Somewhere a Clock is Ticking, 3/9 (R, Sam/Dean)
I'm at my parents' house in Scotland right now, but tomorrow morning we're heading off into the wilds of the internet-less world, so I will be gone for a week! No updates/comments likely from me until I get back, so I hope everyone has a good week. <333
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 3 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 groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Sam, how am I meant to live vicariously through you when you don't have a goddamn life? I mean, you don't even have the excuse of being dead."
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two
Chapter Three
When Sam blinked open his eyes, sunlight was glaring in through the window of the spare room. He groaned and threw an arm across his face, then sat up abruptly as everything came flooding back to him.
"Dean," he whispered.
The makeshift Ouija board was still lying on the floor where he'd left it during the night, but there was no other sign that any of it had been real.
"Dean," he said, a bit louder, hearing the panic bleeding into his voice, but unable to hold it back.
Then the feeling of Dean he'd experienced in the Impala during the night was back. It was impossible to describe even to himself, the sensation of Dean around him, inside him, but it reminded him a little of Dean hugging him when they were young, his big brother's warmth surrounding him. This feeling was, if anything, slightly cold, but he could still feel Dean's presence, sense the reassurance offered as clearly as if Dean had said Chill, Sammy.
Sam took a deep breath and opened his eyes as the sensation faded again a moment later, relieved beyond words. His gaze was drawn to the Ouija board, where the shot glass was now moving from one letter to the next.
CHILL. STILL HAUNTING YOUR ASS
Sam laughed shakily. "And I didn't even have to trash your car."
The glass jerked across to NO so fast that it toppled over and rolled off onto the floor.
Sam grinned and got out of bed, stretching. He felt a thousand times better than he had the previous day, and he knew it wasn't just the sleep. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower, then we can go and talk to Bobby, okay?" He picked the shot glass up and set it back on the board.
BORED, the glass spelled out. SLEEP WHEN DEAD TOTAL LIE.
"Just... stay out of trouble until I've had a shower," Sam warned him. "The last thing we want is Bobby mistaking you for a poltergeist and going for the salt. Okay?"
The glass was motionless for a few moments before it slid sulkily to YES.
"Okay, I'll be right back," Sam said, and headed for the bathroom, picking up speed when he thought about all the mischief a bored Dean tended to get up to. A bored, ghostly Dean? Now that was a recipe for disaster.
But the room seemed fairly intact when Sam returned from his shower, still scrubbing the towel across his hair.
"Dean?" he asked nonetheless, and held his breath until the glass shuddered its way over to YES. He wondered how long it would take to break that habit. He suspected it would be a while.
"Okay," he said, dressing hastily, "we should go talk to Bobby. You think you could do the same thing with him that you did last night and when I woke up? It might be the quickest way to convince him I'm not going crazy."
The glass shot across to NO. Then slowly spelled out DUDE.
Sam reconsidered hastily. It was true that the sensation had been kind of... overwhelming. And since as far as he could figure out it must have been caused by Dean passing through him... Okay, he could see why Dean wasn't ready to get that... intimate, for lack of a better word, with someone else. The idea kind of bothered him too.
"Fine," he said. "I'll take the board down, you can use that."
Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when Sam walked in. He looked up sharply, his eyes sweeping over Sam assessingly before narrowing. Sam wasn't really surprised. Bobby didn't miss much, and the difference in his emotional state compared to when he'd arrived the previous night was bound to be obvious.
"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked, pouring a second mug of coffee and passing it across the table.
"Better," Sam said honestly, sitting down opposite him. He set the folded-up chess board on the chair next to him and accepted the mug, taking a grateful sip. "Bobby... Dean's here."
Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"He's here," Sam repeated. "A spirit, I guess. I made a kind of Ouija board and we talked. Look, I promise I'm not crazy, okay?"
"I know you ain't crazy, Sam," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair and looking around the room assessingly. "You're not the type. And you've seen too much to fall for grief-induced hallucinations and the like."
His tone was not exactly overjoyed, and Sam frowned. "Okay, good. So we just need to figure out how to bring him back. Have you got any ideas?"
Bobby eyed him in silence, long enough for Sam to feel slightly uncomfortable, then said with alarming gentleness, "Sam, Dean's dead."
"I know that," Sam said defensively. "But he's here -"
"Don't change the fact that he's dead," Bobby said inexorably. "Death's not something you can just mess around with."
"You're saying we should just... leave him like this?" Sam said in disbelief.
"I'm saying I stand by what I said last night about taking his body out to that clearing," Bobby said quietly. "All the more so, if he's not at rest. Bringing him back... it can't be done, Sam. Not without -"
He cut off and Sam watched him like a hawk, his mind racing. "Not without what?"
"Not without doing something Dean would never forgive you for," Bobby told him, and rubbed wearily at his forehead. "You think you could murder someone so as to bind a Reaper, force it to bring him back? Or are you thinking about trading away your soul, too, same way Dean did? Or I guess you could bring him back as a zombie, see how many people you can stand by and let him kill before you force yourself to take him out. Or maybe it's necromancy you're thinking of dabbling in, see if you can find something there? Or -"
"Enough," Sam said, his voice strained.
"I'm sorry," Bobby said after a few moments of silence. "I truly am. Dean was... But bringing someone back from the dead - there's always a price, Sam. And it's always too high. For a reason."
"I don't... I wouldn't do anything like that," Sam said quietly. "Bobby, I'm not - that's not what I'm talking about. But there's got to be some other way. I can't just give up, not when he's here, not when there's a chance. I've got to try."
Bobby sighed. "I was afraid you were gonna put it like that. But you gotta be careful, Sam."
"I will," Sam promised. "So... you'll help?"
"Goes against my better judgement," Bobby said. "But I'll do what I can, see if I can come up with anything. And I guess you'll be wanting to keep his body on ice for a while. There's an outhouse out back I can rig up for that. It'll take me a day or so to get it working properly, but it should be okay."
"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said gratefully. "I really appreciate it."
Bobby waved a hand dismissively. "What are you planning on doing first?"
"I think I'm going to drive back to Cicero," Sam said. "I want to find out who did this, see if they're capable of reversing it."
"Good a place to start as any," Bobby agreed thoughtfully. "You better be careful, though. We both know Dean's a damn good hunter. Anything that can take him out is gonna be a real danger."
"Just one more reason I need to find them," Sam pointed out. "I'll be careful, I promise. And I'll keep you posted."
Bobby nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna take a look at that outhouse, see what's needed."
Sam watched him go and took a gulp of his coffee, thinking back over the conversation. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd expected, although maybe he should have seen it coming. He understood what Bobby had been saying, and maybe if it had been some other person in Dean's situation, he would have agreed.
But this was Dean, and Sam wasn't giving up on him.
What's dead should stay dead.
Sam paused at that memory, at the realization that Dean had just been listening to the entire conversation with Bobby. And Dean had never really accepted that there were prices worth paying for his life.
He hastily unfolded the chessboard-cum-Ouija board and spread it out on the table, setting the glass in the centre. "Dean?"
Nothing.
"Dean," he said again, striving for patience. "C'mon, man. Talk to me. Please."
Still nothing.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "C'mon, don't do this to me. Please, Dean."
The glass shifted slowly, jerkily, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief, watching it carefully and wondering if he was reading too much into the jerkiness of its movements.
HE'S RIGHT
"About what?" Sam asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
ALL
"I already promised you I'm not going to do anything stupid," Sam reminded him. God, he wished he could see his brother, hear his voice. It would be so much easier to get through to him. By shaking him until he saw reason, if necessary. "I'm not going to do anything like that, okay? We'll find another way."
The glass remained still.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "Don't give up, okay? Please. I'm going to find a way out of this, but I need you to hang on for me. Okay? You brought me back, didn't you? And this is different, because we've got time. And we're together. So we'll figure out a better solution. I just... Dean, I can't go through that, okay? I can't lose you. So stay with me, please."
He felt dimly like he might have said something similar as Dean lay dying, though he didn't remember many details beyond his terror and desperation. He was under no illusions about the fact that this was just as important a battle to win, because Dean was a stubborn bastard, and if he truly made up his mind not to stay, Sam wouldn't be able to stop him from just... ceasing to be.
"I need you," Sam whispered. "Dean..."
The glass shuddered, then slowly spelled out OK.
Sam sighed with relief and tried to brush at his eyes surreptitiously. "Okay. I'm going to see how Bobby's getting on, and then we'll, uh, need to move your body to the outhouse." He paused as the glass started moving again.
COAT
Sam frowned. "Coat?"
RING, AMULET
"Your things," Sam said, thinking. "What, you want me to... take them?"
GETTING CORPSY
Sam couldn't help a surprised bark of laughter. "Jesus." Still, it sounded like Dean might be feeling better about the whole situation again, and Sam would encourage that as much as possible. "Okay, I'll do my best. Maybe we should cut off the rest of your clothes, too, they're... not at their best."
NOT BOBBY
Sam really did laugh at that. "Dean Winchester, modest. Who knew? I suppose you'll be wanting me to clean out the back seat of the car, too."
SHOULDA COVERED IT. TAUGHT BETTER
"You did," Sam agreed, "but I had other things on my mind at the time." He abandoned that line of conversation before his mood could sour. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
WHATEVER, the glass spelled out slowly. Then, after a pause, NEED WHATEVER POST-IT.
Sam laughed again, and scribbled WHATEVER on another post-it, sticking it to a relatively uncluttered corner of the board. "You can think about what other words we need while I'm gone."
The glass pointed to WHATEVER, but Sam could almost feel Dean knock against his shoulder as he left.
~*~
"Thanks again, Bobby," Sam said as he slid behind the wheel. "I really appreciate everything you've done."
"Just try to stay out of trouble," Bobby told him. "And I know it's a tall order, but try to keep your brother out of it, too."
"Hey," Dean said indignantly.
Well, he supposed that considering his current predicament he couldn't really argue that much.
"I'll do my best," Sam said with a grin. "Talk to you later, Bobby."
Bobby patted the roof of the Impala once and headed back towards the house.
"You set?" Sam asked.
Dean sighed. The whole Ouija board thing had been stupid enough to begin with, but now it was really starting to get annoying. Still, if it was the only way for him to talk to Sam, then he'd just have to put up with it. He pushed the shot glass across to YES. He was pretty sure that once the car started moving, the chessboard was going to fall off the front bench and onto the floor, but that was Sam's problem.
"Okay," Sam said, and started up the car.
Dean settled back as they set off, and concentrated for a moment to make sure he didn't fall through into the back seat. He was getting better at controlling whether he passed through something or touched it. Though 'touched' wasn't the right word, not really. He could move things - well, small things like the shot glass, at least - but it didn't feel like he touched them, not the way he'd touched things before. He didn't feel them. The only time he'd felt things was when he passed through them.
And Sam. He could feel Sam, too - not quite the same way as when they'd touched back when he was alive, but more real than anything else he'd tried to feel. And even more so when he'd passed through Sam: that had been... intense.
"So, I could totally take this opportunity to get my own back," Sam said conversationally. "You realize this is the ultimate 'driver picks the music' situation, right? You wouldn't even be able to whine about it. Just think of all the good music I could subject you to. All the modern music, Dean. I bet it would be good for you."
"Oh, you wouldn't," Dean muttered. "You wouldn't dare."
The thing was, though, Sam totally would. He was such a little bitch that way. And he was right that Dean couldn't do much to stop him. Well, he could always try to jump into Sam and possess him, but there was always a risk he might drive them off the road in the process.
If Sam put on anything too droopy, though, Dean wasn't ruling anything out. Or chirpy. Dean didn't do chirpy.
"What to pick, what to pick..." Sam mused.
"You're so bluffing, bitch," Dean said, but kept one sharp eye on where Sam's fingers were hovering anyway.
"Ah, it's just no fun when I can't hear you whining," Sam relented, and stuck a random Metallica tape in.
Dean snorted, and moved the glass to the BITCH post-it he'd convinced Sam to make before they left.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said.
Dean grinned and sang along to the music, feeling better than he had in a while. The only good thing about no one being able to hear anything he said was that he could sing at the top of his voice if he wanted, and no one would complain.
"So, you thought any more about telling me who did it?" Sam asked a few minutes later.
"Nope," Dean said brightly, and moved the glass accordingly.
"You could save me a lot of time," Sam said. "And I'd be safer if I was better prepared for what I might be walking into."
Dean glared at him. "Low blow, Sammy."
He knew Sam had a point, but he was still determined to try to stop Sam from going up against Casey and Father Gil. He didn't think either of them would be able to bring him back - let alone willing - and he was pretty sure they would be a real danger to Sam. But with a bit of luck they would be long gone, and Sam would turn up nothing but dead-ends.
So to speak.
"You know I'm going to figure it out anyway," Sam told him, and paused meaningfully.
Dean went back to singing along with the music.
"Fine," Sam said, seeming to realize that no other response was forthcoming.
Dean shot a glance at his brother and wondered how long it would be before Sam would say something else. His brother was being decidedly chattier than usual. Dean supposed it was understandable, since Sam couldn't hear anything he said, and was more or less trying to carry the conversation for both of them. Plus, after the whole death thing... Dean could still remember how he'd done everything but physically cling to his brother after Sam came back, and about the only reason he'd quit that so soon was because there had been no way he could convince Sam everything was normal otherwise. Sam didn't have the option of clinging to him, or keeping him constantly in sight; all he could do was keep talking and make Dean keep communicating via the stupid Ouija board.
He was pretty sure Sam was going to wear his voice out before nightfall.
"So, do you -" Sam started again.
Dean leaned across and allowed one hand to slip into Sam's shoulder. Just far enough to have that feeling of connection, of being surrounded and filled by Sam.
Just far enough for Sam to feel him in return. Dean watched the tension slowly bleed out of Sam's shoulders, and his brother closed his mouth again, smiling slightly.
Dean grinned, and started singing along with the music again.
~*~
"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked again, a note of anxiety in his voice.
DUDE, Dean spelled out. EAT.
"There's bound to be a lot of people in there, though," Sam said. "I just - I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to be around so many of them."
Dean rolled his eyes. BORED. GO IN.
"I - okay," Sam gave in. "But if it starts getting too much for you or there are problems, just come back out, okay? Let me know somehow and I'll leave. I guess I could always take the Ouija board in..."
Dean was glad he'd gotten Sam to make a DUDE post-it too: it was saving him a lot of glass-pushing. He was a goddamn Ouija genius. DUDE. WTF.
Sam groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess that would be a bad idea, huh? Okay. Just find a way to let me know if you need me to leave."
YES, Dean spelled out, more to reassure his brother than because he really felt an answer to that was needed.
Sam sat in the car for another moment, then gave a worried sigh and got out.
Truth be told, Sam's freak-out notwithstanding, Dean was eager to go into the diner. Awesome though it was that Sam now knew he was there, it was still boring as hell not being able to drive or even have a proper conversation with him. Staring at the scenery had lost its appeal after the first ten minutes. Since sleep was also not an option, Dean was about ready to take any opportunity he could get to find something new to look at. Besides, Sam really did need to eat sometime today. If Dean couldn't have a massive burger with fries and all the trimmings, the least Sam could do was eat it for him.
The diner was doing a fairly steady trade, but it was hardly crowded. Sam made his way over to a booth in the quietest corner, and Dean slid in opposite him, nearly falling through the seat before he managed to steady himself. Maybe it was just as well that Sam couldn't see him.
Dean stared around with interest, drinking everything in. Then the waitress appeared and moved towards their booth, and damn. She was short and curvy, and man, he was loving that shirt she was wearing. Particularly when she leaned over to give Sam a better view.
"How can I help you?" she asked, shooting Sam a killer smile. She had a mole next to her mouth, and wow, Dean did love a woman with moles.
"Um, I'll have the chicken salad, please," Sam said. "And coffee." He passed her the menu.
Her smile slightly diminished, the waitress scribbled the order on her pad and headed towards the kitchen.
Dean groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Sam, you are a disgrace to the name of Winchester. How am I meant to live vicariously through you when you don't have a goddamn life? I mean, you don't even have the excuse of being dead."
Sam looked around nervously, then whispered, "Dean, you okay?"
Dean sighed, and prodded one of the sachets an inch or so.
"Okay," Sam whispered, looking relieved, and sat back.
Dean took a moment to just look at him. Sam was still too pale, and there were lines around his eyes Dean didn't remember being there before, but he looked like he'd be okay. He was wearing Dean's amulet around his neck. It was a little odd, seeing it hanging it there, and Dean guessed Sam had felt it too, because he'd refused to wear it until Dean talked him into it. The way Dean figured it, it wasn't exactly protecting him at the moment, so Sam might as well wear it and hopefully benefit a little from its protection too. Sam had given in eventually, and he was fiddling with it now, passing it from finger to finger.
Ah, the hell with it. As long as he managed to keep Sam alive, Dean wouldn't complain too much about his lack of a life.
The waitress reappeared a few minutes later with Sam's meal and coffee, and another smile that Sam returned politely but distantly. Dean watched raptly as she headed away again. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, he was confronted with the sight of his brother digging into his chicken salad, perhaps not as ravenously as Dean himself sometimes ate, but with clear appreciation.
Dean stared at the chicken and the coffee. God, what he wouldn't give for a good cup of coffee. He might not be hungry or thirsty, but that didn't mean he couldn't murder a burger right about now. Hell, even Sam's green shit was starting to look good at this point.
Sam took another gulp of his coffee, eyes half-closing for a second as he savoured it, and okay, this was totally unfair.
Dean slid out of the booth and wandered off to find the waitress again. Staring at her had to be way more fun than watching Sam eat.
~*~
Sam did his best to eat quickly. Dean had been pretty insistent that he stop somewhere and eat dinner properly, but Sam was still worried about his brother being around this many people. He had no idea what it was like for him now, and he didn't want to take any risks. The memory of losing Dean was still far too fresh.
The coffee wasn't exactly to his taste, but it was hot and strong, and right then Sam would take what he could get. He wanted to cover another good part of the distance to Cicero before stopping for the night if he could: the longer it took them to get there, the slimmer his chances of finding the demon that his brother had run up against. And since Dean couldn't drive, Sam was going to need the coffee.
Still, he did plan on stopping somewhere for the night; this wasn't the panicked journey he'd made a few days earlier, chasing after Dean. If he didn't get some rest, he'd be useless by the time he managed to track this demon down.
He glanced across the booth, wondering if Dean was still sitting opposite him. The sachet Dean had moved before had lain undisturbed since. Sam hoped his brother was just staying still and trying to avoid attracting attention.
Then again, this was Dean he was talking about.
Sam finished off his salad hastily and called for the check.
"Dean," he hissed under his breath, and waited.
The sachet didn't move. Neither did anything else on the table.
Sam took a deep breath and told himself not to panic. "Dean," he whispered again, a little louder. "Dean, everything okay?" He shut up abruptly as the waitress returned with the check, managing a smile for her, though he was afraid it might be closer to a grimace.
As soon as she'd left, he opened his mouth to call for Dean again, only to snap it closed as the same sachet as before shifted slightly across the table. Sam closed his eyes for a second, feeling his heart pounding harder with relief, then murmured, "Let's go," and headed back out to the Impala.
He only managed to restrain himself until they were inside the car, though. "Are you okay? What happened? Was it just too much? Seriously, we can avoid crowded places, Dean -"
The shot glass shifted to the CHILL post-it Dean had told him to make, and Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and try to calm down. He watched as the Ouija board spelled out: BORED. CUTE WAITRESS GOT IT ON WITH BOSS. HOT. RED BRA, DUDE.
Sam stared at the Ouija board, then at the place where Dean was presumably sitting, and finally had to look out of the front window to try to keep his temper. "You mean while I was sitting there, worrying the hell about whether you were okay, thinking I might have lost you again, you were spying on some poor woman who didn't even know you were there?"
There was a pause.
CAN'T DO MUCH BUT LOOK. MIGHT AS WELL MAKE MOST OF ONLY PLUS. OR GO MAD
Sam forced himself to take another deep breath. "Look, I know this has got to be hard for you, Dean, and we're going to fix it, okay? But... Jesus. Find a way to let me know next time you're going to wander off, okay?"
Another pause, then: OK.
Sam swallowed hard and tried not to be too pathetically relieved. He could understand that his brother might not want to be right at his side twenty-four hours a day - though this soon after Dean's death, Sam personally was all for it - but one thing he couldn't handle was Dean disappearing without warning.
He thought about bringing up Dean's behavior again, telling him off for spying on the poor waitress, but decided against it. Better to stick to one battle at the time. Besides, he didn't like the sound of what Dean had said: he knew this had to be difficult for Dean. He was going to have to find some way to alleviate Dean's boredom. For both of their sakes.
"Okay," Sam said quietly. "You ready to hit the road again?"
WHATEVER, the shot glass said.
Sam bit his lip. "Hey. I mean it - we're going to fix this, Dean."
There was a pause, then the shot glass shifted jerkily to YES.
Sam tried to force down his unease and turned the key in the ignition.
~*~
Dean stared around the motel room. Man, he really might go mad if he had to lie awake in here all night.
It was a fairly standard room for them, actually, other than the fact that there was only one bed - the guy at the desk had automatically assumed that was what Sam wanted, and Dean supposed Sam could hardly have said he wanted another bed for the ghost of his dead brother. It probably made sense, anyway: there was no point in wasting money, particularly now Dean couldn't play pool or poker. The wallpaper was a disturbing shade of pink, but the room had wireless and cable, though Dean hadn't managed to persuade Sam to look for porn channels. Yet.
But after thirty seconds, he'd pretty much seen all there was to see in the room, and the thought of lying there all night, staring at the pink walls... no, it wasn't going to happen.
"Man, I'm beat," Sam said, stifling a yawn.
Dean couldn't really blame him. Sam had driven a long way that day, and he wasn't as used to driving such long stretches as Dean was. WIMP, he spelled out anyway.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. "You want me to turn the TV on for you?"
Dean made up his mind: he needed to get out of the room. NO. BAR.
Sam groaned. "Seriously, man, I'm exhausted, and I've still got a long way to drive tomorrow. I don't think I can handle going out to a bar tonight."
That was more or less what Dean had suspected, and he sighed gustily before spelling out OK. I GO, BACK LATER.
"Wait, what, on your own?" Sam demanded, sitting abruptly upright and looking alarmed.
BE FINE, Dean reassured him.
"Dean," Sam said, looking distressed. "I know you got on okay at the diner, but a bar? It might be really busy at this time of night. What if everyone starts walking through you? Or it gets to be too much for you? Or something happens and I'm not there to -"
He cut off abruptly, and Dean knew exactly what he was remembering.
NOT YOUR FAULT, SAMMY
Sam took a deep breath, but didn't respond. After a moment, though, he said, "I'll come with you," and swung his feet onto the floor.
NO, Dean said as quickly as he could. SLEEP, SAM. BE FINE. PROMISE. Personally, he didn't think much more harm could come to him now that he was dead, but he wasn't about to try telling Sam that. COME RIGHT BACK IF PROBLEM.
Sam stared at the Ouija board, looking unconvinced. "The bar over the road?"
It would have to be; Dean didn't think he'd be able to move further away from Sam than that. Even that bar might be pushing it. YES.
"Okay," Sam said, still sounding reluctant. "If you're sure. I'm holding you to that, though - if anything goes wrong, if anything happens, come right back, okay? And let me know when you're back, too."
Dean reminded himself again of how he'd felt after Sam's brush with death, and restrained himself to spelling out PROMISE.
"Okay," Sam said again, sighing.
Dean crossed the room and pressed his hand into Sam's, trying to let his brother feel his reassurance along with his presence. He waited for Sam to nod before he dropped his hand again and walked through the door.
It was only once he was outside and whistling as he headed in the direction of the bar that he realized he could have just as easily gone through the wall, rather than going out of his way to leave through the door. He wondered how long it would take to get over that habit. He wondered if he wanted to.
The bar was busy, but not quite as crowded as Sam had probably feared. Dean relaxed as he moved further inside - even though he'd never been to this bar before, he'd spent time in so many similar ones that he felt more or less at home. Even the people there were instantly familiar: over on the right was the guy he'd normally take for a small fortune at pool; over on the left was the guy to watch out for, the one most likely to cause a fight; a table in the corner was where the person most likely to be able to tell him all about the surrounding area and any potentially supernatural happenings was sitting; a couple of the girls gathered round the jukebox were underage and too obviously excited about getting served; and the bartender...
The bartender was the one he'd be trying to hook up with, circumstances and Sam permitting. She didn't look like Casey - a good thing, under the circumstances - but she was still hot, trading quips with the customers and serving up drinks confidently. She looked tough and sexy, and Dean liked that in a woman.
She looked up at that moment and smiled in his direction, and Dean could almost convince himself that it was him she was smiling at. He couldn't help grinning back, and moved further inside, drifting towards her.
There was a good atmosphere in the bar, people laughing and joking, some music that Dean didn't know but could live with pounding in the air. Dean was glad he'd come out after all. It had to be better than lying there staring at the walls and waiting for morning.
It was too bad he couldn't play pool, he thought, eyeing the game going on at the table. He wondered if Sam would get over his scruples regarding the less upstanding aspects of their lifestyle before the last of the money ran out, now Dean couldn't handle it. Well, unless his ability to touch things expanded to the point where he could pick someone's pocket. If nothing else, the look on their face as they watched their money float through mid-air ought to be hilarious.
Speaking of which, Dean hadn't had nearly enough fun with the advantages of being dead yet. And since Sam wasn't there to be a killjoy...
He moved closer to the pool table and sized up the situation. The college kid was totally getting played by an older guy who wasn't even very good at hiding what he was doing. Dean would have taken great pleasure in handing him his ass. Since that wasn't an option... Dean watched the college kid line up his next shot.
"No, no, you've got to angle it more, you're never gonna pot it that way," he instructed out loud, moving round to the pocket the kid was aiming for.
The kid took the shot and, as Dean knew it would, the ball stopped several inches short of the pocket.
"Too bad," the older guy said, "you -" He broke off, staring.
Dean kept his eyes on the guy's face as he carefully rolled the ball into the pocket, grinning.
"How did -?" the older guy demanded, swinging round to glare at the college kid, who was staring open-mouthed.
"Wow, did you see that?" the kid exclaimed. "It was like a trick shot or something!"
The hustler's suspicion couldn't hold in the face of the kid's cluelessness. "Yeah, you sure got lucky with that one," he said half-heartedly.
"Oh, you've got no idea," Dean said, and waited for the ideal moment.
It came when the hustler had lined up a tricky but perfectly doable shot, one that would as good as win him the game. Dean put his hands in front of the pocket the guy was aiming for, and hoped he wasn't just going to get a ball thundering through them at high speed, which didn't sound like his idea of a good time.
Instead, the ball hesitated for a second, and then slowly rebounded back, away from the pocket.
"Oh, hard luck," the college kid sympathized.
Dean almost had to double over laughing at the expression on the hustler's face. The guy knew damn well the shot should have gone in, and was beginning to look around for an explanation.
It still took quite a lot of work for Dean to extricate the kid from the hole he'd been in, but it was well worth it for the look on the hustler's face. The way the kid whooped and punched the air when Dean finally managed it made him laugh even more.
The expression on the hustler's face when the college kid offered him a rematch was the best part of all, Dean thought with satisfaction, and doubled over laughing again as the guy declined and made a sharp exit from the bar.
"My round!" the kid yelled to his friends, waving his winnings in the air, and headed towards the bar.
"Mine's a whiskey," Dean said to his receding back. "I missed out on some damn good whiskey recently, and you totally owe me now, dude."
He was about to head for the bar himself, in the hope of somehow getting hold of some alcohol, when a door off to the right caught his eye.
Ladies.
Dean hesitated. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He could imagine Sam's shocked expression all too clearly. And yet how long had he wondered what really went on in there? When would he ever get this chance again? It was practically his duty to take the opportunity while it was there, surely?
The girls who'd been hanging out near the jukebox made a break en masse for the bathroom door, and okay, Dean might be a ghost, but he was only human. Surely no one could expect him to resist that?
Obviously he was far too classy to actually look in on any of the girls in the stalls, but he did lean against the counter for a few minutes to watch the girls in front of the mirrors. Dean listened as they exchanged gossip and little tubs of lip gloss and did complicated things to each other's hair. One of the girls wearing a pretty dangerous top took the opportunity to adjust her bra, and Dean could only enjoy the view.
On the whole, it was kind of disappointing, though. Dean had always imagined women got up to... well, he'd never been entirely clear on exactly what, but he'd thought it might be something a bit more mysterious and exciting than that. Then again, maybe it was just these girls. Or maybe they'd somehow sensed he was there and were acting less interesting to make sure he didn't go in again. Sam had probably warned them. Somehow.
He drifted back out of the bathroom, bored, and was not particularly surprised to see there was no whiskey waiting for him at the bar. Well, it had been a long shot anyway.
There were no free seats at the bar itself, and besides, the risk that someone would come and sit on top of him was pretty high - and even if it turned out to be a hot chick, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as it would have been if he was alive. Instead, Dean wandered over to the side and leaned against a wall, looking around.
The college kid whose ass he'd saved at pool looked like he was getting lucky with one of the girls from the bathroom. Dean watched them kiss, and wondered if she'd have been coming on to him, instead, if she was able to see him. If he was alive.
He looked away abruptly, watching the group of people at the bar instead. They were clamoring to be served, shouting cheerfully or less good-naturedly, downing drinks and clinking bottles. The hot bartender was serving them as fast as she could. She looked tired, but was dealing with the crowd with good grace, smiling as she handed people their drinks, kindly but unequivocally brushing off the passes being made at her. Dean really kind of wanted to buy her a drink and get someone to cover while she took a break, see if he could get her to smile at him properly, not the friendly but tired smile she was offering the people she was serving.
He was never going to get the chance now.
Dean stared around at the room full of people, and swallowed hard. Never going to get the chance to talk to a pretty woman and try to make her smile; never going to get to play pool; never going to commandeer a jukebox and teach people what real music was; never going to laugh and joke with people; never going to have anyone look him in the eye again. Never going to be touched, not a handshake, not a hug, not a kiss. Nothing.
It was a stupid time and place to realize it, but he was dead and it was all fucking over for him. And it didn't matter how long he stood there and tried to feel part of the scene, he wasn't, not any more. He was dead, and life was going on without him.
The noise of the jukebox and the laughter and shouting of the people around him was suddenly oppressive, closing in on him; Dean felt like he couldn't breathe. He stumbled backwards -
- and just that suddenly found himself outside it all, standing with his face almost pressed against the outside wall of the building, the world gone abruptly silent, except the muffled sound of the people in the bar carrying on without him.
Dean struggled to control himself, taking a deep breath, and then another. He didn't dare lean against the wall in case he went right through it again; instead he stood there, half-curling over on himself, trying not to lose it, because there was no way in hell he was going to cry over his own death.
After a few minutes he forced himself upright, and began slowly weaving his way back to the motel room across the road, doing his best not to think at all.
He'd assumed Sam would be sleeping, but instead the room was empty, and Dean almost panicked until he realized he could hear the sound of the shower running. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get himself under control. Maybe that was the only real advantage of being dead, though: it would be that much easier to hide the way he was feeling from Sam, who'd otherwise gotten freakishly good at figuring things like that out over the past couple of years.
But Dean was dead now, and Sam couldn't see him or hear him, could only know what Dean used the Ouija board to tell him. Dean could lie as much as he wanted now.
To just about the only person who even knew he was there. To just about the only person who cared either way.
Dean closed his eyes and fought for control, trying to focus on the sound of the shower, and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door.
Only to fall right through it and into the shower. Into Sam.
The sense of Sam that washed over him felt stronger and more real than the water that was suddenly pouring over and through him, and Dean gasped, caught off-guard, hearing his brother gasp too and slam a hand against the side of the stall to keep his balance. Dean had a moment to feel Sam's anxiety before it shifted to relief.
The depth of the emotion was overwhelming, and Dean almost couldn't cope with the reality of the confirmation of how much Sam did care, how glad his brother was that he was still there. It was one thing to know it and quite another to feel it, the warmth of it rushing through him.
He knew he should pull away, step out of Sam's body completely, but he couldn't quite bring himself to shift away from that emotion, not yet. After the realization that had hit him in the bar, the comfort of feeling that he mattered to someone, that he was still part of someone's world, was something he couldn't give up quite yet.
"Dean?" Sam said, and Dean felt his emotions shift as relief began to give way to concern. But he still couldn't force himself to pull away.
Sam reached out, as if trying to touch Dean, hold him against him; it seemed to have no effect other than making his emotions felt even more clearly, as more of Dean was inside him.
"Hey," Sam murmured, "hey, Dean, what's wrong? What's happened? C'mon, you're okay, I've got you..."
Oh god. Dean had assumed - when he'd been thinking at all, which hadn't really been much since he'd left the bar - that Sam would guess Dean was playing a prank on him, or trying to annoy him or something. He'd known that Sam could sense his presence when Dean passed through him, but he hadn't realized that his brother could feel his emotions the same way Dean could feel his.
He forced himself to take a step back, slipping away from his position half-in and half-out of Sam to stand fully outside him, breathing hard and fighting to bring his emotions back under control.
"Dean, no -" Sam said, even more worry in his voice. Dean made the mistake of looking up, just in time to see Sam's face shift to determination as his brother reached out for him.
And touched him.
Dean gasped, the shock of contact after days of nothing destroying the last of his control. He saw fierce triumph and satisfaction flash across Sam's face before his brother's expression returned to that oh-so-familiar mixture of concern and determination again. Sam slid his hand across Dean's chest and up to his shoulder, closing around it.
Holy shit, Sam could touch him, Dean thought dazedly, still trying to get his brain to process that.
"Dean," Sam said again, stronger now, and tugged at Dean's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Oh Jesus, Dean, you - we -"
"Sam," Dean choked out. He couldn't fight his brother, couldn't even put up token resistance, not when he hadn't been able to touch his brother in days, not when he'd thought he would never be able to properly touch anything ever again. Instead he reached out slowly, unable to stop the faint tremor in his fingers as he closed his hands around his brother's upper arms. "God, Sam."
Sam gave a choked sound, and Dean found himself crushed against his brother's body, face pressed against his shoulder, warm and solid and real against him. He gave in and closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the way they were stinging, and held on as tight as he could.
~*~
Sam closed his eyes and held on to his brother. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend nothing was wrong, that Dean was there and alive - too cold, but nothing Sam couldn't cure.
He was damn well going to find a way to cure this, too.
He could feel Dean's head resting against his shoulder, hands gripping his biceps almost painfully tight. Sam took savage satisfaction in it. He'd never really realized how often he and Dean did touch, after all, until it had been taken away from him, and after the days of silence and grief and isolation, he needed this connection with his brother. Later on he'd try to figure out why they could touch now when they hadn't been able to before, but for now Sam just held on and focused on Dean.
With Dean pressed this close against him, Sam was still able to pick up on his emotions - dimly, compared to when Dean had been inside him, but still recognizable if he concentrated. He could distantly sense Dean's shock and how overwhelmed he was by this new development, and beneath that the grief and depression Sam had felt when Dean had first come into the shower stall. He didn't know what had happened to cause it, not for certain, but he could guess what it was about. Dean had spent the past ten months acting as though he didn't give a damn that he was going to die, that his soul was going to hell, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean had even managed to convince himself that it was the truth, on occasion. Then there had been other times when Dean hadn't managed to fool anyone.
And now Dean was dead, something Sam was still trying to wrap his head around. It had been bound to catch up with Dean sooner or later, and Sam was just glad his brother had come to him, intentionally or otherwise.
He concentrated on trying to project as much of his emotions as he could. Slowly, he felt Dean relax against him, though he still showed no sign of wanting to pull away. Which was fine by Sam. God, it felt good to be able to touch his brother again.
Eventually, though, the water began to run cold. And although Sam knew that the reason Dean felt so cold was because he was a spirit, not because he needed to warm up, it was hard to convince his subconscious of that. He forced himself to open his eyes, swallowing hard at the sight of empty space in front of him, even though he could still feel Dean pressed against him. The only hint of his presence was in the way the water seemed to hesitate in mid-air for a moment before continuing its fall.
He ran a hand up and down Dean's back, and felt his brother lift his head from his shoulder. "C'mon," Sam said quietly, and reached out to turn off the water.
He felt Dean pull back, but Sam grabbed onto him in something close to panic. He was half-afraid that if he let go of Dean, it would all be lost, and when he reached out again there'd be nothing but empty air. That wasn't a risk he was ready to take yet. He almost expected Dean to forcibly pull away and slip out of his grasp, but he allowed Sam to maintain the grip encircling his wrists, which told Sam more clearly than anything else could that his brother needed the contact too.
He stepped carefully out of the shower stall, wincing as his feet hit cold tile, and realized belatedly that he was naked and dripping wet. He felt himself flush slightly at the realization, but found it hard to care too much when he could still feel Dean's wrists beneath his hands. He was getting cold fast, though, water sliding from his hair and down his back, making him shiver, and so Sam forced himself to release one of Dean's wrists for long enough to grab a towel and scrub it over his hair and upper body before securing it around his hips - a tough prospect one-handed, but there was no way he was about to let go of Dean entirely, not yet; the mere thought made him tighten his grip.
He tugged on Dean's wrist, and was relieved when Dean came with him without hesitation. He might have to let go at some point, but he was going to put it off for as long as possible.
He led the way back through into the room, ignoring the damp footprints he was leaving on the ugly carpet. Getting into bed without letting go of Dean took a bit of juggling, but he managed it, then tugged at Dean again to tell him to climb onto the bed on his own side. Judging by the way Dean's wrist turned and shifted in his grip, clambering onto the bed without pulling away was even trickier for him, but Sam just tightened his grip, unwilling to take any risks, and then Dean seemed to settle down.
Sam lay still on his side for a moment, staring at the spot where Dean had to be lying, then shifted onto his back, moving closer to the centre of the bed. After a second, he felt Dean move too, until they were lying next to each other, shoulders touching, arms pressed together right down to where he was still gripping Dean's wrist.
He lay awake for a long time, just holding on, before he finally slipped into sleep.
Chapter Four
Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (Part 3 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 groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Sam, how am I meant to live vicariously through you when you don't have a goddamn life? I mean, you don't even have the excuse of being dead."
Previous chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two
Chapter Three
When Sam blinked open his eyes, sunlight was glaring in through the window of the spare room. He groaned and threw an arm across his face, then sat up abruptly as everything came flooding back to him.
"Dean," he whispered.
The makeshift Ouija board was still lying on the floor where he'd left it during the night, but there was no other sign that any of it had been real.
"Dean," he said, a bit louder, hearing the panic bleeding into his voice, but unable to hold it back.
Then the feeling of Dean he'd experienced in the Impala during the night was back. It was impossible to describe even to himself, the sensation of Dean around him, inside him, but it reminded him a little of Dean hugging him when they were young, his big brother's warmth surrounding him. This feeling was, if anything, slightly cold, but he could still feel Dean's presence, sense the reassurance offered as clearly as if Dean had said Chill, Sammy.
Sam took a deep breath and opened his eyes as the sensation faded again a moment later, relieved beyond words. His gaze was drawn to the Ouija board, where the shot glass was now moving from one letter to the next.
CHILL. STILL HAUNTING YOUR ASS
Sam laughed shakily. "And I didn't even have to trash your car."
The glass jerked across to NO so fast that it toppled over and rolled off onto the floor.
Sam grinned and got out of bed, stretching. He felt a thousand times better than he had the previous day, and he knew it wasn't just the sleep. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower, then we can go and talk to Bobby, okay?" He picked the shot glass up and set it back on the board.
BORED, the glass spelled out. SLEEP WHEN DEAD TOTAL LIE.
"Just... stay out of trouble until I've had a shower," Sam warned him. "The last thing we want is Bobby mistaking you for a poltergeist and going for the salt. Okay?"
The glass was motionless for a few moments before it slid sulkily to YES.
"Okay, I'll be right back," Sam said, and headed for the bathroom, picking up speed when he thought about all the mischief a bored Dean tended to get up to. A bored, ghostly Dean? Now that was a recipe for disaster.
But the room seemed fairly intact when Sam returned from his shower, still scrubbing the towel across his hair.
"Dean?" he asked nonetheless, and held his breath until the glass shuddered its way over to YES. He wondered how long it would take to break that habit. He suspected it would be a while.
"Okay," he said, dressing hastily, "we should go talk to Bobby. You think you could do the same thing with him that you did last night and when I woke up? It might be the quickest way to convince him I'm not going crazy."
The glass shot across to NO. Then slowly spelled out DUDE.
Sam reconsidered hastily. It was true that the sensation had been kind of... overwhelming. And since as far as he could figure out it must have been caused by Dean passing through him... Okay, he could see why Dean wasn't ready to get that... intimate, for lack of a better word, with someone else. The idea kind of bothered him too.
"Fine," he said. "I'll take the board down, you can use that."
Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when Sam walked in. He looked up sharply, his eyes sweeping over Sam assessingly before narrowing. Sam wasn't really surprised. Bobby didn't miss much, and the difference in his emotional state compared to when he'd arrived the previous night was bound to be obvious.
"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked, pouring a second mug of coffee and passing it across the table.
"Better," Sam said honestly, sitting down opposite him. He set the folded-up chess board on the chair next to him and accepted the mug, taking a grateful sip. "Bobby... Dean's here."
Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"He's here," Sam repeated. "A spirit, I guess. I made a kind of Ouija board and we talked. Look, I promise I'm not crazy, okay?"
"I know you ain't crazy, Sam," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair and looking around the room assessingly. "You're not the type. And you've seen too much to fall for grief-induced hallucinations and the like."
His tone was not exactly overjoyed, and Sam frowned. "Okay, good. So we just need to figure out how to bring him back. Have you got any ideas?"
Bobby eyed him in silence, long enough for Sam to feel slightly uncomfortable, then said with alarming gentleness, "Sam, Dean's dead."
"I know that," Sam said defensively. "But he's here -"
"Don't change the fact that he's dead," Bobby said inexorably. "Death's not something you can just mess around with."
"You're saying we should just... leave him like this?" Sam said in disbelief.
"I'm saying I stand by what I said last night about taking his body out to that clearing," Bobby said quietly. "All the more so, if he's not at rest. Bringing him back... it can't be done, Sam. Not without -"
He cut off and Sam watched him like a hawk, his mind racing. "Not without what?"
"Not without doing something Dean would never forgive you for," Bobby told him, and rubbed wearily at his forehead. "You think you could murder someone so as to bind a Reaper, force it to bring him back? Or are you thinking about trading away your soul, too, same way Dean did? Or I guess you could bring him back as a zombie, see how many people you can stand by and let him kill before you force yourself to take him out. Or maybe it's necromancy you're thinking of dabbling in, see if you can find something there? Or -"
"Enough," Sam said, his voice strained.
"I'm sorry," Bobby said after a few moments of silence. "I truly am. Dean was... But bringing someone back from the dead - there's always a price, Sam. And it's always too high. For a reason."
"I don't... I wouldn't do anything like that," Sam said quietly. "Bobby, I'm not - that's not what I'm talking about. But there's got to be some other way. I can't just give up, not when he's here, not when there's a chance. I've got to try."
Bobby sighed. "I was afraid you were gonna put it like that. But you gotta be careful, Sam."
"I will," Sam promised. "So... you'll help?"
"Goes against my better judgement," Bobby said. "But I'll do what I can, see if I can come up with anything. And I guess you'll be wanting to keep his body on ice for a while. There's an outhouse out back I can rig up for that. It'll take me a day or so to get it working properly, but it should be okay."
"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said gratefully. "I really appreciate it."
Bobby waved a hand dismissively. "What are you planning on doing first?"
"I think I'm going to drive back to Cicero," Sam said. "I want to find out who did this, see if they're capable of reversing it."
"Good a place to start as any," Bobby agreed thoughtfully. "You better be careful, though. We both know Dean's a damn good hunter. Anything that can take him out is gonna be a real danger."
"Just one more reason I need to find them," Sam pointed out. "I'll be careful, I promise. And I'll keep you posted."
Bobby nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna take a look at that outhouse, see what's needed."
Sam watched him go and took a gulp of his coffee, thinking back over the conversation. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd expected, although maybe he should have seen it coming. He understood what Bobby had been saying, and maybe if it had been some other person in Dean's situation, he would have agreed.
But this was Dean, and Sam wasn't giving up on him.
What's dead should stay dead.
Sam paused at that memory, at the realization that Dean had just been listening to the entire conversation with Bobby. And Dean had never really accepted that there were prices worth paying for his life.
He hastily unfolded the chessboard-cum-Ouija board and spread it out on the table, setting the glass in the centre. "Dean?"
Nothing.
"Dean," he said again, striving for patience. "C'mon, man. Talk to me. Please."
Still nothing.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "C'mon, don't do this to me. Please, Dean."
The glass shifted slowly, jerkily, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief, watching it carefully and wondering if he was reading too much into the jerkiness of its movements.
HE'S RIGHT
"About what?" Sam asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
ALL
"I already promised you I'm not going to do anything stupid," Sam reminded him. God, he wished he could see his brother, hear his voice. It would be so much easier to get through to him. By shaking him until he saw reason, if necessary. "I'm not going to do anything like that, okay? We'll find another way."
The glass remained still.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "Don't give up, okay? Please. I'm going to find a way out of this, but I need you to hang on for me. Okay? You brought me back, didn't you? And this is different, because we've got time. And we're together. So we'll figure out a better solution. I just... Dean, I can't go through that, okay? I can't lose you. So stay with me, please."
He felt dimly like he might have said something similar as Dean lay dying, though he didn't remember many details beyond his terror and desperation. He was under no illusions about the fact that this was just as important a battle to win, because Dean was a stubborn bastard, and if he truly made up his mind not to stay, Sam wouldn't be able to stop him from just... ceasing to be.
"I need you," Sam whispered. "Dean..."
The glass shuddered, then slowly spelled out OK.
Sam sighed with relief and tried to brush at his eyes surreptitiously. "Okay. I'm going to see how Bobby's getting on, and then we'll, uh, need to move your body to the outhouse." He paused as the glass started moving again.
COAT
Sam frowned. "Coat?"
RING, AMULET
"Your things," Sam said, thinking. "What, you want me to... take them?"
GETTING CORPSY
Sam couldn't help a surprised bark of laughter. "Jesus." Still, it sounded like Dean might be feeling better about the whole situation again, and Sam would encourage that as much as possible. "Okay, I'll do my best. Maybe we should cut off the rest of your clothes, too, they're... not at their best."
NOT BOBBY
Sam really did laugh at that. "Dean Winchester, modest. Who knew? I suppose you'll be wanting me to clean out the back seat of the car, too."
SHOULDA COVERED IT. TAUGHT BETTER
"You did," Sam agreed, "but I had other things on my mind at the time." He abandoned that line of conversation before his mood could sour. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
WHATEVER, the glass spelled out slowly. Then, after a pause, NEED WHATEVER POST-IT.
Sam laughed again, and scribbled WHATEVER on another post-it, sticking it to a relatively uncluttered corner of the board. "You can think about what other words we need while I'm gone."
The glass pointed to WHATEVER, but Sam could almost feel Dean knock against his shoulder as he left.
~*~
"Thanks again, Bobby," Sam said as he slid behind the wheel. "I really appreciate everything you've done."
"Just try to stay out of trouble," Bobby told him. "And I know it's a tall order, but try to keep your brother out of it, too."
"Hey," Dean said indignantly.
Well, he supposed that considering his current predicament he couldn't really argue that much.
"I'll do my best," Sam said with a grin. "Talk to you later, Bobby."
Bobby patted the roof of the Impala once and headed back towards the house.
"You set?" Sam asked.
Dean sighed. The whole Ouija board thing had been stupid enough to begin with, but now it was really starting to get annoying. Still, if it was the only way for him to talk to Sam, then he'd just have to put up with it. He pushed the shot glass across to YES. He was pretty sure that once the car started moving, the chessboard was going to fall off the front bench and onto the floor, but that was Sam's problem.
"Okay," Sam said, and started up the car.
Dean settled back as they set off, and concentrated for a moment to make sure he didn't fall through into the back seat. He was getting better at controlling whether he passed through something or touched it. Though 'touched' wasn't the right word, not really. He could move things - well, small things like the shot glass, at least - but it didn't feel like he touched them, not the way he'd touched things before. He didn't feel them. The only time he'd felt things was when he passed through them.
And Sam. He could feel Sam, too - not quite the same way as when they'd touched back when he was alive, but more real than anything else he'd tried to feel. And even more so when he'd passed through Sam: that had been... intense.
"So, I could totally take this opportunity to get my own back," Sam said conversationally. "You realize this is the ultimate 'driver picks the music' situation, right? You wouldn't even be able to whine about it. Just think of all the good music I could subject you to. All the modern music, Dean. I bet it would be good for you."
"Oh, you wouldn't," Dean muttered. "You wouldn't dare."
The thing was, though, Sam totally would. He was such a little bitch that way. And he was right that Dean couldn't do much to stop him. Well, he could always try to jump into Sam and possess him, but there was always a risk he might drive them off the road in the process.
If Sam put on anything too droopy, though, Dean wasn't ruling anything out. Or chirpy. Dean didn't do chirpy.
"What to pick, what to pick..." Sam mused.
"You're so bluffing, bitch," Dean said, but kept one sharp eye on where Sam's fingers were hovering anyway.
"Ah, it's just no fun when I can't hear you whining," Sam relented, and stuck a random Metallica tape in.
Dean snorted, and moved the glass to the BITCH post-it he'd convinced Sam to make before they left.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said.
Dean grinned and sang along to the music, feeling better than he had in a while. The only good thing about no one being able to hear anything he said was that he could sing at the top of his voice if he wanted, and no one would complain.
"So, you thought any more about telling me who did it?" Sam asked a few minutes later.
"Nope," Dean said brightly, and moved the glass accordingly.
"You could save me a lot of time," Sam said. "And I'd be safer if I was better prepared for what I might be walking into."
Dean glared at him. "Low blow, Sammy."
He knew Sam had a point, but he was still determined to try to stop Sam from going up against Casey and Father Gil. He didn't think either of them would be able to bring him back - let alone willing - and he was pretty sure they would be a real danger to Sam. But with a bit of luck they would be long gone, and Sam would turn up nothing but dead-ends.
So to speak.
"You know I'm going to figure it out anyway," Sam told him, and paused meaningfully.
Dean went back to singing along with the music.
"Fine," Sam said, seeming to realize that no other response was forthcoming.
Dean shot a glance at his brother and wondered how long it would be before Sam would say something else. His brother was being decidedly chattier than usual. Dean supposed it was understandable, since Sam couldn't hear anything he said, and was more or less trying to carry the conversation for both of them. Plus, after the whole death thing... Dean could still remember how he'd done everything but physically cling to his brother after Sam came back, and about the only reason he'd quit that so soon was because there had been no way he could convince Sam everything was normal otherwise. Sam didn't have the option of clinging to him, or keeping him constantly in sight; all he could do was keep talking and make Dean keep communicating via the stupid Ouija board.
He was pretty sure Sam was going to wear his voice out before nightfall.
"So, do you -" Sam started again.
Dean leaned across and allowed one hand to slip into Sam's shoulder. Just far enough to have that feeling of connection, of being surrounded and filled by Sam.
Just far enough for Sam to feel him in return. Dean watched the tension slowly bleed out of Sam's shoulders, and his brother closed his mouth again, smiling slightly.
Dean grinned, and started singing along with the music again.
~*~
"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked again, a note of anxiety in his voice.
DUDE, Dean spelled out. EAT.
"There's bound to be a lot of people in there, though," Sam said. "I just - I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to be around so many of them."
Dean rolled his eyes. BORED. GO IN.
"I - okay," Sam gave in. "But if it starts getting too much for you or there are problems, just come back out, okay? Let me know somehow and I'll leave. I guess I could always take the Ouija board in..."
Dean was glad he'd gotten Sam to make a DUDE post-it too: it was saving him a lot of glass-pushing. He was a goddamn Ouija genius. DUDE. WTF.
Sam groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess that would be a bad idea, huh? Okay. Just find a way to let me know if you need me to leave."
YES, Dean spelled out, more to reassure his brother than because he really felt an answer to that was needed.
Sam sat in the car for another moment, then gave a worried sigh and got out.
Truth be told, Sam's freak-out notwithstanding, Dean was eager to go into the diner. Awesome though it was that Sam now knew he was there, it was still boring as hell not being able to drive or even have a proper conversation with him. Staring at the scenery had lost its appeal after the first ten minutes. Since sleep was also not an option, Dean was about ready to take any opportunity he could get to find something new to look at. Besides, Sam really did need to eat sometime today. If Dean couldn't have a massive burger with fries and all the trimmings, the least Sam could do was eat it for him.
The diner was doing a fairly steady trade, but it was hardly crowded. Sam made his way over to a booth in the quietest corner, and Dean slid in opposite him, nearly falling through the seat before he managed to steady himself. Maybe it was just as well that Sam couldn't see him.
Dean stared around with interest, drinking everything in. Then the waitress appeared and moved towards their booth, and damn. She was short and curvy, and man, he was loving that shirt she was wearing. Particularly when she leaned over to give Sam a better view.
"How can I help you?" she asked, shooting Sam a killer smile. She had a mole next to her mouth, and wow, Dean did love a woman with moles.
"Um, I'll have the chicken salad, please," Sam said. "And coffee." He passed her the menu.
Her smile slightly diminished, the waitress scribbled the order on her pad and headed towards the kitchen.
Dean groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Sam, you are a disgrace to the name of Winchester. How am I meant to live vicariously through you when you don't have a goddamn life? I mean, you don't even have the excuse of being dead."
Sam looked around nervously, then whispered, "Dean, you okay?"
Dean sighed, and prodded one of the sachets an inch or so.
"Okay," Sam whispered, looking relieved, and sat back.
Dean took a moment to just look at him. Sam was still too pale, and there were lines around his eyes Dean didn't remember being there before, but he looked like he'd be okay. He was wearing Dean's amulet around his neck. It was a little odd, seeing it hanging it there, and Dean guessed Sam had felt it too, because he'd refused to wear it until Dean talked him into it. The way Dean figured it, it wasn't exactly protecting him at the moment, so Sam might as well wear it and hopefully benefit a little from its protection too. Sam had given in eventually, and he was fiddling with it now, passing it from finger to finger.
Ah, the hell with it. As long as he managed to keep Sam alive, Dean wouldn't complain too much about his lack of a life.
The waitress reappeared a few minutes later with Sam's meal and coffee, and another smile that Sam returned politely but distantly. Dean watched raptly as she headed away again. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, he was confronted with the sight of his brother digging into his chicken salad, perhaps not as ravenously as Dean himself sometimes ate, but with clear appreciation.
Dean stared at the chicken and the coffee. God, what he wouldn't give for a good cup of coffee. He might not be hungry or thirsty, but that didn't mean he couldn't murder a burger right about now. Hell, even Sam's green shit was starting to look good at this point.
Sam took another gulp of his coffee, eyes half-closing for a second as he savoured it, and okay, this was totally unfair.
Dean slid out of the booth and wandered off to find the waitress again. Staring at her had to be way more fun than watching Sam eat.
~*~
Sam did his best to eat quickly. Dean had been pretty insistent that he stop somewhere and eat dinner properly, but Sam was still worried about his brother being around this many people. He had no idea what it was like for him now, and he didn't want to take any risks. The memory of losing Dean was still far too fresh.
The coffee wasn't exactly to his taste, but it was hot and strong, and right then Sam would take what he could get. He wanted to cover another good part of the distance to Cicero before stopping for the night if he could: the longer it took them to get there, the slimmer his chances of finding the demon that his brother had run up against. And since Dean couldn't drive, Sam was going to need the coffee.
Still, he did plan on stopping somewhere for the night; this wasn't the panicked journey he'd made a few days earlier, chasing after Dean. If he didn't get some rest, he'd be useless by the time he managed to track this demon down.
He glanced across the booth, wondering if Dean was still sitting opposite him. The sachet Dean had moved before had lain undisturbed since. Sam hoped his brother was just staying still and trying to avoid attracting attention.
Then again, this was Dean he was talking about.
Sam finished off his salad hastily and called for the check.
"Dean," he hissed under his breath, and waited.
The sachet didn't move. Neither did anything else on the table.
Sam took a deep breath and told himself not to panic. "Dean," he whispered again, a little louder. "Dean, everything okay?" He shut up abruptly as the waitress returned with the check, managing a smile for her, though he was afraid it might be closer to a grimace.
As soon as she'd left, he opened his mouth to call for Dean again, only to snap it closed as the same sachet as before shifted slightly across the table. Sam closed his eyes for a second, feeling his heart pounding harder with relief, then murmured, "Let's go," and headed back out to the Impala.
He only managed to restrain himself until they were inside the car, though. "Are you okay? What happened? Was it just too much? Seriously, we can avoid crowded places, Dean -"
The shot glass shifted to the CHILL post-it Dean had told him to make, and Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and try to calm down. He watched as the Ouija board spelled out: BORED. CUTE WAITRESS GOT IT ON WITH BOSS. HOT. RED BRA, DUDE.
Sam stared at the Ouija board, then at the place where Dean was presumably sitting, and finally had to look out of the front window to try to keep his temper. "You mean while I was sitting there, worrying the hell about whether you were okay, thinking I might have lost you again, you were spying on some poor woman who didn't even know you were there?"
There was a pause.
CAN'T DO MUCH BUT LOOK. MIGHT AS WELL MAKE MOST OF ONLY PLUS. OR GO MAD
Sam forced himself to take another deep breath. "Look, I know this has got to be hard for you, Dean, and we're going to fix it, okay? But... Jesus. Find a way to let me know next time you're going to wander off, okay?"
Another pause, then: OK.
Sam swallowed hard and tried not to be too pathetically relieved. He could understand that his brother might not want to be right at his side twenty-four hours a day - though this soon after Dean's death, Sam personally was all for it - but one thing he couldn't handle was Dean disappearing without warning.
He thought about bringing up Dean's behavior again, telling him off for spying on the poor waitress, but decided against it. Better to stick to one battle at the time. Besides, he didn't like the sound of what Dean had said: he knew this had to be difficult for Dean. He was going to have to find some way to alleviate Dean's boredom. For both of their sakes.
"Okay," Sam said quietly. "You ready to hit the road again?"
WHATEVER, the shot glass said.
Sam bit his lip. "Hey. I mean it - we're going to fix this, Dean."
There was a pause, then the shot glass shifted jerkily to YES.
Sam tried to force down his unease and turned the key in the ignition.
~*~
Dean stared around the motel room. Man, he really might go mad if he had to lie awake in here all night.
It was a fairly standard room for them, actually, other than the fact that there was only one bed - the guy at the desk had automatically assumed that was what Sam wanted, and Dean supposed Sam could hardly have said he wanted another bed for the ghost of his dead brother. It probably made sense, anyway: there was no point in wasting money, particularly now Dean couldn't play pool or poker. The wallpaper was a disturbing shade of pink, but the room had wireless and cable, though Dean hadn't managed to persuade Sam to look for porn channels. Yet.
But after thirty seconds, he'd pretty much seen all there was to see in the room, and the thought of lying there all night, staring at the pink walls... no, it wasn't going to happen.
"Man, I'm beat," Sam said, stifling a yawn.
Dean couldn't really blame him. Sam had driven a long way that day, and he wasn't as used to driving such long stretches as Dean was. WIMP, he spelled out anyway.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. "You want me to turn the TV on for you?"
Dean made up his mind: he needed to get out of the room. NO. BAR.
Sam groaned. "Seriously, man, I'm exhausted, and I've still got a long way to drive tomorrow. I don't think I can handle going out to a bar tonight."
That was more or less what Dean had suspected, and he sighed gustily before spelling out OK. I GO, BACK LATER.
"Wait, what, on your own?" Sam demanded, sitting abruptly upright and looking alarmed.
BE FINE, Dean reassured him.
"Dean," Sam said, looking distressed. "I know you got on okay at the diner, but a bar? It might be really busy at this time of night. What if everyone starts walking through you? Or it gets to be too much for you? Or something happens and I'm not there to -"
He cut off abruptly, and Dean knew exactly what he was remembering.
NOT YOUR FAULT, SAMMY
Sam took a deep breath, but didn't respond. After a moment, though, he said, "I'll come with you," and swung his feet onto the floor.
NO, Dean said as quickly as he could. SLEEP, SAM. BE FINE. PROMISE. Personally, he didn't think much more harm could come to him now that he was dead, but he wasn't about to try telling Sam that. COME RIGHT BACK IF PROBLEM.
Sam stared at the Ouija board, looking unconvinced. "The bar over the road?"
It would have to be; Dean didn't think he'd be able to move further away from Sam than that. Even that bar might be pushing it. YES.
"Okay," Sam said, still sounding reluctant. "If you're sure. I'm holding you to that, though - if anything goes wrong, if anything happens, come right back, okay? And let me know when you're back, too."
Dean reminded himself again of how he'd felt after Sam's brush with death, and restrained himself to spelling out PROMISE.
"Okay," Sam said again, sighing.
Dean crossed the room and pressed his hand into Sam's, trying to let his brother feel his reassurance along with his presence. He waited for Sam to nod before he dropped his hand again and walked through the door.
It was only once he was outside and whistling as he headed in the direction of the bar that he realized he could have just as easily gone through the wall, rather than going out of his way to leave through the door. He wondered how long it would take to get over that habit. He wondered if he wanted to.
The bar was busy, but not quite as crowded as Sam had probably feared. Dean relaxed as he moved further inside - even though he'd never been to this bar before, he'd spent time in so many similar ones that he felt more or less at home. Even the people there were instantly familiar: over on the right was the guy he'd normally take for a small fortune at pool; over on the left was the guy to watch out for, the one most likely to cause a fight; a table in the corner was where the person most likely to be able to tell him all about the surrounding area and any potentially supernatural happenings was sitting; a couple of the girls gathered round the jukebox were underage and too obviously excited about getting served; and the bartender...
The bartender was the one he'd be trying to hook up with, circumstances and Sam permitting. She didn't look like Casey - a good thing, under the circumstances - but she was still hot, trading quips with the customers and serving up drinks confidently. She looked tough and sexy, and Dean liked that in a woman.
She looked up at that moment and smiled in his direction, and Dean could almost convince himself that it was him she was smiling at. He couldn't help grinning back, and moved further inside, drifting towards her.
There was a good atmosphere in the bar, people laughing and joking, some music that Dean didn't know but could live with pounding in the air. Dean was glad he'd come out after all. It had to be better than lying there staring at the walls and waiting for morning.
It was too bad he couldn't play pool, he thought, eyeing the game going on at the table. He wondered if Sam would get over his scruples regarding the less upstanding aspects of their lifestyle before the last of the money ran out, now Dean couldn't handle it. Well, unless his ability to touch things expanded to the point where he could pick someone's pocket. If nothing else, the look on their face as they watched their money float through mid-air ought to be hilarious.
Speaking of which, Dean hadn't had nearly enough fun with the advantages of being dead yet. And since Sam wasn't there to be a killjoy...
He moved closer to the pool table and sized up the situation. The college kid was totally getting played by an older guy who wasn't even very good at hiding what he was doing. Dean would have taken great pleasure in handing him his ass. Since that wasn't an option... Dean watched the college kid line up his next shot.
"No, no, you've got to angle it more, you're never gonna pot it that way," he instructed out loud, moving round to the pocket the kid was aiming for.
The kid took the shot and, as Dean knew it would, the ball stopped several inches short of the pocket.
"Too bad," the older guy said, "you -" He broke off, staring.
Dean kept his eyes on the guy's face as he carefully rolled the ball into the pocket, grinning.
"How did -?" the older guy demanded, swinging round to glare at the college kid, who was staring open-mouthed.
"Wow, did you see that?" the kid exclaimed. "It was like a trick shot or something!"
The hustler's suspicion couldn't hold in the face of the kid's cluelessness. "Yeah, you sure got lucky with that one," he said half-heartedly.
"Oh, you've got no idea," Dean said, and waited for the ideal moment.
It came when the hustler had lined up a tricky but perfectly doable shot, one that would as good as win him the game. Dean put his hands in front of the pocket the guy was aiming for, and hoped he wasn't just going to get a ball thundering through them at high speed, which didn't sound like his idea of a good time.
Instead, the ball hesitated for a second, and then slowly rebounded back, away from the pocket.
"Oh, hard luck," the college kid sympathized.
Dean almost had to double over laughing at the expression on the hustler's face. The guy knew damn well the shot should have gone in, and was beginning to look around for an explanation.
It still took quite a lot of work for Dean to extricate the kid from the hole he'd been in, but it was well worth it for the look on the hustler's face. The way the kid whooped and punched the air when Dean finally managed it made him laugh even more.
The expression on the hustler's face when the college kid offered him a rematch was the best part of all, Dean thought with satisfaction, and doubled over laughing again as the guy declined and made a sharp exit from the bar.
"My round!" the kid yelled to his friends, waving his winnings in the air, and headed towards the bar.
"Mine's a whiskey," Dean said to his receding back. "I missed out on some damn good whiskey recently, and you totally owe me now, dude."
He was about to head for the bar himself, in the hope of somehow getting hold of some alcohol, when a door off to the right caught his eye.
Ladies.
Dean hesitated. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He could imagine Sam's shocked expression all too clearly. And yet how long had he wondered what really went on in there? When would he ever get this chance again? It was practically his duty to take the opportunity while it was there, surely?
The girls who'd been hanging out near the jukebox made a break en masse for the bathroom door, and okay, Dean might be a ghost, but he was only human. Surely no one could expect him to resist that?
Obviously he was far too classy to actually look in on any of the girls in the stalls, but he did lean against the counter for a few minutes to watch the girls in front of the mirrors. Dean listened as they exchanged gossip and little tubs of lip gloss and did complicated things to each other's hair. One of the girls wearing a pretty dangerous top took the opportunity to adjust her bra, and Dean could only enjoy the view.
On the whole, it was kind of disappointing, though. Dean had always imagined women got up to... well, he'd never been entirely clear on exactly what, but he'd thought it might be something a bit more mysterious and exciting than that. Then again, maybe it was just these girls. Or maybe they'd somehow sensed he was there and were acting less interesting to make sure he didn't go in again. Sam had probably warned them. Somehow.
He drifted back out of the bathroom, bored, and was not particularly surprised to see there was no whiskey waiting for him at the bar. Well, it had been a long shot anyway.
There were no free seats at the bar itself, and besides, the risk that someone would come and sit on top of him was pretty high - and even if it turned out to be a hot chick, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as it would have been if he was alive. Instead, Dean wandered over to the side and leaned against a wall, looking around.
The college kid whose ass he'd saved at pool looked like he was getting lucky with one of the girls from the bathroom. Dean watched them kiss, and wondered if she'd have been coming on to him, instead, if she was able to see him. If he was alive.
He looked away abruptly, watching the group of people at the bar instead. They were clamoring to be served, shouting cheerfully or less good-naturedly, downing drinks and clinking bottles. The hot bartender was serving them as fast as she could. She looked tired, but was dealing with the crowd with good grace, smiling as she handed people their drinks, kindly but unequivocally brushing off the passes being made at her. Dean really kind of wanted to buy her a drink and get someone to cover while she took a break, see if he could get her to smile at him properly, not the friendly but tired smile she was offering the people she was serving.
He was never going to get the chance now.
Dean stared around at the room full of people, and swallowed hard. Never going to get the chance to talk to a pretty woman and try to make her smile; never going to get to play pool; never going to commandeer a jukebox and teach people what real music was; never going to laugh and joke with people; never going to have anyone look him in the eye again. Never going to be touched, not a handshake, not a hug, not a kiss. Nothing.
It was a stupid time and place to realize it, but he was dead and it was all fucking over for him. And it didn't matter how long he stood there and tried to feel part of the scene, he wasn't, not any more. He was dead, and life was going on without him.
The noise of the jukebox and the laughter and shouting of the people around him was suddenly oppressive, closing in on him; Dean felt like he couldn't breathe. He stumbled backwards -
- and just that suddenly found himself outside it all, standing with his face almost pressed against the outside wall of the building, the world gone abruptly silent, except the muffled sound of the people in the bar carrying on without him.
Dean struggled to control himself, taking a deep breath, and then another. He didn't dare lean against the wall in case he went right through it again; instead he stood there, half-curling over on himself, trying not to lose it, because there was no way in hell he was going to cry over his own death.
After a few minutes he forced himself upright, and began slowly weaving his way back to the motel room across the road, doing his best not to think at all.
He'd assumed Sam would be sleeping, but instead the room was empty, and Dean almost panicked until he realized he could hear the sound of the shower running. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get himself under control. Maybe that was the only real advantage of being dead, though: it would be that much easier to hide the way he was feeling from Sam, who'd otherwise gotten freakishly good at figuring things like that out over the past couple of years.
But Dean was dead now, and Sam couldn't see him or hear him, could only know what Dean used the Ouija board to tell him. Dean could lie as much as he wanted now.
To just about the only person who even knew he was there. To just about the only person who cared either way.
Dean closed his eyes and fought for control, trying to focus on the sound of the shower, and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door.
Only to fall right through it and into the shower. Into Sam.
The sense of Sam that washed over him felt stronger and more real than the water that was suddenly pouring over and through him, and Dean gasped, caught off-guard, hearing his brother gasp too and slam a hand against the side of the stall to keep his balance. Dean had a moment to feel Sam's anxiety before it shifted to relief.
The depth of the emotion was overwhelming, and Dean almost couldn't cope with the reality of the confirmation of how much Sam did care, how glad his brother was that he was still there. It was one thing to know it and quite another to feel it, the warmth of it rushing through him.
He knew he should pull away, step out of Sam's body completely, but he couldn't quite bring himself to shift away from that emotion, not yet. After the realization that had hit him in the bar, the comfort of feeling that he mattered to someone, that he was still part of someone's world, was something he couldn't give up quite yet.
"Dean?" Sam said, and Dean felt his emotions shift as relief began to give way to concern. But he still couldn't force himself to pull away.
Sam reached out, as if trying to touch Dean, hold him against him; it seemed to have no effect other than making his emotions felt even more clearly, as more of Dean was inside him.
"Hey," Sam murmured, "hey, Dean, what's wrong? What's happened? C'mon, you're okay, I've got you..."
Oh god. Dean had assumed - when he'd been thinking at all, which hadn't really been much since he'd left the bar - that Sam would guess Dean was playing a prank on him, or trying to annoy him or something. He'd known that Sam could sense his presence when Dean passed through him, but he hadn't realized that his brother could feel his emotions the same way Dean could feel his.
He forced himself to take a step back, slipping away from his position half-in and half-out of Sam to stand fully outside him, breathing hard and fighting to bring his emotions back under control.
"Dean, no -" Sam said, even more worry in his voice. Dean made the mistake of looking up, just in time to see Sam's face shift to determination as his brother reached out for him.
And touched him.
Dean gasped, the shock of contact after days of nothing destroying the last of his control. He saw fierce triumph and satisfaction flash across Sam's face before his brother's expression returned to that oh-so-familiar mixture of concern and determination again. Sam slid his hand across Dean's chest and up to his shoulder, closing around it.
Holy shit, Sam could touch him, Dean thought dazedly, still trying to get his brain to process that.
"Dean," Sam said again, stronger now, and tugged at Dean's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Oh Jesus, Dean, you - we -"
"Sam," Dean choked out. He couldn't fight his brother, couldn't even put up token resistance, not when he hadn't been able to touch his brother in days, not when he'd thought he would never be able to properly touch anything ever again. Instead he reached out slowly, unable to stop the faint tremor in his fingers as he closed his hands around his brother's upper arms. "God, Sam."
Sam gave a choked sound, and Dean found himself crushed against his brother's body, face pressed against his shoulder, warm and solid and real against him. He gave in and closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the way they were stinging, and held on as tight as he could.
~*~
Sam closed his eyes and held on to his brother. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend nothing was wrong, that Dean was there and alive - too cold, but nothing Sam couldn't cure.
He was damn well going to find a way to cure this, too.
He could feel Dean's head resting against his shoulder, hands gripping his biceps almost painfully tight. Sam took savage satisfaction in it. He'd never really realized how often he and Dean did touch, after all, until it had been taken away from him, and after the days of silence and grief and isolation, he needed this connection with his brother. Later on he'd try to figure out why they could touch now when they hadn't been able to before, but for now Sam just held on and focused on Dean.
With Dean pressed this close against him, Sam was still able to pick up on his emotions - dimly, compared to when Dean had been inside him, but still recognizable if he concentrated. He could distantly sense Dean's shock and how overwhelmed he was by this new development, and beneath that the grief and depression Sam had felt when Dean had first come into the shower stall. He didn't know what had happened to cause it, not for certain, but he could guess what it was about. Dean had spent the past ten months acting as though he didn't give a damn that he was going to die, that his soul was going to hell, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean had even managed to convince himself that it was the truth, on occasion. Then there had been other times when Dean hadn't managed to fool anyone.
And now Dean was dead, something Sam was still trying to wrap his head around. It had been bound to catch up with Dean sooner or later, and Sam was just glad his brother had come to him, intentionally or otherwise.
He concentrated on trying to project as much of his emotions as he could. Slowly, he felt Dean relax against him, though he still showed no sign of wanting to pull away. Which was fine by Sam. God, it felt good to be able to touch his brother again.
Eventually, though, the water began to run cold. And although Sam knew that the reason Dean felt so cold was because he was a spirit, not because he needed to warm up, it was hard to convince his subconscious of that. He forced himself to open his eyes, swallowing hard at the sight of empty space in front of him, even though he could still feel Dean pressed against him. The only hint of his presence was in the way the water seemed to hesitate in mid-air for a moment before continuing its fall.
He ran a hand up and down Dean's back, and felt his brother lift his head from his shoulder. "C'mon," Sam said quietly, and reached out to turn off the water.
He felt Dean pull back, but Sam grabbed onto him in something close to panic. He was half-afraid that if he let go of Dean, it would all be lost, and when he reached out again there'd be nothing but empty air. That wasn't a risk he was ready to take yet. He almost expected Dean to forcibly pull away and slip out of his grasp, but he allowed Sam to maintain the grip encircling his wrists, which told Sam more clearly than anything else could that his brother needed the contact too.
He stepped carefully out of the shower stall, wincing as his feet hit cold tile, and realized belatedly that he was naked and dripping wet. He felt himself flush slightly at the realization, but found it hard to care too much when he could still feel Dean's wrists beneath his hands. He was getting cold fast, though, water sliding from his hair and down his back, making him shiver, and so Sam forced himself to release one of Dean's wrists for long enough to grab a towel and scrub it over his hair and upper body before securing it around his hips - a tough prospect one-handed, but there was no way he was about to let go of Dean entirely, not yet; the mere thought made him tighten his grip.
He tugged on Dean's wrist, and was relieved when Dean came with him without hesitation. He might have to let go at some point, but he was going to put it off for as long as possible.
He led the way back through into the room, ignoring the damp footprints he was leaving on the ugly carpet. Getting into bed without letting go of Dean took a bit of juggling, but he managed it, then tugged at Dean again to tell him to climb onto the bed on his own side. Judging by the way Dean's wrist turned and shifted in his grip, clambering onto the bed without pulling away was even trickier for him, but Sam just tightened his grip, unwilling to take any risks, and then Dean seemed to settle down.
Sam lay still on his side for a moment, staring at the spot where Dean had to be lying, then shifted onto his back, moving closer to the centre of the bed. After a second, he felt Dean move too, until they were lying next to each other, shoulders touching, arms pressed together right down to where he was still gripping Dean's wrist.
He lay awake for a long time, just holding on, before he finally slipped into sleep.
Chapter Four