Requiem For A Dream, Chapter 4
Ok, so the moment that I have been waiting for, dunno about anyone else. But Sam and Dean finally see each other....
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Sam can't help the way his stomach ties itself in knots as he drives through the arches into Singer Salvage. He had been gripping the wheel of his rental for the entire day, and his knees feel stiff, his back aches and he longs to get out and stretch.
But as he turns off the engine, he finds that he can't move. He doesn't know what is going to happen the minute he steps out of the car and knocks on the front door of the last place that he thinks Dean has been. His dreams aren't always clear, and there is still that niggling sense of doubt in the back of his mind that he is going crazy.
The decision is made for him however and the front door opens, and Bobby, or at least what looks like the Bobby from his dream, steps out, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun that shins over the yard.
Sam suddenly feels scared, petrified in fact and he swallows hard, so hard it almost hurts and opens the door.
“Can I help you son?” Bobby asks. Sam swallows again, not sure after the hours of silence in the car that he trusts himself to actually have a voice, but also because his mouth has gone dry with apprehension.
He clears his throat and is pleased when he opens his mouth and words come out, comprehensible words.
“Bobby?” He asks. A flicker of confusion dances across Bobby's face, and he visibly tenses. Its a minute movement but Sam had always been good at picking up on things like that and he smiles gently, trying to put the old man at ease.
“Who's asking?” Bobby says. Sam almost laughs at the defensive tone.
“Sam.” He says simply. And Bobby's face falls, and Sam can't quite read the expression, but he knows its a mixture of shock and disbelief. Sam is spared further explanation as Bobby turns slightly towards the house and nods in its direction.
“You better come in then.”
The kitchen is smaller than Sam imagined it would be. Seeing things in dreams often gives them a different feel. But Sam is still sure of the feeling of family that washes over him when Bobby turns and hands him a glass of water.
“Drink that, then I'll get you a beer.” He says. Sam frowns but sips at the water. Truth be told he was thirsty, he hadn't stopped the car since he all but ran out of the motel this morning, desperate to get to the place where he might finally be able to put all this to rest.
Sam could feel Bobby studying him out of the corner of his eyes, but he ignores it as he leans against the counter.
“So...” Bobby begins.
“I guess you'll be wondering why I'm here?” Sam asks. Bobby nods and takes the glass of water, a look of satisfaction crossing his face and Sam doesn't know why. He takes the beer that Bobby offers and takes a long pull on the bitter liquid.
“Just a little curious...Sam.” Bobby sounds like he is trying Sam's name out, seeing how it sounds in his mouth. Sam smiles a little, because it almost sounds familiar to him, almost like home.
And because he feels more at ease with Bobby than with anyone he has been around for a very long time, Sam pulls out a chair and begins to tell Bobby the reason he is searching the country for someone he doesn't even know.
“Now I've heard it all.” Bobby says, leaning back in the chair, after two hours of Sam speaking, his hands telling the story along with him. Sam looks at the older man, studying his face. And when all he sees is understanding, Sam wants to hug him. He was so sure Bobby would throw him out on his ear, laughing all the time about how he now had a good story to tell his friends. But Bobby just looked at him the whole time, watching him, almost as if Bobby himself was trying to see something.
“You believe me?” Sam asks, tired of that question.
“Hell boy, it doesn't matter what I believe, but that brother of yours sure believes something. And I gave you holy water so I know your not a demon.” Bobby smiles at the look that Sam knows must be on his face.
Bobby looks at his watch and Sam is itching to ask where Dean is, its been far too long, even though its only a few months, but Sam feels, knows, its been longer since he's seen Dean and the holes in his soul are slowly knotting back together just being somewhere Dean has been.
“He should have been back by now.” Bobby is muttering and Sam's stomach does a flip.
“Where is he?” Sam demands, his voice harder than he intended, but the worry in Bobby's voice has his panic kicking up a notch.
“Taking care of something.” Bobby says and Sam frowns. “Don't make me explain everything in one go boy.” And Sam nods automatically, the paternal tone in Bobby's voice making him do it before he knows what he's doing.
“Let me go find him?” Sam asks. Bobby shakes his head.
“A few weeks ago you had no idea he existed, let alone what kinda life he led. You're not up to it.” Bobby says, patting him briefly on the shoulder. Sam stands up sharply, the chair dragging across the floor and the look on Bobby's face has Sam knowing that Dean does the same thing.
“Bobby. I...” Sam says, trying to put his desperation into those two words and he thinks he must look stricken because Bobby deflates.
“Fine. You come with me. You stay behind me and you do exactly as I say, you got it?” He points a finger at Sam and all he can do is nod dumbly again. His voice lost now the prospect of seeing Dean is suddenly now a reality.
“Definitely a Winchester, stubborn as a bloody mule.” He hears Bobby muttering to himself and Sam can't help but smile.
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Dean is pissed. Really fucking pissed.
“Simple salt and burn my ass.” He mutters to himself, picking himself off the floor where the “pesky” spirit threw him not two minutes ago. “Not hurt anyone, just annoying people.”
The spirit, an angry young girl who used her daddy's shotgun to kill herself in the house for no reason, screams at him from across the living room.
“Get OUT of my house.” She screams and Dean is grateful that the family is out, because this is something no body needs to see.
“Listen darlin'.” He drawls, hoping that she still has some humanity left in her, “This ain't your house anymore.” He says and she flickers in front of his eyes, looking like a picture on a crappy TV set in anyone of the rooms that he and Sam spent their childhood. Sam. The thought of his brother skitters across his mind briefly and his attention lost, the spirit takes her chance and flies at him, her hands outstretched, unearthly screech coming from her incorporeal lips.
The attack takes him of guard and he flies backwards with her, his head hitting the wall again and he sees stars briefly, as his vision goes black and pinpricks of light flicker in front of his eyes.
He shakes his head and drags himself to his feet.
“I am really getting tired of you.” He says into the now empty room. “Bitch.” He mutters and almost half expects Sam to mutter “jerk” back.
Bobby was right, he does need this. Needs a chase, a hunt, to take his mind off Sam. But its not working, every damn thing reminds Dean of his brother, every thing he says, everything he does, he half turns and expects to see Sam, standing beside him, shotgun in one hand, EMF reader in the other, hair falling into his eyes and the grin he gets when Dean is knocked off his feet plastered across his face.
And Dean's chest hurts again at that, at the thought of Sam's smile.
“Goddam freaking EMO BITCH.” He shouts into the room, hoping to antagonise her into appearing again. And he doesn't even know why he's bothering. He should just go upstairs and burn the doll of her's that she left in the attic, the doll that is now holding her to the house. But a part of him wants this, wants the pain of being slammed into a wall, needs it like he needs Sam.
She appears again as he turns around, her face inches from his and her hands reach out and grab his face and she shrieks into his face, the noise filling his mind and hurting worse than eating too much ice cream at once.
The sound of the front door slamming against the wall makes her attention slip from Dean's briefly, but only for a second before she is screeching again and slamming Dean down on his ass and clawing her hands into his chest, and he is really pissed now.
He hit his head again on the floor and his vision swims and for a second he would swear that Sam was standing in the room with him, his face pale and scared and his eyes wide. And Dean wants to reassure him that everything's ok, just a simple salt and burn. But its Bobby that is really there, standing over Dean and looking worried.
“Attic, creepy ass doll. Burn it.” He manages to get out and he turns over onto his hands and knees. His head swims and a pounding headache is beginning to form. And he hears Bobby talking and he knows it not to him.
“Stay with him.”
Strong hands under his arms as he hauls himself off the floor has him spinning around too fast, too fast fro his bruised body and aching head.
“Sam.” Dean can't help the way his voice sounds broken, but he also can't help the way his brothers name slips out again, as darkness overtakes him, “Sammy.” And the feel of Sam catching him before he hits the ground is the last thing he remembers.
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Sam can't help the way his stomach ties itself in knots as he drives through the arches into Singer Salvage. He had been gripping the wheel of his rental for the entire day, and his knees feel stiff, his back aches and he longs to get out and stretch.
But as he turns off the engine, he finds that he can't move. He doesn't know what is going to happen the minute he steps out of the car and knocks on the front door of the last place that he thinks Dean has been. His dreams aren't always clear, and there is still that niggling sense of doubt in the back of his mind that he is going crazy.
The decision is made for him however and the front door opens, and Bobby, or at least what looks like the Bobby from his dream, steps out, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun that shins over the yard.
Sam suddenly feels scared, petrified in fact and he swallows hard, so hard it almost hurts and opens the door.
“Can I help you son?” Bobby asks. Sam swallows again, not sure after the hours of silence in the car that he trusts himself to actually have a voice, but also because his mouth has gone dry with apprehension.
He clears his throat and is pleased when he opens his mouth and words come out, comprehensible words.
“Bobby?” He asks. A flicker of confusion dances across Bobby's face, and he visibly tenses. Its a minute movement but Sam had always been good at picking up on things like that and he smiles gently, trying to put the old man at ease.
“Who's asking?” Bobby says. Sam almost laughs at the defensive tone.
“Sam.” He says simply. And Bobby's face falls, and Sam can't quite read the expression, but he knows its a mixture of shock and disbelief. Sam is spared further explanation as Bobby turns slightly towards the house and nods in its direction.
“You better come in then.”
The kitchen is smaller than Sam imagined it would be. Seeing things in dreams often gives them a different feel. But Sam is still sure of the feeling of family that washes over him when Bobby turns and hands him a glass of water.
“Drink that, then I'll get you a beer.” He says. Sam frowns but sips at the water. Truth be told he was thirsty, he hadn't stopped the car since he all but ran out of the motel this morning, desperate to get to the place where he might finally be able to put all this to rest.
Sam could feel Bobby studying him out of the corner of his eyes, but he ignores it as he leans against the counter.
“So...” Bobby begins.
“I guess you'll be wondering why I'm here?” Sam asks. Bobby nods and takes the glass of water, a look of satisfaction crossing his face and Sam doesn't know why. He takes the beer that Bobby offers and takes a long pull on the bitter liquid.
“Just a little curious...Sam.” Bobby sounds like he is trying Sam's name out, seeing how it sounds in his mouth. Sam smiles a little, because it almost sounds familiar to him, almost like home.
And because he feels more at ease with Bobby than with anyone he has been around for a very long time, Sam pulls out a chair and begins to tell Bobby the reason he is searching the country for someone he doesn't even know.
“Now I've heard it all.” Bobby says, leaning back in the chair, after two hours of Sam speaking, his hands telling the story along with him. Sam looks at the older man, studying his face. And when all he sees is understanding, Sam wants to hug him. He was so sure Bobby would throw him out on his ear, laughing all the time about how he now had a good story to tell his friends. But Bobby just looked at him the whole time, watching him, almost as if Bobby himself was trying to see something.
“You believe me?” Sam asks, tired of that question.
“Hell boy, it doesn't matter what I believe, but that brother of yours sure believes something. And I gave you holy water so I know your not a demon.” Bobby smiles at the look that Sam knows must be on his face.
Bobby looks at his watch and Sam is itching to ask where Dean is, its been far too long, even though its only a few months, but Sam feels, knows, its been longer since he's seen Dean and the holes in his soul are slowly knotting back together just being somewhere Dean has been.
“He should have been back by now.” Bobby is muttering and Sam's stomach does a flip.
“Where is he?” Sam demands, his voice harder than he intended, but the worry in Bobby's voice has his panic kicking up a notch.
“Taking care of something.” Bobby says and Sam frowns. “Don't make me explain everything in one go boy.” And Sam nods automatically, the paternal tone in Bobby's voice making him do it before he knows what he's doing.
“Let me go find him?” Sam asks. Bobby shakes his head.
“A few weeks ago you had no idea he existed, let alone what kinda life he led. You're not up to it.” Bobby says, patting him briefly on the shoulder. Sam stands up sharply, the chair dragging across the floor and the look on Bobby's face has Sam knowing that Dean does the same thing.
“Bobby. I...” Sam says, trying to put his desperation into those two words and he thinks he must look stricken because Bobby deflates.
“Fine. You come with me. You stay behind me and you do exactly as I say, you got it?” He points a finger at Sam and all he can do is nod dumbly again. His voice lost now the prospect of seeing Dean is suddenly now a reality.
“Definitely a Winchester, stubborn as a bloody mule.” He hears Bobby muttering to himself and Sam can't help but smile.
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Dean is pissed. Really fucking pissed.
“Simple salt and burn my ass.” He mutters to himself, picking himself off the floor where the “pesky” spirit threw him not two minutes ago. “Not hurt anyone, just annoying people.”
The spirit, an angry young girl who used her daddy's shotgun to kill herself in the house for no reason, screams at him from across the living room.
“Get OUT of my house.” She screams and Dean is grateful that the family is out, because this is something no body needs to see.
“Listen darlin'.” He drawls, hoping that she still has some humanity left in her, “This ain't your house anymore.” He says and she flickers in front of his eyes, looking like a picture on a crappy TV set in anyone of the rooms that he and Sam spent their childhood. Sam. The thought of his brother skitters across his mind briefly and his attention lost, the spirit takes her chance and flies at him, her hands outstretched, unearthly screech coming from her incorporeal lips.
The attack takes him of guard and he flies backwards with her, his head hitting the wall again and he sees stars briefly, as his vision goes black and pinpricks of light flicker in front of his eyes.
He shakes his head and drags himself to his feet.
“I am really getting tired of you.” He says into the now empty room. “Bitch.” He mutters and almost half expects Sam to mutter “jerk” back.
Bobby was right, he does need this. Needs a chase, a hunt, to take his mind off Sam. But its not working, every damn thing reminds Dean of his brother, every thing he says, everything he does, he half turns and expects to see Sam, standing beside him, shotgun in one hand, EMF reader in the other, hair falling into his eyes and the grin he gets when Dean is knocked off his feet plastered across his face.
And Dean's chest hurts again at that, at the thought of Sam's smile.
“Goddam freaking EMO BITCH.” He shouts into the room, hoping to antagonise her into appearing again. And he doesn't even know why he's bothering. He should just go upstairs and burn the doll of her's that she left in the attic, the doll that is now holding her to the house. But a part of him wants this, wants the pain of being slammed into a wall, needs it like he needs Sam.
She appears again as he turns around, her face inches from his and her hands reach out and grab his face and she shrieks into his face, the noise filling his mind and hurting worse than eating too much ice cream at once.
The sound of the front door slamming against the wall makes her attention slip from Dean's briefly, but only for a second before she is screeching again and slamming Dean down on his ass and clawing her hands into his chest, and he is really pissed now.
He hit his head again on the floor and his vision swims and for a second he would swear that Sam was standing in the room with him, his face pale and scared and his eyes wide. And Dean wants to reassure him that everything's ok, just a simple salt and burn. But its Bobby that is really there, standing over Dean and looking worried.
“Attic, creepy ass doll. Burn it.” He manages to get out and he turns over onto his hands and knees. His head swims and a pounding headache is beginning to form. And he hears Bobby talking and he knows it not to him.
“Stay with him.”
Strong hands under his arms as he hauls himself off the floor has him spinning around too fast, too fast fro his bruised body and aching head.
“Sam.” Dean can't help the way his voice sounds broken, but he also can't help the way his brothers name slips out again, as darkness overtakes him, “Sammy.” And the feel of Sam catching him before he hits the ground is the last thing he remembers.
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