The Other Son: Chapter Sixteen
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Sixteen: GUILT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter sixteen | GUILT
Sam was well used to bruises and broken bones and the pain that went along with hunt-related wounds, which included bullet and stab wounds, among other more interesting ways of damaging the body. All things considered, Sam didn’t think of himself in such poor shape. He had a split lip and a cut on his eyebrow, as well as some minor cuts on the rest of him; two fingers on his left hand were broken and his right wrist was sprained and wrapped in a tensor bandage just in case; the bruising on his body was pretty extensive and he’d left-off his shirt because the greater part of his torso was wrapped in white bandages, and part of his upper left arm as well. Movement was a bit of an issue, but nothing a few painkillers couldn’t fix. Besides, he was sitting up in bed with his back propped by about five pillows and watching the bed beside him where Dean was sprawled and slumbering peacefully. All in all, not so bad off.
“Do you need something?” Dean mumbled, his head still mostly buried in his pillow, he hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes.
“No,” Sam said, smiled a bit as Dean wrinkled his nose and sniffed, and then shifted his head - snuggled really - into his pillow.
“Then why are you staring at me?”
Sam smiled a bit, dropped his head and toyed with the bed sheets before he looked back towards where Dean was lying. “I’d come over there and join you but it kind of hurts to move.”
“One track mind,” Dean muttered. Then his head jerked up and he squinted his eyes open. “Need a painkiller?”
“I’m fine, Dean.”
Dean yawned and stretched, rolled onto his back and sat-up. “Whatever, Dude.” Sam watched with vague interest as Dean stood and started to get dressed.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Downstairs,” Dean said, like the answer was obvious. “I need to get something to eat, and finish with that damned Bronco.” Sam wanted to whine about being left alone in the room (because Ellen had taken to chasing him back to bed when she spotted him on his feet), but he knew that Dean wouldn’t take well to a guilt-trip, even if it was a teasing one.
“If you need me, I’ll be right here,” he said instead.
Dean gave him an amused look and shook his head. “I’ll try to remember that.”
………………………………………..
The arms were small but they wrapped around him perfectly, fit over Sam’s small body and held him close against the warmth. “Dean?” Sam mumbled; rubbing his face against a rough T-shirt - worn blue fabric faded after years of wear and frequent washes in the Laundromat.
“M’here, Sammy,” came an answering mumble, the voice soft and sleep-heavy.
“Dean?” Sam asked again.
“D’you have a nightmare?” The arms shifted around Sam’s body, pulled him closer into the warmth.
“No,” Sam said.
“Then why are you awake?”
I couldn’t stay asleep. When’s daddy coming home?”
“I told you, Sammy. Day after tomorrow, that’s when he’ll be back.”
“The day after tomorrow,” Sam repeated.
“And he’ll come back. You’ll see. Now go to sleep.” Sam lay silent for a moment, and then pressed his palm to his brother’s shoulder and pushed, jostling the older boy into wakefulness. “What is it, Sammy?”
“You won’t ever go away like daddy does, will you?”
Hazel eyes blinked open and met Sam’s gaze directly. “I promise. Not ever, Sammy.”
Sam came into wakefulness with a start. Outside an engine coughed and wheezed and rumbled into life; he could hear the sound of Jo cheering and of wheels on gravel, inside all Sam could hear was a promise. He sat at the edge of the bed; the rumpled sheets wrapped around him haphazardly and ran his hands through his hair. Everything was a mess, there was no way around it, and Sam didn’t know what to do, or even where to start.
With a sigh, Sam picked-up his cell-phone from the nightstand and entered an increasingly familiar number without hesitation. He’d spoken with her a number of times since Dean had been released from the hold the demons had on him. With Dean dodging him whenever possible, Sophia was quickly becoming someone Sam was increasingly turning to.
“Tell me you’re one hour away,” Sophia greeted.
“That’s physically impossible to travel that distance in that amount of time.”
“You told me he was fine and you were alive and your car was running. I told you I wanted you to bring his ass over here! I’m not seeing the problem!”
“There’s nothing but problems over here!” Sam snapped.
“Uh oh,” she said. “I know that voice. It’s how I always sound when he’s driving me crazy. Tell me everything.”
“You didn’t think we’d face a legion of demons and be fine, did you?”
“Would I be a bad person if I told you that I had hoped?”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Absolutely nothing,” Sam said. “He hardly talks about it, says that he can’t remember things. But the way he looks at me sometimes - I don’t know. He’s blaming himself and beating himself up about all of this, and nothing I say makes any difference. Just me sitting there is like an accusation, because he just looks at the cuts and the bruises - you know?”
“That’s to be expected, Sam,” Sophia said. “Look, there’s no way around it, for him. He knows what he did and you can’t stop him feeling responsible for the entire mess unless you figure-out exactly why the demons wanted him, and also make it entirely clear that there’s no way he could have avoided getting caught one way or another.”
“Great, because that’s not hard or anything.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his heel against the bed. “He won’t even let me touch him. Not anyone, actually. Won’t even let anyone get close.”
“Don’t let him close off, Sam,” Sophia said, her voice quiet and he could hear her worry in her tone.
“I know.”
………………………………………………..
Sam supposed it was because there were memories all over the Roadhouse, he just hadn’t known how they had been affecting Dean until he’d felt strong enough to ignore Ellen’s threats and leave the bedroom that had quickly been becoming his prison. With the Bronco fixed there was no easy excuse for Dean to use in order to avoid the bar - although he still tried. Outside, the Roadhouse was an island in the middle of a sea of burnt tall grass and ash, protection charms were still visible on the building because Ellen saw no reason to take them down - they could always use the extra protection. Inside, Sam was certain that, for Dean, there was nowhere to go that gave him a break from what he had done. The bathroom where he had been kept; the bar where he had fought with Sam, stabbed Ellen and nearly been choked to death when he’d fought-back against the demons; the kitchen and the porch where he had been taken. Dean said nothing, kept his expression neutral and a parody of a smile on his face at all times, but the more time Sam spent with everyone the more certain he became that he and Dean needed to hit the road directly, regardless of whether Sam was prepared to sit in a car for long periods of time or not.
Of course, he explained none of his thoughts to Dean, which was likely the reason why the man looked so bewildered when he came into the bedroom three days after the attack to find Sam stuffing things into their duffel bags haphazardly. “Where are you going?” Dean asked.
Sam ignored the worry in Dean’s voice, knowing that Dean was trying to keep his fear hidden. “We’re going to Fitchburg,” he said.
“Why?”
Sam knew all of the things running through Dean’s head - that Sam was leaving him, that he was sending him back home because he couldn’t trust. “Because I can only take so many threats on my life from your friend before I actually start to worry that she might actually follow-through,” he said, managing a teasing smile as he glanced over, relieved to see some of the tension ease from Dean’s body.
Dean stepped over to his own duffel and grabbed one of the shirts from the pile Sam had made of their things on the bed and started to fold it. “You’ve been talking to Sophia?”
“She wanted hourly updates,” Sam said. Dean glanced over, his smile small but real and it occurred to Sam that it had been a while since he had seen Dean smile honestly like that.
It was fleeting, however. Dean frowned looked down at his bag. “I haven’t called her,” he admitted.
“She understands, really.”
“That’s not the point,” Dean said, then his expression turned teasing and Sam knew that it was forced. “I’m just thinking about the lecture I’m gonna get, I bet she’ll start before I’m even out of the car.”
“I think she’ll just be happy to see you.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I’ll place a bet on it,” Sam said with confidence. Despite the many threats he’d heard from Sophia, and the promises she’d repeated about the words she had waiting for Dean when she saw him again, Sam knew that what was behind all of it was her worry for her best friend who she was maybe missing a whole lot. “Honestly,” Sam said when Dean looked disbelieving. “Fifty dollars that the first thing she does is suffocate you in a hug and then start spouting off how much she’s missed you.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Dean said, amusement in his eyes. “She’ll be freaked about what you’ve no doubt told her, and want me to explain it all to her - in detail - and then freak out all over again and start lecturing me on being safe and responsible and taking care of myself.” They shook on it and Sam hoped that he knew Sophia as well as he thought he did.
…………………………………………..
Leaving the Roadhouse was not as eventful as arriving there - no one was attacked and kidnapped - but Ellen and Jo and even Ash stood by the impala and said their good-byes along with orders to stay safe and keep in touch and to come back soon, and Sam watched how Dean was a bit stiff in each embrace and a bit pinched with all of the concern being shown. It was a relief to get back on the road, the car kicking-up dust and the music blaring, mostly because Sam knew it was a tool Dean used to clear his head and he wanted to make sure that Dean’s self-abuse was kept to a minimum. They were on the road for less than an hour when Dean fell asleep in the passenger seat. Sam left the music playing loud, knowing that everything - from the wind coming in through the open windows, to the familiar smell of the impala’s interior and the music and even Sam were the only reason why Dean had finally managed to fall easily into sleep. He allowed himself to feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.
…………………………………………
The drive to Fitchburg slow, mainly because Sam was exploiting several things ruthlessly - but for the greater good. The first was the fact that Dean slept easily and deeply in the car, and while he was asleep he had no problem with being touched. Sam put a lot of faith into Dean subliminally taking in Sam’s feelings through the point of contact - one hand stretched across the space wrapped loosely around the back of Dean’s neck, or covering Dean’s hand. He hoped that it would help stabilize Dean’s emotions, that it might help him overcome his guilt - knowing that Sam didn’t blame him, wasn’t even afraid of him.
Sam wasn’t able to sit-up for huge chunks of time because his body was bruised and aching. He did most of the driving, however, because Dean never asked to, and the result was that they spent a limited amount of time on the road, prolonging the drive a bit more. Sam was always the first out of the car and all of the fake credit cards were his anyway, so he booked their motel rooms and made sure there was only ever one king-size bed. It didn’t matter that Dean always laid down at the far edge of the bed, because Sam was calm and peaceful and warm and he knew what that did to Dean and was never very long before they were lying tangled together in the middle of the bed, and Sam held on and sent some more subliminal messages, because lately those were the only messages Dean had been open to.
……………………………………..
Dean blinked his eyes open just as the car had passed the ‘Welcome to Fitchburg’ sign, and though Sam was filled with a sense of trepidation - worried how returning to his home would affect Dean, especially with what had happened before he had left it - it was quite apparent that Dean had missed this place and was excited to be back. By the time Sam was guiding the impala down the main street, Dean was sitting upright and alert, watching out the window and taking-in the changes - of which there were none.
They came to a stop outside Dean’s blue house because that was where Sophia had been staying. She was rushing down the front path before Dean even opened his door, and by the time he had shut his passenger door Sophia had launched herself the last bit of distance and threw her arms around Dean’s shoulders, standing on her tiptoes and squeezing him tight. “Soph-“ Dean said. “Air.”
“Sorry!” she said, letting go and stepping back, before lunging forward again and hugging him. “I missed you so damned much!” Then she smacked his shoulder. “Why didn’t you call me? You promised?” Her words were spilling out, her topics ranging from how much she had missed them, to how worried she had been, to what the hell Dean had been thinking and how he had to look after himself if he was gonna go off without her.
In the end, Sam was exactly sure which of them had one the bet, because though he had gotten the first bit right, Dean had been correct as well - part of her rambling had included a lecture. “I missed you too, Sophia,” Dean said pointedly, she laughed a little and sniffled.
Inside, Dean’s home looked exactly as it had the last time Sam had been there. Dean paused in the front hallway in front of a framed photograph of he and his parents, grinning and waving - the picture had been taken in the back garden. Sam paused behind him, close enough that they were almost touching, his breath ghosting against the back of Dean’s neck. “Do you think it’s really over?” Dean asked, and Sam wasn’t sure what had finally prompted the question. Acting on instinct, Sam took the picture down from the wall and looked at it, then picked-up Dean’s hand and placed the picture into it. Nothing happened.
“Whatever it was, I think it’s over for now.”
“But not forever?”
“I can’t be certain,” Sam said. Dean nodded, looking down at the smiling faces of his mother and his father, and then he returned the frame to its place.
“Everything looks the same.”
“Did you think I was going to trash the place?” Sophia asked.
“I don’t remember inviting you to live here,” Dean retorted.
She shrugged. “Have you guys had something to eat?”
“Not hungry,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna go upstairs for a bit.” He turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Sam and Sophia standing in the kitchen.
“Is he actually sleeping? Or just exhausted.”
“Sleeping since we’ve been on the road,” Sam said. Sophia nodded and took things from the fridge to start preparing lunch. “At least he’s stopped fussing over me.”
“Well, if this is you after you’ve had time to heal, I can imagine why he’s been beating himself up about it.”
“It’s nothing serious,” Sam said. “And the things he’s feeling guilty over - it’s stuff he didn’t have any control over. He’s blaming himself for his dad’s death.”
“Should he?” Sophia asked.
“How can you ask that? Of course he shouldn’t!”
“I’m not accusing him,” Sophia said. “But he’s not stupid, Sam. Paul was pretty healthy. This whole things has messed him up and of course he’d start thinking that it was the demons who caused Paul’s death. So he’ll blame himself because he’s indirectly responsible.”
“He said something like that about me, too,” Sam said.
“What?”
“That he was fine until I came to Fitchburg. That I was the reason the demons started this.”
“Geez,” she said.
“He needs a break, and then he should feel better,” Sam said, not sounding as convinced as he wanted to be. “It’s just that things have been so manic, and now we can just slow down and take a break and then get back to hunting stuff we can actually deal with.”
“You dealt with this,” Sophia said. “It was a mess, but you dealt with it.”
“It’s not over,” Sam said. “It doesn’t feel anywhere close to being over.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Yahoo Web Hosting
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Sixteen: GUILT
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter sixteen | GUILT
Sam was well used to bruises and broken bones and the pain that went along with hunt-related wounds, which included bullet and stab wounds, among other more interesting ways of damaging the body. All things considered, Sam didn’t think of himself in such poor shape. He had a split lip and a cut on his eyebrow, as well as some minor cuts on the rest of him; two fingers on his left hand were broken and his right wrist was sprained and wrapped in a tensor bandage just in case; the bruising on his body was pretty extensive and he’d left-off his shirt because the greater part of his torso was wrapped in white bandages, and part of his upper left arm as well. Movement was a bit of an issue, but nothing a few painkillers couldn’t fix. Besides, he was sitting up in bed with his back propped by about five pillows and watching the bed beside him where Dean was sprawled and slumbering peacefully. All in all, not so bad off.
“Do you need something?” Dean mumbled, his head still mostly buried in his pillow, he hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes.
“No,” Sam said, smiled a bit as Dean wrinkled his nose and sniffed, and then shifted his head - snuggled really - into his pillow.
“Then why are you staring at me?”
Sam smiled a bit, dropped his head and toyed with the bed sheets before he looked back towards where Dean was lying. “I’d come over there and join you but it kind of hurts to move.”
“One track mind,” Dean muttered. Then his head jerked up and he squinted his eyes open. “Need a painkiller?”
“I’m fine, Dean.”
Dean yawned and stretched, rolled onto his back and sat-up. “Whatever, Dude.” Sam watched with vague interest as Dean stood and started to get dressed.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Downstairs,” Dean said, like the answer was obvious. “I need to get something to eat, and finish with that damned Bronco.” Sam wanted to whine about being left alone in the room (because Ellen had taken to chasing him back to bed when she spotted him on his feet), but he knew that Dean wouldn’t take well to a guilt-trip, even if it was a teasing one.
“If you need me, I’ll be right here,” he said instead.
Dean gave him an amused look and shook his head. “I’ll try to remember that.”
………………………………………..
The arms were small but they wrapped around him perfectly, fit over Sam’s small body and held him close against the warmth. “Dean?” Sam mumbled; rubbing his face against a rough T-shirt - worn blue fabric faded after years of wear and frequent washes in the Laundromat.
“M’here, Sammy,” came an answering mumble, the voice soft and sleep-heavy.
“Dean?” Sam asked again.
“D’you have a nightmare?” The arms shifted around Sam’s body, pulled him closer into the warmth.
“No,” Sam said.
“Then why are you awake?”
I couldn’t stay asleep. When’s daddy coming home?”
“I told you, Sammy. Day after tomorrow, that’s when he’ll be back.”
“The day after tomorrow,” Sam repeated.
“And he’ll come back. You’ll see. Now go to sleep.” Sam lay silent for a moment, and then pressed his palm to his brother’s shoulder and pushed, jostling the older boy into wakefulness. “What is it, Sammy?”
“You won’t ever go away like daddy does, will you?”
Hazel eyes blinked open and met Sam’s gaze directly. “I promise. Not ever, Sammy.”
Sam came into wakefulness with a start. Outside an engine coughed and wheezed and rumbled into life; he could hear the sound of Jo cheering and of wheels on gravel, inside all Sam could hear was a promise. He sat at the edge of the bed; the rumpled sheets wrapped around him haphazardly and ran his hands through his hair. Everything was a mess, there was no way around it, and Sam didn’t know what to do, or even where to start.
With a sigh, Sam picked-up his cell-phone from the nightstand and entered an increasingly familiar number without hesitation. He’d spoken with her a number of times since Dean had been released from the hold the demons had on him. With Dean dodging him whenever possible, Sophia was quickly becoming someone Sam was increasingly turning to.
“Tell me you’re one hour away,” Sophia greeted.
“That’s physically impossible to travel that distance in that amount of time.”
“You told me he was fine and you were alive and your car was running. I told you I wanted you to bring his ass over here! I’m not seeing the problem!”
“There’s nothing but problems over here!” Sam snapped.
“Uh oh,” she said. “I know that voice. It’s how I always sound when he’s driving me crazy. Tell me everything.”
“You didn’t think we’d face a legion of demons and be fine, did you?”
“Would I be a bad person if I told you that I had hoped?”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Absolutely nothing,” Sam said. “He hardly talks about it, says that he can’t remember things. But the way he looks at me sometimes - I don’t know. He’s blaming himself and beating himself up about all of this, and nothing I say makes any difference. Just me sitting there is like an accusation, because he just looks at the cuts and the bruises - you know?”
“That’s to be expected, Sam,” Sophia said. “Look, there’s no way around it, for him. He knows what he did and you can’t stop him feeling responsible for the entire mess unless you figure-out exactly why the demons wanted him, and also make it entirely clear that there’s no way he could have avoided getting caught one way or another.”
“Great, because that’s not hard or anything.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his heel against the bed. “He won’t even let me touch him. Not anyone, actually. Won’t even let anyone get close.”
“Don’t let him close off, Sam,” Sophia said, her voice quiet and he could hear her worry in her tone.
“I know.”
………………………………………………..
Sam supposed it was because there were memories all over the Roadhouse, he just hadn’t known how they had been affecting Dean until he’d felt strong enough to ignore Ellen’s threats and leave the bedroom that had quickly been becoming his prison. With the Bronco fixed there was no easy excuse for Dean to use in order to avoid the bar - although he still tried. Outside, the Roadhouse was an island in the middle of a sea of burnt tall grass and ash, protection charms were still visible on the building because Ellen saw no reason to take them down - they could always use the extra protection. Inside, Sam was certain that, for Dean, there was nowhere to go that gave him a break from what he had done. The bathroom where he had been kept; the bar where he had fought with Sam, stabbed Ellen and nearly been choked to death when he’d fought-back against the demons; the kitchen and the porch where he had been taken. Dean said nothing, kept his expression neutral and a parody of a smile on his face at all times, but the more time Sam spent with everyone the more certain he became that he and Dean needed to hit the road directly, regardless of whether Sam was prepared to sit in a car for long periods of time or not.
Of course, he explained none of his thoughts to Dean, which was likely the reason why the man looked so bewildered when he came into the bedroom three days after the attack to find Sam stuffing things into their duffel bags haphazardly. “Where are you going?” Dean asked.
Sam ignored the worry in Dean’s voice, knowing that Dean was trying to keep his fear hidden. “We’re going to Fitchburg,” he said.
“Why?”
Sam knew all of the things running through Dean’s head - that Sam was leaving him, that he was sending him back home because he couldn’t trust. “Because I can only take so many threats on my life from your friend before I actually start to worry that she might actually follow-through,” he said, managing a teasing smile as he glanced over, relieved to see some of the tension ease from Dean’s body.
Dean stepped over to his own duffel and grabbed one of the shirts from the pile Sam had made of their things on the bed and started to fold it. “You’ve been talking to Sophia?”
“She wanted hourly updates,” Sam said. Dean glanced over, his smile small but real and it occurred to Sam that it had been a while since he had seen Dean smile honestly like that.
It was fleeting, however. Dean frowned looked down at his bag. “I haven’t called her,” he admitted.
“She understands, really.”
“That’s not the point,” Dean said, then his expression turned teasing and Sam knew that it was forced. “I’m just thinking about the lecture I’m gonna get, I bet she’ll start before I’m even out of the car.”
“I think she’ll just be happy to see you.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I’ll place a bet on it,” Sam said with confidence. Despite the many threats he’d heard from Sophia, and the promises she’d repeated about the words she had waiting for Dean when she saw him again, Sam knew that what was behind all of it was her worry for her best friend who she was maybe missing a whole lot. “Honestly,” Sam said when Dean looked disbelieving. “Fifty dollars that the first thing she does is suffocate you in a hug and then start spouting off how much she’s missed you.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Dean said, amusement in his eyes. “She’ll be freaked about what you’ve no doubt told her, and want me to explain it all to her - in detail - and then freak out all over again and start lecturing me on being safe and responsible and taking care of myself.” They shook on it and Sam hoped that he knew Sophia as well as he thought he did.
…………………………………………..
Leaving the Roadhouse was not as eventful as arriving there - no one was attacked and kidnapped - but Ellen and Jo and even Ash stood by the impala and said their good-byes along with orders to stay safe and keep in touch and to come back soon, and Sam watched how Dean was a bit stiff in each embrace and a bit pinched with all of the concern being shown. It was a relief to get back on the road, the car kicking-up dust and the music blaring, mostly because Sam knew it was a tool Dean used to clear his head and he wanted to make sure that Dean’s self-abuse was kept to a minimum. They were on the road for less than an hour when Dean fell asleep in the passenger seat. Sam left the music playing loud, knowing that everything - from the wind coming in through the open windows, to the familiar smell of the impala’s interior and the music and even Sam were the only reason why Dean had finally managed to fall easily into sleep. He allowed himself to feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.
…………………………………………
The drive to Fitchburg slow, mainly because Sam was exploiting several things ruthlessly - but for the greater good. The first was the fact that Dean slept easily and deeply in the car, and while he was asleep he had no problem with being touched. Sam put a lot of faith into Dean subliminally taking in Sam’s feelings through the point of contact - one hand stretched across the space wrapped loosely around the back of Dean’s neck, or covering Dean’s hand. He hoped that it would help stabilize Dean’s emotions, that it might help him overcome his guilt - knowing that Sam didn’t blame him, wasn’t even afraid of him.
Sam wasn’t able to sit-up for huge chunks of time because his body was bruised and aching. He did most of the driving, however, because Dean never asked to, and the result was that they spent a limited amount of time on the road, prolonging the drive a bit more. Sam was always the first out of the car and all of the fake credit cards were his anyway, so he booked their motel rooms and made sure there was only ever one king-size bed. It didn’t matter that Dean always laid down at the far edge of the bed, because Sam was calm and peaceful and warm and he knew what that did to Dean and was never very long before they were lying tangled together in the middle of the bed, and Sam held on and sent some more subliminal messages, because lately those were the only messages Dean had been open to.
……………………………………..
Dean blinked his eyes open just as the car had passed the ‘Welcome to Fitchburg’ sign, and though Sam was filled with a sense of trepidation - worried how returning to his home would affect Dean, especially with what had happened before he had left it - it was quite apparent that Dean had missed this place and was excited to be back. By the time Sam was guiding the impala down the main street, Dean was sitting upright and alert, watching out the window and taking-in the changes - of which there were none.
They came to a stop outside Dean’s blue house because that was where Sophia had been staying. She was rushing down the front path before Dean even opened his door, and by the time he had shut his passenger door Sophia had launched herself the last bit of distance and threw her arms around Dean’s shoulders, standing on her tiptoes and squeezing him tight. “Soph-“ Dean said. “Air.”
“Sorry!” she said, letting go and stepping back, before lunging forward again and hugging him. “I missed you so damned much!” Then she smacked his shoulder. “Why didn’t you call me? You promised?” Her words were spilling out, her topics ranging from how much she had missed them, to how worried she had been, to what the hell Dean had been thinking and how he had to look after himself if he was gonna go off without her.
In the end, Sam was exactly sure which of them had one the bet, because though he had gotten the first bit right, Dean had been correct as well - part of her rambling had included a lecture. “I missed you too, Sophia,” Dean said pointedly, she laughed a little and sniffled.
Inside, Dean’s home looked exactly as it had the last time Sam had been there. Dean paused in the front hallway in front of a framed photograph of he and his parents, grinning and waving - the picture had been taken in the back garden. Sam paused behind him, close enough that they were almost touching, his breath ghosting against the back of Dean’s neck. “Do you think it’s really over?” Dean asked, and Sam wasn’t sure what had finally prompted the question. Acting on instinct, Sam took the picture down from the wall and looked at it, then picked-up Dean’s hand and placed the picture into it. Nothing happened.
“Whatever it was, I think it’s over for now.”
“But not forever?”
“I can’t be certain,” Sam said. Dean nodded, looking down at the smiling faces of his mother and his father, and then he returned the frame to its place.
“Everything looks the same.”
“Did you think I was going to trash the place?” Sophia asked.
“I don’t remember inviting you to live here,” Dean retorted.
She shrugged. “Have you guys had something to eat?”
“Not hungry,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna go upstairs for a bit.” He turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Sam and Sophia standing in the kitchen.
“Is he actually sleeping? Or just exhausted.”
“Sleeping since we’ve been on the road,” Sam said. Sophia nodded and took things from the fridge to start preparing lunch. “At least he’s stopped fussing over me.”
“Well, if this is you after you’ve had time to heal, I can imagine why he’s been beating himself up about it.”
“It’s nothing serious,” Sam said. “And the things he’s feeling guilty over - it’s stuff he didn’t have any control over. He’s blaming himself for his dad’s death.”
“Should he?” Sophia asked.
“How can you ask that? Of course he shouldn’t!”
“I’m not accusing him,” Sophia said. “But he’s not stupid, Sam. Paul was pretty healthy. This whole things has messed him up and of course he’d start thinking that it was the demons who caused Paul’s death. So he’ll blame himself because he’s indirectly responsible.”
“He said something like that about me, too,” Sam said.
“What?”
“That he was fine until I came to Fitchburg. That I was the reason the demons started this.”
“Geez,” she said.
“He needs a break, and then he should feel better,” Sam said, not sounding as convinced as he wanted to be. “It’s just that things have been so manic, and now we can just slow down and take a break and then get back to hunting stuff we can actually deal with.”
“You dealt with this,” Sophia said. “It was a mess, but you dealt with it.”
“It’s not over,” Sam said. “It doesn’t feel anywhere close to being over.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
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