A Different Piece of Sky: 4/6
Master Post | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Soundtrack
She heard the car first, the Impala’s engine growling in the driveway as the headlights shined at her through the window. Quickly, she slipped her Stanford essay into her backpack and tucked it into a corner, before getting up and opening the door for them. Dean was in the front seat, not moving. Her heart dropped painfully as she saw the blood running down his head. “Dean?”
John turned off the engine, running around to the side of the car to get his son. “Sam, grab the first aid kit.”
She nodded, catching the keys he threw at her and running to the trunk, fumbling to get them in the lock. The first aid kit was buried beneath their bags and she wrenched it out, slamming the trunk shut behind her. John was placing Dean on the couch as she came in, working his jacket and shirt off of him. “Got him across the chest,” he said. “I was going to sew it, but…”
“No, I’ll do it,” she said, looking for the needle and thread.
Dean’s eyes tried to focus on her, but kept rolling back into his head. “Sam…”
“Lie still. I’m only sewing you up once.” She pressed gauze against the wound, trying to soak up as much blood as possible and ignore the pounding in her head and chest. “Dad, I’m gonna need a fifth of whiskey.”
He grunted in understanding, grabbing it from under the sink. Sam smoothed her hand across Dean’s face, trying to ignore how pale and sweaty it was. “Dean?” He just groaned, pulling away from her touch as she tried to slip a painkiller down his throat.
John loomed over them, frowning in concern. “Is he okay?”
“I got him, Dad,” she said, threading the needle. As she stitched up the wound, she whispered to him, trying to soothe him with the sounds so that he wouldn’t pull away from the pain. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay…”
John was finished bringing in the bags by the time she was finished bandaging the wound. “How’s he doin’?
It took a minute for Sam to be able to dignify that with a response. “He’s alive,” she said, walking towards the sink to wash her brother’s blood off her hands.
Sighing, he nodded and grabbed a beer from the fridge, drinking it down quickly.
“Just came out of nowhere, went right for Dean.” He was aware of her lack of response, reaching out and putting a large hand on her shoulder. “It happens, Sam.”
She jerked away from his touch, sneering at him. “Not if you don’t go chasing after it in the first place, it doesn’t.”
“Sam…”
“Dean could have died, Dad.”
“But he didn’t.”
“That’s not even the point!” she said, voice getting louder with each word. “The point is that he could have, and then there’d be another body to burn.”
She could see his jaw tighten. “You do not speak to me like that, Sam. I’m tired of your mouth. I know what I’m doing and Dean knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t let him die.”
She picked the first aid kit up and pushed it against his chest. “Then next time you get to sew up your son’s chest, before he bleeds to death.”
Dropping it loudly on the counter, he said, “That’s enough, Sam. I would never put Dean in unnecessary danger, but there’s a job to do and it has to be done.”
“What would Mom think about the job?” It was a low blow, but one that always worked. “Cuz, you know, I never had a mom, but I’m pretty sure they don’t sit around thinking, ‘Hm, I wonder how I can get my child killed tonight!’”
“Sam!”
She shrugged sarcastically. “Just hazarding a guess here, but I think Mom would be pretty fucking pissed at the idea of her son lying on the couch with his insides practically on his outsides. I’m pretty sure she would hate this whole damn thing.”
Sam had no idea how her mother would have felt about this, or about anything else, but she knew how to push his buttons just as well as he could push hers. It was the only battle where she could claim a slight victory, because no one ever won. Everyone always suffered and he won all the others. She was pretty sure suffering simultaneously was better.
It took two strides for John to be in her space, for him to grab her arm tight enough that it actually hurt. She wanted to pull away, to shrink under his force, but she met his gaze. “You do not speak to me like that, Sam,” he said, voice dangerously low. “That’s enough.”
When he released her, she didn’t rub the feeling back into her arm. She tried to ignore the pain as it throbbed there; trying to tell herself that she wasn’t shaking. There were very few times in the past years when she had been actually scared of her father. This was one of them.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “Caleb thinks he has a lead on what killed your mother and we’re going to track it down, if you even care.” He didn’t wait for a response, just slamming into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door shaking on its hinge.
She wanted to scream back that she didn’t care, but it wasn’t as truthful as she would have liked. She cared, just not in the way they did. She wasn’t out of control, like John could be, or as focused as Dean, but she felt it in the way that she hoped her mother had cared about her: she wanted a family, a real family, together; a home, to be safe.
Kicking a leg of the table in frustration, she scrubbed at her eyes, willing the tears away. Her dad wasn’t worth crying over, she told herself. He didn’t deserve for her to care this much.
“Sammy,” she heard softly, and turned to see Dean struggling on the couch.
“Don’t get up,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch and easing him back down. “You’ll tear your stitches.”
He groaned as she fixed the pillow behind his head. “You need to stop fighting with Dad.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be gone by morning. Then we can’t fight anymore.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, glaring at her even as his eyes fell heavy with sleep. “Dad’s just trying to find the thing that killed Mom. To keep us safe.”
“How can he keep us safe if he’s not even here?” She pulled the ratty throw blanket over the back of the couch, covering him up. “And the thing about Mom? She’s dead, Dean. I know you don’t like to hear it, but she is. She’s not here to know if Dad avenged her. But we are here. We’re still here, Dean. Why doesn’t that matter?”
He shook his head. “Of course it matters, Sam. But there’s a job to do. And if we don’t do it, who will?” She was silent until he nudged her with his leg, frowning in concern. “Sam?”
Head resting in her hands, Sam stared at one of the many cigarette burns in the carpet. “I feel like I know absolutely nothing about mom. Every image of her in my mind is from one picture. I don’t remember her holding me or her laugh or…anything. It’s like she never existed.” Pushing her hair back, she sighed loudly. “And I know you and Dad don’t like to talk about her and okay, whatever, that’s cool, but she’s already lost to me, Dean, and I feel like Dad’s slipping away, too. Sometimes I think I’m gonna forget what he looks like, or a time when I didn’t want to hit him. And I just…” She trailed off, trying to get her thoughts in order and ignore the rising panic in her chest. “I just can’t deal with losing you, too.”
Dean didn’t say anything, and when she looked up at him, she could see that he had slipped into a sound, but restless sleep, face screwed up in discomfort. Sighing to herself, she made sure he was covered with the blanket, and kissed his forehead, trying not to worry about how clammy his skin was.
Sitting down at the small table, she watched him for a little bit, looking for any extreme changes. When it seemed like he was going to be okay for a while, she glanced restlessly at her bag, wondering if she wanted to risk it with her father in the house. Fuck him, she thought, and grabbed the application and her pencil.
Eventually, she ended up curled on the armchair in the living room, used to fitting in compact spaces to sleep. The door closing woke her and she blinked around sleepily, looking for Dean. He was still on the couch, sleeping deeply and breathing easily. She let a bit of relief fill her until the door opened again. She closed her eyes, listening to John move about the house, the familiar sounds of him preparing for a hunt. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see him grabbing his bags, or more canisters of salt. She could hear the truck outside-Caleb probably brought it to him. Fuck Caleb.
A voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she had school today, that even though the sun was just barely rising, it wasn’t long before she had to wake up. Her brain was fuzzy from sleep, and she convinced herself that missing one day wasn’t bad. Maybe one day she could forget everything. Making a point to ignore John’s gaze on her, Sam closed her eyes tightly and went back to sleep.
She woke up a few hours later, stretching against the stiffness in her back and neck. “Dean,” she murmured, mouth dry and voice rough.
Making a noise of recognition, Dean turned on the couch, large green eyes blinking at her sleepily. “Yeah?”
“How you feeling?”
“Been better. Been worse. Shouldn’t lay me up for long. And whatever the hell you forced in my mouth last night was amazing.” His eyes widened hopefully. “Do we have more of that?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I think so, but you’ve got to eat something first. You hungry?” He raised an eyebrow at her and she grinned. “Yeah, stupid question. Look, I’ve got a couple of errands to run and Dad left some money, so I’ll go do them and pick up some food to last us a few days.”
Frowning at her, he said, “Where’s Dad?”
“With Caleb,” she said, with more than a hint of bitterness. “Apparently, they have a lead.”
“On whatever killed Mom?”
“That’s what they said.” She had stopped believing in Dad’s “leads” once she hit puberty.
He settled back against his pillow. “Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah, sure.” She grabbed a ponytail holder off the table, pulling her hair up messily. “So, I’m gonna go do the things I have to do and I’ll bring food back, okay?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she said, “I don’t know. Lie there. Don’t tear your stitches. Call me in sick to school. Watch TV. I don’t really care as long as you don’t tear your stitches, I’m only doing that once.”
He smirked at her. “Fine, fine. Just bring me back a burger.”
“For breakfast?”
“It’s my not tearing my stitches food. And ask for bacon on it, that’s breakfast-y.”
Sam smiled despite herself. “Whatever. Can I go now? Dad left the Impala, too.” She said it just to see him make that face, and he didn’t disappoint, wincing as if they were part of a preemptive slow motion car crash.
Shaking his head, he said, “Just drive careful, okay, Sammy?”
“Of course.” She smoothed her hand lightly over the bandage on his chest. “I’ll be back soon.”
“With my burger!”
“Shut up, or you’re getting a salad.” Grinning to herself, she changed quickly before heading out, Dean bitching about daytime television a pleasant background noise.
Her first stop was the post office and she was pleasantly surprised that there was only a short line. The man behind the counter smiled at her when she put the envelopes on the table. “Is it college application time already?” he said.
Sam shrugged lightly. “It is for me at least.”
“These are some impressive schools.” He flipped through the envelopes, whistling lowly. “Stanford. Well, that’s one hell of a place.”
“It’s my first choice,” she admitted.
He nodded. “I can see why. D’ya think you’ll get in?”
“I hope so.” Sam took a deep breath, sighing with it. “I really hope so.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was almost a week later when her father finally returned, just as she was getting used to having him gone again. When John stepped in front of the television, Sam shrank back against the couch, expecting him to yell at her for not training, or make her do fifty laps around the house. Instead, he cleared his throat, looking at her carefully. “There’s not really much food left here.”
She avoided his gaze, staring past his head at the wall. Caleb had plenty of dried and non-perishable food in storage, but he was right about their lack of fresh food. “I guess not, sir.”
“I have to leave in the morning. Do you want me to take you grocery shopping?”
Taken aback at the question, she glanced at Dean in confusion. Her brother just shrugged. “Um…now?”
John nodded. “I’d prefer now.”
“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” Sam stood up carefully, wondering what this was all about. John assured Dean that they’d be back in about an hour, and then headed out to the truck, Sam following behind him.
As they searched out the nearest grocery store, John kept shooting her furtive looks out of the corner of his eye. “So, how’s school?”
She deliberately didn’t roll her eyes. “Good, sir.”
“Studying hard?”
“My teachers say I’m doing very well, especially considering my, you know, circumstances.”
“Right.” He drummed his fingers against the wheel in a way she always associated with Dean. “You’re okay with staying here for a few more weeks?”
Sam caught his eye, nodding quickly. “Yes, sir, happy to.”
He smiled lightly at her, clearly seeing through her attempt to suck up to him. “Good to know.” John hesitated, voice forced casual as he said, “And you and Dean? You’re okay?”
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she fought to keep her expression neutral. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Just thought I noticed a little bit of tension between you two. You’ve been fighting?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “No more than usual, sir. Just…when you’re stuck with someone for so long, sometimes they can get on your nerves.”
“I understand,” he said, and she actually thought he might. “I remember when your mother and I went on our honeymoon. I’m pretty sure after the third day, she was ready to get rid of me.”
A lump formed in her throat and she found it hard to breathe. He’d never talked about Mary, never like this. Not even when she’d asked. “Um…where did you go?”
His smile was forlorn. “The Grand Canyon; she used to travel a lot with her parents, but she’d never been there.”
Sam wasn’t sure what to say to that and she was happy to point out the grocery store, so she wouldn’t have to think of something. It was mildly busy for a weekday afternoon, and as John started pushing the cart, she felt almost normal. It was nice.
They stocked up on milk, eggs, bread, and fresh meat before searching for the specifics not on the outer rim of the store. “Jelly,” he called to her, picking up a jar of grape and putting it into the cart. Shaking her head, she took it out and exchanged it for strawberry. John frowned. “You don’t like grape?”
“I’m allergic.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “You’re allergic to grapes?”
“Just something in the jelly, probably one of the additives, or flavors; I’m okay with the strawberry, though.” She had been five when they figured it out, Dean rushing her to the hospital when her tongue swelled to twice its normal size. “It might even be just that one brand, but Dean says I’m not allowed to check.”
“Oh,” he said softly, then walked ahead to find the pasta sauce. Sam followed a few steps behind him, fists jammed in the pockets of her jeans.
The ride back to the house was slightly less awkward, but Sam really didn’t want to talk about anything anymore. They had broached the majority of their safe topics already, and Sam didn’t want to go get into hunting or anything else. She liked the calm. She had missed it.
Smiling at him, she gestured to the radio. “Music?”
“Sure,” he said, turning it on. She heard the cassette click into place and shook her head lightly. Of course her dad wouldn’t listen to the radio. He didn’t like things he couldn’t control.
Her smile widened at the first few notes of the song, pleasantly surprised at the selection. She hadn’t actually known he liked this kind of stuff. Dean sure as hell didn’t. For the first few verses, she hummed along, and then started singing softly. “And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder…”
To her left, John cleared his throat, paying closer attention to her than the road. “You, uh, you know this song?”
She shrugged slowly, wondering if she had done something wrong. “Doesn’t everyone? I mean, it’s just one of those songs that you know.”
He swallowed hard and she watched his face fall slowly, usually stoic features solemn, almost sad. “Right. Right.”
“I’ll stop singing,” she said, hating herself for ruining the moment, even if she didn’t know what she did.
“It’s fine,” he said roughly, though it didn’t sound anywhere close to fine. Sam turned towards the window and they didn’t say-or sing-a single word all the way home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As soon as John’s truck was out of sight, off on yet another aimless hunt, Dean stared at Sam from across the table. “Did you and Dad have a fight yesterday?”
Rolling her eyes, she brought her dishes to the sink, glad that Caleb’s place had the decency to have a dishwasher. “No, it was fine. He didn’t yell or anything,” she said, rinsing off the plates Dean had devoured.
He munched into a piece of toast. “He seemed weird before he left.”
“Maybe I just ruin things without realizing it.” She shrugged bitterly, loading the dishes and filling the sink with hot soapy water to wash the pans.
Dean got the garbage together as she started scrubbing the dried egg off the pan, singing softly to herself, “Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.”
“What are you doing?” Dean asked suddenly, wide eyes watching her closely.
“The dishes you should be doing.”
He rolled his eyes. “What are you singing?”
Raising an eyebrow at him, she said, “Just something I have stuck in my head. Why?”
Dean just shook his head, turning his back to her to load another bag into the garbage can. She made a face at his back in exasperation, and then turned back to the sink. “Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better.”
“I’m going for a run,” Dean said, heading outside with the garbage, before she could even form a response. The door slammed close behind him and Sam stared at it in confusion for a long time, feeling exhausted for so early in the morning.
She finished washing the pans in silence, the only sound rushing water and the occasional car that passed in front of the house. The place suddenly felt very big around her and she hummed softly as she dried everything off, trying to enjoy the peace of having everything to herself. Instead all she could focus on was the emptiness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She waited until he was asleep on the couch before going through the guns. Dean napped like he slept, like only the dead could wake him. Deciding on a shotgun and a loaded pistol, she made sure that she had plenty of ammo before leaving.
There were fences around here everywhere, random ones to show property lines, or where property lines had been, or just to break up the monotony of the landscape; Dillon was that kind of town.
Every day on her way to school, she cut through the back area, past a fence with thick, flat posts. She pulled the empty beer cans out of a plastic bag, lining five up in a row on the top of the posts. The shotgun was easier: there was no actual aiming, just shooting in the general direction. It was hard to miss when an entire being was your target. She had never had much of a problem with that.
The kickback was intense and she felt it all the way up her arm, cursing under her breath. The pain felt like needles poking through her skin and settled into a constant burn. Leaning the gun against her leg, she stretched out her arm, trying to shake out the fiery sensation. Her arm still hurt sometimes from a break that never healed correctly due to being shuffled around from doctor to doctor in different states at different times, never getting the proper physical therapy. She wasn’t bitter about it, since it gave her months off from training. Ever since then, her father had more or less written her off completely, frustrated at trying to work her back into the life.
She wasn’t used to working so hard for things. As a child, they had told her she was gifted, but that had never meant much when they moved around a lot. She didn’t get special treatment, but it had always been there in her folder as she transferred from school to school. As far as Sam was concerned, it just meant that school was easy. She understood things quickly, did well in her classes, looked at Dean’s homework and somehow just got it. Now she realized it was one of the reasons she had always loved school so much: it was the one place where she could consistently do well.
Her dad had given her a gun when she was just a few weeks shy of ten. She’d seen Dean with guns before, but it felt different to actually hold it in her hands. Discounting how large it was, it never felt quite right. There were days when she couldn’t aim worth a shit and her good days weren’t much better. Though she was faster, Dean still beat her handily every single time they sparred.
It wasn’t that she was a girl. Sam had seen Xena and X-files and Buffy and no matter how wrong those shows were about the world in general, they were girls and they got it done. Girls could do it. Sam just didn’t think she was that kind of girl. She wasn’t as okay about that as she should have been, on the scale of things in life: healthy and athletic didn’t necessarily a fighter make. It just would have been a lot easier if her Dad was okay with it, too. She couldn’t just be good at research or Latin, she had to be good at fighting and shooting.
When there was a werewolf coming at her brother, trying to eat his throat out, she had to be that kind of girl.
She switched to the handgun, knowing that she should know the make and model and the name of the person who forged it and say her prayers to it every night before she went to sleep, because that was just what they had to do. The first three times she pulled the trigger, she missed the can completely and only grazed it the fourth time.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam?”
Counting to three, then turning around, she said, “What are you doing up? Dad said you had to rest.” He hadn’t, but he should have and Dean didn’t need to know that. “I haven’t even taken your stitches out.”
Smiling indulgently, he took a seat on a random stump. “What are you doing? I woke up and you weren’t there.”
She could hear the lingering fear in his voice and her shoulders sagged. “I thought you were gonna sleep longer. I meant to be back before you woke up.”
“So, what, you’re just…target practice?”
“Haven’t done it in a while,” she said. He nodded and she turned back towards the fence, trying to steady her hands around the gun.
Licking her lips, she fired another half-dozen times, missing every shot. Dean cleared his throat. “Are you trying not to hit the can?”
“Dean!” She glared at him over her shoulder. “You’re making me…” He always made her nervous. It was no excuse. “You just sitting there watching me isn’t helping.”
“You need to relax,” he said, standing up and moving behind her. Against his orders, she tensed as his hands landed lightly on her shoulders. “You act like something’s gonna attack you any second.”
That wasn’t what she was afraid of, but she said, “If we’re hunting something, then there’s a damn good chance something is going to attack me any second.”
She knew based on his tone that he was rolling his eyes at her. “That’s why you’ve got to calm down now. Get used to shooting, build up some muscle memory. Learn what it feels like to actually hit a target.”
After elbowing him lightly where she wouldn’t hit his stitches, Sam did her best to relax as his hands covered hers on the gun. “I think you’d be better holding it like this-not the gun I would have chosen for you, either, but whatever. Just…feel it. Don’t think about it too much. If something’s comin’ at ya, you’re not going to be able to measure distance; you’re just going to have to go with your instincts.”
“My instincts have never been as good as yours, or Dad’s.”
“Bullshit,” he said immediately. “You’re a Winchester; it’s in your blood. Now just…shoot.”
His hands covered hers as she pulled the trigger, the bullet skidding past the left side of the can. He moved her slightly to the right, hands adjusting her hips. He left them there and she didn’t think about that as hard as she could. She quickly shot down the rest of the cans, only missing twice. “Like that?” she said, finding herself unable to speak higher than a whisper.
“Yeah. Yeah, like that.” Walking around her, he started putting up the few bottles she had brought, though he winced in soreness as his stitches pulled. Dean quieted any protests with a quick glare, taking a breather before telling her. “Alright, let’s do it again. The more you do it, the better you’ll get.”
She always liked it when he sounded like John without sounding like John. It was just another reminder that her father was wrong about everything.
Instead of sitting back on the stump like she expected, Dean stood behind her, close enough that their bodies brushed as he said, “Shoot.” Their eyes locked and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and couldn’t feel anything over the quickening of her heart. He blinked first. “Shoot.”
Without looking away from him, she pulled the trigger. The only things she could hear were Dean’s heavy breathing, her echoing heartbeat, and the shattering of glass.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her father didn’t think that her target practice-or anything else she did-was nearly as impressive.
“Sam!” John barked loudly. “Are you even paying attention?”
Closing her eyes so she wouldn’t roll them, Sam nodded. “Yes, sir. Rosary, chanting, holy water, I’ve got it.” She had gotten it the last five times they had had this discussion.
Scowling at her, he said, “This isn’t a joke, Sam. A girl got possessed the other day, and died.”
“That’s not my fault,” she said, and to her right, Dean shook his head almost imperceptibly, trying to head off a fight.
“And what would you have done, Sam?”
“I would have known the exorcism by heart, sir.”
The color rose in his cheeks and her silence only increased his anger. “You think this is funny? This is life and death, Sam. You can’t just play this off as if it doesn’t matter.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “I’m not! I do know the exorcism. So that’s what I would do.”
John shook his head. “Well, that’s good since you’re too useless to do anything else.”
The words were a punch to the gut for Sam and her jaw hung open in shock. “Dad,” Dean gasped in surprise, his large green eyes flitting from his father to sister.
The first thing Sam thought to do was laugh. “Fine. Fine, if I’m so useless, then I guess I don’t need to be here.” She got off the bed quickly, deftly avoiding Dean as he grabbed at her and snagged her hoodie, before slamming out of the motel room.
She shivered in the night air, then pulled on the jacket and zipping it up, walking quickly across the parking lot to get as much distance between herself and her family as she could. For a second, she almost expected Dean to come after her, to do what he always did and try to get them to settle down and talk. A lump grew in her throat when she realized that John was probably keeping him back.
Dean always went with John over her. She didn’t know why she ever expected anything different.
There was an all-night convenience store a few blocks from the motel and she used the few dollars she discovered in her pocket to buy a large slurpee, a bag of chips and a slim-jim, mostly because she always made faces when Dean ate them. She wasn’t sure if it counted as spite, even if he didn’t know, but it made her feel a little better.
Pulling her legs up to her chest, she sat on the bench outside of the store, slowly drinking her slurpee. The few people going in and out looked at her like some sort of teen runaway, and in that moment, she supposed she was. Wind whipped at her face and she hid her face in her arm, her tears gathering in the soft cotton of her hoodie.
Just a few more months, she told herself. Then she’d never have to see him again, either of them. She wanted to be happy about that, but all she could see were Dean’s eyes staring at her and the tears started coming in full force. It hurt to want all the simplest things in the world: love, safety, a home. They didn’t feel like things she should have to fight for.
When the Big Gulp cup was empty, Sam realized that she needed to get back, before John went from calmed down all the way back around to angry that she wasn’t home, whatever home was. She took her time walking down the sidewalk, the flashing sign of the motel a beacon of disaster ahead. It was like walking into the fire, but twice as stupid.
She hesitated when she noticed her father’s truck missing from the parking lot, praying that he hadn’t gone looking for her. As if he would. Sighing in defeat, she knocked slowly against the door.
Dean looked at her sadly as he opened the door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said, walking past him into the room. “Where’s Dad?”
Tipping his beer bottle against his lips, Dean drained the contents and left it on the table. “Said he needed a drink.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “Of course he did.” By the looks of the amount of bottles on the table, John wasn’t the only one.
Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Sammy, he didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, Dean. Yeah, he did.” It was stupid to lie to herself, lead herself into denial about something she had figured out long ago.
He sighed, staring at her closely. “You’ve been crying.” His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking against the still-puffy skin.
Sam swallowed hard. “You’ve been drinking.”
Shrugging, he bent down, kissing her slowly. For a few moments, she sunk into the kiss, the comforting way his lips moved against hers, the way she could lose herself in him so quickly, so completely. She hated herself for stepping away, for finding some modicum of dignity. “Don’t,” she said, voice rough with disappointment. “I’m not gonna be your pity fuck.”
“Is that what you think you are? Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know.” The words cracked and she covered her face with her hands, trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity.
He shushed her gently, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her against his strong chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She cried for a few minutes, letting herself go. When she finally stopped, she looked up to find that he was still staring at her like she was okay. Like this was okay and she was safe here.
Standing up on her toes, she kissed his lips, heart surging as he kissed back. She didn’t need self-respect. Right now, she just needed Dean.
The next morning, Sam blinked at the sunlight; her eyes crusted shut from a long night’s sleep. She sat up, catching Dean’s attention from the other side of the room. “Morning,” he said shortly. “Dad came by earlier.” She glanced at the unused double bed in the room and Dean clearly knew what she was thinking. “He slept somewhere else last night. Stopped by to tell us where we were heading next and where we should meet him. So, uh, get ready whenever you want.”
Groaning under her breath, Sam nodded, sitting up and rubbing her eyes against the light filtering through the blinds that didn’t quite close all the way. She was grateful that she had slipped a t-shirt on before going to sleep last night, if nothing else. This morning would have been awkward otherwise, even by their standards.
Dean had apparently been up for a while: their things were packed and coffee was waiting for her on the nightstand. Ignoring the burn against her tongue as she chugged it down, Sam grabbed some clothes that she expected might be clean and went into the bathroom, praying for some hot water. She leaned against the cold tile of the shower, letting the water fall over her more than anything else.
He was packing the car by the time she was finished and she followed him outside and shoved the rest of her clothes in the trunk. Her coffee was still inside and she went to get it, sighing to herself. Higher thinking had yet to catch up to the events of last night, and she found herself going through the motions.
She rolled down the window of the Impala as they drove along the highway, as much for letting her hair dry as to halt conversation. Her stomach twisted in knots as she realized that she had no idea what to say to Dean, no idea where they were. The fact that she didn’t have any clue painted a bleak picture of their situation and not for the first time, Sam couldn’t help but think that it was hopeless.
Dean’s false excitement as they drove through town was depressing: other than telling her that John promised that they’d be there for a while so she could get some decent time at school, he had nothing to say to her. They were reaching that point again, the point of small talk, and two small steps before the cliff of no return.
The truck was, of course, parked in front of a motel and Sam couldn’t even work up the energy to complain. Dean pulled up alongside it and killed the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. The silence was apparently getting to him and he cleared his throat. “So…”
“I’m assuming that last night doesn’t change anything, correct?” she said, trying to keep her expression neutral, cold, not give anything away.
“Sam… It’s complicated.”
That was as much of an affirmative as she needed. “Fine.”
He drummed his fingers gently against the steering wheel. “You okay?”
She knew that he wanted her to lie, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She couldn’t make him comfortable with this. “No, I’m not okay. Nothing about this is okay. I love you and I want you, and maybe I shouldn’t and maybe you think that I’m wrong, so fine, I’m alone in this. And I guess this isn’t fair, but screw it, it hurts. It hurts knowing that you’re a few feet away and you don’t want me like I want you, because I need you more than anything and…” She stopped before her voice could shake more, before she let him have everything. “It’s not okay. I love you and it’s not okay.” She shrugged, fumbling for the door handle. “But I guess I’ll get over it.”
Getting out of the car, she let the door slam shut behind her and headed for the hotel. For the first time in her life, she walked away from Dean and toward her father.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Guilt was one of Dean’s greatest motivators. He had some selfish tendencies-probably less than most, if she was being honest-and duty got him to do pretty much whatever John said, but guilt got him to do things by himself. For such a hedonist, he tended to feel guilty a lot.
Sam was probably the first person he’d ever felt bad about having sex with repeatedly, so she did feel a tiny bit of pride over that. It was nice to mean something.
She stretched across one of the motel room beds, eagerly awaiting the food Dean had offered to get when the phone rang. Groaning at the effort of moving when she had just settled into laziness, she reached for it, making a small noise of triumph when her fingers caught it. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sam, it’s Bobby. Is this a good time?”
She smiled and muted the television. “Hey, Bobby, this is a good time, actually. Dean’s getting food and Dad’s…” She didn’t actually know where her father was. “Dad’s on a hunt.”
“Good, good. I just wanted to talk to you about your college applications. We never really got to discuss it, or anything. News should be coming any day now, huh?”
“Uh huh,” she said warily, wondering what point he was getting at. He wasn’t going to lecture her about responsibility, or the family business. If that was his case, he would have just told her dad.
He cleared his throat loudly. “I noticed that you had an application to Stanford.”
Smirking, she said, “And I noticed that an application to the University of South Dakota had someway gotten to me, too, even though I didn’t apply for one.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, well, I just wanted you to have some options close to someone you know. But Stanford. I mean, I don’t know if you just applied there, because you wanted to or…well, I’ve got a friend there. Not really a friend, I guess, but they had a pretty bad haunting about six some odd years ago and I settled it, and he was real thankful and ever since, he’s been callin’ me up every time there’s a random death, or suicide so I can ‘cleanse’ the place, as if that’ll work worth a damn.
“So I called him up the other day, told him about you and your life. Now, he works in financial aid, but he said he’d look at your admission packet, maybe put in a good word for you, if you need it and said that he’d look at any sort of scholarship, or aid, or grant he could give you to cover the costs. I told him that with you there, it could be like a work-study thing, or whatever they call it. You’d be there to cleanse, and he wouldn’t have to drag me across half the damn country to take care of stuff.”
Her head swam with the new information and she took a deep breath. “Are…are you serious?”
“I wasn’t sure if you had made any cost arrangement plans and I’m sure we could wrangle some kind of student loan for you if you wanted to come to USD, but I thought this would work out well for you, make sure you have your books and your dorm and food and stuff.”
For a while, she was at a loss for words. “I…I can’t believe you went through all that trouble for me.”
Scoffing, he said, “It was just a phone call, not much trouble. You’ll be doin’ me a favor, not having to go out there all the time.” His voice softened thoughtfully. “You deserve it, Sam. You’ve worked so hard. You know your Daddy and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot, and I’m assuming this is one of those things, because I’d bet he doesn’t know a bit of this, but if you want it and you worked for it, you should have it.”
Bobby paused for a second, and then sighed. “This life…no one should choose it if they don’t have to. Get out while you still can, because it’s not something you get to just walk away from. I’m not sure about that brother of yours, but if you want to do somethin’ else, then I say do it. I’ll help anyway I can.”
She buried her face against the bed for a moment, knowing that if her father found out, he’d say nothing more than the exact opposite. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you.”
He sounded embarrassed as he said, “Now, don’t you get all mushy on me. Just tryin’ to help. I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. There was the sound of the key in the door and she sat up sharply. “Gotta go. Dean’s back.”
They said goodbye quickly as Dean sauntered into the room with two large bags of take out. “Hey, was that Dad?”
“Uh, no. Bobby. He had a computer question.”
Snorting, Dean shook his head. “Bobby on a computer, that’s something I’d like to see.”
She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t seem like she was hiding anything. She wasn’t good at hiding things from Dean. Or maybe he was just good at figuring out when she was. “What’s that smell? It’s awesome.”
Holding up the bags, he grinned widely at her. “I splurged. Got ribs.”
Her eyes widened in shock and happiness, and she made an excited noise as she got them both something to drink. They settled on one of the beds, the Styrofoam containers of ribs and fries set out in front of them like a lavish buffet. The meat fell off the bone as she bit into the first one and she moaned happily. “Oh my god, these are so good.”
Nudging her contentedly, he said, “Thought you’d enjoy it.”
“Yeah, well, you were right.” She smiled at him; sure her mouth was already covered in barbecue sauce. He just laughed, eyes softening as he looked at her. Her heart flipped over in her chest-she wasn’t sure if she could stand him being so perfect. Guilt was suddenly not on her side. Licking the sauce off her fingers, she turned the volume of the television back up, hoping the fill the room with something other than the tension hanging between them.
They ate together in companionable silence, as comfortable as they could have been in the situation. There was an America’s Funniest Home Videos marathon on and they focused on the food and the idiot people who tried bicycling into their pools and getting attacked by small, yippy dogs.
After they had gorged themselves and cleaned up, Dean relaxed back on her bed with her instead of moving to his own, this should have been her first sign. He reached over her for the remote, turning the volume down on the television set, which was a pretty big second clue. “Can I talk to you about something?”
She tried to pay attention to the small boy playing a practical joke on his sister, but her heartbeat echoed in her ears. “Sure.” There wasn’t really much to talk about, nothing else that needed a big build up like this. Sam wasn’t sure what to expect and her stomach clenched nervously.
Clearing his throat, Dean refused to look at her as he said, “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you, because I do. God, Sammy, I want you way more than I should.”
“Says who?” She ran her hands up and down her thighs, mostly to have something to do, letting them tingle with the friction. “Who says how much you get to love me? Who gets to quantify that?”
He rolled his eyes, giving her that look, the one that said that she was so young and knew so little. “It’s just a thing, Sam. It’s a thing people don’t do.”
She stared at him in confusion. “We hunt monsters, Dean. Most people don’t do that either.”
Laughing under his breath, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
The uncertainty was palpable and after a few minutes Sam took a deep breath. “I think...” She bit her bottom lip, chewing at it in thought, staring ahead at the television, at nothing. “I think we could be happy, the two of us. You just need to figure out if I’m worth more than whatever you’re scared of.”
Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was going over the words in his head, choosing his own carefully. “You don’t think we are now? Happy, I mean.”
Her smile was sad and she looked down at the motel blanket. “I’m not. Not even close.”
“But you think we could be?”
Taking a deep breath, she knew her eyes were shiny with tears as she stared up at him. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said sincerely, reaching over and stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb. “I…” He hesitated, staring at her like she wasn’t the thing he had seen most, knew best in his entire life. “I think we should be happy together, the two of us.”
She knew what he meant instinctively, before her mind had caught up, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. It was almost a surprise when he kissed her back, hands pulling her close as they met willingly in the middle. Her hands reached his and she held tightly to him.
He kissed her breathlessly, giving as much as taking and they panted and breathed each other’s air. Closing her eyes, she leaned against his neck, appreciating all the joy that came from just being near him. “I think we could make it,” she whispered against his skin.
Dean tilted her head up so he could look in her eyes. Tenderly brushing a lock of hair out of her face, he nodded, kissing her forehead. “Sammy…” It was wistful and careful and she had discovered early that that was what Dean said when he loved her the most. They kissed again, falling hopelessly into each other.
Master Post | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Soundtrack
She heard the car first, the Impala’s engine growling in the driveway as the headlights shined at her through the window. Quickly, she slipped her Stanford essay into her backpack and tucked it into a corner, before getting up and opening the door for them. Dean was in the front seat, not moving. Her heart dropped painfully as she saw the blood running down his head. “Dean?”
John turned off the engine, running around to the side of the car to get his son. “Sam, grab the first aid kit.”
She nodded, catching the keys he threw at her and running to the trunk, fumbling to get them in the lock. The first aid kit was buried beneath their bags and she wrenched it out, slamming the trunk shut behind her. John was placing Dean on the couch as she came in, working his jacket and shirt off of him. “Got him across the chest,” he said. “I was going to sew it, but…”
“No, I’ll do it,” she said, looking for the needle and thread.
Dean’s eyes tried to focus on her, but kept rolling back into his head. “Sam…”
“Lie still. I’m only sewing you up once.” She pressed gauze against the wound, trying to soak up as much blood as possible and ignore the pounding in her head and chest. “Dad, I’m gonna need a fifth of whiskey.”
He grunted in understanding, grabbing it from under the sink. Sam smoothed her hand across Dean’s face, trying to ignore how pale and sweaty it was. “Dean?” He just groaned, pulling away from her touch as she tried to slip a painkiller down his throat.
John loomed over them, frowning in concern. “Is he okay?”
“I got him, Dad,” she said, threading the needle. As she stitched up the wound, she whispered to him, trying to soothe him with the sounds so that he wouldn’t pull away from the pain. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay…”
John was finished bringing in the bags by the time she was finished bandaging the wound. “How’s he doin’?
It took a minute for Sam to be able to dignify that with a response. “He’s alive,” she said, walking towards the sink to wash her brother’s blood off her hands.
Sighing, he nodded and grabbed a beer from the fridge, drinking it down quickly.
“Just came out of nowhere, went right for Dean.” He was aware of her lack of response, reaching out and putting a large hand on her shoulder. “It happens, Sam.”
She jerked away from his touch, sneering at him. “Not if you don’t go chasing after it in the first place, it doesn’t.”
“Sam…”
“Dean could have died, Dad.”
“But he didn’t.”
“That’s not even the point!” she said, voice getting louder with each word. “The point is that he could have, and then there’d be another body to burn.”
She could see his jaw tighten. “You do not speak to me like that, Sam. I’m tired of your mouth. I know what I’m doing and Dean knows what he’s doing. I wouldn’t let him die.”
She picked the first aid kit up and pushed it against his chest. “Then next time you get to sew up your son’s chest, before he bleeds to death.”
Dropping it loudly on the counter, he said, “That’s enough, Sam. I would never put Dean in unnecessary danger, but there’s a job to do and it has to be done.”
“What would Mom think about the job?” It was a low blow, but one that always worked. “Cuz, you know, I never had a mom, but I’m pretty sure they don’t sit around thinking, ‘Hm, I wonder how I can get my child killed tonight!’”
“Sam!”
She shrugged sarcastically. “Just hazarding a guess here, but I think Mom would be pretty fucking pissed at the idea of her son lying on the couch with his insides practically on his outsides. I’m pretty sure she would hate this whole damn thing.”
Sam had no idea how her mother would have felt about this, or about anything else, but she knew how to push his buttons just as well as he could push hers. It was the only battle where she could claim a slight victory, because no one ever won. Everyone always suffered and he won all the others. She was pretty sure suffering simultaneously was better.
It took two strides for John to be in her space, for him to grab her arm tight enough that it actually hurt. She wanted to pull away, to shrink under his force, but she met his gaze. “You do not speak to me like that, Sam,” he said, voice dangerously low. “That’s enough.”
When he released her, she didn’t rub the feeling back into her arm. She tried to ignore the pain as it throbbed there; trying to tell herself that she wasn’t shaking. There were very few times in the past years when she had been actually scared of her father. This was one of them.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “Caleb thinks he has a lead on what killed your mother and we’re going to track it down, if you even care.” He didn’t wait for a response, just slamming into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door shaking on its hinge.
She wanted to scream back that she didn’t care, but it wasn’t as truthful as she would have liked. She cared, just not in the way they did. She wasn’t out of control, like John could be, or as focused as Dean, but she felt it in the way that she hoped her mother had cared about her: she wanted a family, a real family, together; a home, to be safe.
Kicking a leg of the table in frustration, she scrubbed at her eyes, willing the tears away. Her dad wasn’t worth crying over, she told herself. He didn’t deserve for her to care this much.
“Sammy,” she heard softly, and turned to see Dean struggling on the couch.
“Don’t get up,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch and easing him back down. “You’ll tear your stitches.”
He groaned as she fixed the pillow behind his head. “You need to stop fighting with Dad.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be gone by morning. Then we can’t fight anymore.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, glaring at her even as his eyes fell heavy with sleep. “Dad’s just trying to find the thing that killed Mom. To keep us safe.”
“How can he keep us safe if he’s not even here?” She pulled the ratty throw blanket over the back of the couch, covering him up. “And the thing about Mom? She’s dead, Dean. I know you don’t like to hear it, but she is. She’s not here to know if Dad avenged her. But we are here. We’re still here, Dean. Why doesn’t that matter?”
He shook his head. “Of course it matters, Sam. But there’s a job to do. And if we don’t do it, who will?” She was silent until he nudged her with his leg, frowning in concern. “Sam?”
Head resting in her hands, Sam stared at one of the many cigarette burns in the carpet. “I feel like I know absolutely nothing about mom. Every image of her in my mind is from one picture. I don’t remember her holding me or her laugh or…anything. It’s like she never existed.” Pushing her hair back, she sighed loudly. “And I know you and Dad don’t like to talk about her and okay, whatever, that’s cool, but she’s already lost to me, Dean, and I feel like Dad’s slipping away, too. Sometimes I think I’m gonna forget what he looks like, or a time when I didn’t want to hit him. And I just…” She trailed off, trying to get her thoughts in order and ignore the rising panic in her chest. “I just can’t deal with losing you, too.”
Dean didn’t say anything, and when she looked up at him, she could see that he had slipped into a sound, but restless sleep, face screwed up in discomfort. Sighing to herself, she made sure he was covered with the blanket, and kissed his forehead, trying not to worry about how clammy his skin was.
Sitting down at the small table, she watched him for a little bit, looking for any extreme changes. When it seemed like he was going to be okay for a while, she glanced restlessly at her bag, wondering if she wanted to risk it with her father in the house. Fuck him, she thought, and grabbed the application and her pencil.
Eventually, she ended up curled on the armchair in the living room, used to fitting in compact spaces to sleep. The door closing woke her and she blinked around sleepily, looking for Dean. He was still on the couch, sleeping deeply and breathing easily. She let a bit of relief fill her until the door opened again. She closed her eyes, listening to John move about the house, the familiar sounds of him preparing for a hunt. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see him grabbing his bags, or more canisters of salt. She could hear the truck outside-Caleb probably brought it to him. Fuck Caleb.
A voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she had school today, that even though the sun was just barely rising, it wasn’t long before she had to wake up. Her brain was fuzzy from sleep, and she convinced herself that missing one day wasn’t bad. Maybe one day she could forget everything. Making a point to ignore John’s gaze on her, Sam closed her eyes tightly and went back to sleep.
She woke up a few hours later, stretching against the stiffness in her back and neck. “Dean,” she murmured, mouth dry and voice rough.
Making a noise of recognition, Dean turned on the couch, large green eyes blinking at her sleepily. “Yeah?”
“How you feeling?”
“Been better. Been worse. Shouldn’t lay me up for long. And whatever the hell you forced in my mouth last night was amazing.” His eyes widened hopefully. “Do we have more of that?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I think so, but you’ve got to eat something first. You hungry?” He raised an eyebrow at her and she grinned. “Yeah, stupid question. Look, I’ve got a couple of errands to run and Dad left some money, so I’ll go do them and pick up some food to last us a few days.”
Frowning at her, he said, “Where’s Dad?”
“With Caleb,” she said, with more than a hint of bitterness. “Apparently, they have a lead.”
“On whatever killed Mom?”
“That’s what they said.” She had stopped believing in Dad’s “leads” once she hit puberty.
He settled back against his pillow. “Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah, sure.” She grabbed a ponytail holder off the table, pulling her hair up messily. “So, I’m gonna go do the things I have to do and I’ll bring food back, okay?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she said, “I don’t know. Lie there. Don’t tear your stitches. Call me in sick to school. Watch TV. I don’t really care as long as you don’t tear your stitches, I’m only doing that once.”
He smirked at her. “Fine, fine. Just bring me back a burger.”
“For breakfast?”
“It’s my not tearing my stitches food. And ask for bacon on it, that’s breakfast-y.”
Sam smiled despite herself. “Whatever. Can I go now? Dad left the Impala, too.” She said it just to see him make that face, and he didn’t disappoint, wincing as if they were part of a preemptive slow motion car crash.
Shaking his head, he said, “Just drive careful, okay, Sammy?”
“Of course.” She smoothed her hand lightly over the bandage on his chest. “I’ll be back soon.”
“With my burger!”
“Shut up, or you’re getting a salad.” Grinning to herself, she changed quickly before heading out, Dean bitching about daytime television a pleasant background noise.
Her first stop was the post office and she was pleasantly surprised that there was only a short line. The man behind the counter smiled at her when she put the envelopes on the table. “Is it college application time already?” he said.
Sam shrugged lightly. “It is for me at least.”
“These are some impressive schools.” He flipped through the envelopes, whistling lowly. “Stanford. Well, that’s one hell of a place.”
“It’s my first choice,” she admitted.
He nodded. “I can see why. D’ya think you’ll get in?”
“I hope so.” Sam took a deep breath, sighing with it. “I really hope so.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was almost a week later when her father finally returned, just as she was getting used to having him gone again. When John stepped in front of the television, Sam shrank back against the couch, expecting him to yell at her for not training, or make her do fifty laps around the house. Instead, he cleared his throat, looking at her carefully. “There’s not really much food left here.”
She avoided his gaze, staring past his head at the wall. Caleb had plenty of dried and non-perishable food in storage, but he was right about their lack of fresh food. “I guess not, sir.”
“I have to leave in the morning. Do you want me to take you grocery shopping?”
Taken aback at the question, she glanced at Dean in confusion. Her brother just shrugged. “Um…now?”
John nodded. “I’d prefer now.”
“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” Sam stood up carefully, wondering what this was all about. John assured Dean that they’d be back in about an hour, and then headed out to the truck, Sam following behind him.
As they searched out the nearest grocery store, John kept shooting her furtive looks out of the corner of his eye. “So, how’s school?”
She deliberately didn’t roll her eyes. “Good, sir.”
“Studying hard?”
“My teachers say I’m doing very well, especially considering my, you know, circumstances.”
“Right.” He drummed his fingers against the wheel in a way she always associated with Dean. “You’re okay with staying here for a few more weeks?”
Sam caught his eye, nodding quickly. “Yes, sir, happy to.”
He smiled lightly at her, clearly seeing through her attempt to suck up to him. “Good to know.” John hesitated, voice forced casual as he said, “And you and Dean? You’re okay?”
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she fought to keep her expression neutral. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Just thought I noticed a little bit of tension between you two. You’ve been fighting?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “No more than usual, sir. Just…when you’re stuck with someone for so long, sometimes they can get on your nerves.”
“I understand,” he said, and she actually thought he might. “I remember when your mother and I went on our honeymoon. I’m pretty sure after the third day, she was ready to get rid of me.”
A lump formed in her throat and she found it hard to breathe. He’d never talked about Mary, never like this. Not even when she’d asked. “Um…where did you go?”
His smile was forlorn. “The Grand Canyon; she used to travel a lot with her parents, but she’d never been there.”
Sam wasn’t sure what to say to that and she was happy to point out the grocery store, so she wouldn’t have to think of something. It was mildly busy for a weekday afternoon, and as John started pushing the cart, she felt almost normal. It was nice.
They stocked up on milk, eggs, bread, and fresh meat before searching for the specifics not on the outer rim of the store. “Jelly,” he called to her, picking up a jar of grape and putting it into the cart. Shaking her head, she took it out and exchanged it for strawberry. John frowned. “You don’t like grape?”
“I’m allergic.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “You’re allergic to grapes?”
“Just something in the jelly, probably one of the additives, or flavors; I’m okay with the strawberry, though.” She had been five when they figured it out, Dean rushing her to the hospital when her tongue swelled to twice its normal size. “It might even be just that one brand, but Dean says I’m not allowed to check.”
“Oh,” he said softly, then walked ahead to find the pasta sauce. Sam followed a few steps behind him, fists jammed in the pockets of her jeans.
The ride back to the house was slightly less awkward, but Sam really didn’t want to talk about anything anymore. They had broached the majority of their safe topics already, and Sam didn’t want to go get into hunting or anything else. She liked the calm. She had missed it.
Smiling at him, she gestured to the radio. “Music?”
“Sure,” he said, turning it on. She heard the cassette click into place and shook her head lightly. Of course her dad wouldn’t listen to the radio. He didn’t like things he couldn’t control.
Her smile widened at the first few notes of the song, pleasantly surprised at the selection. She hadn’t actually known he liked this kind of stuff. Dean sure as hell didn’t. For the first few verses, she hummed along, and then started singing softly. “And any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder…”
To her left, John cleared his throat, paying closer attention to her than the road. “You, uh, you know this song?”
She shrugged slowly, wondering if she had done something wrong. “Doesn’t everyone? I mean, it’s just one of those songs that you know.”
He swallowed hard and she watched his face fall slowly, usually stoic features solemn, almost sad. “Right. Right.”
“I’ll stop singing,” she said, hating herself for ruining the moment, even if she didn’t know what she did.
“It’s fine,” he said roughly, though it didn’t sound anywhere close to fine. Sam turned towards the window and they didn’t say-or sing-a single word all the way home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As soon as John’s truck was out of sight, off on yet another aimless hunt, Dean stared at Sam from across the table. “Did you and Dad have a fight yesterday?”
Rolling her eyes, she brought her dishes to the sink, glad that Caleb’s place had the decency to have a dishwasher. “No, it was fine. He didn’t yell or anything,” she said, rinsing off the plates Dean had devoured.
He munched into a piece of toast. “He seemed weird before he left.”
“Maybe I just ruin things without realizing it.” She shrugged bitterly, loading the dishes and filling the sink with hot soapy water to wash the pans.
Dean got the garbage together as she started scrubbing the dried egg off the pan, singing softly to herself, “Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.”
“What are you doing?” Dean asked suddenly, wide eyes watching her closely.
“The dishes you should be doing.”
He rolled his eyes. “What are you singing?”
Raising an eyebrow at him, she said, “Just something I have stuck in my head. Why?”
Dean just shook his head, turning his back to her to load another bag into the garbage can. She made a face at his back in exasperation, and then turned back to the sink. “Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better.”
“I’m going for a run,” Dean said, heading outside with the garbage, before she could even form a response. The door slammed close behind him and Sam stared at it in confusion for a long time, feeling exhausted for so early in the morning.
She finished washing the pans in silence, the only sound rushing water and the occasional car that passed in front of the house. The place suddenly felt very big around her and she hummed softly as she dried everything off, trying to enjoy the peace of having everything to herself. Instead all she could focus on was the emptiness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She waited until he was asleep on the couch before going through the guns. Dean napped like he slept, like only the dead could wake him. Deciding on a shotgun and a loaded pistol, she made sure that she had plenty of ammo before leaving.
There were fences around here everywhere, random ones to show property lines, or where property lines had been, or just to break up the monotony of the landscape; Dillon was that kind of town.
Every day on her way to school, she cut through the back area, past a fence with thick, flat posts. She pulled the empty beer cans out of a plastic bag, lining five up in a row on the top of the posts. The shotgun was easier: there was no actual aiming, just shooting in the general direction. It was hard to miss when an entire being was your target. She had never had much of a problem with that.
The kickback was intense and she felt it all the way up her arm, cursing under her breath. The pain felt like needles poking through her skin and settled into a constant burn. Leaning the gun against her leg, she stretched out her arm, trying to shake out the fiery sensation. Her arm still hurt sometimes from a break that never healed correctly due to being shuffled around from doctor to doctor in different states at different times, never getting the proper physical therapy. She wasn’t bitter about it, since it gave her months off from training. Ever since then, her father had more or less written her off completely, frustrated at trying to work her back into the life.
She wasn’t used to working so hard for things. As a child, they had told her she was gifted, but that had never meant much when they moved around a lot. She didn’t get special treatment, but it had always been there in her folder as she transferred from school to school. As far as Sam was concerned, it just meant that school was easy. She understood things quickly, did well in her classes, looked at Dean’s homework and somehow just got it. Now she realized it was one of the reasons she had always loved school so much: it was the one place where she could consistently do well.
Her dad had given her a gun when she was just a few weeks shy of ten. She’d seen Dean with guns before, but it felt different to actually hold it in her hands. Discounting how large it was, it never felt quite right. There were days when she couldn’t aim worth a shit and her good days weren’t much better. Though she was faster, Dean still beat her handily every single time they sparred.
It wasn’t that she was a girl. Sam had seen Xena and X-files and Buffy and no matter how wrong those shows were about the world in general, they were girls and they got it done. Girls could do it. Sam just didn’t think she was that kind of girl. She wasn’t as okay about that as she should have been, on the scale of things in life: healthy and athletic didn’t necessarily a fighter make. It just would have been a lot easier if her Dad was okay with it, too. She couldn’t just be good at research or Latin, she had to be good at fighting and shooting.
When there was a werewolf coming at her brother, trying to eat his throat out, she had to be that kind of girl.
She switched to the handgun, knowing that she should know the make and model and the name of the person who forged it and say her prayers to it every night before she went to sleep, because that was just what they had to do. The first three times she pulled the trigger, she missed the can completely and only grazed it the fourth time.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam?”
Counting to three, then turning around, she said, “What are you doing up? Dad said you had to rest.” He hadn’t, but he should have and Dean didn’t need to know that. “I haven’t even taken your stitches out.”
Smiling indulgently, he took a seat on a random stump. “What are you doing? I woke up and you weren’t there.”
She could hear the lingering fear in his voice and her shoulders sagged. “I thought you were gonna sleep longer. I meant to be back before you woke up.”
“So, what, you’re just…target practice?”
“Haven’t done it in a while,” she said. He nodded and she turned back towards the fence, trying to steady her hands around the gun.
Licking her lips, she fired another half-dozen times, missing every shot. Dean cleared his throat. “Are you trying not to hit the can?”
“Dean!” She glared at him over her shoulder. “You’re making me…” He always made her nervous. It was no excuse. “You just sitting there watching me isn’t helping.”
“You need to relax,” he said, standing up and moving behind her. Against his orders, she tensed as his hands landed lightly on her shoulders. “You act like something’s gonna attack you any second.”
That wasn’t what she was afraid of, but she said, “If we’re hunting something, then there’s a damn good chance something is going to attack me any second.”
She knew based on his tone that he was rolling his eyes at her. “That’s why you’ve got to calm down now. Get used to shooting, build up some muscle memory. Learn what it feels like to actually hit a target.”
After elbowing him lightly where she wouldn’t hit his stitches, Sam did her best to relax as his hands covered hers on the gun. “I think you’d be better holding it like this-not the gun I would have chosen for you, either, but whatever. Just…feel it. Don’t think about it too much. If something’s comin’ at ya, you’re not going to be able to measure distance; you’re just going to have to go with your instincts.”
“My instincts have never been as good as yours, or Dad’s.”
“Bullshit,” he said immediately. “You’re a Winchester; it’s in your blood. Now just…shoot.”
His hands covered hers as she pulled the trigger, the bullet skidding past the left side of the can. He moved her slightly to the right, hands adjusting her hips. He left them there and she didn’t think about that as hard as she could. She quickly shot down the rest of the cans, only missing twice. “Like that?” she said, finding herself unable to speak higher than a whisper.
“Yeah. Yeah, like that.” Walking around her, he started putting up the few bottles she had brought, though he winced in soreness as his stitches pulled. Dean quieted any protests with a quick glare, taking a breather before telling her. “Alright, let’s do it again. The more you do it, the better you’ll get.”
She always liked it when he sounded like John without sounding like John. It was just another reminder that her father was wrong about everything.
Instead of sitting back on the stump like she expected, Dean stood behind her, close enough that their bodies brushed as he said, “Shoot.” Their eyes locked and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and couldn’t feel anything over the quickening of her heart. He blinked first. “Shoot.”
Without looking away from him, she pulled the trigger. The only things she could hear were Dean’s heavy breathing, her echoing heartbeat, and the shattering of glass.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her father didn’t think that her target practice-or anything else she did-was nearly as impressive.
“Sam!” John barked loudly. “Are you even paying attention?”
Closing her eyes so she wouldn’t roll them, Sam nodded. “Yes, sir. Rosary, chanting, holy water, I’ve got it.” She had gotten it the last five times they had had this discussion.
Scowling at her, he said, “This isn’t a joke, Sam. A girl got possessed the other day, and died.”
“That’s not my fault,” she said, and to her right, Dean shook his head almost imperceptibly, trying to head off a fight.
“And what would you have done, Sam?”
“I would have known the exorcism by heart, sir.”
The color rose in his cheeks and her silence only increased his anger. “You think this is funny? This is life and death, Sam. You can’t just play this off as if it doesn’t matter.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “I’m not! I do know the exorcism. So that’s what I would do.”
John shook his head. “Well, that’s good since you’re too useless to do anything else.”
The words were a punch to the gut for Sam and her jaw hung open in shock. “Dad,” Dean gasped in surprise, his large green eyes flitting from his father to sister.
The first thing Sam thought to do was laugh. “Fine. Fine, if I’m so useless, then I guess I don’t need to be here.” She got off the bed quickly, deftly avoiding Dean as he grabbed at her and snagged her hoodie, before slamming out of the motel room.
She shivered in the night air, then pulled on the jacket and zipping it up, walking quickly across the parking lot to get as much distance between herself and her family as she could. For a second, she almost expected Dean to come after her, to do what he always did and try to get them to settle down and talk. A lump grew in her throat when she realized that John was probably keeping him back.
Dean always went with John over her. She didn’t know why she ever expected anything different.
There was an all-night convenience store a few blocks from the motel and she used the few dollars she discovered in her pocket to buy a large slurpee, a bag of chips and a slim-jim, mostly because she always made faces when Dean ate them. She wasn’t sure if it counted as spite, even if he didn’t know, but it made her feel a little better.
Pulling her legs up to her chest, she sat on the bench outside of the store, slowly drinking her slurpee. The few people going in and out looked at her like some sort of teen runaway, and in that moment, she supposed she was. Wind whipped at her face and she hid her face in her arm, her tears gathering in the soft cotton of her hoodie.
Just a few more months, she told herself. Then she’d never have to see him again, either of them. She wanted to be happy about that, but all she could see were Dean’s eyes staring at her and the tears started coming in full force. It hurt to want all the simplest things in the world: love, safety, a home. They didn’t feel like things she should have to fight for.
When the Big Gulp cup was empty, Sam realized that she needed to get back, before John went from calmed down all the way back around to angry that she wasn’t home, whatever home was. She took her time walking down the sidewalk, the flashing sign of the motel a beacon of disaster ahead. It was like walking into the fire, but twice as stupid.
She hesitated when she noticed her father’s truck missing from the parking lot, praying that he hadn’t gone looking for her. As if he would. Sighing in defeat, she knocked slowly against the door.
Dean looked at her sadly as he opened the door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said, walking past him into the room. “Where’s Dad?”
Tipping his beer bottle against his lips, Dean drained the contents and left it on the table. “Said he needed a drink.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “Of course he did.” By the looks of the amount of bottles on the table, John wasn’t the only one.
Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Sammy, he didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, Dean. Yeah, he did.” It was stupid to lie to herself, lead herself into denial about something she had figured out long ago.
He sighed, staring at her closely. “You’ve been crying.” His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking against the still-puffy skin.
Sam swallowed hard. “You’ve been drinking.”
Shrugging, he bent down, kissing her slowly. For a few moments, she sunk into the kiss, the comforting way his lips moved against hers, the way she could lose herself in him so quickly, so completely. She hated herself for stepping away, for finding some modicum of dignity. “Don’t,” she said, voice rough with disappointment. “I’m not gonna be your pity fuck.”
“Is that what you think you are? Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know.” The words cracked and she covered her face with her hands, trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity.
He shushed her gently, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her against his strong chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She cried for a few minutes, letting herself go. When she finally stopped, she looked up to find that he was still staring at her like she was okay. Like this was okay and she was safe here.
Standing up on her toes, she kissed his lips, heart surging as he kissed back. She didn’t need self-respect. Right now, she just needed Dean.
The next morning, Sam blinked at the sunlight; her eyes crusted shut from a long night’s sleep. She sat up, catching Dean’s attention from the other side of the room. “Morning,” he said shortly. “Dad came by earlier.” She glanced at the unused double bed in the room and Dean clearly knew what she was thinking. “He slept somewhere else last night. Stopped by to tell us where we were heading next and where we should meet him. So, uh, get ready whenever you want.”
Groaning under her breath, Sam nodded, sitting up and rubbing her eyes against the light filtering through the blinds that didn’t quite close all the way. She was grateful that she had slipped a t-shirt on before going to sleep last night, if nothing else. This morning would have been awkward otherwise, even by their standards.
Dean had apparently been up for a while: their things were packed and coffee was waiting for her on the nightstand. Ignoring the burn against her tongue as she chugged it down, Sam grabbed some clothes that she expected might be clean and went into the bathroom, praying for some hot water. She leaned against the cold tile of the shower, letting the water fall over her more than anything else.
He was packing the car by the time she was finished and she followed him outside and shoved the rest of her clothes in the trunk. Her coffee was still inside and she went to get it, sighing to herself. Higher thinking had yet to catch up to the events of last night, and she found herself going through the motions.
She rolled down the window of the Impala as they drove along the highway, as much for letting her hair dry as to halt conversation. Her stomach twisted in knots as she realized that she had no idea what to say to Dean, no idea where they were. The fact that she didn’t have any clue painted a bleak picture of their situation and not for the first time, Sam couldn’t help but think that it was hopeless.
Dean’s false excitement as they drove through town was depressing: other than telling her that John promised that they’d be there for a while so she could get some decent time at school, he had nothing to say to her. They were reaching that point again, the point of small talk, and two small steps before the cliff of no return.
The truck was, of course, parked in front of a motel and Sam couldn’t even work up the energy to complain. Dean pulled up alongside it and killed the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. The silence was apparently getting to him and he cleared his throat. “So…”
“I’m assuming that last night doesn’t change anything, correct?” she said, trying to keep her expression neutral, cold, not give anything away.
“Sam… It’s complicated.”
That was as much of an affirmative as she needed. “Fine.”
He drummed his fingers gently against the steering wheel. “You okay?”
She knew that he wanted her to lie, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She couldn’t make him comfortable with this. “No, I’m not okay. Nothing about this is okay. I love you and I want you, and maybe I shouldn’t and maybe you think that I’m wrong, so fine, I’m alone in this. And I guess this isn’t fair, but screw it, it hurts. It hurts knowing that you’re a few feet away and you don’t want me like I want you, because I need you more than anything and…” She stopped before her voice could shake more, before she let him have everything. “It’s not okay. I love you and it’s not okay.” She shrugged, fumbling for the door handle. “But I guess I’ll get over it.”
Getting out of the car, she let the door slam shut behind her and headed for the hotel. For the first time in her life, she walked away from Dean and toward her father.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Guilt was one of Dean’s greatest motivators. He had some selfish tendencies-probably less than most, if she was being honest-and duty got him to do pretty much whatever John said, but guilt got him to do things by himself. For such a hedonist, he tended to feel guilty a lot.
Sam was probably the first person he’d ever felt bad about having sex with repeatedly, so she did feel a tiny bit of pride over that. It was nice to mean something.
She stretched across one of the motel room beds, eagerly awaiting the food Dean had offered to get when the phone rang. Groaning at the effort of moving when she had just settled into laziness, she reached for it, making a small noise of triumph when her fingers caught it. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sam, it’s Bobby. Is this a good time?”
She smiled and muted the television. “Hey, Bobby, this is a good time, actually. Dean’s getting food and Dad’s…” She didn’t actually know where her father was. “Dad’s on a hunt.”
“Good, good. I just wanted to talk to you about your college applications. We never really got to discuss it, or anything. News should be coming any day now, huh?”
“Uh huh,” she said warily, wondering what point he was getting at. He wasn’t going to lecture her about responsibility, or the family business. If that was his case, he would have just told her dad.
He cleared his throat loudly. “I noticed that you had an application to Stanford.”
Smirking, she said, “And I noticed that an application to the University of South Dakota had someway gotten to me, too, even though I didn’t apply for one.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, well, I just wanted you to have some options close to someone you know. But Stanford. I mean, I don’t know if you just applied there, because you wanted to or…well, I’ve got a friend there. Not really a friend, I guess, but they had a pretty bad haunting about six some odd years ago and I settled it, and he was real thankful and ever since, he’s been callin’ me up every time there’s a random death, or suicide so I can ‘cleanse’ the place, as if that’ll work worth a damn.
“So I called him up the other day, told him about you and your life. Now, he works in financial aid, but he said he’d look at your admission packet, maybe put in a good word for you, if you need it and said that he’d look at any sort of scholarship, or aid, or grant he could give you to cover the costs. I told him that with you there, it could be like a work-study thing, or whatever they call it. You’d be there to cleanse, and he wouldn’t have to drag me across half the damn country to take care of stuff.”
Her head swam with the new information and she took a deep breath. “Are…are you serious?”
“I wasn’t sure if you had made any cost arrangement plans and I’m sure we could wrangle some kind of student loan for you if you wanted to come to USD, but I thought this would work out well for you, make sure you have your books and your dorm and food and stuff.”
For a while, she was at a loss for words. “I…I can’t believe you went through all that trouble for me.”
Scoffing, he said, “It was just a phone call, not much trouble. You’ll be doin’ me a favor, not having to go out there all the time.” His voice softened thoughtfully. “You deserve it, Sam. You’ve worked so hard. You know your Daddy and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot, and I’m assuming this is one of those things, because I’d bet he doesn’t know a bit of this, but if you want it and you worked for it, you should have it.”
Bobby paused for a second, and then sighed. “This life…no one should choose it if they don’t have to. Get out while you still can, because it’s not something you get to just walk away from. I’m not sure about that brother of yours, but if you want to do somethin’ else, then I say do it. I’ll help anyway I can.”
She buried her face against the bed for a moment, knowing that if her father found out, he’d say nothing more than the exact opposite. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Seriously, I don’t know how to thank you.”
He sounded embarrassed as he said, “Now, don’t you get all mushy on me. Just tryin’ to help. I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. There was the sound of the key in the door and she sat up sharply. “Gotta go. Dean’s back.”
They said goodbye quickly as Dean sauntered into the room with two large bags of take out. “Hey, was that Dad?”
“Uh, no. Bobby. He had a computer question.”
Snorting, Dean shook his head. “Bobby on a computer, that’s something I’d like to see.”
She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t seem like she was hiding anything. She wasn’t good at hiding things from Dean. Or maybe he was just good at figuring out when she was. “What’s that smell? It’s awesome.”
Holding up the bags, he grinned widely at her. “I splurged. Got ribs.”
Her eyes widened in shock and happiness, and she made an excited noise as she got them both something to drink. They settled on one of the beds, the Styrofoam containers of ribs and fries set out in front of them like a lavish buffet. The meat fell off the bone as she bit into the first one and she moaned happily. “Oh my god, these are so good.”
Nudging her contentedly, he said, “Thought you’d enjoy it.”
“Yeah, well, you were right.” She smiled at him; sure her mouth was already covered in barbecue sauce. He just laughed, eyes softening as he looked at her. Her heart flipped over in her chest-she wasn’t sure if she could stand him being so perfect. Guilt was suddenly not on her side. Licking the sauce off her fingers, she turned the volume of the television back up, hoping the fill the room with something other than the tension hanging between them.
They ate together in companionable silence, as comfortable as they could have been in the situation. There was an America’s Funniest Home Videos marathon on and they focused on the food and the idiot people who tried bicycling into their pools and getting attacked by small, yippy dogs.
After they had gorged themselves and cleaned up, Dean relaxed back on her bed with her instead of moving to his own, this should have been her first sign. He reached over her for the remote, turning the volume down on the television set, which was a pretty big second clue. “Can I talk to you about something?”
She tried to pay attention to the small boy playing a practical joke on his sister, but her heartbeat echoed in her ears. “Sure.” There wasn’t really much to talk about, nothing else that needed a big build up like this. Sam wasn’t sure what to expect and her stomach clenched nervously.
Clearing his throat, Dean refused to look at her as he said, “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you, because I do. God, Sammy, I want you way more than I should.”
“Says who?” She ran her hands up and down her thighs, mostly to have something to do, letting them tingle with the friction. “Who says how much you get to love me? Who gets to quantify that?”
He rolled his eyes, giving her that look, the one that said that she was so young and knew so little. “It’s just a thing, Sam. It’s a thing people don’t do.”
She stared at him in confusion. “We hunt monsters, Dean. Most people don’t do that either.”
Laughing under his breath, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
The uncertainty was palpable and after a few minutes Sam took a deep breath. “I think...” She bit her bottom lip, chewing at it in thought, staring ahead at the television, at nothing. “I think we could be happy, the two of us. You just need to figure out if I’m worth more than whatever you’re scared of.”
Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was going over the words in his head, choosing his own carefully. “You don’t think we are now? Happy, I mean.”
Her smile was sad and she looked down at the motel blanket. “I’m not. Not even close.”
“But you think we could be?”
Taking a deep breath, she knew her eyes were shiny with tears as she stared up at him. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said sincerely, reaching over and stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb. “I…” He hesitated, staring at her like she wasn’t the thing he had seen most, knew best in his entire life. “I think we should be happy together, the two of us.”
She knew what he meant instinctively, before her mind had caught up, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. It was almost a surprise when he kissed her back, hands pulling her close as they met willingly in the middle. Her hands reached his and she held tightly to him.
He kissed her breathlessly, giving as much as taking and they panted and breathed each other’s air. Closing her eyes, she leaned against his neck, appreciating all the joy that came from just being near him. “I think we could make it,” she whispered against his skin.
Dean tilted her head up so he could look in her eyes. Tenderly brushing a lock of hair out of her face, he nodded, kissing her forehead. “Sammy…” It was wistful and careful and she had discovered early that that was what Dean said when he loved her the most. They kissed again, falling hopelessly into each other.
Master Post | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Soundtrack