Fic: Capture the Flag 1/?
Sam Winchester leaned back against the passenger seat of the Impala, enjoying some unseasonably warm late autumn weather in western Pennsylvania. A perfect day for letting one of your arms get more tan than the other as your hand enjoys the feeling of being buffeted by the slip stream of air enveloping the car. Case after case, Dean and Sam had been sending all manner of otherworldly creatures back to their other,…well, worlds. Sam had been very hesitant to let Dean drive at all today, considering he looked beyond exhausted, but Dean had been quick to point out that Sam was not going to deprive him of driving his baby on what was surely the last good day of the year to roll the windows down.
Even having won that battle, Dean didn't seem his robust self. Hadn't for about a week or so, Sam realized when he thought about it. But they had been on duty more than off during the past two months. Who knew if there was a reason for so much spectral overload or not, the apocalypse maybe? Dean had been calling up Bobby to keep them on the lookout for omens, even Ellen once or twice - who still had her ear to the hunting ground, so the boys could go after the source or know which seal to protect next. So far, no dice.
Sam continued to glance his brother over.
Dean gave him a characteristically pre-annoyed look, reserved for when he felt like there was going to be a long conversation in the works. "What, Sam, what?"
"Nothing."
"You sure?"
"Er, yeah," Sam emphasized, as if he didn’t have a clue in the world what Dean could be referring to. Dean knew better.
"Just - you stare much longer, you'll burn your eyes out. I’m so damn pretty it’s like looking into the sun. I can’t help these rugged good looks." Dean glanced toward his brother, the corner of his quirking slightly upward.
"Well, I was staring, but at your huge ego."
"Don't be jealous, Sammy."
The two brothers paused for a moment, exchanging wry grins.
"Seriously, Sam - I know you want to say something, so you might as well spit it out. I know the look."
"The look?" Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, the friggin' look!"
"Okay, dude, calm down. I was just wondering if you're okay." Sam gestured placatingly.
"Me? Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Well, you aren't 'so damn pretty' today, and you usually sing purposefully, with great gusto, for hours - for pleasure or to annoy me… either way, not a peep lately." Sam nodded his head toward the radio where the boys of KISS were wooing the ladies and rocking the gents.
Dean gave his brother a sidelong look. "So because I'm not bursting with song there's a problem? Have I ever given the impression that I was the Julie Andrews type?"
Sam shot Dean a look that called bullshit on that, because they both knew that while Dean might not be the Julie Andrews type, he was definitely the Robert Plant type. Instead of outwardly calling his brother on this, he let it slide. Sam had let a lot of Dean’s behavior since Hell slide. "Well, that's why I wasn't going to say anything…until you made me."
"Until I what?!" Dean's jaw dropped and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment until he found words of rebuttal. "Well, if you'd keep your x-ray vision to yourself, maybe I'd be content to keep my trap shut then."
"Fair enough. But I think I know you pretty well, man. And this - " Sam waved a hand toward his brother, " - isn't you. Something is off. Maybe you're just tired; I know we've had a helluva long haul."
"Yes, we have." Dean said, his tone implying that this was the obvious answer. "If another job doesn't crop up, I am very sure I'll be catching some shuteye for a good chunk of tomorrow. But we go where the job takes us, Sammy, you know that."
Sam did know that, but clearly having two days of rest in a row couldn't hurt, so long as no lives were in peril, especially where his brother was looking so ragged.
"A job is a job, but - we still got to eat, right?" Sam unfolded the map in his lap a bit more. "Lunchtime soon enough, there are a couple places off the next two exits. Why don't we see if we can find something and top off the tank?"
"Now you're talking sense."
Three more hunts cropped up in the next week and a half, keeping them in Pennsylvania. One was a pain in the ass salt and burn of a vengeful spirit. There had been a rash of graveyard vandalism in the area, and due to extremely disorganized burial records and dealing with the ghost of "John Smith," the brothers ended up with having to dig five graves that night just try and find the bastard's body. It was a cold, damp and annoying night.
The next hunt was a pretty standard poltergeist. The research was easy and the banishing had been pretty standard too. Sam had gotten tossed around quite a bit, though. For whatever reason, after Dean had blessed his corner of the house - he took a helluva long time getting back to where Sam was, in the master bathroom upstairs. The master bathroom had been where the ghost had committed suicide - and now, regretting her decision immensely, was trying to put as much life into her afterlife as possible. She did not want to go peacefully and had bashed Sam's head into the mirror before trying to bash him over the head with the toilet plunger.
Dean never told Sam why he had taken so long to get upstairs, but had mumbled an apology and occasionally got a wounded look in his eyes - usually after his eyes strayed to the stitches visible at Sam's hairline.
By the time they hit the third hunt (a werewolf that Dean had lovingly dubbed Teen Wolf since the creature had been preying on the local high school's athletic department), they were both run into the ground fairly well. Sam thought Dean was the worse off brother, though. Of course, every time he tried to call him on it, he got the standard "I'm fine" response. It didn't help Dean's point that this replies were increasingly accompanied by coughing jags that Dean tried to pass off - something in his throat, wrong pipe, always an answer.
By the end of the hunt, Sam was more than frustrated - especially when Dean had barely been able to run two blocks after the wolf. He had shown up in the nick of time to save Sam from being served up as the entrée at the Alpha Dog café, wheezing and covered in cold sweat. He had blamed it on "old age" of all things, which had earned him a glare and the silent treatment for a good couple of hours before Sam finally felt he had to broach the conversation again. The boys headed back to the motel room, knowing they needed to ditch town before the bullet-ridden body of Teen Wolf was discovered. Dean sat on the receiving end of the silent treatment while Sam packed their gear up, mostly by slamming every object they owned into a bag, slamming every door - including the doors to the car when they got back on the road in the wee hours of morning.
Dean wisely chose not to yell at Sam for slamming the doors of the Impala, which had taken a lot of self-restraint. He had known the conversation was waiting there, lurking under the surface - and he wanted to avoid it as long as possible. Frankly, he was feeling like he had been run over by a truck, but there was no way he was going to tell Sammy that. Poor kid was already going out of his mind with worry about all the Hell stuff. Plus, he just didn't have time to be sick. They were at war, goddammit. He was pretty sure when the Man Upstairs hired you for a job you didn't get to call out. So, Dean had settled for listening to his music and letting his brother sulk. It was inevitable when Sam did finally pipe up. Really, you could set your watch by this kid - he's more on time than Amtrak - The Sammy Nag Express, Dean thought ruefully.
"You're sick, dude. Just admit it before you get one of us killed."
All aboard.
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine, Sam? And, I believe I was the one saving your ass back there." Dean gave Sam a pointed look, for indeed - Dean had been the one who shot the werewolf right after it had tackled Sam, the bullets thankfully knocking the creature away before its teeth could connect with Sam's neck.
"It doesn't matter how many times you say it if none of them are true. And you barely got there in time."
"I got there." Dean said darkly. "You saying you think I don't have your back?"
He didn’t need the reminder that Sam seemed to be getting on fine without him when he was in Hell. He also didn't need the reminder that him feeling like ass could be putting Sam at risk. He was doing quite well beating himself up all on his own, thank you very much. Getting up the stairs of the poltergeist house, his chest had seized up - and he had felt a sharp pain with each breath that left him leaning on the banister while he heard Sam getting tossed around above him. He had pushed through it the best he could, rationalizing that maybe he had pulled something from digging all those graves two days previously. And running after the werewolf had been an exercise in torture, as his lungs just didn't seem to be getting enough air, any air.
Sam took a breath. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Dean. "I trust you with my life, you know that. There's no one else I want watching my back. But if you're not at 100%, and hell - I don't think you're even at 70 right now - then we need to lay low for a bit until you're feeling better."
Partially mollified by Sam emphasizing he knew Dean had his back, Dean lightened. "C'mon, Sammy. I'm at least 75. If it makes you feel better, we'll have a nice leisurely day today. We have to, right? We're out of jobs for the moment anyway." Dean pulled a big broad smile out, trying to reassure his younger brother the best he could. The rest of the ride went easier after that.
Eventually they were far away from Werewolfville that they felt safe stopping for lunch and Dean pulled the Impala in at a local diner that had a blinking neon sign casting light on a spinning tiered display of different varieties of pie. It was no mystery why the elder Winchester pulled in to this restaurant.
They talked about the normal things they always did. Hashing down new and creative ways to gank ghosts ("Blessed seawater with iron flakes in it, Sam, I swear - we need to try that shit out!"), laughing at the locals, amusing themselves by coming up with increasingly silly-yet-believable covers.
"Your food okay?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing. He realized that the newly dubbed "Officer Steve Nicks" had maybe eaten about half of his burger and was poking a single french fry into the ketchup repeatedly.
"Yeah, just..not as hungry as I thought, I guess." Dean said, looking as though he thought nothing of it as he stood up and reached into his pocket for his wallet and then tossed some bills on the table. "Pay the waitress and call Bobby, would you? I'm gonna fill up the car."
"What? Yeah, sure. Go 'head."
Dean nodded distractedly and walked past the elderly waitress coming over to their table.
Her kind face split into a sweet smile, "No chance I can interest you in some pie, hon?"
Sam glanced at the door his brother had already walked out of. Dean not ordering pie, especially at a place that was clearly known for its pie - it was like a bad omen. "Guess we'll take a couple pieces to go…apple is in season still?"
"Absolutely! Last few bushels of the year."
"Well, how about that and…pecan?" Sam decided he couldn't go wrong with either. The only pie he'd ever seen Dean hesitate on was mincemeat and the dude had still eaten it.
"Sure, be right over with that and your check."
"Great, thanks." Sam said, giving her a quick flicker of a smile as he fumbled to get his phone out and dial.
"Hey, Bobby!"
The gruff voice resounded clearly through the line. "Hey, kid. A few weeks since I heard your voice, missed your sweeter disposition! Where's your brother, you two finish up that last job alright?"
"No, no…job was fine, wolf's dead. Dean is filling up the car, wanted me to check if you have any more leads on seals." Sam fiddled with his wallet, adding some money for the pie to the small pile Dean had left.
"Nope, not that I can tell. Shouldn't even be offering this to you guys, but I do have a lead on another job if you two want in."
Sam hesitated, the silence hanging awkwardly in the air. His number one priority right now had to be getting Dean some rest, even if it was only in the car.
"Sam?"
"How close is it? Maybe a couple of days drive?"
Bobby, as always, was quick on the uptake, hearing the reluctance in Sam's voice. "I'm sorry, that's what I thought…you two must be bone-tired, hauling ass like you have been.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, a rest would be good.”
“I keep telling your brother to slow down. That you two aren't the only two hunters in the continental US."
"You do, do you?" Sam was surprised. Part of him had thought maybe he was just being insanely overprotective - but apparently other people had noticed Dean being raggedy too.
"Yep. Sounds like he ain't listening neither."
"I can tell you right now, Bobby, he isn’t. He looks like crap. He-" Sam's voice trailed off. He felt to say much more was like being a bit of a gossip, even though it was out of concern for his brother, and even if it was Bobby.
"Well, Sam, last few times I spoke with him, he sounds like it, or maybe just full of it. Can't fight superhuman things if you think you're superhuman; it'll just get yerself killed. Take care, kid. Smack that idjit brother of yers upside the head for me, will ya?"
That was Bobby for you, plain as day. But at least Sam knew that maybe it wasn't just him being overprotective. Pressing the disconnect button on his Blackberry gave him renewed license to make sure Dean took it easy the next couple of days, ate well, slept long.
Part 2
Even having won that battle, Dean didn't seem his robust self. Hadn't for about a week or so, Sam realized when he thought about it. But they had been on duty more than off during the past two months. Who knew if there was a reason for so much spectral overload or not, the apocalypse maybe? Dean had been calling up Bobby to keep them on the lookout for omens, even Ellen once or twice - who still had her ear to the hunting ground, so the boys could go after the source or know which seal to protect next. So far, no dice.
Sam continued to glance his brother over.
Dean gave him a characteristically pre-annoyed look, reserved for when he felt like there was going to be a long conversation in the works. "What, Sam, what?"
"Nothing."
"You sure?"
"Er, yeah," Sam emphasized, as if he didn’t have a clue in the world what Dean could be referring to. Dean knew better.
"Just - you stare much longer, you'll burn your eyes out. I’m so damn pretty it’s like looking into the sun. I can’t help these rugged good looks." Dean glanced toward his brother, the corner of his quirking slightly upward.
"Well, I was staring, but at your huge ego."
"Don't be jealous, Sammy."
The two brothers paused for a moment, exchanging wry grins.
"Seriously, Sam - I know you want to say something, so you might as well spit it out. I know the look."
"The look?" Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, the friggin' look!"
"Okay, dude, calm down. I was just wondering if you're okay." Sam gestured placatingly.
"Me? Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Well, you aren't 'so damn pretty' today, and you usually sing purposefully, with great gusto, for hours - for pleasure or to annoy me… either way, not a peep lately." Sam nodded his head toward the radio where the boys of KISS were wooing the ladies and rocking the gents.
Dean gave his brother a sidelong look. "So because I'm not bursting with song there's a problem? Have I ever given the impression that I was the Julie Andrews type?"
Sam shot Dean a look that called bullshit on that, because they both knew that while Dean might not be the Julie Andrews type, he was definitely the Robert Plant type. Instead of outwardly calling his brother on this, he let it slide. Sam had let a lot of Dean’s behavior since Hell slide. "Well, that's why I wasn't going to say anything…until you made me."
"Until I what?!" Dean's jaw dropped and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment until he found words of rebuttal. "Well, if you'd keep your x-ray vision to yourself, maybe I'd be content to keep my trap shut then."
"Fair enough. But I think I know you pretty well, man. And this - " Sam waved a hand toward his brother, " - isn't you. Something is off. Maybe you're just tired; I know we've had a helluva long haul."
"Yes, we have." Dean said, his tone implying that this was the obvious answer. "If another job doesn't crop up, I am very sure I'll be catching some shuteye for a good chunk of tomorrow. But we go where the job takes us, Sammy, you know that."
Sam did know that, but clearly having two days of rest in a row couldn't hurt, so long as no lives were in peril, especially where his brother was looking so ragged.
"A job is a job, but - we still got to eat, right?" Sam unfolded the map in his lap a bit more. "Lunchtime soon enough, there are a couple places off the next two exits. Why don't we see if we can find something and top off the tank?"
"Now you're talking sense."
Three more hunts cropped up in the next week and a half, keeping them in Pennsylvania. One was a pain in the ass salt and burn of a vengeful spirit. There had been a rash of graveyard vandalism in the area, and due to extremely disorganized burial records and dealing with the ghost of "John Smith," the brothers ended up with having to dig five graves that night just try and find the bastard's body. It was a cold, damp and annoying night.
The next hunt was a pretty standard poltergeist. The research was easy and the banishing had been pretty standard too. Sam had gotten tossed around quite a bit, though. For whatever reason, after Dean had blessed his corner of the house - he took a helluva long time getting back to where Sam was, in the master bathroom upstairs. The master bathroom had been where the ghost had committed suicide - and now, regretting her decision immensely, was trying to put as much life into her afterlife as possible. She did not want to go peacefully and had bashed Sam's head into the mirror before trying to bash him over the head with the toilet plunger.
Dean never told Sam why he had taken so long to get upstairs, but had mumbled an apology and occasionally got a wounded look in his eyes - usually after his eyes strayed to the stitches visible at Sam's hairline.
By the time they hit the third hunt (a werewolf that Dean had lovingly dubbed Teen Wolf since the creature had been preying on the local high school's athletic department), they were both run into the ground fairly well. Sam thought Dean was the worse off brother, though. Of course, every time he tried to call him on it, he got the standard "I'm fine" response. It didn't help Dean's point that this replies were increasingly accompanied by coughing jags that Dean tried to pass off - something in his throat, wrong pipe, always an answer.
By the end of the hunt, Sam was more than frustrated - especially when Dean had barely been able to run two blocks after the wolf. He had shown up in the nick of time to save Sam from being served up as the entrée at the Alpha Dog café, wheezing and covered in cold sweat. He had blamed it on "old age" of all things, which had earned him a glare and the silent treatment for a good couple of hours before Sam finally felt he had to broach the conversation again. The boys headed back to the motel room, knowing they needed to ditch town before the bullet-ridden body of Teen Wolf was discovered. Dean sat on the receiving end of the silent treatment while Sam packed their gear up, mostly by slamming every object they owned into a bag, slamming every door - including the doors to the car when they got back on the road in the wee hours of morning.
Dean wisely chose not to yell at Sam for slamming the doors of the Impala, which had taken a lot of self-restraint. He had known the conversation was waiting there, lurking under the surface - and he wanted to avoid it as long as possible. Frankly, he was feeling like he had been run over by a truck, but there was no way he was going to tell Sammy that. Poor kid was already going out of his mind with worry about all the Hell stuff. Plus, he just didn't have time to be sick. They were at war, goddammit. He was pretty sure when the Man Upstairs hired you for a job you didn't get to call out. So, Dean had settled for listening to his music and letting his brother sulk. It was inevitable when Sam did finally pipe up. Really, you could set your watch by this kid - he's more on time than Amtrak - The Sammy Nag Express, Dean thought ruefully.
"You're sick, dude. Just admit it before you get one of us killed."
All aboard.
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine, Sam? And, I believe I was the one saving your ass back there." Dean gave Sam a pointed look, for indeed - Dean had been the one who shot the werewolf right after it had tackled Sam, the bullets thankfully knocking the creature away before its teeth could connect with Sam's neck.
"It doesn't matter how many times you say it if none of them are true. And you barely got there in time."
"I got there." Dean said darkly. "You saying you think I don't have your back?"
He didn’t need the reminder that Sam seemed to be getting on fine without him when he was in Hell. He also didn't need the reminder that him feeling like ass could be putting Sam at risk. He was doing quite well beating himself up all on his own, thank you very much. Getting up the stairs of the poltergeist house, his chest had seized up - and he had felt a sharp pain with each breath that left him leaning on the banister while he heard Sam getting tossed around above him. He had pushed through it the best he could, rationalizing that maybe he had pulled something from digging all those graves two days previously. And running after the werewolf had been an exercise in torture, as his lungs just didn't seem to be getting enough air, any air.
Sam took a breath. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Dean. "I trust you with my life, you know that. There's no one else I want watching my back. But if you're not at 100%, and hell - I don't think you're even at 70 right now - then we need to lay low for a bit until you're feeling better."
Partially mollified by Sam emphasizing he knew Dean had his back, Dean lightened. "C'mon, Sammy. I'm at least 75. If it makes you feel better, we'll have a nice leisurely day today. We have to, right? We're out of jobs for the moment anyway." Dean pulled a big broad smile out, trying to reassure his younger brother the best he could. The rest of the ride went easier after that.
Eventually they were far away from Werewolfville that they felt safe stopping for lunch and Dean pulled the Impala in at a local diner that had a blinking neon sign casting light on a spinning tiered display of different varieties of pie. It was no mystery why the elder Winchester pulled in to this restaurant.
They talked about the normal things they always did. Hashing down new and creative ways to gank ghosts ("Blessed seawater with iron flakes in it, Sam, I swear - we need to try that shit out!"), laughing at the locals, amusing themselves by coming up with increasingly silly-yet-believable covers.
"Your food okay?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing. He realized that the newly dubbed "Officer Steve Nicks" had maybe eaten about half of his burger and was poking a single french fry into the ketchup repeatedly.
"Yeah, just..not as hungry as I thought, I guess." Dean said, looking as though he thought nothing of it as he stood up and reached into his pocket for his wallet and then tossed some bills on the table. "Pay the waitress and call Bobby, would you? I'm gonna fill up the car."
"What? Yeah, sure. Go 'head."
Dean nodded distractedly and walked past the elderly waitress coming over to their table.
Her kind face split into a sweet smile, "No chance I can interest you in some pie, hon?"
Sam glanced at the door his brother had already walked out of. Dean not ordering pie, especially at a place that was clearly known for its pie - it was like a bad omen. "Guess we'll take a couple pieces to go…apple is in season still?"
"Absolutely! Last few bushels of the year."
"Well, how about that and…pecan?" Sam decided he couldn't go wrong with either. The only pie he'd ever seen Dean hesitate on was mincemeat and the dude had still eaten it.
"Sure, be right over with that and your check."
"Great, thanks." Sam said, giving her a quick flicker of a smile as he fumbled to get his phone out and dial.
"Hey, Bobby!"
The gruff voice resounded clearly through the line. "Hey, kid. A few weeks since I heard your voice, missed your sweeter disposition! Where's your brother, you two finish up that last job alright?"
"No, no…job was fine, wolf's dead. Dean is filling up the car, wanted me to check if you have any more leads on seals." Sam fiddled with his wallet, adding some money for the pie to the small pile Dean had left.
"Nope, not that I can tell. Shouldn't even be offering this to you guys, but I do have a lead on another job if you two want in."
Sam hesitated, the silence hanging awkwardly in the air. His number one priority right now had to be getting Dean some rest, even if it was only in the car.
"Sam?"
"How close is it? Maybe a couple of days drive?"
Bobby, as always, was quick on the uptake, hearing the reluctance in Sam's voice. "I'm sorry, that's what I thought…you two must be bone-tired, hauling ass like you have been.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, a rest would be good.”
“I keep telling your brother to slow down. That you two aren't the only two hunters in the continental US."
"You do, do you?" Sam was surprised. Part of him had thought maybe he was just being insanely overprotective - but apparently other people had noticed Dean being raggedy too.
"Yep. Sounds like he ain't listening neither."
"I can tell you right now, Bobby, he isn’t. He looks like crap. He-" Sam's voice trailed off. He felt to say much more was like being a bit of a gossip, even though it was out of concern for his brother, and even if it was Bobby.
"Well, Sam, last few times I spoke with him, he sounds like it, or maybe just full of it. Can't fight superhuman things if you think you're superhuman; it'll just get yerself killed. Take care, kid. Smack that idjit brother of yers upside the head for me, will ya?"
That was Bobby for you, plain as day. But at least Sam knew that maybe it wasn't just him being overprotective. Pressing the disconnect button on his Blackberry gave him renewed license to make sure Dean took it easy the next couple of days, ate well, slept long.
Part 2