Somewhere a Clock is Ticking, 2/9 (R, Sam/Dean)
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 2 of 9)
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: Dean thought uneasily of all the times he'd threatened to haunt Sam's ass if he ever damaged the Impala, and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Sam had better not get any clever ideas.
Previous chapters: Chapter One
Chapter Two
"Seriously," Dean said weakly, tearing his eyes away from Sam and... himself... and staring around wildly, disbelievingly, almost expecting someone to appear and tell him what the hell was going on. "Seriously, the hell?"
There was nothing. Other than Sam and himself, the alleyway was deserted.
"Dean," Sam whispered, almost a sob, and Dean couldn't stand it, could never stand seeing his brother in so much pain. He forced himself to turn back and look at the scene again.
So, he... really wasn't looking good at all. In fact, he was looking pretty damn dead. So much for dying young and leaving a good-looking corpse, he thought half-hysterically.
Sam, though. Sam was looking alive, but otherwise not a hell of a lot better. He had Dean's blood smeared on his hands and face, and he was crying uncontrollably.
"Sam," Dean said helplessly, reaching out for his brother, not even thinking, just needing to touch him, to comfort him.
He'd figured out that he was dead. So it shouldn't have been a shock when his hand passed right through Sam, but it was. Dean jumped back, breathing hard, staring wildly between his hand and Sam.
Oh, Jesus, he was dead. He was dead.
"Dean," Sam whispered again, his voice cracked and broken. "Dean, you can't leave me."
Dean took a deep breath and forced down his panic the same way he always had, by focusing on his brother. He stretched out his hand again, this time doing his best to just graze Sam's hair. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded, but Sam sucked in a deep breath too and swiped a hand across his face. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that he was just smearing the blood around more. ...Not that he could tell him, anyway.
This being dead thing was going to take some getting used to.
Footsteps were suddenly approaching down the alleyway, and Dean looked up, hoping like hell that it wasn't Lisa, or, at the very least, that she had enough sense to keep Ben away. This wasn't something he wanted the kid seeing.
But it wasn't Lisa. It was Ruby.
Her eyes seemed darker than usual as she walked down the alley towards them. Dean noted, mildly offended, that she gave his body no more than a passing glance, staring instead at Sam with an intensity that made Dean uneasy. At least she wasn't smiling, not quite. Dean had always detested her smile.
Dean guessed from the way she passed him without so much as a glance that she couldn't see him. Well, it made sense, he supposed. Why would demons be able to see... ghosts? Was that what he was now?
Mostly to take his mind off that disturbing thought, Dean said loudly, "Hey. Bitch. Stay the hell away from my brother."
Not that he would have expected her to do what he said even if she could hear him, but the utter lack of any reaction convinced him that she couldn't.
Sam didn't look up as she approached. Dean kept a sharp eye on her.
"Sam," she said quietly.
He didn't reply, didn't acknowledge her, but Dean saw him curl a little tighter over the body - his body, Jesus - and knew that he was aware of her presence.
"Sam," Ruby said more loudly, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. "Listen -"
"Leave me alone," Sam said, his voice wavering.
"It's important," Ruby said firmly. "You need to listen to me, this -"
"Leave me alone."
Dean couldn't help but catch his breath at the tone of Sam's voice, the strange note in it that he'd never heard before. It seemed to make an impression on Ruby, too, judging by the way she flinched and took a swift step back.
"I don't want to talk to you right now," Sam continued, his voice taut with rage and despair. "I don't want to see you, I don't want you to come anywhere near me. Shut up and go away and leave me alone."
Ruby's face was twisted with fury and disbelief, and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but then, to Dean's shock, she turned and walked away down the alley, the sound of her footsteps echoing.
Dean tried and failed to think of any time when he'd seen her act like that before, seen her give up and simply concede defeat without so much as an argument. That just wasn't the Ruby he knew and loathed.
Which raised the question of what exactly she was up to.
And why she was heading for the warehouse the demons had been in.
Dean took a long look at Sam, who showed no signs of getting up any time soon, and then followed her.
Ruby was walking fast, her clipped stride and rigid posture telegraphing her fury, and Dean had to jog to catch up with her. It was only when he did so that he was completely convinced that she was unaware of his presence, because he knew she would never let him catch her muttering to herself, even if it wasn't anything more interesting than bitching about Sam.
She reached the warehouse and pulled open the same door Dean had entered earlier. Dean hesitated suddenly. If he followed her in, would he be able to get back out? Would he be able to open the door, or would he have to... go through it? Could he even go through it?
The door started to swing shut behind her, and Dean made up his mind and rushed forward -
- Only to collide with something a couple of feet away from the door.
"Jesus," he swore, rubbing his forehead, and stretched a hand out cautiously. There was definitely some kind of invisible barrier there, and it seemed to extend out on each side, as he felt carefully around him. He was pretty damn sure he'd have noticed if it had been there before. Unless the demons had put up some kind of... anti-ghost ward? It didn't exactly seem likely, especially since Ruby hadn't even been able to see him. Why would they have put up barriers against something that didn't exist for them?
The barrier suddenly shifted, shoving him back a couple of feet.
"The hell?" Dean said in alarm, holding his arm up as if to try to fend it off, slowly retreating back when it moved again. Okay, he'd never heard of a ward moving like that before, so that ruled that out.
He glanced behind him warily and paused. Sam had gotten up and was walking slowly towards the far end of the alley, presumably to talk to Lisa.
"No way," Dean said, staring at his brother, then glancing wildly back over his shoulder.
The barrier hit his back and shoved him forward another few feet.
"Oh, this is just awesome," Dean muttered, and started walking. Not only was he a freaking ghost, apparently he was haunting Sam.
Man, not being able to get any further away from Sam than this was probably going to get old real fast.
By the time Dean caught up with his brother, Sam was watching expressionlessly as Lisa and Ben drove off in a pink piece of scrap metal that was an offence to the name of 'car'. Dean felt a moment of regret that he wouldn't get to see Sam driving it, and then a sicker rush of horror as he realized he wouldn't be able to tease Sam about it or call him a princess or... anything. Ever again.
Being dead sucked so hard.
Sam turned around and headed back into the alley. Dean waited at the corner, fairly certain now what his brother was doing. Sure enough, after another few minutes staring at the body, Sam slowly picked it up and, staggering only slightly under the weight, began making his way back towards the street.
Dean backed up to the Impala, and Sam appeared a few minutes later. Getting the corpse into the back seat was quite a production - Dean felt oddly touched that Sam hadn't stuck him in the trunk instead, though he really hoped they didn't encounter any police officers - but finally it was spread out along the bench. Dean took advantage of the delay to climb through the open door and shift over to the passenger side, sighing faintly with relief when he didn't fall right through it. He'd have to experiment with the whole passing-through-objects thing at some point, but he'd prefer not to be in a moving car at the time.
Sam settled into the driver's seat, adjusted the rear-view mirror to show the back seat, and stared into it for a long time. Then he bowed his head to rest against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.
Dean reached out, concentrating. When he focused hard enough, it almost felt as though he were touching Sam's back.
~*~
Sam took yet another corner too fast, and Dean cursed quietly under his breath.
It was quiet in the car, far too quiet. Dean wished Sam would say something, or put some music on - hell, even one of Sam's crappy tapes would do at this point, and considering Dean had already been forced to endure Britney Spears, that was a mark of desperation. Anything would be better than watching the expression on Sam's face as he drove through the darkness.
The Impala shuddered as Sam pulled it around another corner. It wasn't like him to drive so recklessly, but Dean could well remember the night he'd been in Sam's position, the way he'd driven on the way to the crossroads. He supposed he couldn't blame Sam, though if his brother managed to get them - well, himself - killed, Dean would kick his ass.
He thought uneasily of all the times he'd threatened to haunt Sam's ass if he ever damaged the Impala, and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Sam had better not get any clever ideas.
Suddenly, Sam slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.
"Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean yelled, doing his best not to go flying. "What the hell are you doing?"
There was no answer, of course. Sam had opened his door and was climbing out; Dean followed hastily, only then realizing where Sam had stopped the car.
At a crossroads.
"Oh no," Dean said, watching Sam open the trunk and rummage in it. "Oh no, Sam, don't do this, c'mon, man -"
Sam strode to the centre of the crossroads, his face set, and began digging a hole in the ground.
"Oh, Jesus," Dean muttered, looking around wildly.
"Not quite," a female voice said behind him.
Dean swung round to find her standing alarmingly close behind him, once again wearing the body of some pretty, dark-haired woman. He narrowed his eyes. He didn't think it was just a coincidence that she bore a striking resemblance to Casey this time. The bitch had a sick sense of humor.
"Dean," she sighed delightedly. "Dean, Dean, Dean. I knew I was giving you a bargain when I offered a year. I really should have held out for lower, if you were going to throw your life away this early. I have to say, I didn't think even you'd settle for this low."
His every instinct was screaming at him to put distance between them, but Dean wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him back away from her. Damned if he would run from her, not even a step. "What can I say? I've never been one for hanging around. I guess you get to take me early."
She laughed, her eyes flashing red for a moment. "Tempting, tempting. Sadly, that's not how it works. You've still got two months, Dean. Of course, now it's two months of hanging around, seeing all the things you can't have any more, watching Sam grieve..."
Dean held his cocky grin with an effort, determined not to let her see any of her taunts hit home.
"Two months with no one to talk to but yourself," she continued happily. "Two months of going slowly insane, two months of uselessness. I have to say, Dean, you've exceeded even my wildest hopes for you. I couldn't have arranged it better myself."
"So you didn't arrange it, then?" Dean asked, keeping his tone casual.
Something that looked like genuine surprise flashed across her face for a moment before vanishing. "I don't break my bargains. Oh, I find the whole thing hilarious, yes, but it's none of my doing."
"But you can see me, which apparently doesn't come as part of the standard demon package," Dean pointed out.
"No, that came with the owning-your-soul package." She smiled slowly. "Sorry, Dean. I guess sometimes these things just happen. Call it happy chance."
"Hey!" Sam yelled from the centre of the crossroads, and for a moment Dean thought he was responding to what the bitch had said, but the way Sam was turning to look in all directions quickly killed that notion.
"So he can't see you?" he asked, still watching Sam.
"Not if I don't want him to," she said, and laughed. "I don't know if I'm taking calls tonight. I feel like I should take the night off or something. Celebrate, you know?"
Maybe for the best, Dean thought to himself. If she refused to answer Sam's summons, his brother couldn't try making any stupid deals.
"Yes," she drawled. "I think it might be more fun to let him suffer. Just look at him, Dean: so much grief, waves of anguish just rolling off him... You Winchesters all do suffering so well. And now he's the last one. A treat to savor as long as possible, I think. He'll be back."
Dean's reply was lost as Sam yelled, "Damnit, show yourself! Now!"
The demon stiffened with what sounded to Dean like a shocked gasp, and Sam wheeled round to stare right at her.
~*~
She appeared at the edge of the crossroads, close to the Impala, and Sam tried to restrain the hatred that bubbled up in him at the sight of her, forcing himself to concentrate on his relief that she'd appeared at all. For a few minutes there, he'd thought she was just going to leave him to suffer.
"Sam Winchester," she said, with a dangerous half-smile, and moved slowly towards him. "What an... unexpected pleasure."
Sam held his ground as she approached. "I want him back."
Her smile took on a sharper twist. "Did your mother never teach you manners? Oh - I suppose not. Issuing orders, not so much as a hello... I don't like being dictated to, you know."
Sam ignored her taunting entirely. "I want him back. You promised him twelve months, and there are still two left. By taking him now, you've voided the deal. Bring him back."
She laughed out loud, sounding almost delighted now. "Oh, Sam! You're really trying to get him out of his deal on a technicality? That's... almost sweet. Of course, you were studying to become a lawyer, weren't you? During those years you abandoned the very brother you're begging for now?"
He suspected it was only his anger which stopped him from flinching at that one. The bitch had a real talent for sensing someone's weaknesses.
"Funny how you don't know what you got till it's gone, isn't it?" she said mockingly. "You seem to make that mistake a lot, don't you, Sam? Barely managed to exchange a civil sentence with Daddy Dearest until he traded in his soul..."
"I said," Sam repeated slowly, "that I want him back. You had no right to take him yet."
"I didn't take him," the demon said, and laughed at his expression. "Oh, Sam, surely you didn't really think it would be that simple? This wasn't my doing. Believe me, you won't be able to wriggle out of this on a technicality. Actually, I did wonder if you might have killed him - in the hope that I'd fall into that very trap. Because you've been getting desperate, haven't you, Sam? Desperate enough to kill your own brother?"
Sam fought down a wave of nausea. He was pretty sure that he lost the battle to keep it from showing on his face this time, but it was just all too close, too soon since he'd watched Dean breathe his last, since he'd tasted his brother's blood in his mouth. And feeling all the sicker because if he'd thought it would work... No, he wouldn't have done it, not now, probably not even in two months' time. But at that point, he might at least have considered it.
God, what did that make him?
"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," she said with an air of condescending generosity. "Part of Dean's deal was that you'd drop dead if there was any cheating, but since I've no proof that you killed him, I'll turn a blind eye, just this once. Though you really ought to be a bit more careful in future, Sam."
Sam could only glare at her, furious and helpless. If what she was saying was true and she hadn't taken Dean, then he couldn't use that to force her to bring his brother back.
Dean was dead, and there was nothing he could do.
"So nice talking to you," the demon said, her voice sharp with malicious satisfaction. She turned and began sauntering away, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh - but next time, Sam, make sure to ask nicely instead of ordering. Or you could be waiting for a very long time."
And as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone.
Sam stood staring into space for a long moment before his rage took him. He spun around and kicked a large rock beside the crossroads, and again, and again.
Then he collapsed to the ground and stopped fighting back his tears.
~*~
By the time they drew up at Bobby's, it was late the next night; Sam had been forced to take more back-routes than usual, with the body in the back seat. Dean was seriously relieved that they hadn't encountered any police officers. Although possibly that was selfish; maybe his dead body would be enough to get Sam out of his problems with the FBI.
What the hell. It wasn't like he could tell Sam about that awesome idea, anyway.
He hadn't even thought about the fact that Bobby didn't know what had happened until Bobby emerged from the house, shotgun in hand, and stopped short at the sight of Sam sitting alone - well, as far as he would be able to tell - in the front seat of the Impala. Dean figured one look at the expression on Sam's face would be enough to clue Bobby in.
He wasn't really expecting just how pale Bobby went, though, or how slowly he walked to the side of the car and looked in, then leaned heavily against the roof, bowing his head.
There was silence for a long moment. Dean felt oddly awkward, like an intruder, and had to shake his head at the weirdness of it all.
"C'mon inside," Bobby said eventually, his voice gruffer than usual. He patted the roof of the Impala once and then turned and headed slowly back indoors.
Sam stayed where he was for a few minutes longer, staring straight ahead, then obeyed. Dean followed.
Bobby had broken out the good whiskey and poured a glass for Sam. Dean felt weirdly honored. And slightly bitter that he wouldn't be able to have any of it himself. He wondered where the hell ghosts went for a stiff drink.
"To Dean," Bobby said quietly, raising his glass, then downed most of it in one go and topped it up again.
"Dean," Sam said, even more softly, and took a sip of his own.
They drank in silence for several minutes before Bobby finally broke it. "What happened?"
Sam haltingly told him what he knew. Dean was surprised to remember just how little that was - that Dean had gone to the warehouse to find Ben, and that the demon had been called Stacey, with dark hair and pale skin. For his part, Dean had almost forgotten that Casey had been going by another name.
"He must have gotten Ben out," Sam said finally. "Ben was hiding by the Impala when I got there. I found - I found Dean in the alley." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, before he continued, "Whoever she was, she was already gone when I got there."
Bobby shook his head and took a another gulp of whiskey. "Saving the kid like that... I reckon it's how he would have wanted to go out. He always did take the cases with kids to heart."
Sam looked up from his glass, eyes burning with something like fury. "He's dead, Bobby. He -" He choked off the end of the sentence.
Bobby sighed. "He only had two months left, Sam." His voice was regretful, but firm. "We've spent ten months searching for a way out of that deal, and we've come up with nothing. And that demon friend of yours, she's always talked a good game about helping to save him, but she's never really come through with it, has she? You ain't told me much about anything she's told you or showed you when you two are off alone together, but I reckon you'd have done something by now if she'd showed you a way."
Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at Sam. Sam hadn't told him about what he and Ruby were up to, but that had been due to the risk of the deal being broken and Sam dying. Dean had assumed that his brother was at least talking to Bobby, had in fact been counting on Bobby's advice to keep Sam from doing anything too stupid. As much as he'd distrusted Ruby and her motives, he'd always reassured himself that Bobby wouldn't let things get out of hand.
"A lot can happen in two months," Sam said, his voice taut with anger. "We were getting closer. I don't care if saving a kid is the way he'd like to go out or not, he had no right to just -"
He broke off again, and Dean could see him shaking.
"I remember back in that ghost town, when Dean... lost you," Bobby said after a moment. "I thought about the way he grieved for your daddy, and I thought I knew what I was expecting. Thought I had an idea how to help him, or at least get through to him."
Dean fought the urge to walk out of the room. He hated talking about the time Sam had been gone, even when no one knew he was there or expected him to take part in the conversation.
"I was wrong," Bobby said, finally. "I shoulda known, really; you always were his world. I never thought he'd go as far as he did, never even occurred to me. I knew exactly why he did it, though. Sam... don't you do what he did, okay? It has to end somewhere. Dean made his choice. Only way to undo it would be go one further than him, and he wouldn't want that for you."
"What are you saying?" Sam asked quietly.
"I'm saying it's time to let your brother go," Bobby said, meeting his eyes. "I'm saying I don't want to see you go the way he did." He took another mouthful of whiskey, before adding slowly, "I'm saying that, come morning, we should take Dean out to where you boys cremated your daddy, and put him to rest."
Dean looked at Sam, who was staring at Bobby as if he'd never seen him before. "Bobby, I... Look, I'm not going to do anything stupid, okay? You don't need to worry about that."
"Oh, yeah, you're the poster child for sensible, Sam," Dean muttered. "Going to the crossroads like that counts as stupid, believe me. Hell, it counts as fucking moronic, so don't try to pull that bullshit."
"I just - I just can't... think about that tonight," Sam continued, looking down at his glass. "Can we just... wait until morning?"
"Sure," Bobby said gently. "You should get some shut-eye. You ain't slept since you left here, have you?"
"No time," Sam admitted.
"If you don't want to use that room, I can make up the sofa," Bobby offered carefully.
Sam flinched, but recovered quickly. "No, the room's - fine. It'll be fine. Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby nodded. "You know where I am..." He left the offer hanging in the air.
"Thanks," Sam said again quietly.
Bobby headed off towards his own room. Sam stayed where he was, staring at the whiskey glass in his hand, though Dean didn't think he was seeing it.
Dean sighed. Watching Sam going through this was hell, and he was beginning to see exactly why the crossroads demon had been so gleeful at the prospect of him hanging around as a ghost for two months.
He thought again of how close he'd come to heading back into the warehouse, despite knowing it would almost certainly result in his death; how the thought of Sam had been the main reason he'd decided not to. Partly because he'd wanted to have those last two months with his brother, and partly because he hadn't wanted to put Sam through this. Of course, his decision hadn't made a difference in the end. But he'd still made it and that counted for something, because he didn't think he'd be able to handle the guilt if he'd chosen to do this to Sam.
Maybe that's one reason why so many ghosts of suicides start causing problems. They go mad from the guilt.
"Sammy," he said out loud. It was weird enough knowing no one else could hear him; if he didn't say things aloud anyway, he thought he probably would go mad. "Sam, you need sleep. C'mon, you haven't slept in how long, dude? Go to bed."
Sam sighed and downed the rest of his glass of whiskey, then set the glass down with a clack and got to his feet.
"Huh," Dean said. "You know, I think that's the first time you've done what I told you without arguing since you were ten? And getting killed was all it took, who knew."
He followed Sam to the bedroom they always shared when they were staying at Bobby's, which had been happening more and more often over the past year. He kept close behind Sam so that he'd be able to slip through the door before his brother closed it, but he needn't have worried. Sam's movements were slow, and when he opened the door to the spare bedroom, he stopped entirely.
"C'mon, Sam, you can do this," Dean said, and wished like hell, yet again, that he could touch his brother. It was kind of ironic, because he'd never considered himself a touchy-feely kind of guy, but it was only now that he couldn't touch Sam that he realized how much he'd always relied on being able to press a hand against his brother's back or clap him on the shoulder.
Sam shuddered once, then stepped slowly into the room, and Dean slipped past before his brother shut the door.
~*~
He'd told Bobby it would be fine, but it was harder being back in this room than he'd expected.
Sam had thought that after driving the Impala, the worst was behind him, and that had been worse, far worse. The Impala was so much a part of Dean that getting behind the wheel and driving her all the way back to Bobby's house had almost been too much for him.
He hadn't expected the room to be anything like as hard. The two of them had stayed there a lot, sure, but it wasn't like... a home, or anything.
And yet. There was a knife lying on the cabinet on Dean's side of the bed, which his brother had mentioned he wanted to work a nick out of. And beside it, a tangle of various electrical components - Sam didn't even have a clue what they were, other than some gadget Dean had been working on. Some of Dean's clothes were still draped over the back of one of the chairs, and Dean's side of the bed was still rumpled and creased, since Sam had decided there was no way he was going to be the one to make the bed after Dean had taken off to Cicero.
Sam took a deep breath, feeling his eyes burning.
He stripped down to his boxer shorts mechanically, trying not to think any more. Forcing himself to slip into the bed was almost as hard as forcing himself climb behind the Impala's steering wheel had been, but he did it. He could do this. He snapped the light off and lay down, keeping to his own side of the bed.
The room was too small for two queens, but he and Dean had never had a problem with sharing, bar an occasional fight over who was stealing all the covers. They'd slept in enough rough quarters over the years to be grateful for a bed where they could get one. And Sam had always taken a certain comfort in it, despite the lack of space: it brought back memories of sleeping together in the back seat of the Impala as kids, with their father driving and humming along with the radio, safe and warm. And this year, Sam had needed that - the knowledge that he was losing his brother was easier to cope with when Dean was right there, taking up far too much space and occasionally muttering something ridiculous in his sleep.
And now the other side of the bed was empty.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. He knew Bobby was right that it had been far too long since he'd slept, and it was true he was exhausted. But it was impossible to relax into sleep with no one there to tug on the covers or kick his leg when turning over, or any of the other annoyances that would normally keep him awake.
He lay in the dark for a long time, waiting for sleep to claim him, then gave up and began pulling his clothes back on.
~*~
So, it turned out that whoever came up with that "sleep when I'm dead" line? Was a total fucking liar.
Dean was feeling cheated. Sleeping had always been one of his favorite activities - at least when he didn't have something even better to do. Finding out it was yet another thing he could no longer do was a hard blow.
Chalk up boredom as another reason why ghosts go fucking crazy.
He lay on top of the bed next to Sam for half an hour - he couldn't even claim a share of the blanket now, let alone get under it, which he supposed was fair enough given that he couldn't seem to feel the cold, but still, it was the principle of the thing: he was entitled to half the blanket, damnit. Eventually, though, he gave up. Sleep was apparently out.
And since he was trapped inside the room until Sam got up, it looked like it was time to indulge his morbid curiosity - ha, he slayed himself - and see what else he could and couldn't do now that he was vitally challenged.
He'd kind of been putting it off, because the thought of trying to walk through something freaked him the hell out - it had been bad enough when his hand had passed through Sam when he'd tried to touch him back in the alley. But he didn't much like being trapped, either, and trying to scramble out of the Impala before Sam closed his door was getting old real fast.
Dean took a deep breath. What the hell.
He walked over to the door and stretched out a hand, letting it hover gingerly just above the surface. He hesitated like that for a moment, then forced himself to push his hand forward. Part of him was still expecting it to meet the solid surface of the door and stop, but instead his hand slipped right through.
He yanked his hand back at once, and stared at it. It looked no different and no less solid than it had before, but he'd felt it pass right through the door, faintly felt the texture and grain of the wood around him, inside him. Jesus.
He tried it again, slower this time, better prepared for the sensation. It was weird as hell, but the feeling of passing through something didn't seem quite as horrible as the idea of it did. He pushed his arm through up to the shoulder, then brought it back into the room and tried sticking a leg through the door instead.
"Fine, it works," Dean muttered to himself. "Nothing to it, see? Nothing to freak out about. So quit pussy-footing around and walk through the damn thing."
It was hard to bring himself to do it, though; his brain still wasn't entirely convinced it was a good idea. After the second time he'd walked up to the door and then stopped to think about it some more, Dean was so annoyed with himself that he backed up to the end of the bed and took a run at it.
He barely had time to shudder at the feeling of the wood around him before he was through it. He'd been bracing himself to meet resistance, however, and the complete lack of it threw him off-balance; instead of stopping on the other side of the door, before he knew what was happening he had plunged through the banister on the opposite side of the hallway, fallen right through the stairs, and stumbled through the wall of the closet he'd landed in to arrive in the living room.
"...Fuck me," Dean said out loud, and sat down on the floor to recover for a moment. Damn, but he could really use some of Bobby's good whiskey right about now.
It was a few minutes before he could stop focusing on the way it had felt, passing through it all, and start trying to think about why he seemed able to pass through some things and not others. He'd sat in the Impala with Sam and hadn't fallen through it - which was just as well, because god knew how he'd have managed to stay with Sam otherwise - and he'd lain on the bed next to his brother too. For that matter, he hadn't disappeared through the floor until the thing with the stairs, and he'd managed to walk up them earlier on.
Maybe it was something to do with what he was expecting. He hadn't even thought about falling through the Impala, so he hadn't, and it hadn't occurred to him while going up the stairs earlier, either. Whereas he'd been focused on passing through things when he'd gone through the door, and so he'd gone through everything else, too.
It was a bit rough and ready as theories went, but since he couldn't exactly consult Bobby or Sam, he would settle for it until a better one came along.
Of course, the bonus of his logic was that if he concentrated, he could probably get up off the floor and try to sit down on Bobby's couch, instead, which might be marginally more comfortable. He looked over at it. Well, maybe it wouldn't, but he should probably try it anyway.
He took his time about it, though, sitting down gingerly and bracing himself in case he fell right through. When he didn't, he heaved a shaky sigh of relief and laughed quietly at himself, then sprawled out across the couch, sticking his arms behind his head and relaxing for what felt like the first time in a while.
Upstairs, a door clicked open and shut again, and Dean heard the unmistakable sound of Sam's footsteps padding towards the stairs. A few moments later, Sam walked past the entrance to the living room and went out the front door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Looked like Dean was going to have to put his new-found skills to the test again. Damn.
But the front door turned out to be piece of cake compared to his little trip through the stairs before, largely because there was nothing else to fall through on the other side; after a brief, unreal moment he was through it, and took a second to shudder and get a hold of himself again before heading towards the Impala.
For a moment, Dean wondered whether Sam was actually planning to take off in the middle of the night, but he relaxed slightly when Sam slid into the passenger side of the car instead, closing the door behind him and turning sideways to curl up against the door.
Dean grimaced, but gamely moved through the other door and sat down as best he could on the driver's seat. He had a suspicion he was sitting in the seat for a few seconds before he got the hang of it, but it wasn't too bad. His girl was much more nicer to pass through than anything else he'd tried so far, he thought smugly. Though he'd still be happier if Sam hadn't dragged him out here.
"You're a fucking jerk, Dean," Sam said.
Dean jumped and turned to his brother, but Sam wasn't looking at him - he was staring over the back of the bench. At Dean's body.
"What happened to not speaking ill of the dead?" Dean wondered aloud, doing his best to stay flippant.
"Bobby thinks you gave up, threw your life away," Sam said. "Oh, he didn't put it quite like that, but it's what he meant. And I don't know what to think. I don't want to think you'd do that, but... but you've never valued your own life as much as you should."
"Hey, I valued my life," Dean said, feeling vaguely insulted. "Okay, maybe I took a few risks now and then, but that's the way the job goes."
"The thought of you throwing your life away..." Sam continued, "...it makes me so angry I could punch you, you dick."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that, Sammy."
"We still had two months," Sam said. His voice shook. "I still had two months to find a way to save you, Dean. Or two months together, either way. You really threw that away? It was that pointless?"
"I didn't, Sam," Dean said, his humor fading. "Damnit, I didn't, all right? I chose to fucking live and come back to you, and I didn't mean for things to go down the way they did. Okay?"
"I don't want to think that," Sam said quietly. "It makes me want to - Jesus, Dean. I don't want to believe it. But either way, you're still gone. You still left me alone, and that was always in your game plan. And how dare you think I'd be less broken by your death than you were by mine?"
Dean swallowed. There wasn't much he could say to that.
"I miss you, you jerk," Sam whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what to do!"
Dean couldn't stand it. He leaned over to his brother, knowing it was useless but unable to help trying to touch him. At the same moment, Sam leaned forwards to bury his head in his hands -
And passed right through Dean.
Dean jerked back with a gasp, still reeling from the sense of Sam in and around him, grief and fury and an ache that took his breath away.
Sam slammed back against the door, staring ahead, eyes wide.
Jesus Christ, Dean thought.
Sam swallowed hard, moistened his lips. "Dean...?" he whispered, almost soundlessly.
Please, Dean thought, wishing as hard as he ever had, and moved forward.
Slipping into Sam was nothing like passing through anything else. Dean could feel the blood rushing through his brother's veins, the pulse of his grief, the faint spark of his hope. He could feel Sam, all through him.
He pulled back before the sensation overwhelmed him completely. Sam had his eyes closed, and though he was very pale, there was a faint smile on his lips.
"Dean," he said, softly but more certain. He opened his eyes, and laughed a little nervously. "Jesus, tell me I'm not going crazy, man."
"You've always been crazy," Dean replied weakly, and tried not to be disappointed when Sam clearly didn't hear him. What had he expected, after all?
"Okay," Sam said. "Okay. Maybe I am going crazy, but... I know what we can try."
~*~
"Oh man, you gotta be kidding me," Dean said.
"Okay, I know it's a bit makeshift, but it worked at the hospital back when you were in that coma, remember?" Sam said. "So get over it and let's try it."
Yeah, Dean remembered. Rather more than he expected to, in fact; he not only remembered Sam telling him about it when he woke up, he could also remember now what it had been like, being out of his body. And the Ouija board had been ridiculous enough back then.
Sam scribbled YES on another post-it and stuck it on the corner of the upside-down chess board he'd fetched from the tiny bookcase in their bedroom, then set a shot glass upside-down in the centre of the board.
Dean gave a gusty sigh and sat down on the floor opposite Sam. "There has got to be a better way than this, dude. If I'd remembered how stupid this was after the last time, I'd have made you research it."
"Dean?" Sam said softly, pressing his fingers to the glass.
"All right, all right," Dean grumbled, and reached out.
His fingers went right through the glass.
"Damnit," Dean hissed, yanking his hands back and glaring at them. "I knew practicing going through things was a bad idea."
"...Dean?" Sam said again, more uncertainly.
Dean couldn't stand the doubt creeping into his brother's voice. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and reached out again.
When he felt cool glass under his fingers and heard his brother inhale sharply, he breathed out slowly and risked opening his eyes again. Moving the glass was hard, and as he shifted it slowly across to the YES post-it, Dean had time to wonder whether it was because it wasn't a proper Ouija board, or whether it was because he was dead and not just disembodied this time.
Sam made a choked sound, somewhere between laughter and crying. "Dean, oh god. You have got to stop doing this to me, man."
Dean couldn't help the wry grin spreading across his face. God, it was good to talk to his brother, even in such a ridiculous and stupidly slow way. He carefully spelled out his message.
NOT MY IDEA
The smile faded from Sam's face. "Wasn't it? I - I didn't want to believe you were trying to... but I wasn't sure, not completely. Were you trying to... you know...?"
Dean's grin vanished too. He needed Sam to understand this; he hadn't realized how important it was until he'd heard Sam talking in the Impala. He dragged the glass over to NO.
Sam nodded jerkily. "Good. I just... Good. Okay. I'm glad." He took a deep breath and let it out again, then laughed a little. "God, I don't even know where to start, now."
"Know the feeling," Dean muttered, and waited for his brother to sort through his thoughts.
"Okay, so... we have to figure out a way to get you back," Sam said after a moment.
Dean stared at him, then turned to the board. DEAD, he spelled out, in case Sam had missed the obvious.
Sam snorted, though it sounded a bit too close to tears for Dean's liking. "I had noticed, believe it or not. Didn't stop you from bringing me back, though, did it? We just have to find a way."
Oh shit, Dean thought. Much as he didn't particularly want to be dead, he really didn't want Sam doing anything stupid.
NO DEAL
"You're a bit of a hypocrite, Dean," Sam said, his voice thin. "Do as I say, not as I do, huh?" He didn't give Dean a chance to spell anything out, just went straight on. "I won't trade my soul, okay? I won't do that. But if I have to make a deal, I'll make one. And you're not exactly in a position to stop me right now."
Dean cursed under his breath. Sam was looking straight ahead, and Dean could read the set of his jaw. He wasn't going to be able to talk his brother out of it. Especially when he could only talk via a goddamn Ouija board.
NOT LIFE, he spelled out.
Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Okay, I won't trade that either. If only because I know you'd just -" He cut off as Dean started moving the glass again.
DEAL LAST RESORT
Sam raised his head again, staring right at where Dean was sitting, and Dean held his breath.
"Okay," Sam said eventually. "Okay, I'll try to find another way first. But I mean it, Dean, it that's what it takes, that's what I'm going to do. There's got to be a way." He sighed, then asked hesitantly, as if afraid of bringing up bad memories, "Dean... who did it?"
WHY
"Why?!" Sam repeated disbelievingly. "Because I'm going to kill them, that's why. They murdered you, Dean. It was a demon, wasn't it? Which one?"
Dean thought about it. Casey had given him a chance, and he was sure she hadn't known Father Gil was waiting in the alley. Well, pretty sure. But even if he didn't owe her anything, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to go chasing after those two. It was too dangerous, particularly if Sam really had been their real target.
NOT IMPORTANT, he spelled out slowly.
"'Not important'?" Sam repeated. "Not important? Dean - Jesus, okay, I get that you want to protect me or whatever, okay? But that demon is still out there, hurting people. It killed you, and I'm not going to sit back and just - accept that!" He chuckled grimly, a sound that made Dean feel cold. "Guess I'm too much of a Winchester for that. Besides... maybe whoever it was could bring you back, with the right... incentive. It's worth a try."
Dean stared at his brother. He understood where Sam was coming from. And though he didn't think Casey or Father Gil had the power to bring him back from the dead, he wasn't completely certain.
But it wasn't worth risking Sam's life.
NO
"Fine," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'll figure it out for myself. Okay, I'll talk to Bobby in the morning, see if he can think of any other options, and work out what to do with... with your body until we get this... sorted out. Ice, maybe."
Dean looked at him, at the hope shining in his eyes, the purpose and resolve in the lines of his face, and hoped Sam wasn't getting his hopes up too far.
SLEEP
Sam laughed, a little nervously. "I don't know if I can. I..." He swallowed, and continued more quietly, "Don't laugh, okay, but... part of me still thinks if I close my eyes, you'll be gone."
Dean didn't feel like laughing. He could still remember far too clearly how he'd felt when Sam had come back, after his deal: how he hadn't wanted to even blink, how letting Sam out of his sight for a moment had been unthinkable.
MISSED YOU TOO, he spelled out.
Sam gave a watery smile. "If I'd known what the price would be for getting you to have a chick-flick moment..."
Dean laughed. God, it was good to have his brother back again.
SLEEP
Sam sighed. "Fine, I'll try. You... you'll stay here? You won't be gone when I wake up?"
HERE, Dean spelled out.
"Okay," Sam said again, and took his hands off the shot glass, his movements slow and reluctant, before walking over to the bed, shrugging wearily out of his clothes for the second time that night.
Dean concentrated for a moment before he tried lying down on his side, still mindful of the way his hand had gone through the shot glass. He guessed he was going to have to practice controlling the whole touching/passing through thing some more. But not tonight, not when Sam had asked him to stay.
"Night, Dean," Sam said, snapping off the light.
Dean turned over onto his side so he could look at him. "Night, Sammy." He watched his brother's body slowly lose its tension, his breathing starting to even out.
"Least I don't have to fight you for the blanket," Sam murmured, his voice blurred with sleep.
Dean laughed, and for the first time began to hope that things might work out okay.
Chapter Three
Rating: R
Pairing: Eventual Sam/Dean
Disclaimer: Still not mine, sadly.
Wordcount: Approx. 70k for the fic as a whole.
Betas: So, so much love to zooey_glass04 and aynslee, beta readers and Ameripickers extraordinaire, for all their awesomeness. Thank you, darlings! <333
Notes: This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; of course, it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Oh well. The fic is complete, and will be posted chapter by chapter as I sort out my life.
Summary: Dean thought uneasily of all the times he'd threatened to haunt Sam's ass if he ever damaged the Impala, and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Sam had better not get any clever ideas.
Previous chapters: Chapter One
Chapter Two
"Seriously," Dean said weakly, tearing his eyes away from Sam and... himself... and staring around wildly, disbelievingly, almost expecting someone to appear and tell him what the hell was going on. "Seriously, the hell?"
There was nothing. Other than Sam and himself, the alleyway was deserted.
"Dean," Sam whispered, almost a sob, and Dean couldn't stand it, could never stand seeing his brother in so much pain. He forced himself to turn back and look at the scene again.
So, he... really wasn't looking good at all. In fact, he was looking pretty damn dead. So much for dying young and leaving a good-looking corpse, he thought half-hysterically.
Sam, though. Sam was looking alive, but otherwise not a hell of a lot better. He had Dean's blood smeared on his hands and face, and he was crying uncontrollably.
"Sam," Dean said helplessly, reaching out for his brother, not even thinking, just needing to touch him, to comfort him.
He'd figured out that he was dead. So it shouldn't have been a shock when his hand passed right through Sam, but it was. Dean jumped back, breathing hard, staring wildly between his hand and Sam.
Oh, Jesus, he was dead. He was dead.
"Dean," Sam whispered again, his voice cracked and broken. "Dean, you can't leave me."
Dean took a deep breath and forced down his panic the same way he always had, by focusing on his brother. He stretched out his hand again, this time doing his best to just graze Sam's hair. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded, but Sam sucked in a deep breath too and swiped a hand across his face. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that he was just smearing the blood around more. ...Not that he could tell him, anyway.
This being dead thing was going to take some getting used to.
Footsteps were suddenly approaching down the alleyway, and Dean looked up, hoping like hell that it wasn't Lisa, or, at the very least, that she had enough sense to keep Ben away. This wasn't something he wanted the kid seeing.
But it wasn't Lisa. It was Ruby.
Her eyes seemed darker than usual as she walked down the alley towards them. Dean noted, mildly offended, that she gave his body no more than a passing glance, staring instead at Sam with an intensity that made Dean uneasy. At least she wasn't smiling, not quite. Dean had always detested her smile.
Dean guessed from the way she passed him without so much as a glance that she couldn't see him. Well, it made sense, he supposed. Why would demons be able to see... ghosts? Was that what he was now?
Mostly to take his mind off that disturbing thought, Dean said loudly, "Hey. Bitch. Stay the hell away from my brother."
Not that he would have expected her to do what he said even if she could hear him, but the utter lack of any reaction convinced him that she couldn't.
Sam didn't look up as she approached. Dean kept a sharp eye on her.
"Sam," she said quietly.
He didn't reply, didn't acknowledge her, but Dean saw him curl a little tighter over the body - his body, Jesus - and knew that he was aware of her presence.
"Sam," Ruby said more loudly, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. "Listen -"
"Leave me alone," Sam said, his voice wavering.
"It's important," Ruby said firmly. "You need to listen to me, this -"
"Leave me alone."
Dean couldn't help but catch his breath at the tone of Sam's voice, the strange note in it that he'd never heard before. It seemed to make an impression on Ruby, too, judging by the way she flinched and took a swift step back.
"I don't want to talk to you right now," Sam continued, his voice taut with rage and despair. "I don't want to see you, I don't want you to come anywhere near me. Shut up and go away and leave me alone."
Ruby's face was twisted with fury and disbelief, and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but then, to Dean's shock, she turned and walked away down the alley, the sound of her footsteps echoing.
Dean tried and failed to think of any time when he'd seen her act like that before, seen her give up and simply concede defeat without so much as an argument. That just wasn't the Ruby he knew and loathed.
Which raised the question of what exactly she was up to.
And why she was heading for the warehouse the demons had been in.
Dean took a long look at Sam, who showed no signs of getting up any time soon, and then followed her.
Ruby was walking fast, her clipped stride and rigid posture telegraphing her fury, and Dean had to jog to catch up with her. It was only when he did so that he was completely convinced that she was unaware of his presence, because he knew she would never let him catch her muttering to herself, even if it wasn't anything more interesting than bitching about Sam.
She reached the warehouse and pulled open the same door Dean had entered earlier. Dean hesitated suddenly. If he followed her in, would he be able to get back out? Would he be able to open the door, or would he have to... go through it? Could he even go through it?
The door started to swing shut behind her, and Dean made up his mind and rushed forward -
- Only to collide with something a couple of feet away from the door.
"Jesus," he swore, rubbing his forehead, and stretched a hand out cautiously. There was definitely some kind of invisible barrier there, and it seemed to extend out on each side, as he felt carefully around him. He was pretty damn sure he'd have noticed if it had been there before. Unless the demons had put up some kind of... anti-ghost ward? It didn't exactly seem likely, especially since Ruby hadn't even been able to see him. Why would they have put up barriers against something that didn't exist for them?
The barrier suddenly shifted, shoving him back a couple of feet.
"The hell?" Dean said in alarm, holding his arm up as if to try to fend it off, slowly retreating back when it moved again. Okay, he'd never heard of a ward moving like that before, so that ruled that out.
He glanced behind him warily and paused. Sam had gotten up and was walking slowly towards the far end of the alley, presumably to talk to Lisa.
"No way," Dean said, staring at his brother, then glancing wildly back over his shoulder.
The barrier hit his back and shoved him forward another few feet.
"Oh, this is just awesome," Dean muttered, and started walking. Not only was he a freaking ghost, apparently he was haunting Sam.
Man, not being able to get any further away from Sam than this was probably going to get old real fast.
By the time Dean caught up with his brother, Sam was watching expressionlessly as Lisa and Ben drove off in a pink piece of scrap metal that was an offence to the name of 'car'. Dean felt a moment of regret that he wouldn't get to see Sam driving it, and then a sicker rush of horror as he realized he wouldn't be able to tease Sam about it or call him a princess or... anything. Ever again.
Being dead sucked so hard.
Sam turned around and headed back into the alley. Dean waited at the corner, fairly certain now what his brother was doing. Sure enough, after another few minutes staring at the body, Sam slowly picked it up and, staggering only slightly under the weight, began making his way back towards the street.
Dean backed up to the Impala, and Sam appeared a few minutes later. Getting the corpse into the back seat was quite a production - Dean felt oddly touched that Sam hadn't stuck him in the trunk instead, though he really hoped they didn't encounter any police officers - but finally it was spread out along the bench. Dean took advantage of the delay to climb through the open door and shift over to the passenger side, sighing faintly with relief when he didn't fall right through it. He'd have to experiment with the whole passing-through-objects thing at some point, but he'd prefer not to be in a moving car at the time.
Sam settled into the driver's seat, adjusted the rear-view mirror to show the back seat, and stared into it for a long time. Then he bowed his head to rest against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.
Dean reached out, concentrating. When he focused hard enough, it almost felt as though he were touching Sam's back.
~*~
Sam took yet another corner too fast, and Dean cursed quietly under his breath.
It was quiet in the car, far too quiet. Dean wished Sam would say something, or put some music on - hell, even one of Sam's crappy tapes would do at this point, and considering Dean had already been forced to endure Britney Spears, that was a mark of desperation. Anything would be better than watching the expression on Sam's face as he drove through the darkness.
The Impala shuddered as Sam pulled it around another corner. It wasn't like him to drive so recklessly, but Dean could well remember the night he'd been in Sam's position, the way he'd driven on the way to the crossroads. He supposed he couldn't blame Sam, though if his brother managed to get them - well, himself - killed, Dean would kick his ass.
He thought uneasily of all the times he'd threatened to haunt Sam's ass if he ever damaged the Impala, and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Sam had better not get any clever ideas.
Suddenly, Sam slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.
"Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean yelled, doing his best not to go flying. "What the hell are you doing?"
There was no answer, of course. Sam had opened his door and was climbing out; Dean followed hastily, only then realizing where Sam had stopped the car.
At a crossroads.
"Oh no," Dean said, watching Sam open the trunk and rummage in it. "Oh no, Sam, don't do this, c'mon, man -"
Sam strode to the centre of the crossroads, his face set, and began digging a hole in the ground.
"Oh, Jesus," Dean muttered, looking around wildly.
"Not quite," a female voice said behind him.
Dean swung round to find her standing alarmingly close behind him, once again wearing the body of some pretty, dark-haired woman. He narrowed his eyes. He didn't think it was just a coincidence that she bore a striking resemblance to Casey this time. The bitch had a sick sense of humor.
"Dean," she sighed delightedly. "Dean, Dean, Dean. I knew I was giving you a bargain when I offered a year. I really should have held out for lower, if you were going to throw your life away this early. I have to say, I didn't think even you'd settle for this low."
His every instinct was screaming at him to put distance between them, but Dean wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him back away from her. Damned if he would run from her, not even a step. "What can I say? I've never been one for hanging around. I guess you get to take me early."
She laughed, her eyes flashing red for a moment. "Tempting, tempting. Sadly, that's not how it works. You've still got two months, Dean. Of course, now it's two months of hanging around, seeing all the things you can't have any more, watching Sam grieve..."
Dean held his cocky grin with an effort, determined not to let her see any of her taunts hit home.
"Two months with no one to talk to but yourself," she continued happily. "Two months of going slowly insane, two months of uselessness. I have to say, Dean, you've exceeded even my wildest hopes for you. I couldn't have arranged it better myself."
"So you didn't arrange it, then?" Dean asked, keeping his tone casual.
Something that looked like genuine surprise flashed across her face for a moment before vanishing. "I don't break my bargains. Oh, I find the whole thing hilarious, yes, but it's none of my doing."
"But you can see me, which apparently doesn't come as part of the standard demon package," Dean pointed out.
"No, that came with the owning-your-soul package." She smiled slowly. "Sorry, Dean. I guess sometimes these things just happen. Call it happy chance."
"Hey!" Sam yelled from the centre of the crossroads, and for a moment Dean thought he was responding to what the bitch had said, but the way Sam was turning to look in all directions quickly killed that notion.
"So he can't see you?" he asked, still watching Sam.
"Not if I don't want him to," she said, and laughed. "I don't know if I'm taking calls tonight. I feel like I should take the night off or something. Celebrate, you know?"
Maybe for the best, Dean thought to himself. If she refused to answer Sam's summons, his brother couldn't try making any stupid deals.
"Yes," she drawled. "I think it might be more fun to let him suffer. Just look at him, Dean: so much grief, waves of anguish just rolling off him... You Winchesters all do suffering so well. And now he's the last one. A treat to savor as long as possible, I think. He'll be back."
Dean's reply was lost as Sam yelled, "Damnit, show yourself! Now!"
The demon stiffened with what sounded to Dean like a shocked gasp, and Sam wheeled round to stare right at her.
~*~
She appeared at the edge of the crossroads, close to the Impala, and Sam tried to restrain the hatred that bubbled up in him at the sight of her, forcing himself to concentrate on his relief that she'd appeared at all. For a few minutes there, he'd thought she was just going to leave him to suffer.
"Sam Winchester," she said, with a dangerous half-smile, and moved slowly towards him. "What an... unexpected pleasure."
Sam held his ground as she approached. "I want him back."
Her smile took on a sharper twist. "Did your mother never teach you manners? Oh - I suppose not. Issuing orders, not so much as a hello... I don't like being dictated to, you know."
Sam ignored her taunting entirely. "I want him back. You promised him twelve months, and there are still two left. By taking him now, you've voided the deal. Bring him back."
She laughed out loud, sounding almost delighted now. "Oh, Sam! You're really trying to get him out of his deal on a technicality? That's... almost sweet. Of course, you were studying to become a lawyer, weren't you? During those years you abandoned the very brother you're begging for now?"
He suspected it was only his anger which stopped him from flinching at that one. The bitch had a real talent for sensing someone's weaknesses.
"Funny how you don't know what you got till it's gone, isn't it?" she said mockingly. "You seem to make that mistake a lot, don't you, Sam? Barely managed to exchange a civil sentence with Daddy Dearest until he traded in his soul..."
"I said," Sam repeated slowly, "that I want him back. You had no right to take him yet."
"I didn't take him," the demon said, and laughed at his expression. "Oh, Sam, surely you didn't really think it would be that simple? This wasn't my doing. Believe me, you won't be able to wriggle out of this on a technicality. Actually, I did wonder if you might have killed him - in the hope that I'd fall into that very trap. Because you've been getting desperate, haven't you, Sam? Desperate enough to kill your own brother?"
Sam fought down a wave of nausea. He was pretty sure that he lost the battle to keep it from showing on his face this time, but it was just all too close, too soon since he'd watched Dean breathe his last, since he'd tasted his brother's blood in his mouth. And feeling all the sicker because if he'd thought it would work... No, he wouldn't have done it, not now, probably not even in two months' time. But at that point, he might at least have considered it.
God, what did that make him?
"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," she said with an air of condescending generosity. "Part of Dean's deal was that you'd drop dead if there was any cheating, but since I've no proof that you killed him, I'll turn a blind eye, just this once. Though you really ought to be a bit more careful in future, Sam."
Sam could only glare at her, furious and helpless. If what she was saying was true and she hadn't taken Dean, then he couldn't use that to force her to bring his brother back.
Dean was dead, and there was nothing he could do.
"So nice talking to you," the demon said, her voice sharp with malicious satisfaction. She turned and began sauntering away, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh - but next time, Sam, make sure to ask nicely instead of ordering. Or you could be waiting for a very long time."
And as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone.
Sam stood staring into space for a long moment before his rage took him. He spun around and kicked a large rock beside the crossroads, and again, and again.
Then he collapsed to the ground and stopped fighting back his tears.
~*~
By the time they drew up at Bobby's, it was late the next night; Sam had been forced to take more back-routes than usual, with the body in the back seat. Dean was seriously relieved that they hadn't encountered any police officers. Although possibly that was selfish; maybe his dead body would be enough to get Sam out of his problems with the FBI.
What the hell. It wasn't like he could tell Sam about that awesome idea, anyway.
He hadn't even thought about the fact that Bobby didn't know what had happened until Bobby emerged from the house, shotgun in hand, and stopped short at the sight of Sam sitting alone - well, as far as he would be able to tell - in the front seat of the Impala. Dean figured one look at the expression on Sam's face would be enough to clue Bobby in.
He wasn't really expecting just how pale Bobby went, though, or how slowly he walked to the side of the car and looked in, then leaned heavily against the roof, bowing his head.
There was silence for a long moment. Dean felt oddly awkward, like an intruder, and had to shake his head at the weirdness of it all.
"C'mon inside," Bobby said eventually, his voice gruffer than usual. He patted the roof of the Impala once and then turned and headed slowly back indoors.
Sam stayed where he was for a few minutes longer, staring straight ahead, then obeyed. Dean followed.
Bobby had broken out the good whiskey and poured a glass for Sam. Dean felt weirdly honored. And slightly bitter that he wouldn't be able to have any of it himself. He wondered where the hell ghosts went for a stiff drink.
"To Dean," Bobby said quietly, raising his glass, then downed most of it in one go and topped it up again.
"Dean," Sam said, even more softly, and took a sip of his own.
They drank in silence for several minutes before Bobby finally broke it. "What happened?"
Sam haltingly told him what he knew. Dean was surprised to remember just how little that was - that Dean had gone to the warehouse to find Ben, and that the demon had been called Stacey, with dark hair and pale skin. For his part, Dean had almost forgotten that Casey had been going by another name.
"He must have gotten Ben out," Sam said finally. "Ben was hiding by the Impala when I got there. I found - I found Dean in the alley." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, before he continued, "Whoever she was, she was already gone when I got there."
Bobby shook his head and took a another gulp of whiskey. "Saving the kid like that... I reckon it's how he would have wanted to go out. He always did take the cases with kids to heart."
Sam looked up from his glass, eyes burning with something like fury. "He's dead, Bobby. He -" He choked off the end of the sentence.
Bobby sighed. "He only had two months left, Sam." His voice was regretful, but firm. "We've spent ten months searching for a way out of that deal, and we've come up with nothing. And that demon friend of yours, she's always talked a good game about helping to save him, but she's never really come through with it, has she? You ain't told me much about anything she's told you or showed you when you two are off alone together, but I reckon you'd have done something by now if she'd showed you a way."
Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at Sam. Sam hadn't told him about what he and Ruby were up to, but that had been due to the risk of the deal being broken and Sam dying. Dean had assumed that his brother was at least talking to Bobby, had in fact been counting on Bobby's advice to keep Sam from doing anything too stupid. As much as he'd distrusted Ruby and her motives, he'd always reassured himself that Bobby wouldn't let things get out of hand.
"A lot can happen in two months," Sam said, his voice taut with anger. "We were getting closer. I don't care if saving a kid is the way he'd like to go out or not, he had no right to just -"
He broke off again, and Dean could see him shaking.
"I remember back in that ghost town, when Dean... lost you," Bobby said after a moment. "I thought about the way he grieved for your daddy, and I thought I knew what I was expecting. Thought I had an idea how to help him, or at least get through to him."
Dean fought the urge to walk out of the room. He hated talking about the time Sam had been gone, even when no one knew he was there or expected him to take part in the conversation.
"I was wrong," Bobby said, finally. "I shoulda known, really; you always were his world. I never thought he'd go as far as he did, never even occurred to me. I knew exactly why he did it, though. Sam... don't you do what he did, okay? It has to end somewhere. Dean made his choice. Only way to undo it would be go one further than him, and he wouldn't want that for you."
"What are you saying?" Sam asked quietly.
"I'm saying it's time to let your brother go," Bobby said, meeting his eyes. "I'm saying I don't want to see you go the way he did." He took another mouthful of whiskey, before adding slowly, "I'm saying that, come morning, we should take Dean out to where you boys cremated your daddy, and put him to rest."
Dean looked at Sam, who was staring at Bobby as if he'd never seen him before. "Bobby, I... Look, I'm not going to do anything stupid, okay? You don't need to worry about that."
"Oh, yeah, you're the poster child for sensible, Sam," Dean muttered. "Going to the crossroads like that counts as stupid, believe me. Hell, it counts as fucking moronic, so don't try to pull that bullshit."
"I just - I just can't... think about that tonight," Sam continued, looking down at his glass. "Can we just... wait until morning?"
"Sure," Bobby said gently. "You should get some shut-eye. You ain't slept since you left here, have you?"
"No time," Sam admitted.
"If you don't want to use that room, I can make up the sofa," Bobby offered carefully.
Sam flinched, but recovered quickly. "No, the room's - fine. It'll be fine. Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby nodded. "You know where I am..." He left the offer hanging in the air.
"Thanks," Sam said again quietly.
Bobby headed off towards his own room. Sam stayed where he was, staring at the whiskey glass in his hand, though Dean didn't think he was seeing it.
Dean sighed. Watching Sam going through this was hell, and he was beginning to see exactly why the crossroads demon had been so gleeful at the prospect of him hanging around as a ghost for two months.
He thought again of how close he'd come to heading back into the warehouse, despite knowing it would almost certainly result in his death; how the thought of Sam had been the main reason he'd decided not to. Partly because he'd wanted to have those last two months with his brother, and partly because he hadn't wanted to put Sam through this. Of course, his decision hadn't made a difference in the end. But he'd still made it and that counted for something, because he didn't think he'd be able to handle the guilt if he'd chosen to do this to Sam.
Maybe that's one reason why so many ghosts of suicides start causing problems. They go mad from the guilt.
"Sammy," he said out loud. It was weird enough knowing no one else could hear him; if he didn't say things aloud anyway, he thought he probably would go mad. "Sam, you need sleep. C'mon, you haven't slept in how long, dude? Go to bed."
Sam sighed and downed the rest of his glass of whiskey, then set the glass down with a clack and got to his feet.
"Huh," Dean said. "You know, I think that's the first time you've done what I told you without arguing since you were ten? And getting killed was all it took, who knew."
He followed Sam to the bedroom they always shared when they were staying at Bobby's, which had been happening more and more often over the past year. He kept close behind Sam so that he'd be able to slip through the door before his brother closed it, but he needn't have worried. Sam's movements were slow, and when he opened the door to the spare bedroom, he stopped entirely.
"C'mon, Sam, you can do this," Dean said, and wished like hell, yet again, that he could touch his brother. It was kind of ironic, because he'd never considered himself a touchy-feely kind of guy, but it was only now that he couldn't touch Sam that he realized how much he'd always relied on being able to press a hand against his brother's back or clap him on the shoulder.
Sam shuddered once, then stepped slowly into the room, and Dean slipped past before his brother shut the door.
~*~
He'd told Bobby it would be fine, but it was harder being back in this room than he'd expected.
Sam had thought that after driving the Impala, the worst was behind him, and that had been worse, far worse. The Impala was so much a part of Dean that getting behind the wheel and driving her all the way back to Bobby's house had almost been too much for him.
He hadn't expected the room to be anything like as hard. The two of them had stayed there a lot, sure, but it wasn't like... a home, or anything.
And yet. There was a knife lying on the cabinet on Dean's side of the bed, which his brother had mentioned he wanted to work a nick out of. And beside it, a tangle of various electrical components - Sam didn't even have a clue what they were, other than some gadget Dean had been working on. Some of Dean's clothes were still draped over the back of one of the chairs, and Dean's side of the bed was still rumpled and creased, since Sam had decided there was no way he was going to be the one to make the bed after Dean had taken off to Cicero.
Sam took a deep breath, feeling his eyes burning.
He stripped down to his boxer shorts mechanically, trying not to think any more. Forcing himself to slip into the bed was almost as hard as forcing himself climb behind the Impala's steering wheel had been, but he did it. He could do this. He snapped the light off and lay down, keeping to his own side of the bed.
The room was too small for two queens, but he and Dean had never had a problem with sharing, bar an occasional fight over who was stealing all the covers. They'd slept in enough rough quarters over the years to be grateful for a bed where they could get one. And Sam had always taken a certain comfort in it, despite the lack of space: it brought back memories of sleeping together in the back seat of the Impala as kids, with their father driving and humming along with the radio, safe and warm. And this year, Sam had needed that - the knowledge that he was losing his brother was easier to cope with when Dean was right there, taking up far too much space and occasionally muttering something ridiculous in his sleep.
And now the other side of the bed was empty.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. He knew Bobby was right that it had been far too long since he'd slept, and it was true he was exhausted. But it was impossible to relax into sleep with no one there to tug on the covers or kick his leg when turning over, or any of the other annoyances that would normally keep him awake.
He lay in the dark for a long time, waiting for sleep to claim him, then gave up and began pulling his clothes back on.
~*~
So, it turned out that whoever came up with that "sleep when I'm dead" line? Was a total fucking liar.
Dean was feeling cheated. Sleeping had always been one of his favorite activities - at least when he didn't have something even better to do. Finding out it was yet another thing he could no longer do was a hard blow.
Chalk up boredom as another reason why ghosts go fucking crazy.
He lay on top of the bed next to Sam for half an hour - he couldn't even claim a share of the blanket now, let alone get under it, which he supposed was fair enough given that he couldn't seem to feel the cold, but still, it was the principle of the thing: he was entitled to half the blanket, damnit. Eventually, though, he gave up. Sleep was apparently out.
And since he was trapped inside the room until Sam got up, it looked like it was time to indulge his morbid curiosity - ha, he slayed himself - and see what else he could and couldn't do now that he was vitally challenged.
He'd kind of been putting it off, because the thought of trying to walk through something freaked him the hell out - it had been bad enough when his hand had passed through Sam when he'd tried to touch him back in the alley. But he didn't much like being trapped, either, and trying to scramble out of the Impala before Sam closed his door was getting old real fast.
Dean took a deep breath. What the hell.
He walked over to the door and stretched out a hand, letting it hover gingerly just above the surface. He hesitated like that for a moment, then forced himself to push his hand forward. Part of him was still expecting it to meet the solid surface of the door and stop, but instead his hand slipped right through.
He yanked his hand back at once, and stared at it. It looked no different and no less solid than it had before, but he'd felt it pass right through the door, faintly felt the texture and grain of the wood around him, inside him. Jesus.
He tried it again, slower this time, better prepared for the sensation. It was weird as hell, but the feeling of passing through something didn't seem quite as horrible as the idea of it did. He pushed his arm through up to the shoulder, then brought it back into the room and tried sticking a leg through the door instead.
"Fine, it works," Dean muttered to himself. "Nothing to it, see? Nothing to freak out about. So quit pussy-footing around and walk through the damn thing."
It was hard to bring himself to do it, though; his brain still wasn't entirely convinced it was a good idea. After the second time he'd walked up to the door and then stopped to think about it some more, Dean was so annoyed with himself that he backed up to the end of the bed and took a run at it.
He barely had time to shudder at the feeling of the wood around him before he was through it. He'd been bracing himself to meet resistance, however, and the complete lack of it threw him off-balance; instead of stopping on the other side of the door, before he knew what was happening he had plunged through the banister on the opposite side of the hallway, fallen right through the stairs, and stumbled through the wall of the closet he'd landed in to arrive in the living room.
"...Fuck me," Dean said out loud, and sat down on the floor to recover for a moment. Damn, but he could really use some of Bobby's good whiskey right about now.
It was a few minutes before he could stop focusing on the way it had felt, passing through it all, and start trying to think about why he seemed able to pass through some things and not others. He'd sat in the Impala with Sam and hadn't fallen through it - which was just as well, because god knew how he'd have managed to stay with Sam otherwise - and he'd lain on the bed next to his brother too. For that matter, he hadn't disappeared through the floor until the thing with the stairs, and he'd managed to walk up them earlier on.
Maybe it was something to do with what he was expecting. He hadn't even thought about falling through the Impala, so he hadn't, and it hadn't occurred to him while going up the stairs earlier, either. Whereas he'd been focused on passing through things when he'd gone through the door, and so he'd gone through everything else, too.
It was a bit rough and ready as theories went, but since he couldn't exactly consult Bobby or Sam, he would settle for it until a better one came along.
Of course, the bonus of his logic was that if he concentrated, he could probably get up off the floor and try to sit down on Bobby's couch, instead, which might be marginally more comfortable. He looked over at it. Well, maybe it wouldn't, but he should probably try it anyway.
He took his time about it, though, sitting down gingerly and bracing himself in case he fell right through. When he didn't, he heaved a shaky sigh of relief and laughed quietly at himself, then sprawled out across the couch, sticking his arms behind his head and relaxing for what felt like the first time in a while.
Upstairs, a door clicked open and shut again, and Dean heard the unmistakable sound of Sam's footsteps padding towards the stairs. A few moments later, Sam walked past the entrance to the living room and went out the front door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Looked like Dean was going to have to put his new-found skills to the test again. Damn.
But the front door turned out to be piece of cake compared to his little trip through the stairs before, largely because there was nothing else to fall through on the other side; after a brief, unreal moment he was through it, and took a second to shudder and get a hold of himself again before heading towards the Impala.
For a moment, Dean wondered whether Sam was actually planning to take off in the middle of the night, but he relaxed slightly when Sam slid into the passenger side of the car instead, closing the door behind him and turning sideways to curl up against the door.
Dean grimaced, but gamely moved through the other door and sat down as best he could on the driver's seat. He had a suspicion he was sitting in the seat for a few seconds before he got the hang of it, but it wasn't too bad. His girl was much more nicer to pass through than anything else he'd tried so far, he thought smugly. Though he'd still be happier if Sam hadn't dragged him out here.
"You're a fucking jerk, Dean," Sam said.
Dean jumped and turned to his brother, but Sam wasn't looking at him - he was staring over the back of the bench. At Dean's body.
"What happened to not speaking ill of the dead?" Dean wondered aloud, doing his best to stay flippant.
"Bobby thinks you gave up, threw your life away," Sam said. "Oh, he didn't put it quite like that, but it's what he meant. And I don't know what to think. I don't want to think you'd do that, but... but you've never valued your own life as much as you should."
"Hey, I valued my life," Dean said, feeling vaguely insulted. "Okay, maybe I took a few risks now and then, but that's the way the job goes."
"The thought of you throwing your life away..." Sam continued, "...it makes me so angry I could punch you, you dick."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that, Sammy."
"We still had two months," Sam said. His voice shook. "I still had two months to find a way to save you, Dean. Or two months together, either way. You really threw that away? It was that pointless?"
"I didn't, Sam," Dean said, his humor fading. "Damnit, I didn't, all right? I chose to fucking live and come back to you, and I didn't mean for things to go down the way they did. Okay?"
"I don't want to think that," Sam said quietly. "It makes me want to - Jesus, Dean. I don't want to believe it. But either way, you're still gone. You still left me alone, and that was always in your game plan. And how dare you think I'd be less broken by your death than you were by mine?"
Dean swallowed. There wasn't much he could say to that.
"I miss you, you jerk," Sam whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what to do!"
Dean couldn't stand it. He leaned over to his brother, knowing it was useless but unable to help trying to touch him. At the same moment, Sam leaned forwards to bury his head in his hands -
And passed right through Dean.
Dean jerked back with a gasp, still reeling from the sense of Sam in and around him, grief and fury and an ache that took his breath away.
Sam slammed back against the door, staring ahead, eyes wide.
Jesus Christ, Dean thought.
Sam swallowed hard, moistened his lips. "Dean...?" he whispered, almost soundlessly.
Please, Dean thought, wishing as hard as he ever had, and moved forward.
Slipping into Sam was nothing like passing through anything else. Dean could feel the blood rushing through his brother's veins, the pulse of his grief, the faint spark of his hope. He could feel Sam, all through him.
He pulled back before the sensation overwhelmed him completely. Sam had his eyes closed, and though he was very pale, there was a faint smile on his lips.
"Dean," he said, softly but more certain. He opened his eyes, and laughed a little nervously. "Jesus, tell me I'm not going crazy, man."
"You've always been crazy," Dean replied weakly, and tried not to be disappointed when Sam clearly didn't hear him. What had he expected, after all?
"Okay," Sam said. "Okay. Maybe I am going crazy, but... I know what we can try."
~*~
"Oh man, you gotta be kidding me," Dean said.
"Okay, I know it's a bit makeshift, but it worked at the hospital back when you were in that coma, remember?" Sam said. "So get over it and let's try it."
Yeah, Dean remembered. Rather more than he expected to, in fact; he not only remembered Sam telling him about it when he woke up, he could also remember now what it had been like, being out of his body. And the Ouija board had been ridiculous enough back then.
Sam scribbled YES on another post-it and stuck it on the corner of the upside-down chess board he'd fetched from the tiny bookcase in their bedroom, then set a shot glass upside-down in the centre of the board.
Dean gave a gusty sigh and sat down on the floor opposite Sam. "There has got to be a better way than this, dude. If I'd remembered how stupid this was after the last time, I'd have made you research it."
"Dean?" Sam said softly, pressing his fingers to the glass.
"All right, all right," Dean grumbled, and reached out.
His fingers went right through the glass.
"Damnit," Dean hissed, yanking his hands back and glaring at them. "I knew practicing going through things was a bad idea."
"...Dean?" Sam said again, more uncertainly.
Dean couldn't stand the doubt creeping into his brother's voice. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and reached out again.
When he felt cool glass under his fingers and heard his brother inhale sharply, he breathed out slowly and risked opening his eyes again. Moving the glass was hard, and as he shifted it slowly across to the YES post-it, Dean had time to wonder whether it was because it wasn't a proper Ouija board, or whether it was because he was dead and not just disembodied this time.
Sam made a choked sound, somewhere between laughter and crying. "Dean, oh god. You have got to stop doing this to me, man."
Dean couldn't help the wry grin spreading across his face. God, it was good to talk to his brother, even in such a ridiculous and stupidly slow way. He carefully spelled out his message.
NOT MY IDEA
The smile faded from Sam's face. "Wasn't it? I - I didn't want to believe you were trying to... but I wasn't sure, not completely. Were you trying to... you know...?"
Dean's grin vanished too. He needed Sam to understand this; he hadn't realized how important it was until he'd heard Sam talking in the Impala. He dragged the glass over to NO.
Sam nodded jerkily. "Good. I just... Good. Okay. I'm glad." He took a deep breath and let it out again, then laughed a little. "God, I don't even know where to start, now."
"Know the feeling," Dean muttered, and waited for his brother to sort through his thoughts.
"Okay, so... we have to figure out a way to get you back," Sam said after a moment.
Dean stared at him, then turned to the board. DEAD, he spelled out, in case Sam had missed the obvious.
Sam snorted, though it sounded a bit too close to tears for Dean's liking. "I had noticed, believe it or not. Didn't stop you from bringing me back, though, did it? We just have to find a way."
Oh shit, Dean thought. Much as he didn't particularly want to be dead, he really didn't want Sam doing anything stupid.
NO DEAL
"You're a bit of a hypocrite, Dean," Sam said, his voice thin. "Do as I say, not as I do, huh?" He didn't give Dean a chance to spell anything out, just went straight on. "I won't trade my soul, okay? I won't do that. But if I have to make a deal, I'll make one. And you're not exactly in a position to stop me right now."
Dean cursed under his breath. Sam was looking straight ahead, and Dean could read the set of his jaw. He wasn't going to be able to talk his brother out of it. Especially when he could only talk via a goddamn Ouija board.
NOT LIFE, he spelled out.
Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Okay, I won't trade that either. If only because I know you'd just -" He cut off as Dean started moving the glass again.
DEAL LAST RESORT
Sam raised his head again, staring right at where Dean was sitting, and Dean held his breath.
"Okay," Sam said eventually. "Okay, I'll try to find another way first. But I mean it, Dean, it that's what it takes, that's what I'm going to do. There's got to be a way." He sighed, then asked hesitantly, as if afraid of bringing up bad memories, "Dean... who did it?"
WHY
"Why?!" Sam repeated disbelievingly. "Because I'm going to kill them, that's why. They murdered you, Dean. It was a demon, wasn't it? Which one?"
Dean thought about it. Casey had given him a chance, and he was sure she hadn't known Father Gil was waiting in the alley. Well, pretty sure. But even if he didn't owe her anything, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to go chasing after those two. It was too dangerous, particularly if Sam really had been their real target.
NOT IMPORTANT, he spelled out slowly.
"'Not important'?" Sam repeated. "Not important? Dean - Jesus, okay, I get that you want to protect me or whatever, okay? But that demon is still out there, hurting people. It killed you, and I'm not going to sit back and just - accept that!" He chuckled grimly, a sound that made Dean feel cold. "Guess I'm too much of a Winchester for that. Besides... maybe whoever it was could bring you back, with the right... incentive. It's worth a try."
Dean stared at his brother. He understood where Sam was coming from. And though he didn't think Casey or Father Gil had the power to bring him back from the dead, he wasn't completely certain.
But it wasn't worth risking Sam's life.
NO
"Fine," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'll figure it out for myself. Okay, I'll talk to Bobby in the morning, see if he can think of any other options, and work out what to do with... with your body until we get this... sorted out. Ice, maybe."
Dean looked at him, at the hope shining in his eyes, the purpose and resolve in the lines of his face, and hoped Sam wasn't getting his hopes up too far.
SLEEP
Sam laughed, a little nervously. "I don't know if I can. I..." He swallowed, and continued more quietly, "Don't laugh, okay, but... part of me still thinks if I close my eyes, you'll be gone."
Dean didn't feel like laughing. He could still remember far too clearly how he'd felt when Sam had come back, after his deal: how he hadn't wanted to even blink, how letting Sam out of his sight for a moment had been unthinkable.
MISSED YOU TOO, he spelled out.
Sam gave a watery smile. "If I'd known what the price would be for getting you to have a chick-flick moment..."
Dean laughed. God, it was good to have his brother back again.
SLEEP
Sam sighed. "Fine, I'll try. You... you'll stay here? You won't be gone when I wake up?"
HERE, Dean spelled out.
"Okay," Sam said again, and took his hands off the shot glass, his movements slow and reluctant, before walking over to the bed, shrugging wearily out of his clothes for the second time that night.
Dean concentrated for a moment before he tried lying down on his side, still mindful of the way his hand had gone through the shot glass. He guessed he was going to have to practice controlling the whole touching/passing through thing some more. But not tonight, not when Sam had asked him to stay.
"Night, Dean," Sam said, snapping off the light.
Dean turned over onto his side so he could look at him. "Night, Sammy." He watched his brother's body slowly lose its tension, his breathing starting to even out.
"Least I don't have to fight you for the blanket," Sam murmured, his voice blurred with sleep.
Dean laughed, and for the first time began to hope that things might work out okay.
Chapter Three