Fic: Unshaken (Supernatural) 1/5
I wrote a thing. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this thing. It started out as a fill for my hc_bingo card for the skeletons in the closet prompt. One minute I was writing normal fic, the next I'm staring down this novella. I didn't plan to split it up so bear with me.
This is a lot darker than anything I've written before. I hope I've done it justice.
Title: Unshaken
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean
Pairing(s): Gen
Word Count: 5872 / 33841
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: Implied rape, non-con adult activities, sorta torture, mentions of brainwashing
Summary: The last thing Dean wanted to come back to was a broken little brother and even worse PTSD than he’d started the leviathan mess with. Dean might be worried, but he was hurt and in no way equipped to deal with yet another Sam crisis. So he stewed in his own emotional mess and worried a little more each day, even if he told himself he didn’t.
Something was wrong with Sam. Dean knew this with an unshakable certainty. He didn’t quite care in the wake of the anger and resentment spawned by Sam’s recent betrayal, but he knew.
It was tiny things that nagged at Dean for weeks even before he had any hard evidence. A bunch of little wrongs that amounted to a deep, niggling sense of unease deep down in the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it in favor of the burning disappointment of discovering he had barely been missed in his year long absence.
The knowledge that something wasn’t right ate at Dean bit by bit. He watched Sam shrug through his day, taking his favorite things with same equanimity that he faced his most hated these days. Sam was supposed to be like the excitable kid he remembered. No matter his age, his eyes would light up at the prospect of hot chocolate, getting a new book, even just staying in a hotel with an extra star. He missed the easy smile and chatter.
His Sam was a worrier and an emotional bitch. If he messed up, the kid would be so riddled with guilt he would do everything in his power to appease whoever he had hurt. His Sam had that emo brow wrinkle. Dean liked to tease him that it was his smolder, but it was really a sign that Sam was upset and thinking too damn much again. His Sam would never have given up looking for him.
The new Sam was relaxed and detached. He did not show the least bit of remorse or guilt or worry. Sure he tiptoed around the room, but in an attempt to avoid the Wrath of Dean more than out of any real sense of guilt. Dean had never felt more like spun glass than in those post purgatory days, excepting perhaps his stint after the heart attack. If it hadn’t been for the Kevin debacle, Dean might have started to worry that Sam had lost his soul again.
The thing was, Dean had tried everything he could think of. They had gone through the obligatory monster checks. Sam was human. He wasn’t a shape shifter or imposter of any sort Dean could name. Nope, one hundred percent human. Sam just wasn’t Sam anymore. And it bothered Dean more than any other phase in the kid’s life. Even happy, post-Hell Sam was less weird than this version.
Sam only turned stoic on him when some truly scary shit had gone down. It was more like him to freak, sleep in Dean’s bed for a night, and move on. Dean had seen scared Sam. He’d seen grieving Sam. He’d seen soulless Sam. He’d never seen Sam just check out on him like this.
The really painful part was watching the kid try. He participated. He even made a half-hearted attempt to argue when the situation required. But he just didn’t emotionally engage in any meaningful way.
The last thing Dean wanted to come back to was a broken little brother and even worse PTSD than he’d started the leviathan mess with. Dean might be worried, but he was hurt and in no way equipped to deal with yet another Sam crisis. So he stewed in his own emotional mess and worried a little more each day, even if he told himself he didn’t.
Not that any of that stopped him from looking for a case. They were getting nowhere fast on the Kevin dilemma and he was feeling like he might crawl out of his skin any second if he didn’t get to kill something soon.
Sam was bafflingly reluctant.
He brought up the possible ritual killings in an attempt to find something case worthy. It had everything he could have asked for. Hearts had been removed. People were dead. It was time to hunt again.
But when he looked up from his explanation, it was to find himself in the middle of a cluster of open-sided tents and Sam chewing on an apple looking unconvinced. “Where the Hell are we,” he demanded. He had been so wrapped up in convincing Sam they had a case, he’d never bothered to actually think about what Sam was doing.
“Farmer’s market,” Sam said, enunciating each syllable slowly as if Dean were an idiot. “Organic.” He seemed quite pleased with himself and Dean was tempted to punch him right then, the smug bastard. But since it was the first time Sam had acted vaguely like the pain in the ass he remembered, he refrained. Barely.
Instead, he settled for a look of disbelief. “What,” Sam said, suddenly on the offensive. “I had a year off. I took the time to enjoy the good things.”
“While avoiding doing what we actually do,” Dean reminded him. He couldn’t help himself. It was out of his mouth before he had even had time to think.
Sam turned his head away from Dean, pointedly not making eye contact, like he’d just been slapped. “Wow,” he said. “Does it make you feel that much better every time you say it?”
“Look I get it,” Dean said. And he did. Sort of. Only a little bit. “You took a year off to enjoy doing yoga and playing the lute or whatever, but I’m back. We’re back. Which means that we walk and kill monsters at the same time. Do we ignore things like this, or are innocent people supposed to die so you can shop for produce?”
And that’s the moment it happened again. Sam disengaged. He huffed, but instead of arguing, he followed Dean back to the car and climbed in without another word. Dean couldn’t decide if he was being handled like a ticking bomb in case a careless remark set him off again or if it’s just another way Sam was all wrong since he got back.
All that conversation really did was drive home more ways Sam had changed. His eating habits had gone from picky to obsessive. So much so that Dean would feel justified in saying that Sam had abandoned real food entirely by the time they were back together. Sure, he ate burgers when they stopped at proper diners, but he picked the bun off or ordered it wrapped in lettuce. Fortunately eggs and bacon still seemed safe, but their fast-food stops had become a long line of varied salads, without dressing. He had abandoned french-fries, candy bars, and potato chips, the main staples of gas station junk food. Hell, kid didn’t even eat ketchup anymore. Who didn’t like ketchup?
The worst sign of an impending apocalypse though, was that he had given up his little frou-frou coffee drinks. He drank it white. Just coffee and cream.
Dean had confronted him over that one. “So the fine things in life don’t include twelve dollar cups of coffee anymore,” he’d snapped after an early morning coffee break when they stopped in some middle of nowhere college town café. Dean had tried to buy him the mocha locca espresso crap that Sam used to drink like crazy, but it had been set aside, untouched until Sam offered it back to Dean in favor of getting himself a plain coffee. It was the last straw. Dean was trying to extend an olive branch here, and the kid wouldn’t take a hint. Not that it kept Dean from downing the extra caffeine.
Sam had shrugged at his question, which only served to piss Dean off a little more.
“Seriously, dude,” he said. He was fighting to keep from ripping Sam’s head off. Their simple salt and burn had turned out to not be so simple, they were forced to skip town without any sleep, and it had left Dean feeling cranky. It was turning out to be a losing battle. “What’s up with that? That’s almost all coffee. You haven’t drank it that pure since you swiped some of Dad’s doctored joe that time you were seven.”
“All that sugar is bad for you,” Sam said, calm and collected and decidedly not meeting Dean’s gaze.
Dean pulled a face. “So you have to live without any flavor whatsoever?”
Sam shrugged again. “I like it plainer now,” was all he said. No snappy defensiveness. No snarky swipe at Dean’s own eating habits.
And Dean let it go because he was still pissed.
He decided it was probably because of post purgatory issues that he didn’t consciously notice sooner. When he got back, he avoided places with large crowds so he didn’t notice that they made Sam uncomfortable.
Dean slept light at night, knife gripped under his pillow in a death grip so nothing could sneak up on him. He woke at least three times a night from any stray noise louder than Sam’s breathing and usually gave up around three a.m. He didn’t notice that Sam woke when he did or that his brother only laid in bed until four to give him a bit of privacy.
Dean didn’t like not having something at his back after an entire year of being hunted out in the open forest of purgatory. He didn’t notice that Sam stuck as close to walls as he did simply because Sam always stuck close to Dean. And if Sam always chose a seat where neither of them had their back to the door, he assumed that it was his little brother’s way of being understanding.
Dean didn’t trust other people, especially when he saw them moving out of the corner of his eye. He stayed so busy watching everyone else in the vicinity that he failed to notice Sam didn’t make eye contact with nine out of ten people they met.
Dean didn’t like being touched, not even by Sam some days. He startled easily and being trained as a hunter means that his reactions to being startled generally weren’t healthy for those around him. His flirting was strictly that any day that he felt up to putting that much effort forward for another person. He hadn’t had a hook up for weeks. It didn’t seem odd that Sam never considered such things either because he’d been sticking close to Dean, yet giving Dean space with a restraint on the touchy feely moves he used to make.
Or maybe that was self-preservation. If Sam had punched him on the arm, he would have probably tackle the kid to the ground before either of them could blink. Never mind that Dean was still pissed at him. Sam was probably still moping over the girl.
Still, there were occasions that even Dean couldn’t ignore. Like that thing at Gert’s Diner back around Gainsville.
They were parked at a back booth finishing up when the waitress smiled and laid the check on the table. It was one of those places where you took your bill up to the cashier to pay at the very end. Dean rolled his eyes. This was such a classy joint. Even the cheapest diner knew enough to come collect their money rather than make them walk for it.
Sam was paying. It was his turn and Dean had left his wallet out in the car. Apparently Sam thought the folks there were nice enough. He was paying with cash instead of one of their credit cards. Dean hadn’t found the service particularly impressive nor the food all that good, but Sam had strong opinions about the money situation sometimes.
Sam laid a twenty and a ten on the counter and engaged in idle chit chat for the time it took for the girl to ring in their order. He was attempting to smile, which Dean supposed was an improvement, although the smile was obviously fake.
The cashier pulled out the change, $7.86. She held it out to Sam, who froze. He stood there and stared at the money, hand half reaching for it. She pulled back a little and looked at him when he didn’t take it.
“Sir? Are you all right?” She had started to glance at Dean, but he didn’t have an answer either.
Sam seemed to snap out of it. He smiled wanly at her and took a step back. “Keep it,” he said, and pushed his way past Dean and into the parking lot.
Dean met the girl’s eye and shrugged before turning to go too. By the time he got to the car, Sam was leaning on the passenger door waiting for him. His arms were crossed and he was staring up into the cloudy grey sky.
Dean walked to the driver side and slid the key in the lock. “What was that about?”
Sam pushed off the car and turned back towards him. “What?”
Dean waved towards the diner. “That was like, a forty percent tip. The service was worth ten at best.”
Sam shrugged. God, Dean was tired of that move. “She and the server probably split. It seemed fair.”
“Fair for what? Putting up with your spastic ass?”
Sam frowned at him. “Whatever.”
Dean yanked open his door and slid into the seat. He considered leaving his brother standing out there, but eventually reached over and unlocked the door. Sam settled himself without a word as Dean started the car.
“So are you going to tell me what happened or what?”
Sam shrugged again. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about your performance as a space cadet, like money was a foreign concept to you.”
“I just left the girls a tip, Dean.”
Dean scowled at the road. “Fine,” he said. Two could play at that game. “Whatever.” He flipped on the stereo and cranked the volume so that he couldn’t hear Sam, or his own thoughts. It was just him and the road. No obnoxiously freaky brothers to be found.
They worked a gig with Garth. It went about as badly as either of them expected, but they got the job done. Dean said things he shouldn’t have. Sam fell into his new quite thing, only he had the kicked puppy act going on too.
Dean decided he would walk Garth back to his car to get some fresh air. He needed some space from the giant ball of emo moping that Sam had become. Garth stopped at a clunker just outside the motel.
Dean had one burning question that he had been dying to ask. “How come that penny didn’t jack you like everyone else? Everyone at some point in their life feels like they’ve been screwed.”
“Not me,” Garth said with an easy smile. “I learned to let it all go with the help of my yogi: my Sega Genesis.” He paused to consider Dean. “Now, there’s something I want to say to you.” Dean waited for him to continue. Garth’s next words physically took him back. “Stop being an idjit! With Bobby gone, you and Sam are all each other’s got. And that’s not so bad.”
Dean eyed Garth. Guy might not be so bad as the next Bobby. So long as he stopped saying idjit. “Garth, I -”
“What do you remember,” Garth asked, cutting him off.
“About the penny?” At Garth’s nod, he shrugged. “Not much. Was it bad?”
Garth whistled low and long. “You were spouting crap faster than a bull with diarrhea.”
Dean braced himself. With all the stuff they’d survived, there was plenty he could have dug up. This was going to hurt. “What did I say?”
Garth shook his head. “No man, talk to Sam. You need to take it up with him.”
“That bad?”
Garth’s grimace was proof enough.
“Oh, come on. Sam and me, we’re good. Past is in the past. All that crap.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not sure all of us are convinced.” Dean shrugged and turned to go, but Garth grabbed his arm.
“One thing, Dean. Why did you say Sam didn’t go looking for you?”
The rage reignited in Dean. His breathing turned hard and fast and he felt his hands ball into fists, fingernails digging into his palms to keep from punching something. “He didn’t, did he?” Dean’s words left his mouth bitter. “I was gone, vanished for a year and he settles down. Gets himself a girl and a dog. Couldn’t be bothered to look for me for five minutes.”
Garth gave him an incredulous look. “You’re kidding right?”
“Nope. He went native on me.”
“No, Dean,” Garth said. “I don’t know about a girl, but he didn’t stop while you were gone. At least not at first. It took him a month just to dismantle most of Sucra-Corp. I helped him when I could. I’m still finding pockets of foods with their crap in them. Had to rob a seven-eleven the other day to steal all their Twinkies and burn them. Such a waste.”
Garth grimaced at the horror, but continued. “Folks are still going crazy in spots. Sam called me himself when he got into some accidentally. Then he spent at least three months tracking you. When he dropped off the grid, I assumed he was on to something. He had worn himself thin trying to figure out what had happened. I had a friend hack in and set me to his emergency contacts just in case, but I never got a call. Assumed he was just in deep.”
Dean just stared at Garth, trying to take in all the information in that had just been thrown at him. “Wait, what?”
“Sam was still searching for you last time I saw him,” Garth said with a shrug.
“And he just fell off the radar? No warning? No questions? Nothing?”
“Nope. Last I heard he was in Topeka. No idea where he went after that. Like I said. I assumed he was into something deep cover style.”
“What about Sucra-corp? What happened there,” Dean asked. He crossed his arms.
“You know, you guys vanished, but the factories were still standing, pumping out all that crap. Folks were just in these mindless zombie stupors. Sam blew up the offices where they were testing the skinny people poison, but there were other places. There were all those testing labs and corn processing plants. Scary stuff, dude.”
“And Sam took them out?”
“Well, yeah,” Garth said with a shrug. “What was he supposed to do? The number of folks who knew what was going on was nonexistent. But there’s still all the stuff that had been shipped out with it. Fortunately, the less appealing cannibalism isn’t an issue anymore. Guess they didn’t want their food source eating itself.”
“You said he got into it? I had some once, it felt weird and addictive, but I got over it pretty quick.”
“Nah, man. Sam was laid up for days. He was out of it completely, and not in that zombie way. It was like he got a really good high off it or something. Kept going on about how he could taste light and hear angels. Wish I could get me some of that.”
“Trust me, Garth. That’s the last thing you need.”
“Aw. You’re just jealous of the Garthsomeness.” He gave Dean a meaningful look. “You know what comes next.” Then Garth went in for the hug. Dean patted him awkwardly and waited till he detached.
Garth got in his car, smiling as he started her up. Dean would never understand his choice in clunker. It might be nondescript, but at least Baby was a genuine car.
Garth grew somber again as he stared up at Dean from the driver’s seat. It was an odd look for the hyperactive beanpole. “Talk to Sam.”
Dean studied him for a minute. Garth was actually serious. “Sure, man.”
Dean watched as Garth pulled out and readied himself for the next phase of his evening: prying Sam out of the motel. He stalked back to their room and beat on the door. When Sam wasn’t forthcoming, he beat again, louder.
“Sam! Come on, man. Let’s go!”
When his brother emerged a minute later, he was wearing this detached pissed look on his face. The frown and scowl were right, but the intensity wasn’t there. It was like he knew he should be angry, and he was, but the emotional engagement just wasn’t there. It was honestly the scariest look Dean had ever seen.
Sam shoved his bags in the trunk and slammed it closed. He pulled back, taking a deep breath before he spoke.
“For the record, the girl’s name is Amelia. Amelia Richards. She and I lived in Kermit, Texas.”
Okay. That was random. Unless… “Look man, I don’t remember what I said, but I -”
“You what? Didn’t mean it?” This was the most engaged Dean had seen Sam in the entire time he’d been back. “We both know you didn’t need the penny to say those things.”
“Come on, Sam.”
“No, Dean. Own up to your crap.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“We both know how this goes. You hold on to things. You smile and say it’s all forgotten, but the very next time something goes wrong, you’re right there, ready to kick me with every single thing I’ve ever done.”
“Well, Sam. You don’t exactly make it easy to forget, now do you? Constantly tiptoeing around and -”
“And what,” Sam said. He flung an arm out, gesturing wildly. “Existing? Because I’m trying here. Constantly. I make mistakes. You act like I’m the only one who’s made one. And you have every right to be angry, but enough is enough. It’s never going to be good enough for you, is it? I can work myself to the bone to earn your forgiveness and it’ll never be enough. You’ll just keep on nursing the same shit. But you? You get a free pass for everything you’ve ever done. I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to understand.”
“So now it’s my fault?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Oh, no. I think we’re going there. What’s got your panties twisted this time? Is it Benny? Is that what this is about?”
“God, Dean. Of course you would think…. For once in your life can you accept that I’m serious. This isn’t some passive aggressive attack on your life decisions. This right here is about you and me.”
“And so the fact that I’m friends with a vampire plays no part in this?” Dean gestured wildly between them. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Yes! Dammit,” he said, slamming his hand down on the roof of the car. “Of course it does. You know as well as I do how that’s going to end. But that’s -”
“Beside the point? Cause let me tell you Sam, Benny wouldn’t even be in the picture if my own brother had been doing his job!”
Sam stiffened. “Right. I forgot.” He turned away from Dean. “Well, I’ll just go then. You can team up with your real brother and I’ll be out of the way. It’s what you wanted, right? Hell, you’ve already started hunting with him.”
Dean stared at Sam’s back. “What the fuck? Where the fuck did that come from?”
Sam whirled on him and Dean was extremely glad that the Impala was between them. When Sam spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. It sent a thrill down Dean’s spine. “Oh, I don’t know. Seems pretty clear to me.”
“Well, I must have missed that memo.”
Sam closed his eyes. Dean could see the strain from him reigning himself in. “I came, Dean. You called and I came. That doesn’t absolve me. I made a mistake and I have to take those consequences, but you’ve got to move on. Move on or I will.”
And looking at him, illuminated by purple neon light from the motel sign, Dean knew he meant it. He had been pushed one step too far and if Dean wasn’t careful, he was going to completely break what was left between them. Not that there was much hope to reclaim whatever shredded pieces of their relationship were still there.
And suddenly he remembered all the details Garth had filled in. How Sam had fought against Sucra-corp. How he had been searching for Dean, at least for a couple of months. How he had dropped off the radar without any warning at all. Tonight was not the time to jump into that. He would have to approach a much calmer Sam before they could have that discussion. He felt some of the fight leave him, knowing there was something more going on here.
“Okay.”
Sam blinked up at him, obviously surprised by his calm tone. “What?”
“I said okay. I’ll try. You and me, we’re not okay. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to fix what we have, but I’ll try.”
Sam relaxed, sagged at the shoulders. Before he could say anything, Dean spoke again. “But you should know, Sam. I won’t apologize for doing what I had to. You don’t have to like it or be okay with it, but I don’t regret my actions.”
Sam looked him over then gave a tight nod. “Fine, but you should know that if it comes down to it and Benny steps out of line, even by an inch, I might just be the hunter who has to ice him.”
“I guess we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
It was a sour response and they could both feel it sitting heavy between them. They just stared each other down for a minute before Sam nodded again. Dean opened his door, allowing the squeak of the hinges to whine just a bit extra into the heavy silence.
“Good. Then come on. Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”
Sam took several short, measured steps and sank into the Impala. Dean started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot. Neither said a word. Somewhere between the motel and the state line, Sam fell asleep. When Dean glanced over at him, he noticed that little line between his eyes that meant Sam would soon be in the throes of a nightmare.
That was another thing that had changed. Sam no longer had nightmares like he had before. Oh, the nightmares themselves were still there, but Sam didn’t cry out or thrash like he used to. He would curl up into a tight ball and mouth silently. It almost looked like he was muttering, but the only sound he made was a little keening noise that sometimes escaped him. Dean let him sleep for now. The kid had worse circles than he did and needed the rest. Dean needed time to think. When the nightmare got bad, Dean flung a hand at Sam shoulder. He started awake, blinked blearily at Dean, then dropped back off to sleep.
Dean pulled off the road a few hours later. He was exhausted and while he didn’t figure he’d get much sleep. He also didn’t want to wreck the car. He found an overgrown access road to something and pulled in far enough to be missed from the road. He drooped down in his seat and let himself slide into sleep.
When he woke, the sun was warm on his face and Sam was leaning on the hood of the car. It was a wonder he had managed to get out without waking Dean. Dean had been such a light sleeper lately.
Sam frowned and spit and for the first time Dean noticed he was eating a pear. Where the fuck did he stash a pear in the car? He had his pen knife out and was absently carving slices from the fruit. He was staring out towards an open expanse of field that had grown up into a meadow. Whoever owned the field was obviously not farming it this season.
Dean opened his door and levered himself out of the car. Sam didn’t blink, just kept staring out across the way. Dean took up a position next to him. They were silent for a long minute. Dean was waiting to see what Sam would say, but Sam was content to continue staring. That was fine. Dean liked silence as well as the next guy.
When Dean’s stomach grumbled, Sam carved off a piece of pear and held it out to him. Dean offered a grunt of thanks and popped the slice into his mouth. It was sweet and juicy. Dean was never much of a fruit person, and it certainly wasn’t a preferred breakfast food, but he could appreciate the nice, simple cleanness of the crunchy flesh.
Sam alternated between them, first a slice for him, then one for Dean. They finished the pear before either one spoke. As Sam considered the fruit core, Dean studied Sam. The man was thin. He had lost weight. It gave him a sort of gaunt appearance. He was looking a little pale and there were still dark smudges under his eyes.
“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged then tossed the core into the tall grasses.
“You should have woken me up. We could have gone on to a motel.”
Sam shrugged again. “You were finally sleeping.”
It sounded funny, as though Dean ought to have been sleeping all along. As if he should have been watching the road through the backs of his eyelids while he was driving, but Dean got the message. It was the first time since his return that he had slept without waking every half hour to check his surroundings, and he had to admit he felt better for it.
“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have got some rest too.”
“I’m fine Dean, just a little tired.”
Dean didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to fight over something so stupid. They lapsed back into silence. Dean could hear the birds in the distance, calling to each other.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn to look at him properly. Had Sam looked Dean in the eye since he’d been back? He couldn’t remember now.
“Tell you what?” Sam wanted to know.
“That you did look for me.”
Sam leaned back on his elbows and stared up into the sky. “Because I didn’t.”
“I know, Sam. Garth told me last night that you spent months trying to track me down before you dropped off the grid.”
Sam heaved a sigh. “Garth has a big mouth.” Dean noticed Sam didn’t deny anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sam shrugged. Seriously, Dean was going to weight his shoulders so he couldn’t do that anymore.
“Sammy…”
“It didn’t make a difference in the end did it? I stopped and you stayed in purgatory and I ended up in Texas. It’s not like a couple of months meant much in the scheme of things. Garth should have kept his mouth shut.”
“Sam, what happened in Texas?”
Sam stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“What happened to make you go radio silent for eight months?”
“I told you. I ran over a dog and took it to an emergency clinic. I met Amelia and we ended up together. I decided to give normal a try.”
Sam had ‘ended up’ with Amelia? For someone he left everything behind for, he sure didn’t sound like he was in love with her. “And?”
“And what, Dean? That’s what happened.”
“What was she like?”
“What does it matter? I’m here now.”
“I’m just curious. You don’t just settle down with any girl.”
Sam pushed off from the hood and went to stand a few feet down the road. Dean could see the tense set of his shoulders and the way he was hunched down. Dean thought Sam might refuse to answer, but finally he spoke.
“She was nice. Soft. She was sort of tan, but not so much that you’d think she’d been in Texas long. She had dark curly hair and brown eyes. Petite. Square teeth. Cute.”
Wow. Real verbose there Sammy. I just feel like I’ve known her all my life. There was something not right about this story. “But what was she like?”
Sam shrugged again. “She was nice. She laughed a lot. She had lost her husband in Afghanistan nine months back.”
“You said she worked at the animal clinic?”
“Yeah. She’s a vet. She shamed me into keeping Riot.” This last was offered in an effort to appease big brother. “He grew on me though. God, I miss him. He was like a big kid. Every time I came home he was just so happy to see me and he went everywhere with me. He was too curious for his own good and ate three times his weight. Kinda reminded me of you.”
“Ha. Ha.” Sounded like Sam liked the dog better than the girlfriend. “Why did you stay if you didn’t like her all that much?”
Sam froze. Dean shoved off from the car too, coming to stand beside Sam to get a better look at him. Sam wore a tight, faraway look on his face. If anything, it looked like he might be about to cry. Dean reached out, not sure what he was going to do. He was very confused right now.
“Sam?”
Sam jerked away from him and shrugged. “Seemed like the best option at the time. What’s it matter? The end result was the same.”
Beneath the tight coil of betrayal that comment still managed to elicit, Dean saw the deflection for what it was.
Dean wasn’t sure if it was better knowing he had been forgotten from the start or that he had been given up on. But the more Sam didn’t talk about, the more Dean was sure something had happened in his absence.
Finally, he said, “We could go visit if you want. Make sure she’s okay. Check in on the mutt.”
But Sam shook his head, just once, so hard his hair whipped around. If he kept this up, he was going to look less like a scraggledy lion and more like a Liberaci wannabe.
“No. I left. That’s the end of it. She deserves the chance to move on. We should focus on finding Kevin.”
“We got no clue where Kevin is. We won’t find him until he decides he wants to be found. Don’t you think she deserves an explanation?”
Sam didn’t answer him. He just turned back towards the car. “Let’s just find the next case and move on.” Dean followed Sam back to the Impala and watched as he settled in the seat. There was a worn quality to him. He sat slightly slumped, like he couldn’t quite remember how to sit up straight and there were tiny lines around his eyes and mouth from the tension. Dean climbed in and after thumbing through his cassette collection, he started some music and pulled back out onto the highway. It was going to take some time to work this one out.
But then Cas was thrust back into their life and they had Kevin to deal with, and Sam’s issues were forced into the backseat for the time being. At least until the incident.
Master Post ~ Part II