Second Nature 2/?

[emebalia]

Chapter 2

Dean felt like he hadn't slept in a month. Which came close to the truth.

They didn't know.

A month since the werewolf hunt, a month since Dean had cleaned his brother's wounds and had put a few stitches in his side. Sam's injuries had mostly been scratches from the werewolf's claws. Nothing too bad. He had worse.


Or maybe not. There had been this one scratch. Just a scratch but in the wrong light it had looked like it could have been something else. Something worse.
A month of not knowing.

Sam didn't react to silver. Which meant nothing. They didn't know if he should react. Even Bobby wasn't sure if a werewolf reacted to silver before his first turn.

Bobby had offered his place. They could stay there as long as they wanted and Dean was pretty sure that offer was mainly directed at him. For the time after. After he'd shot his brother in the heart. Or after he'd watched his brother doing it himself. Memories of that clinic and of Sam who had been ready to shoot himself because of the demonic virus came to mind. Dean doubted Sam's strange immunity to the virus covered werewolf bites. He still had hope, though. That is, if Sam had been bitten. Which he might not have been.

Sam and Dean had only shared a glance before Dean had refused Bobby's offer. However this was going to end, they wanted to be alone for this.

Save him or kill him. His father's last words echoed nonstop through Dean's mind since that night. How could he save Sam from something like this?

They had spent the month with research. Dean knew more about werewolves now than he'd ever wanted to know. There was too much lore about them, conflicting lore, but at one point they were consistent. There was no cure. One bite and you were done for. Silver bullet through the heart. Sayonara.

When it came to be too much Dean had escaped from the motel room for a few hours to do some maintenance work on his car.

"Don't worry, Baby." He spoke softly to the car when he was sure that Sam was out of ear-short. "I'll let Bobby know where we're going. He'll take good care of you if …" His voice broke and he blinked against the tears he'd never let Sam see.

Dean worked the dents out of the trunk lid, changed her oil and gave her a proper wash. Anything to get his mind of the screaming in his head.

When it was time they rented a hunting cabin. It was off-season and the isolated building was even more isolated at this time of the year. Like a month ago it was raining, actually it had never really cleared up since then, turning the road into a muddy path, and the car came close to getting stuck more than once. But she made it. Like she always did. She never failed them.

"I'm sorry, Baby." Dean apologized when he saw the mud coated wheels and the dirty slashes covering her up to the roof. "I'll make it up to you when we get back to civilization."

Sam had gotten out of the car as well and together they looked at the cabin. This was it. They would walk out of this door together in the morning. Or not.

Without a word they got their bags and Dean loaded his gun with silver bullets. He tucked it in the back of his jeans and didn't look Sam in the eye.

The cabin wasn't big but comfortable with two bedrooms, one with a king-size bed, the other one with bunk beds.

Dean put the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter and had a look in the cabinets. Nothing fancy, however, this was more of a kitchen than he'd seen in years.

"You hungry?" Dean asked over his shoulder while he put the meat and other perishable food in the fridge. "I can make cheeseburgers."

"I'm not hungry." Sam came out of the main bedroom. "The framework of the bed looks solid enough."

The bottle of milk nearly slipped out of Dean's suddenly numb fingers. Why had he even bought milk? Neither of them really liked milk.

"Sam." He placed the bottle in the fridge and closed the door. The front was covered with some fake wood stuff. Dean closed his eyes.

"Dean." Sam's presence was right behind him now and Dean didn't have to look to know that Sam's hand hovered only inches over his shoulder, unsure if the gesture of comfort was welcomed. As if Dean was the one who needed to be comforted.

"I need a drink." Leaving the rest of the groceries on the counter Dean grabbed two glasses and the bottle of whiskey and fled to a chair in front of the cold fireplace.

Reluctantly Sam followed him and sat down in the other chair. Dean poured them their drinks.

"This is good." Sam nodded approvingly after his first taste.

"It better be." Dean leaned back in his chair and examined the amber liquid in his glass. "Most expensive bottle I ever bought."

They drank in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's presence.

They didn't drink enough to get drunk. Dean would have loved to drink himself into oblivion but he'd need a clear head … later. But he wondered if it would be a good idea to get Sam drunk.

"I had enough." Sam covered his glass with his hand when Dean tried to pour him another one.

"You sure?" Dean asked, offering him an easy way out. Sam would wake up hung over in the morning or with a silver bullet in his heart.

"I want to be myself." Sam fiddled with his glass. "For as long as possible."

"You're a whiny drunk anyway." Dean set the bottle aside. "Poker?"

That brought back memories and the way Sam tensed he thought about Madison too.

It was still early in the afternoon, plenty of time to kill, so they played a few hands but neither of them was paying much attention to the cards. One time Dean accidentally threw away a straight and when he realized it a second later he found that he couldn't care less.

"You remember this one time at Bobby's?" Sam broke the silence. "I'd watched Gremlins for the first time and you …"

"I convinced you that they were based on the real deal, breaking cars and stuff. That there were still some living in the old car wrecks around the place." Dean shook his head in amusement. "You wouldn't set a foot in the junk yard."

"I still have my eyes out for gremlins every time we're there." Sam said in a dreamy voice.

"Oh boy." Dean chuckled and for a moment he could breathe again. "I really did a number on you."

"Yeah." Sam threw the cards on the table and leaned back in his chair. "But I got you good, too. Remember Mr. Steven's German Shepherd? What was his name?"

"Ringo." Dean let the "R" roll over his tongue. "Thought he'd eat me alive."

"Never saw you running that fast in your life." Sam couldn't hold back the laughter. "And you nearly killed me when you found the burger meat in your back pocket."

Lost in childhood memories they didn't notice the hours flying by and all too soon they had to turn on the lights. Dean was even less hungry by then and he didn't even mention dinner.

Sam checked his watch. "Moonrise is in about an hour."

"We don't know if moonrise is the moment …" Dean couldn't finish the sentence. Instead he watched his brother who stood up and went over to the supply bag they'd left near the door. "Madison needed to fall asleep too …"

"To turn." Sam finished for him. "Yeah, I know. But we don't know if that's the rule."

Dean knew that. Some lore spoke of moonrise, other of midnight and in some versions a person could turn at will.

"Better safe than sorry." Sam came up with a bunch of handcuffs. Four to be exact.

"You have to be kidding me." Dean strode over and tried to snatch the cuffs from his brother but with his freakish long arms Sam held them out of reach with ease. "I'm not tying you spread-eagled to the bed."

"Dean, you have to." Sam gave him that sad look of his and Dean hurried to look away. This was not the moment to get weak.

"One." He held up a finger to make his point. "I'm cuffing one of your wrists to the frame and that's it. You probably have to stay the whole night like that."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Dean made the mistake and met his brother's eyes. He wanted to say more but he couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat.

Sam went to the bathroom and a few minutes later he came back in his sleepwear, sweatpants and t-shirt.

"I know about men dying in their boots but this is kinda embarrassing." He plucked at his shirt, the purple one with white and pink flowers on the chest. One of his favorites for sleeping. "Wouldn't be caught dead in this." He let out a hollow laugh.

"You're not going to die." Dean answered on reflex. "Why are you wearing it anyway?"

"It's comfy." Sam led the way to the bed. "And you bought it for me."

"As a joke. You were not supposed to actually wear it." Which was probably the reason Sam wore it so often, just to annoy him. And it was not warming Dean's heart.

Sam only smirked at him and slipped under the covers. Then he stretched his arms out.

"Both." He said and locked eyes with Dean.

"Sam."

"Dean." All of a sudden the bravado was gone and Sam's eyes shone with unshed tears and he looked scared. "Please."

"Okay." His voice sounded raspy even to his own ears. "But tell me if it gets uncomfortable."

After he'd secured Sam's wrists Dean tucked the blanket in around him just like he had when they were kids.

"This is going to be a long night." Dean took his place in a chair next to the bed and put his gun on the nightstand. Sam followed every of his movements with wide eyes but didn't say a word. For a long minute his gaze was fixed on the gun before he visibly forced himself to look somewhere else.

"I'm not sure if I can sleep." Sam admitted.

"We still have the whiskey." Dean offered. "Or I can knock you out."

"Just because I can't hit you back right now."

"Hey, I can kick your ass anytime."

They fell silent for a moment and Dean hoped against hope that Sam would fall asleep.

"Dean, if …" Sam's voice broke but Dean knew exactly what if they were talking about here. There was only one if. "You get in the car and you drive to Bobby. You go to Bobby, Dean. Please, Dean. Do that for me. Please."

Another feeling of déjà vu, they had this conversation before in that small clinic when they'd thought Sam was infected with the demonic virus.

"I'm not leaving you, Sammy." Sam was Dean's reason to keep going, his only reason.

For a moment Sam looked like he wanted to argue but then he nodded and set his jaw in grim determination.

"Guess I'll have to not be infected, then."

That actually made Dean laugh. "You can't just decide if you're infected or not."

"Watch me."

Dean watched him. He watched him while the moon rose. Nothing happened but that didn't mean they were in the clear.

Dean turned off the lights in the room to help Sam to find some rest but he let the door open so there was still some light from the main room. For hours they stayed silent, both lost in their own thoughts, but Dean always kept an eye on Sam.

It was after ten when sleep deprivation and maybe the whiskey caught up with Sam and his breathing evened out.

Without making a noise Dean straightened up in his chair and he made sure that the gun was in easy reach. Sam didn't change during the first minutes he was asleep and he was still softly snoring an hour later. For the first time Dean dared to hope. Madison had changed as soon as she'd fallen asleep.

There was still midnight, though. Some lore noted that as the time of change.

The last few minutes to midnight were the longest Dean had ever endured. At some point he was sure his watch was broken. But then, finally, it was midnight and then past midnight and Sam was still Sam.

Dean let out a shaky breath and slumped back in his chair.

"Never do that to me ever again." He whispered low enough to not disturb his sleeping brother. "You hear me? Never again."

Without waking Sam he got him out of the cuffs and eased his arms down. Sam mumbled something and rolled to his side and Dean decided to let him sleep. He'd figure out the good news in the morning by himself.

Still on shaky legs Dean left the room to get himself a drink. If this wasn't a moment to celebrate he didn't know what was. Pouring himself two fingers he fought against the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest.

"Cheers, Sammy." He raised his glass in the direction of the bedroom.

Dean froze at a noise behind him.

Chapter 3
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