, dude. The usual.”
“Double bacon cheeseburger and chili cheese fries, then?”
Did Dean actually turn green? Sam saw his brother’s forced swallow and inched closer to the trashcan.
“Uh,” Dean choked out, “skip the chili and cheese…and make it a single.”
To Sam’s astonishment, Dean climbed under the covers…fully dressed. The California weather wasn’t exceedingly hot this time of year, but today was unseasonably humid and the air conditioning in the room was off. To say the room was stuffy was an understatement.
Sam must’ve made a noise because Dean looked up, a question forming in the lines of his face before it sounded on his lips. “What?”
“Dude, aren’t you hot?”
“No,” Dean said with a shrug. He looked around then nodded at the air conditioner. “Turn on the AC if you want.”
“You’ve got your coat on AND you’re under the covers.” You didn’t even make a joke at my expense. No ‘Sam, don’t be a baby’ or ‘Aw, princess might break a sweat.’
Either Dean didn’t hear him or he was studiously ignoring him. He flipped onto his side and burrowed into his pillow, leaving Sam standing dumbstruck.
Sam’s long legs took him to Dean’s side in a few strides. He pressed the back of his hand to his brother’s forehead, ready when Dean instinctively batted at it, eyes popping open-startled, annoyed.
“What the hell, Sam?! I said I was fine didn’t I?”
And he was. No blazing fevered brow like Sam had expected. Dean’s skin was cool-damp with sweat-but cool nonetheless. Actually, if anything, he was a little too cool given the collecting moisture on his brow and how tightly bundled he was.
Weird.
“Sorry, just-”
“Just, what?” Dean’s brows pulled down, eyes heavy with the promise of sleep.
“Nothing. Just…get some rest.”
Dean’s face softened with practiced big brother patience. “Yeah, you, too.” He closed his eyes and settled deeper into the bed and blankets.
After a minute or so, Dean cracked open one eye. “Dude. Can’t sleep with you hovering.”
“Right, yeah. Sorry.”
Sam moved away and dug out his laptop. Before he could relax, he needed to research. He wanted to check into the local folklore, see if maybe something else could be causing the recent deaths. Something-anything-that wasn’t his dead girlfriend.
WCAWCAWCA
Two hangnails and three trips to the bathroom later, Sam was losing hope. Nothing supernatural had been reported in the general vicinity of the apartment complex, no horrific, newsworthy tragedies-nothing. He just couldn’t believe that Jess would…that she could…
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and fought off a yawn. He needed a break, maybe another quick jaunt across the street to the Stop and Go for more coffee. He pushed his chair back, gathered up the wrappers from his meager lunch of gas station burrito with a side of potato wedges, and dumped the greasy paper sacks in the trash.
He paused by Dean’s bed. His brother’s lunch had long since gone cold, he’d slept straight through most of the afternoon and seemed to have no intention of waking soon. The sleep had been restless, active in a way that made him doubt Dean was getting much benefit from it. Even now, his brother was mumbling and shifting beneath the covers and pillows he’d amassed like a shield.
What’s going on with you? Sam thought as he watched Dean struggle in his sleep. Is Jess there with you or is this just a dream?
Sam sunk to the edge of his own bed and listened, tried to pick out words intermingled with nonsense sounds. Dean rolled to his side, facing Sam, and curled his hand into his chest. Brows pulled down sharply, lips twisting.
“Don’t worry, Sam.”
The words came out a sleep-slurred whisper, barely audible. Sam shook his head and leaned forward on his knees. He waited for more to come. When it didn’t, he planted one of his hands in his hair and closed his eyes for a second. Could Dean sense his thoughts or was this big-brother knowing?
How can I not worry, Dean? You almost died-twice. And, if you could see yourself now, see how bad you look… you’d worry, too. Hell, you’d probably drag me to every doctor known to man-and some not-demanding they fix me.
Sam opened his eyes and watched Dean pull unsteady breaths in and out.
Every time you struggle to catch your breath, every headache and nosebleed makes me wonder what we could’ve missed. What might the doctors have missed? And now…
Sam suddenly felt…worn, exhausted to the core. The bed was a magnet to his weary, heavy body-the need to let go pulled him down and he found himself snuggled on his side facing Dean. Maybe he’d grab an hour’s rest for himself-they had a little time before dinner at Becky’s. He was out in an instant.
He drifted at first. Wrapped in cotton, comfortable and warm like floating in a sun-heated lake on a beautiful summer day. Then he felt drawn, pulled, the motion real to him.
He shivered. Now he was cold, skin stinging with sharp chill, but he could not identify the source. He rubbed his arms, withdrew deeper into himself.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m fine.”
Dean? The faint words echoed in his ears, wisps that might have been nothing.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Dean?” he heard himself call.
Silence.
A heavy, crushing weight pressed on his chest, constricted his breathing. He gasped, struggled to draw in more air, but found he could draw in little more than a gasp. The pressure was in his head, too, vice-like and crowding. The pain of it made him dizzy and weak.
He began to struggle, felt it give just a little and redoubled his efforts to come awake.
Sam’s eyes snapped opened and he sucked in air, gripped the blankets beneath him with sweaty fists. His eyes bounced around, trying to get a bead on the danger. Sounds of struggle drew his attention to the right. Dean was tugging, shoving at his tangled covers, frantic.
Within seconds, his brother also blinked awake. Dean’s movements were disoriented, but no longer frantic as he disentangled himself from the snarled blankets. He pushed up and perched himself on the edge of the bed, rubbed his chest in an effort to ease the wheezing rattle Sam could hear.
“Dea-”
Dean threw up a hand, brought Sam’s words to a halt. “Just congested.” He coughed hard like the therapist had taught him and then took several deep, clear breaths to show Sam he was okay.
“See? Nothing to worry about.” Glancing at the clock, Dean did a double take. “You let me sleep all day?”
Sam shrugged, rubbed his eyes, was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened - wondered what it meant, knew it had been Dean he’d felt. “Seemed like you needed it,” he answered. “You sure you you’re all right?”
Dean rewarded him with a disgusted glare and nothing more. Checking the time himself, Sam cursed and shot out of the bed. “We’re supposed to be back at Becky’s in thirty minutes.”
Fidgeting indecisively between his duffel and Dean, Sam finally stopped midway. He raised his hands and gestured toward his brother. “If you don’t feel-if you’d rather just stay in…we don’t have to do this tonight.”
Dean let his hand drop from scrubbing through his hair. “What are you talking about? Since when do we turn down free pizza?”
“Well, it’s just-I mean, I felt you,” Sam stammered. “And you’ve been asleep all day, and you were wheezing-”
Cocking his head, Dean froze. “Wait, what do you mean you felt me?”
“You know, while we were sleeping.”
An appalled look flashed across Dean’s face. He stood abruptly. Turning his back on Sam, he strode over to his duffel and yanked out clean clothes, tension making the movements clipped.
“I call the shower first,” he grumbled as he pushed past Sam.
“But-”
“No, Sam.” Then he slammed into the bathroom, barricading himself from further argument.
Twenty-five minutes later, Sam, also showered and dressed, plopped into the car next to Dean. He ran a quick hand through his damp hair and then double-checked himself in the mirror.
“You look fabulous, Fabio.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Can we go now, or do you need more mirror time?”
Sam wrinkled his face. “What?”
“Dude, they’re your friends, not Kelly Clarkson.”
“I know that.” Sam shrugged Dean’s annoyance off. “Cranky much?”
Dean threw Sam a quick glare, shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. Nervous, Sam stared out the passenger window, watched the scenery blur by in grays, reds and aquas. He was unable to forget what he’d felt, what he knew Dean must be feeling, but knew his brother was less than receptive to the discussion. Thing was, it shouldn’t have happened at all. Missouri had been sure her techniques would work, that Dean wouldn’t be open like that without touch and willful intrusion. Obviously, that’s what Dean thought it had been.
“Look, Dean,” Sam turned to face his brother, “it wasn’t on purpose. I swear.”
Dean bent his head in a half nod, lips pursing.
“Are you sure you’re okay to do this? That was pretty intense.”
Dean shot him a sideways glance and gripped the wheel tighter.
Stubborn, stubborn idiot.
“Dean,” Sam prompted.
A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw as he ground out, “I thought we discussed this already.”
“If you call slamming the bathroom door in my face a discussion,” Sam sputtered with indignation.
Shooting Sam his best ‘get out of my face’ look, Dean shook his head and laughed, lip pulling up in a disbelieving smirk.
It pissed Sam off. And he knew it was done specifically for that purpose. He didn’t know why he allowed it to dig under his skin, but he could feel his teeth grinding down on words he might regret. He pressed his lips tighter and looked straight ahead, unconsciously flexing his hands into fists.
Okay, Dean. You wanna play that game, we’ll play, dude. Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.
WCAWCAWCA
Dean frowned at the plate on his lap. Truth be told, he wasn’t all that hungry-even if pizza was a personal favorite. He came because there was a job to do, because Sam needed him to be there, not from any real desire to score free food. The limp, greasy slice mocked him with its pepperoni eyes. Dean sighed, picked it up and forced himself to take the first bite. He could do this, he really could. God only knew he’d done worse in the name of pretense.
Sam eased down next to him on the couch, one hand full of plate and the other full of Coke can. Nathan was sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, on Sam’s other side, and Chris claimed the overstuffed recliner once again. Rebecca and Aaron shared the loveseat across from the couch. Hot girl…Lauren, Laura, no…Lori had yet to show up.
Around him, everyone chatted about school, work and other things that reinforced Dean’s desire to be elsewhere. He didn’t belong, stuck out like a brown Pinto in an issue of Hot Rod Magazine.
“I never would’ve guessed you were even interested in computer programming,” Sam was saying to Chris. “Do you remember how you ribbed me about being a computer geek?”
Gesturing with a shrug, palms up, Chris laughed. “I guess after you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about how sure-how confident you were about what you wanted…and I knew it wasn’t the same for me.” Chris plucked at his jeans, then shook his head. “Becoming a lawyer was my family’s dream, not mine.”
Dean felt a tug in his heart, didn’t dare look at Sam as Chris’s words bounced around inside his skull.
“So,” Sam said thoughtfully, impressed, “how far behind graduation did that put you?”
“I graduate at the end of this year. But, hey, at least I’m graduating this year. Nathan’s still got two and half years.” Chris smirked at Nathan.
Nathan, face setting up like quick-dry concrete, smugly turned to Dean, saying, “See, what Chris here isn’t telling you is, I’m a good two years younger than the rest of the group-well, except for Rebecca who is only a year older than me. And,” he said with emphasis, “I took off a semester when my sister died.”
Suddenly eyes around the room found the floor particularly interesting. It made Dean itch to ask what had happened, but before the lapse could linger, Rebecca quickly picked the loose end back up.
“Yeah,” she interjected, “and I’m still a semester behind because of Zach’s incarceration.” Turning to rub a hand up and down the length of Aaron’s spine, she went on, “But that’s okay because Aaron’s decided to work on his doctorate’s. He can keep me company and be my study partner.”
Becky beamed at Aaron who turned pink then red.
Sam turned a growing smile toward his friend. “Wow. You mean this guy, here? The one who wanted to quit half-way through freshman year?”
Aaron shrugged it off. “Well, yeah, why not? After I got my bachelors, I was able to get part-time work as a teacher in one of the local schools-so I can afford to take my time. It’s great because I get the summers off and during the school year, I just schedule all of my classes in the afternoons and evenings.”
“Well, good for you,” Sam enthused. “I told you it’d work out.”
Chris spoke quietly, but his words hushed the room. “What about you, Sam? You ever coming back to finish, pursue the American dream of family and fortune?”
Dean felt his insides freeze-his breath, his heart, his brain-they all shut down, waiting for Sam’s answer.
Not quite able to make eye contact with anyone, Sam fidgeted a little as he said, “Yeah, I don’t know, man. Right now, I’m just kinda taking things a day at time.”
“Well, but, surely ghost busting isn’t what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
Dean could feel Chris’s gaze land on him. Piercing, heavy, challenging.
“Why in Hell not?” Aaron burst out. “Sam’s a hero. He’s saving lives, workin’ side by side with his brother to keep poor schmucks like us safe. I think it’s cool.”
“Yeah, but,” Chris said, annoyance coming across in his tone and face, “he can’t want that forever-it’s dangerous and it can’t pay well.”
“Not everything is about money, Chris,” Aaron shot back.
“Look,” Becky interrupted, “Sam’s a big boy and I’m sure he knows what’s best for him right now.”
Tension made the air heavy-strained-but no one pursued the topic any further and, gradually, the friends picked back up on more neutral territory.
Dean stole a glance at Sam, wanted to see what his brother made of all this. But Sam was still pissed at him from earlier. Not that Sam’s friends seemed to notice.
But Dean noticed.
He noticed how his little brother refused to look at him, held himself stiff and aloof when Sam did manage to take notice of him. His brother’s anger always ran deep and cold where Dean’s was a hot flash. Seeing Sam taking small, deliberate bites of pizza, delicately avoiding getting sauce on his face was nearly more than Dean could stand. His throat ached with snark.
Prissy and pissed-sounds like some kind of reality show. God, what I wouldn’t give to see-
“So, Dean,” Nathan leaned forward to peer around Sam, “does the cool leather jacket automatically come with the job?”
A wistful smile slowly spread across Dean’s face and he could feel Sam’s eyes on him as he replied, “Nah. No, this was Dad’s. He, uh,” Dean chuckled to himself, “he was gonna throw it out, but I told him there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good piece of leather when it was just getting comfortable.”
“Where is your dad?” Chris asked, suddenly interested. “Isn’t he supposed to be head ghost buster?”
Dean exchanged glances with Sam. “Well, we don’t really know. We haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. When Dad gets in hunting mode, he likes to lay low.”
Chris slurred around a mouthful of pizza, “S’what? He can’t be bothered to pick up the phone and let you know he’s alive? See if you’re okay?”
Picking up on the condescending vibe, Dean kept his features guarded as he answered, “Dad trusts us to take care of ourselves. He’ll call when he can.”
“Oh, riight. Yeah, like when Sam was in school.” Chris sneered, “Sounds like a real asshole.”
Dean felt Sam go rigid beside him. Whether it was worry over Dean’s reaction or from a sense of familial loyalty, Dean couldn’t say.
Coolly, Dean flopped his half-eaten pizza back on the plate and lifted stony eyes to meet Chris’s pale blue ones. “You don’t know anything about our family,” he growled low and dangerously.
For the barest second, Chris looked uncertain, like maybe he was going to have the good sense to be keep his mouth shut. Then the caution was gone and he returned Dean’s cool stare with a challenge.
“Dean.”
Pushing off the couch, Dean heard Sam call his name again, one of his brother’s large paws tugging at his forearm. He jerked roughly away, intent on getting himself away before he said things to Chris that Sam would most definitely regret.
“Finish your pizza, Sam.”
Dean’s nails bit into his palms, leaving little crescent shaped marks of barely controlled anger. He could feel Sam’s eyes on his back as he carried his plate into the kitchen.
Dean dumped the half-eaten slice into the trash; heard Aaron say in a hushed voice, “Just because your dad’s an ass doesn’t make everyone else’s one, Chris. I see what you’re doing, but you’re wrong.”
Leaving his plate near the sink, Dean pushed the sliding glass door open and stepped out onto the small patio leading off the kitchen. A well-used charcoal grill took up one corner, so Dean took the only space left.
Outside, the conversation died to a muted murmur. Dean gripped the weathered railing with its chipped black paint and drew in a lungful of honeysuckle infused air. He closed his eyes and blew the breath back out. What that guy-Chris-had said about Dad…
Dean shook his head. How many times had he heard the same thing from Sam in the last few weeks?
The tentative truce between Dad and Sam grew weaker with every week that passed with no word from Dad. Dean had to admit he was getting a little worried-but he also knew how deep and silent his dad could go when he was getting hot leads. He also understood Sam’s concerns, too. Having almost lost his family had left his brother shaken and jumpy. He saw it in Sam’s eyes every time he looked at him with that pinched worried expression.
Dean was also beginning to wonder if maybe Sam had lost faith in Dean’s ability to take care of them both. If maybe this renewed desperation to have contact with Dad was Sam’s insecurity showing. Dean didn’t want Sam seeing him as a burden he had to carry or feeling like he couldn’t count on him when he needed him.
“Hey.”
He didn’t quite manage to cover the startled jump when Sam brushed up against him.
“I thought you-” Dean cleared his voice to cover the shaky first words and tried again, “I thought you were still eating?”
“Well, I did already eat five slices to your one.”
Sam’s smile might have been more convincing had his eyes not given everything away.
Dean shivered. The evening was still mild, but that bone-chilled feeling that permeated his clothing seemed to have nothing to do with current air temperatures. Without the full wattage of the sun, he found himself growing uncomfortably cool.
“Still cold?”
“What? No.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, then why are you still wearing your coat?”
He looked down at the offending piece of evidence. Lifting his head with a huge grin, he answered, “’cause it makes me look cool. Impressed your friend, Nathan, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Sam huffed, “not hard to do, Dean.”
Leaning toward Sam and nudging him with an elbow, Dean whispered conspiratorially, “Poor kid does make you look like the Fonz.”
Sam squinted at Dean. “Thanks…I think.”
The boys leaned casually on the railing, shoulders grazing.
“You know, Chris doesn’t really mean to be…like that.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Dean glanced at Sam’s profile.
“Doesn’t he?” he asked with a flat voice.
Sam turned toward Dean, saying, “I think he has issues with his dad-military family kind of thing. He never really talks about him, but from what he’s said to me,” Sam shrugged, “I take it they’re barely on speaking terms.”
Nodding, Dean let the conversation rest between them, allowing them to settle in companionable silence. Finally standing up, he stretched the leftover tension from his muscles.
“So, you ready to get back to business?” Snapping his fingers, eyes wide, Dean asked it without losing a beat, “Oh, and hey, is that hot girl still supposed to be coming?”
“Dean, man…” Sam shook his head, paused to rest his hands on his hips, “don’t you dare hit on her. These are my friends, not some barfly wannabes.”
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I can’t help it if my awesomeness attracts the ladies. What’s an adorable guy like me to do?”
Sam looked up at the sky for help, snorting. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
Dean laughed and clapped Sam on the back. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” Then growing more serious, “Now, let’s see what else your buddies can tell us, see if maybe we can get into the apartment tonight and take a look around.”
Paling a little, Sam nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Dean paused, searching Sam’s face. His voice quiet, gentle, he said, “Look, Sam. You don’t have to go into the apartment. I’ve got it.”
“No, no. I want to be there…I need to be there.”
“You sure?” Dean could see Sam become quieter, grow smaller.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Head cocking back, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and stared.
“Dude, I’m not a baby,” Sam huffed, expression half way between amusement and irritation.
Dean held his brother’s gaze for a long time. Assessing, contemplating, and then, finally, made his decision.
Turning to lead the way back inside, Dean muttered just loud enough to be heard, “You sure ‘bout that, Sammy-bear?”
Feeling Sam’s deft punch to his shoulder, he grinned and for the first time that day, he felt somewhat normal again.
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