Fic: Wild By Skye (19/27)
They were closer to California than they had been two days ago. They weren't heading toward it, per se. They didn't have a job lined up or a lead they were following there. The roads Dean was taking just happened to meander toward California.
Sam just tended to notice when their path headed west. He tried not to think of California as any more special than any other state. There was nothing for him there anymore. But still, he'd lived there for two years. It was the closest thing, geographically, to home he'd ever known. Try to fight it though he might, he had a special place for it.
They'd stopped early for the day in a small town on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Sam wondered if maybe Dean hadn't done that intentionally. Maybe he meant to drink and screw his way out of this funk he'd gotten into lately. Sam didn't much care for the method, but maybe the end would justify the means.
Only Dean didn't ditch Sam and race to the nearest bar. As Sam gave it some more thought, Dean hadn't really done much of that since he'd picked Sam up from Stanford.
Dean still hustled pool and cleaned house in darts to get them some quick cash, and being Dean Winchester he still flirted like it was his last day on earth. But he didn't follow them home nearly as often as he used to. Sam tried to think of the last time Dean 'I saw, I conquered, I came' and he could only come up with a few that didn't predate Stanford.
Sam knew the reason was Skye. Dean would never admit as much, but Sam knew it just the same. She'd left a permanent impression on Dean beyond the wolf she'd given him.
Their hotel was literally on the ragged edge of town. To one side there were diners and a few gas stations, and to the other seemingly endless desert. Their room faced the latter.
When the sun was low in the sky, a burning red ball drifting toward the horizon, Dean flung open the door and left it that way. While Sam sat at the table in front of the window, curtains drawn open, he watched Dean walk out into the desert, stop, then sit down on the ground.
If Sam had a lick of artistic talent, he'd want to sketch the image he saw. Dean, a singular figure in a landscape otherwise void of any indication of human existence, watching the sun set in a flare of orange, gold, and crimson.
Sam gave him privacy. Dean had bouts where he needed to be left alone. Sam knew that from a lifetime shadowing Dean as an awe-struck little brother. Dean could bluster and bluff with the best of them, but when he was genuinely upset about something, he shut down and withdrew. That's how Sam knew when Dean was really angry or sad about something. He turned off. As long as Dean was yelling and griping, he was still pretty much fine.
After an hour, when the light coming through the window was too dim to really read by, Sam looked up again at his brother. Dean was in the same spot as before, only he'd lain back on the ground, hands behind his head.
Resolute, Sam closed his book and stood. He left the room, closed the door behind him, and walked toward Dean.
Dean was almost impossible to sneak up on these days. The wolf gifted him with unerring situational awareness… awareness even beyond that of a seasoned hunter. Dean had to know his brother was coming, but he didn't move from his spot at Sam's approach.
Sam came up alongside Dean and sat down beside him. The sun was drowning in the desert landscape, being pulled under and taking the light with it. The sky was maroon and burgundy and a few bold stars had come out to announce the coming night. A blistering sunspot in the day, Nevada was kind of pretty at night.
Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean's eyes were closed, but even still Sam could see uneasy lines in his face. He was still bothered by something.
"Hey," he said faintly.
Dean hummed a nonchalant answer.
Sam paused before he said, "Dean… what's going on?"
Dean cracked open an eye and looked up at Sam. "What do you mean?"
Sam could tell Dean knew damn well what he meant, but Dean never made these talks easy.
"I know something's bothering you. You've been distant for days."
Dean closed his eyes again and said nothing.
"Maybe if you let me help you…" Sam began weakly, frustrated that his brother was aching and wouldn't let Sam know why.
"You can't," Dean answered lowly.
Sam clenched his jaw. So there was something wrong.
"Dean…"
"I've been dreaming about Skye," Dean said bluntly, opening both eyes to look up at Sam pointedly.
Sam swallowed. "Oh…" Shit. Dean was right. There was nothing Sam could do to help.
Sam, defeated and not happy about it, lay down beside his brother. Dean glanced over at him, considered him a moment, then closed his eyes again. Sam followed suit, letting his eyes drift closed.
The next time Sam opened his eyes, the sky was indigo and more stars had broken through the veil. He looked toward Dean, still lying quietly with eyes closed. Reposed, but not asleep.
"Dean."
Dean sighed as if to say 'I knew it wouldn't be that easy'. "What?"
"Do you regret it?"
Dean frowned and looked at him. "Regret what?"
Sam hesitated. He could be asking for trouble. "Meeting Skye. Becoming a lycan."
Dean balked visibly at the question. "Why are you asking?"
Sam turned his eyes back to the sky. "I just wonder sometimes… I wonder if things would have been better if I'd never met Jess." She would still be alive if he hadn't, and that had to be more important than Sam's happiness… right?
"Do you regret meeting her?" Dean asked, his tone sounding genuinely curious as to the answer Sam would give.
"I… I don't know. I'm not sure if it's really regret, but I don't know any other word for it. Things would be different if I'd never loved her." For better or worse, he didn't know, but it would be different. Maybe it would hurt less. He couldn't see how it could hurt more.
It was surprising how he could still miss her so much.
"No," Dean broke the silence that had fallen between them.
"What?" Sam turned his head to his brother, confused.
Dean didn't take his eyes from the sky as he said, "No, I don't regret it. I don't regret Skye. I don't regret what I am."
Even after all the grief and anguish their father had put Dean through for being a lycan, Dean still treasured it. It said even more about the wolf in Dean than Sam had concluded on his own. Of the wolf itself, Dean said little. His brother could never claim a poet's tongue. He answered Sam's questions dutifully, but almost clinically. He told Sam what it was, but not exactly how it felt to be the wolf (besides his initial description of 'fantastic'). That Dean felt no regret for the supernatural creature he had become told Sam so much. It told Sam how amazing and wonderful the wolf had to be for Dean (who would willingly march through the gates of hell to please John Winchester) to say he would not take back that choice that made him a lycan and therefore an undesirable thing in John's eyes.
"Sometimes, I wish I could run with you," Sam murmured absently.
Expecting nothing more than offhand noises in response, Sam was surprised when Dean looked sharply at him, the laziness suddenly gone from his voice. "What?"
Sam shrugged.
Dean rose up to one elbow and angled his body so he could look more directly at Sam. "You asking me to turn you?"
That made Sam wonder. "Could you? I mean, can a lycan who wasn't born one - one that was turned into one like you - can they still turn a human into a lycan?"
Dean's look was positively dark. "Dude, I'm not turning you."
Sam hadn't been asking Dean to. Though he couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind. Dean loved it. Even in the face of their father's disapproval, a thing that was worse than death to Dean, he still did not regret being a lycanthrope. If it was that amazing, why shouldn't Sam be part of it?
Sam had his own answer to that. Because Sam found his humanity too precious to share his being with an animal. He'd really given it thought (he had a lot of time for soul-searching these days with so many nights in the woods alone by a fire), but he knew he could never embrace it as Dean had. Since he was little, Sam had reached for normal too hard and too long to be willing to throw away the possibility of it ever happening in his life. And lycan would never be normal.
He was a dreamer, he supposed. Because what were the chances Sam would ever have a normal life? But just the same, he wasn't ready to rule out the possibility of it.
"I'm not asking you to turn me," Sam assured.
"Good, because I won't."
Sam cocked his head. "Why are you so dead set against it? I mean, wouldn't it be my choice?" Sam paused when something else came to mind. "Besides, you said I was your 'pack', but I'm not really. But if I were like you, I could be."
Dean sat up, agitated. "Damnit, Sam."
He really didn't want to be a lycan. Why were they even discussing it? Sam supposed it was the former law student in him, arguing just for the sake of making an argument.
Dean turned to look down reproachfully at him. "You don't actually expect me to do something to you that would endanger you. Make you a target. You have so much more going for you, Sammy. You don't need this."
"And you think you do?" Sam marveled at how little his big brother really thought of himself. He put on a good front, but when something slipped past his façade, it was not pretty underneath. He was a lot of bravado over pitiful little self-worth.
Sam wished Dean could think of himself even half what Sam thought of Dean.
Dean shrugged. "I'm making lemonade."
"What?"
"You know… when life gives you lemons…"
"Really, Dean… I'm not asking you to turn me. I was just thinking out loud." Sam studied the stars a moment. "But I could have run with you."
Dean went very still, maybe worried Sam wasn't about to let the matter go as idle 'thinking out loud' like he claimed it was. After a few long seconds, Dean relaxed. "I know… and part of me would have liked that. But I like having a camp to come home to, too."
Sam brought up his hands to lace his fingers together behind his head, making an impromptu pillow. Dean looped his arms around his shins, resting his chin on one knee. It made Sam flash back to when Dean was twelve, perched on the end of the bed with a shotgun in reach waiting for their father to come home, while Sam was tucked under the covers, protected and guarded. Back then, Sam had thought a twelve-year-old Dean all the protection from evil he would ever need.
Then he grew up and realized that his big brother wasn't indestructible. That had been a terrifying revelation; even more frightening than the dark corner of the closet or the space beneath the bed.
"You going to be okay?" Sam asked carefully.
Dean looked up at the rustler's moon laying claim to the sky the sun had abandoned. "I've never run in the desert before," he mused aloud, then began to strip out of his shirt.
Sam watched silently as Dean shed his clothes and turned. The wolf immediately tested the wind, examining the scents of the desert. He looked briefly at Sam, the 'don't wait up' look as Sam had dubbed it, then turned and trotted off into the night.
Sam watched him go and took note of the fact that Dean had never answered his question.
Twenty
Sam just tended to notice when their path headed west. He tried not to think of California as any more special than any other state. There was nothing for him there anymore. But still, he'd lived there for two years. It was the closest thing, geographically, to home he'd ever known. Try to fight it though he might, he had a special place for it.
They'd stopped early for the day in a small town on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Sam wondered if maybe Dean hadn't done that intentionally. Maybe he meant to drink and screw his way out of this funk he'd gotten into lately. Sam didn't much care for the method, but maybe the end would justify the means.
Only Dean didn't ditch Sam and race to the nearest bar. As Sam gave it some more thought, Dean hadn't really done much of that since he'd picked Sam up from Stanford.
Dean still hustled pool and cleaned house in darts to get them some quick cash, and being Dean Winchester he still flirted like it was his last day on earth. But he didn't follow them home nearly as often as he used to. Sam tried to think of the last time Dean 'I saw, I conquered, I came' and he could only come up with a few that didn't predate Stanford.
Sam knew the reason was Skye. Dean would never admit as much, but Sam knew it just the same. She'd left a permanent impression on Dean beyond the wolf she'd given him.
Their hotel was literally on the ragged edge of town. To one side there were diners and a few gas stations, and to the other seemingly endless desert. Their room faced the latter.
When the sun was low in the sky, a burning red ball drifting toward the horizon, Dean flung open the door and left it that way. While Sam sat at the table in front of the window, curtains drawn open, he watched Dean walk out into the desert, stop, then sit down on the ground.
If Sam had a lick of artistic talent, he'd want to sketch the image he saw. Dean, a singular figure in a landscape otherwise void of any indication of human existence, watching the sun set in a flare of orange, gold, and crimson.
Sam gave him privacy. Dean had bouts where he needed to be left alone. Sam knew that from a lifetime shadowing Dean as an awe-struck little brother. Dean could bluster and bluff with the best of them, but when he was genuinely upset about something, he shut down and withdrew. That's how Sam knew when Dean was really angry or sad about something. He turned off. As long as Dean was yelling and griping, he was still pretty much fine.
After an hour, when the light coming through the window was too dim to really read by, Sam looked up again at his brother. Dean was in the same spot as before, only he'd lain back on the ground, hands behind his head.
Resolute, Sam closed his book and stood. He left the room, closed the door behind him, and walked toward Dean.
Dean was almost impossible to sneak up on these days. The wolf gifted him with unerring situational awareness… awareness even beyond that of a seasoned hunter. Dean had to know his brother was coming, but he didn't move from his spot at Sam's approach.
Sam came up alongside Dean and sat down beside him. The sun was drowning in the desert landscape, being pulled under and taking the light with it. The sky was maroon and burgundy and a few bold stars had come out to announce the coming night. A blistering sunspot in the day, Nevada was kind of pretty at night.
Sam glanced over at his brother. Dean's eyes were closed, but even still Sam could see uneasy lines in his face. He was still bothered by something.
"Hey," he said faintly.
Dean hummed a nonchalant answer.
Sam paused before he said, "Dean… what's going on?"
Dean cracked open an eye and looked up at Sam. "What do you mean?"
Sam could tell Dean knew damn well what he meant, but Dean never made these talks easy.
"I know something's bothering you. You've been distant for days."
Dean closed his eyes again and said nothing.
"Maybe if you let me help you…" Sam began weakly, frustrated that his brother was aching and wouldn't let Sam know why.
"You can't," Dean answered lowly.
Sam clenched his jaw. So there was something wrong.
"Dean…"
"I've been dreaming about Skye," Dean said bluntly, opening both eyes to look up at Sam pointedly.
Sam swallowed. "Oh…" Shit. Dean was right. There was nothing Sam could do to help.
Sam, defeated and not happy about it, lay down beside his brother. Dean glanced over at him, considered him a moment, then closed his eyes again. Sam followed suit, letting his eyes drift closed.
The next time Sam opened his eyes, the sky was indigo and more stars had broken through the veil. He looked toward Dean, still lying quietly with eyes closed. Reposed, but not asleep.
"Dean."
Dean sighed as if to say 'I knew it wouldn't be that easy'. "What?"
"Do you regret it?"
Dean frowned and looked at him. "Regret what?"
Sam hesitated. He could be asking for trouble. "Meeting Skye. Becoming a lycan."
Dean balked visibly at the question. "Why are you asking?"
Sam turned his eyes back to the sky. "I just wonder sometimes… I wonder if things would have been better if I'd never met Jess." She would still be alive if he hadn't, and that had to be more important than Sam's happiness… right?
"Do you regret meeting her?" Dean asked, his tone sounding genuinely curious as to the answer Sam would give.
"I… I don't know. I'm not sure if it's really regret, but I don't know any other word for it. Things would be different if I'd never loved her." For better or worse, he didn't know, but it would be different. Maybe it would hurt less. He couldn't see how it could hurt more.
It was surprising how he could still miss her so much.
"No," Dean broke the silence that had fallen between them.
"What?" Sam turned his head to his brother, confused.
Dean didn't take his eyes from the sky as he said, "No, I don't regret it. I don't regret Skye. I don't regret what I am."
Even after all the grief and anguish their father had put Dean through for being a lycan, Dean still treasured it. It said even more about the wolf in Dean than Sam had concluded on his own. Of the wolf itself, Dean said little. His brother could never claim a poet's tongue. He answered Sam's questions dutifully, but almost clinically. He told Sam what it was, but not exactly how it felt to be the wolf (besides his initial description of 'fantastic'). That Dean felt no regret for the supernatural creature he had become told Sam so much. It told Sam how amazing and wonderful the wolf had to be for Dean (who would willingly march through the gates of hell to please John Winchester) to say he would not take back that choice that made him a lycan and therefore an undesirable thing in John's eyes.
"Sometimes, I wish I could run with you," Sam murmured absently.
Expecting nothing more than offhand noises in response, Sam was surprised when Dean looked sharply at him, the laziness suddenly gone from his voice. "What?"
Sam shrugged.
Dean rose up to one elbow and angled his body so he could look more directly at Sam. "You asking me to turn you?"
That made Sam wonder. "Could you? I mean, can a lycan who wasn't born one - one that was turned into one like you - can they still turn a human into a lycan?"
Dean's look was positively dark. "Dude, I'm not turning you."
Sam hadn't been asking Dean to. Though he couldn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind. Dean loved it. Even in the face of their father's disapproval, a thing that was worse than death to Dean, he still did not regret being a lycanthrope. If it was that amazing, why shouldn't Sam be part of it?
Sam had his own answer to that. Because Sam found his humanity too precious to share his being with an animal. He'd really given it thought (he had a lot of time for soul-searching these days with so many nights in the woods alone by a fire), but he knew he could never embrace it as Dean had. Since he was little, Sam had reached for normal too hard and too long to be willing to throw away the possibility of it ever happening in his life. And lycan would never be normal.
He was a dreamer, he supposed. Because what were the chances Sam would ever have a normal life? But just the same, he wasn't ready to rule out the possibility of it.
"I'm not asking you to turn me," Sam assured.
"Good, because I won't."
Sam cocked his head. "Why are you so dead set against it? I mean, wouldn't it be my choice?" Sam paused when something else came to mind. "Besides, you said I was your 'pack', but I'm not really. But if I were like you, I could be."
Dean sat up, agitated. "Damnit, Sam."
He really didn't want to be a lycan. Why were they even discussing it? Sam supposed it was the former law student in him, arguing just for the sake of making an argument.
Dean turned to look down reproachfully at him. "You don't actually expect me to do something to you that would endanger you. Make you a target. You have so much more going for you, Sammy. You don't need this."
"And you think you do?" Sam marveled at how little his big brother really thought of himself. He put on a good front, but when something slipped past his façade, it was not pretty underneath. He was a lot of bravado over pitiful little self-worth.
Sam wished Dean could think of himself even half what Sam thought of Dean.
Dean shrugged. "I'm making lemonade."
"What?"
"You know… when life gives you lemons…"
"Really, Dean… I'm not asking you to turn me. I was just thinking out loud." Sam studied the stars a moment. "But I could have run with you."
Dean went very still, maybe worried Sam wasn't about to let the matter go as idle 'thinking out loud' like he claimed it was. After a few long seconds, Dean relaxed. "I know… and part of me would have liked that. But I like having a camp to come home to, too."
Sam brought up his hands to lace his fingers together behind his head, making an impromptu pillow. Dean looped his arms around his shins, resting his chin on one knee. It made Sam flash back to when Dean was twelve, perched on the end of the bed with a shotgun in reach waiting for their father to come home, while Sam was tucked under the covers, protected and guarded. Back then, Sam had thought a twelve-year-old Dean all the protection from evil he would ever need.
Then he grew up and realized that his big brother wasn't indestructible. That had been a terrifying revelation; even more frightening than the dark corner of the closet or the space beneath the bed.
"You going to be okay?" Sam asked carefully.
Dean looked up at the rustler's moon laying claim to the sky the sun had abandoned. "I've never run in the desert before," he mused aloud, then began to strip out of his shirt.
Sam watched silently as Dean shed his clothes and turned. The wolf immediately tested the wind, examining the scents of the desert. He looked briefly at Sam, the 'don't wait up' look as Sam had dubbed it, then turned and trotted off into the night.
Sam watched him go and took note of the fact that Dean had never answered his question.
Twenty