Fic: Wild By Skye (21/27)
Dean pocketed the two key cards for their hotel room and left the main office of the Bonita Alta Suites Hotel in Palo Alto.
Sam was waiting for him in the car. The kid tried to hide it, but Dean could tell he was looking forward to seeing his old college friends. It was hard to imagine the life Sam had begun to forge while he was away from the family business, but fact was that Sam had. He hadn't been 'freaky demon hunter Sam Winchester, just with a normal girlfriend' in college. He had been normal, or at least faked it well enough that he fit in.
Sam had that ability. Dean didn't. Dean couldn't do normal if his life depended on it (and that applied even before he became a lycanthrope). It was a chameleon-like talent Sam had always had that Dean secretly envied sometimes.
Sam had wanted to leave the business because it had been an option for him. Dean never had that available to him, so he hunted.
Sam was excited about stepping back into the shadow of that almost-life he'd almost had, even if only for a few moments.
Dean wished he could leech some of that good mood from his brother, but there was no chance of that happening. When Sam had been invited to Palo Alto to see some old friends, Dean knew it was time. They were in California, Sam would be distracted, and their father was waiting impatiently for a call.
This was it. There weren't any more convenient excuses he could use to put off the inevitable.
'Except that you don't want to,' a voice in Dean's head chimed, and that voice sounded remarkably like Skye's. Dean hurt inside just thinking about what he was going to do. He wouldn't say his heart was breaking because that was a sissy-ass thing to say, but he definitely hurt.
He hadn't been lying to Sam in Nevada. He had been dreaming about Skye. Painfully vivid, gut-wrenching dreams of them together, as people and as wolves, intimately and not. The taste of her, the smell of her, the touch of her, the sound of her voice and her laugh… in the dreams they were so real. It was like she was reaching out to him, making him remember why he loved what he had become. The bond they shared, the thing that connected them beyond death, in some strange sense almost like a child they had created, but instead the wolf. The permanent part of him that was permanently a part of her.
Not to mention being the wolf felt unbelievably great.
He loved the wolf.
And he was going to lose it.
Skye was gone. Maybe if she were still alive, someone to share this with, he would fight his father to keep it.
Maybe. He didn't have any misgivings about the overbearing, grinding force that was John Winchester.
But he understood his father's position. This was something unnatural, freakish, hunt-worthy, and the only way to really be protected from its one day compromising him was to get rid of it. Hard as that would be, it was the responsible thing to do.
John Winchester would only see that. It didn't matter what Dean wanted, and Dean couldn't imagine swaying his dad to think otherwise. Before all else, John was a hunter.
And because John was a hunter first and everything else after that, the only way Dean could ever regain his father's trust or approval would be to scour out the inhuman in him. In Dean's world after Skye, on the hunt living the only life he'd ever known (what little he remembered of his first four years seemed like a dream), it was more important to assuage John and please him than for Dean to indulge himself in something so dangerous just because he liked it. That was selfish and crazy.
He had to have been crazy, being the wolf. Enjoying it as he had.
Sam had enabled him in that respect. After Skye, as a lone wolf in an unfriendly world full of hunters, Dean had allowed himself the freedom of the run only on the full moon. It was something to look forward to, because there wasn't any fighting it on that night anyway so he might as well enjoy it.
Then Sam found out the truth and was all understanding about it. It made Dean lose perspective. He let himself stop seeing it as a thing, as an affliction that he couldn't bring himself to regret (though he knew he should) and that he must endure one night a month. Sam made it normal. Natural. God forbid, he made it beautiful. Sam encouraged him to free the wolf. He made it so damn easy for Dean to give in and enjoy it. Dean got lost in it, in Sam's willing complicity to the whole lycanthrope deal.
And now Dean was paying for it. He had grown so attached when he should have known better, and now it was going to be ripped from him.
The shittiest part was, he knew he should have seen this coming. But he hadn't, because he hadn't wanted to.
When Dean left Sam in the fast food place to call his friend yesterday afternoon, Dean went outside and called John. He told his father they were in California, heading for Palo Alto. John said he was close and would meet him at the Sunspots Motel. It was their usual Palo Alto lodging. Dean and John had popped into Palo Alto frequently enough (to discreetly check on Sam) while Sam was in college that they had a usual place.
Dean deliberately chose any hotel other than the Sunspots. He didn't want Sam spotting John's truck and getting suspicious and confrontational.
He wanted to keep Sam out of this. If Sam knew what Dean was going to do, what their father was going to do… Sam would try to stop it. He'd fight with Dad, again, and he'd drag Dean into the middle of his personal war with John, again. He would make Dean choose between them, choose a side, John's or Sam's. Either way, Dean would be the bad guy. Dean couldn't keep doing it, couldn't keep being torn between the brother he would die to protect and the father he would sacrifice his life to have love him.
It would be easier done secretly while Sam was busy with his friends. When it could be Dean's fault. Sam might get mad at Dean for going behind his back, but that was fine. Being the brunt was easier than being the weapon his father and little brother used against each other.
He wanted to avoid another family blowout, but Dean also didn't want Sam to feel guilty for what had to be done. Sam had done so much to safeguard the wolf… Dean couldn't let Sam know what was going to happen until it was already done. He didn't want Sam to think he'd failed his brother. Sam couldn't think that if he never knew what was going to happen until after it was too late. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission and all that.
Without a word (honestly, it was hard to even think straight knowing what was coming), Dean got back in the car and drove them to a parking space in front of their allotted room. It was so clean and well-kept and expensive-looking compared to their usual ratty, economically-friendly choice of hotels.
Sam frowned at the hotel room door, obviously puzzled by Dean's choice, and said, "You know, there's a place on the other side of town, the Sunshine or something, that's a lot more our kind of place than this."
'And that's also where Dad is, and I don't want you knowing,' Dean thought immediately. "This is fine; we've already got the room."
Sam pursed his lips in thought, then shrugged and got out of the car. Dean followed suit, finding everything suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, from his feet to his jacket.
Maybe when part of him had been hollowed out, he'd feel lighter. Less likely to sink into the ground like an adventurer in quicksand.
As they took their stuff into the room and got situated, a routine that was so ingrained they could have done it in their sleep, Dean realized Sam had been talking. Dean tried to focus and follow enough that his wandering focus wasn't obvious.
"… I know it's not really your thing, but I think you should," Sam said and turned plaintive eyes on Dean.
Dean returned a blank look. He had no idea what Sam was talking about.
Sam glowered, taking Dean's ignorance for obstinacy. "Come on, man… they're my friends. I'd really like for you to meet them."
Oh. Dean faked a smirk. "Nah, I'd just blow your cover anyway."
Sam frowned. "This isn't a job, Dean. I'm not asking you to fake or playact anything. Just be you… or, you know, sorta close."
Dean shook his head. "Forget it, dude. Not only do I not do normal, I definitely don't do babies."
The look Sam leveled at him was priceless. "You'll deal with monsters and demons, but you're afraid of a baby?" Sam asked skeptically.
"Two words, projectile vomit. But you have fun." Before Sam could argue further, Dean tossed Sam the car keys. Sam caught them and his eyes widened.
"What…"
"Take the car," Dean offered, trying to sound offhand about it.
Sam stared, slack-jaw. "Dean, are you feeling all right?"
'No!' Dean wanted to scream. 'No! I'm dying inside, Sammy!' But instead, he just cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah… why?"
Sam jingled the keys. "Because you just told me to take the car. Your car. The car you barely let me touch to ride in."
"Well, I'm not giving it to you, genius. I just thought you'd like to borrow it to go see that whoever she is."
"Becky," Sam provided for at least the fifth time.
"Whatever. Look, if you're going to act like Sam Winchester, average guy, do you really want to show up in a cab?"
"You could drop me off," Sam pointed out.
"And do what, circle the block five hundred times while you chit chat and clean up spit up? No thanks. Just take her, and if you put a single scratch in her, you're dead."
Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. "What are you going to do?"
Dean wanted to tell. He wanted to answer the one person who would almost understand. 'I'm going to kill myself, Sam… or at least the wolf, but damn does that feel like the most of me,' he wanted to say.
"Take a walk or something. Maybe check out some of the area."
Sam looked stricken. "Dean… you can't wolf out here, man. This isn't rural, backwater nowhere. This is college town, California. You'll be seen! I don't want to have to pick you up from animal control."
The reminder of the wolf, the tease that he might be it one more time, was a lancing pain. He would have thought Sam cruel for bringing it up if he didn't know that Sam had no idea what was about to happen.
"Relax," Dean said, deadpan, "they wouldn't know to call you, anyway."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm seriously thinking of getting you a collar with a tag that says 'if found, call Sam Winchester' on it."
'You'll never have to worry about that again,' Dean thought morosely. But what he said was, "You are not putting a collar on me."
Sam smirked, finding the conversation amusing even if he didn't want to show that he did. He glanced down at the keys in his hand. His good mood slipped a little and he frowned. "You sure you won't come?"
"Positive."
"And you're sure you want me to take the car?"
"Dude, the longer you pussy-foot around about it, the more I'm reconsidering," Dean griped.
"Okay, okay, I'm going." Sam offered a smile. He was excited again, back to eager about seeing his old friends. It was perverse, really, that Sam could be so psyched when Dean's whole world was about to fall apart.
"I'll see you later tonight," Sam said as he headed for the door.
When Sam opened the door to go, Dean almost stopped him. For a heartbeat, he almost called his brother back. He almost spilled his guts and told Sam everything.
For a split second, he almost wanted to take Sam up on the offer to run. Run from John Winchester.
But he didn't, and as he stood there mute he watched Sam leave.
When he was finally alone, his whole body seemed to fold. He made it to a bed and just fell. Each beat of his heart seemed hollow and lethargic. His lungs were lined with lead. He wanted to crawl into a dark hole and disappear. If resignation weren't so thick and absolute, he thought maybe he'd cry. Well, probably not, but if he were a lesser man and not Dean Winchester. If he were Sam, maybe.
He closed his eyes and thought of Skye. He thought of when he'd held her close, their mouths almost touching, and she'd whispered softly against his lips, 'I love you, Dean.'
He thought of her wolf, majestic and proud.
'I'm sorry,' he thought in abject misery, apologizing to what he could not say. Her memory, maybe. His wolf. Himself.
Then he opened his eyes, pulled out his phone, and called his dad.
"Dean?" John answered on the second ring.
Dean swallowed. "Yeah."
"You in town?"
"Yeah… just got in."
"Good. Well, you boys get on over here and let's do this," John said with his usual brusque authority. As if nothing in the world would dare contradict or defy him.
Dean's heart was pounding. "Sam's not coming."
There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Why?" John asked darkly, his voice edgy and savage. Dean knew what his dad was thinking; Sam was throwing some kind of fit in protest.
"I don't want him there," Dean answered resolutely.
That caused a few seconds of dead silence. Then John made a noncommittal noise and said, "All right. I'll see you in a few minutes, Dean. I'm in room twelve."
"I'm on my way," Dean said woodenly and hung up. For a moment he couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
When he could finally manage movement, he called a cab to come pick him up.
When the cabbie honked outside his door, Dean set his cell phone on the nightstand and stood slowly, as though his body had been swapped for that of an eighty year old man. Dean picked up his room key but left the cell phone. He didn't want Sam calling him in the middle of… it. Any break, any moment of distraction, and he might lose his resolve to go through with it.
He left the room hoping Sam wouldn't call and wondering what would be left of Dean Winchester when he saw his brother again.
Twenty-Two
Sam was waiting for him in the car. The kid tried to hide it, but Dean could tell he was looking forward to seeing his old college friends. It was hard to imagine the life Sam had begun to forge while he was away from the family business, but fact was that Sam had. He hadn't been 'freaky demon hunter Sam Winchester, just with a normal girlfriend' in college. He had been normal, or at least faked it well enough that he fit in.
Sam had that ability. Dean didn't. Dean couldn't do normal if his life depended on it (and that applied even before he became a lycanthrope). It was a chameleon-like talent Sam had always had that Dean secretly envied sometimes.
Sam had wanted to leave the business because it had been an option for him. Dean never had that available to him, so he hunted.
Sam was excited about stepping back into the shadow of that almost-life he'd almost had, even if only for a few moments.
Dean wished he could leech some of that good mood from his brother, but there was no chance of that happening. When Sam had been invited to Palo Alto to see some old friends, Dean knew it was time. They were in California, Sam would be distracted, and their father was waiting impatiently for a call.
This was it. There weren't any more convenient excuses he could use to put off the inevitable.
'Except that you don't want to,' a voice in Dean's head chimed, and that voice sounded remarkably like Skye's. Dean hurt inside just thinking about what he was going to do. He wouldn't say his heart was breaking because that was a sissy-ass thing to say, but he definitely hurt.
He hadn't been lying to Sam in Nevada. He had been dreaming about Skye. Painfully vivid, gut-wrenching dreams of them together, as people and as wolves, intimately and not. The taste of her, the smell of her, the touch of her, the sound of her voice and her laugh… in the dreams they were so real. It was like she was reaching out to him, making him remember why he loved what he had become. The bond they shared, the thing that connected them beyond death, in some strange sense almost like a child they had created, but instead the wolf. The permanent part of him that was permanently a part of her.
Not to mention being the wolf felt unbelievably great.
He loved the wolf.
And he was going to lose it.
Skye was gone. Maybe if she were still alive, someone to share this with, he would fight his father to keep it.
Maybe. He didn't have any misgivings about the overbearing, grinding force that was John Winchester.
But he understood his father's position. This was something unnatural, freakish, hunt-worthy, and the only way to really be protected from its one day compromising him was to get rid of it. Hard as that would be, it was the responsible thing to do.
John Winchester would only see that. It didn't matter what Dean wanted, and Dean couldn't imagine swaying his dad to think otherwise. Before all else, John was a hunter.
And because John was a hunter first and everything else after that, the only way Dean could ever regain his father's trust or approval would be to scour out the inhuman in him. In Dean's world after Skye, on the hunt living the only life he'd ever known (what little he remembered of his first four years seemed like a dream), it was more important to assuage John and please him than for Dean to indulge himself in something so dangerous just because he liked it. That was selfish and crazy.
He had to have been crazy, being the wolf. Enjoying it as he had.
Sam had enabled him in that respect. After Skye, as a lone wolf in an unfriendly world full of hunters, Dean had allowed himself the freedom of the run only on the full moon. It was something to look forward to, because there wasn't any fighting it on that night anyway so he might as well enjoy it.
Then Sam found out the truth and was all understanding about it. It made Dean lose perspective. He let himself stop seeing it as a thing, as an affliction that he couldn't bring himself to regret (though he knew he should) and that he must endure one night a month. Sam made it normal. Natural. God forbid, he made it beautiful. Sam encouraged him to free the wolf. He made it so damn easy for Dean to give in and enjoy it. Dean got lost in it, in Sam's willing complicity to the whole lycanthrope deal.
And now Dean was paying for it. He had grown so attached when he should have known better, and now it was going to be ripped from him.
The shittiest part was, he knew he should have seen this coming. But he hadn't, because he hadn't wanted to.
When Dean left Sam in the fast food place to call his friend yesterday afternoon, Dean went outside and called John. He told his father they were in California, heading for Palo Alto. John said he was close and would meet him at the Sunspots Motel. It was their usual Palo Alto lodging. Dean and John had popped into Palo Alto frequently enough (to discreetly check on Sam) while Sam was in college that they had a usual place.
Dean deliberately chose any hotel other than the Sunspots. He didn't want Sam spotting John's truck and getting suspicious and confrontational.
He wanted to keep Sam out of this. If Sam knew what Dean was going to do, what their father was going to do… Sam would try to stop it. He'd fight with Dad, again, and he'd drag Dean into the middle of his personal war with John, again. He would make Dean choose between them, choose a side, John's or Sam's. Either way, Dean would be the bad guy. Dean couldn't keep doing it, couldn't keep being torn between the brother he would die to protect and the father he would sacrifice his life to have love him.
It would be easier done secretly while Sam was busy with his friends. When it could be Dean's fault. Sam might get mad at Dean for going behind his back, but that was fine. Being the brunt was easier than being the weapon his father and little brother used against each other.
He wanted to avoid another family blowout, but Dean also didn't want Sam to feel guilty for what had to be done. Sam had done so much to safeguard the wolf… Dean couldn't let Sam know what was going to happen until it was already done. He didn't want Sam to think he'd failed his brother. Sam couldn't think that if he never knew what was going to happen until after it was too late. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission and all that.
Without a word (honestly, it was hard to even think straight knowing what was coming), Dean got back in the car and drove them to a parking space in front of their allotted room. It was so clean and well-kept and expensive-looking compared to their usual ratty, economically-friendly choice of hotels.
Sam frowned at the hotel room door, obviously puzzled by Dean's choice, and said, "You know, there's a place on the other side of town, the Sunshine or something, that's a lot more our kind of place than this."
'And that's also where Dad is, and I don't want you knowing,' Dean thought immediately. "This is fine; we've already got the room."
Sam pursed his lips in thought, then shrugged and got out of the car. Dean followed suit, finding everything suddenly seemed impossibly heavy, from his feet to his jacket.
Maybe when part of him had been hollowed out, he'd feel lighter. Less likely to sink into the ground like an adventurer in quicksand.
As they took their stuff into the room and got situated, a routine that was so ingrained they could have done it in their sleep, Dean realized Sam had been talking. Dean tried to focus and follow enough that his wandering focus wasn't obvious.
"… I know it's not really your thing, but I think you should," Sam said and turned plaintive eyes on Dean.
Dean returned a blank look. He had no idea what Sam was talking about.
Sam glowered, taking Dean's ignorance for obstinacy. "Come on, man… they're my friends. I'd really like for you to meet them."
Oh. Dean faked a smirk. "Nah, I'd just blow your cover anyway."
Sam frowned. "This isn't a job, Dean. I'm not asking you to fake or playact anything. Just be you… or, you know, sorta close."
Dean shook his head. "Forget it, dude. Not only do I not do normal, I definitely don't do babies."
The look Sam leveled at him was priceless. "You'll deal with monsters and demons, but you're afraid of a baby?" Sam asked skeptically.
"Two words, projectile vomit. But you have fun." Before Sam could argue further, Dean tossed Sam the car keys. Sam caught them and his eyes widened.
"What…"
"Take the car," Dean offered, trying to sound offhand about it.
Sam stared, slack-jaw. "Dean, are you feeling all right?"
'No!' Dean wanted to scream. 'No! I'm dying inside, Sammy!' But instead, he just cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah… why?"
Sam jingled the keys. "Because you just told me to take the car. Your car. The car you barely let me touch to ride in."
"Well, I'm not giving it to you, genius. I just thought you'd like to borrow it to go see that whoever she is."
"Becky," Sam provided for at least the fifth time.
"Whatever. Look, if you're going to act like Sam Winchester, average guy, do you really want to show up in a cab?"
"You could drop me off," Sam pointed out.
"And do what, circle the block five hundred times while you chit chat and clean up spit up? No thanks. Just take her, and if you put a single scratch in her, you're dead."
Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. "What are you going to do?"
Dean wanted to tell. He wanted to answer the one person who would almost understand. 'I'm going to kill myself, Sam… or at least the wolf, but damn does that feel like the most of me,' he wanted to say.
"Take a walk or something. Maybe check out some of the area."
Sam looked stricken. "Dean… you can't wolf out here, man. This isn't rural, backwater nowhere. This is college town, California. You'll be seen! I don't want to have to pick you up from animal control."
The reminder of the wolf, the tease that he might be it one more time, was a lancing pain. He would have thought Sam cruel for bringing it up if he didn't know that Sam had no idea what was about to happen.
"Relax," Dean said, deadpan, "they wouldn't know to call you, anyway."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm seriously thinking of getting you a collar with a tag that says 'if found, call Sam Winchester' on it."
'You'll never have to worry about that again,' Dean thought morosely. But what he said was, "You are not putting a collar on me."
Sam smirked, finding the conversation amusing even if he didn't want to show that he did. He glanced down at the keys in his hand. His good mood slipped a little and he frowned. "You sure you won't come?"
"Positive."
"And you're sure you want me to take the car?"
"Dude, the longer you pussy-foot around about it, the more I'm reconsidering," Dean griped.
"Okay, okay, I'm going." Sam offered a smile. He was excited again, back to eager about seeing his old friends. It was perverse, really, that Sam could be so psyched when Dean's whole world was about to fall apart.
"I'll see you later tonight," Sam said as he headed for the door.
When Sam opened the door to go, Dean almost stopped him. For a heartbeat, he almost called his brother back. He almost spilled his guts and told Sam everything.
For a split second, he almost wanted to take Sam up on the offer to run. Run from John Winchester.
But he didn't, and as he stood there mute he watched Sam leave.
When he was finally alone, his whole body seemed to fold. He made it to a bed and just fell. Each beat of his heart seemed hollow and lethargic. His lungs were lined with lead. He wanted to crawl into a dark hole and disappear. If resignation weren't so thick and absolute, he thought maybe he'd cry. Well, probably not, but if he were a lesser man and not Dean Winchester. If he were Sam, maybe.
He closed his eyes and thought of Skye. He thought of when he'd held her close, their mouths almost touching, and she'd whispered softly against his lips, 'I love you, Dean.'
He thought of her wolf, majestic and proud.
'I'm sorry,' he thought in abject misery, apologizing to what he could not say. Her memory, maybe. His wolf. Himself.
Then he opened his eyes, pulled out his phone, and called his dad.
"Dean?" John answered on the second ring.
Dean swallowed. "Yeah."
"You in town?"
"Yeah… just got in."
"Good. Well, you boys get on over here and let's do this," John said with his usual brusque authority. As if nothing in the world would dare contradict or defy him.
Dean's heart was pounding. "Sam's not coming."
There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Why?" John asked darkly, his voice edgy and savage. Dean knew what his dad was thinking; Sam was throwing some kind of fit in protest.
"I don't want him there," Dean answered resolutely.
That caused a few seconds of dead silence. Then John made a noncommittal noise and said, "All right. I'll see you in a few minutes, Dean. I'm in room twelve."
"I'm on my way," Dean said woodenly and hung up. For a moment he couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
When he could finally manage movement, he called a cab to come pick him up.
When the cabbie honked outside his door, Dean set his cell phone on the nightstand and stood slowly, as though his body had been swapped for that of an eighty year old man. Dean picked up his room key but left the cell phone. He didn't want Sam calling him in the middle of… it. Any break, any moment of distraction, and he might lose his resolve to go through with it.
He left the room hoping Sam wouldn't call and wondering what would be left of Dean Winchester when he saw his brother again.
Twenty-Two