Fic: Dislocation (SamnDean, G)
Title: Dislocation
Author: smalltrolven
Pairing: None (can be read as established Sam/Dean)
Rating: G
Wordcount: 1,400
Warnings: None
Author’s Note: Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2015 intoabar fic-athon challenge, this is my amnesty fill. Set between seasons 10 and 11 of Supernatural and in season 2 of Agents of Shield.
Summary: Sam Winchester walks into a bar and meets…Dr. Daniel Whitehall.
Read it over on AO3 right here.
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Sam readjusted his shoulder sling before pushing open the heavy oak door. He vaguely noticed how fancy the door seemed for the type of bar this was. Repurposed maybe? He entered the bar and let his eyes adjust to the dimness, the place was packed with people, the noise of conversation and music washed over him. His jumbled thoughts vanished when he saw the man standing against the end of the polished oak bar. Tall and angular with close-cropped grey hair and round black glasses that looked vaguely European. The man held himself with an aristocratic, maybe military type of precision. He stood out as the most interesting person in the bar.
“Mind if I join you?” Sam asked, pointing at the empty seat next to the man. A conversation with the most interesting person in here might take his mind off of his troubles. The troubles that are inherent in a search for your dead, missing, possibly now-demonic brother.
“Please do. Your arm seems to need a place to rest,” the man said.
“Thanks. I’m, um, Sam. Sam Winchester,” Sam said, holding out his only working hand to shake.
The man took it and shook slowly and thoroughly, hand soft and unmarked, nails perfectly manicured. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Sam. My name is Daniel, Doctor Daniel Whitehall.”
“A doctor huh? Nice to meet you, Doctor Whitehall,” Sam said, signaling the bartender over. “What are you drinking?”
“Cognac,” Doctor Whitehall said, “and please, you may call me, Daniel.”
Sam ordered a cognac and a whiskey and tried to get comfortable on the barstool. He couldn’t raise his elbow up enough to rest his arm on the bar. But the armrest was almost the right height, he had to slump a little, but he made it work.
Sam swallowed down most of his whisky. Nights like these were the hardest to get through and he had been turning to the familiar comfort of a whisky buzz. In honor of Dean or some such shit he snarked at himself. He turned slightly to face the doctor who was still examining him closely. “So what are you a doctor of, Daniel?”
“I am a researcher in the field of body mechanics,” Daniel replied.
“I could use some of that, this shoulder surgery has been a real bitch to recover from.”
“What type of surgery was it?” Daniel asked.
“Oh, it was broken and dislocated, so they had to reset everything, put in a plate and screws to hold it together,” Sam said, voice far away as he recalled the fight with the three demons that he’d been stalking to get information on Dean’s whereabouts.
“It must have been a terrible accident,” Daniel said.
“Something like that. I’d rather not talk about the details of it if you don’t mind,” Sam said, visibly flinching at the memory of the pain of winning the fight but losing the chance to find Dean.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude,” Daniel said.
“No, you weren’t intruding, not at all. I just don’t like to think about it,” Sam said. “From one military man to another, I’m sure you understand.”
Daniel smiled at him over his glass of cognac, although the smile didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “You are a keen observer, what gave me away?”
“The way you’re standing. I just recognized it as a military stance. So where have you served?”
“Postings in Europe mostly. And you?”
“I’ve only served stateside. Sounds like you picked up a German accent while you were there.”
“Oh dear, I have worked so hard to get rid of that. I suppose it does come out when I have more than one cognac.”
Sam clinked their glasses together and downed the rest of his whiskey in one long gulp. His eyes went soft for a moment thinking of all the times he’d done this same thing with his brother. Who wasn’t anywhere to be found, even though he was supposed to be dead.
Sam didn’t know half the time if he was supposed to be in mourning, on a vengeance quest, or on some other anger-fueled search for his wayward brother. All he knew is that he was messed up. Even more than his shoulder. Inside and out, he was falling apart without Dean. Without knowing where he was. Or why he left. Sammy Let Me Go the note had said. Sam made a scoffing noise, disgusted with himself for sitting here pining or whatever this was called.
“What was that for, Sam?” Daniel asked, face looking like he was suddenly on edge, eyes flashing with what could be anger. “That noise that you made?”
“Oh, sorry, just something I was reminded of, from the whiskey. Didn’t have anything to do with you.” Sam signaled the bartender for another. “You want another?”
“No, no. Two is quite enough for me, thank you though,” Daniel said.
“So, is your research lab near here?” Sam asked, struggling to remain present enough to make conversation.
“I recently lost my facility to another team. I am in the midst of a search for a good substitute location,” Daniel said.
Sam noticed he was attempting to sound light-hearted but Sam could hear the anger and disappointment in Daniel’s words. “You’re not considering this hell-hole are you?” Sam asked with a grin.
Daniel laughed, a quiet contained sound that held little mirth, more sarcasm. “No, not in this hell-hole as you describe it. I am looking for someplace a bit more urban.”
“So you’re just passing through like me then?” Sam asked.
“Yes, this is a way station of sorts. A place to wait for a storm in my profession to pass.”
“I know how that goes. I’m in the midst of a storm in my work also. It’s exhausting. Especially with this,” Sam said, gesturing at his injured arm with his glass.
“A man such as yourself seems to be capable of dealing with a good measure of adversity. This may seem like a strange question, but have you ever done any hunting, Sam?”
Sam struggled to not show the surprise he felt at hearing that question. Could a man like this really know about his sort of hunting? He decided to answer as a civilian would. “Yeah, many times, with a family friend. He was one of the best shots I’ve ever seen.”
A hulking mountain of a man appeared over the doctor’s shoulder. Something about the man’s stance reminded Sam of a Secret Service agent, or a professional body guard. The man spoke to Daniel with some urgency but quietly enough that Sam couldn’t hear his words. Daniel turned and murmured to him in answer. The man withdrew, disappearing into the gloom of the bar in the general direction of the front door. Sam watched as Daniel rearranged his face from shocked and enraged to pleasantly bland.
Daniel turned back to face Sam. “I am quite sorry to have to leave you so suddenly, Sam. I do appreciate the drink and conversation.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I really enjoyed meeting you, Daniel,” Sam said, extending his hand to shake.
Daniel shook his hand slowly. “Mister Winchester, the pleasure has been all mine. If you encounter further trouble with your recovery, I may have some experimental treatments that would enable you to continue hunting. Although, fair warning, discovery requires experimentation,” Daniel said, handing Sam an ivory linen business card.
Sam took the card, surprised into silence at the mention of hunting in this context. This man had guessed or perhaps knew about hunting, and maybe even about who he was. And what did he mean about ‘Discovery requires experimentation’ anyway?
The bodyguard returned and gestured at the door with some urgency. Daniel sketched a little salute. “Good evening, Sam.”
“Have a good night, Daniel,” Sam said, returning the little salute. He watched the doctor and the bodyguard hustle out the front door and wondered what it was that they knew about his bleak world of hunting. He read the card that the doctor had handed him. Besides his name and email address, there was a small insignia of an octopus embossed in one of the corners. Sam ran his thumb over the shape of the octopus’ tentacles and wondered what the marine animal had to do with body mechanics research.
He ordered a third whisky, promising himself that this would be the last of the night. There wasn’t anyone else to count on to be his designated driver. And Dean would kill him if he wrecked the Impala. Sam sighed at himself. All of his thoughts led back there. It all led back to Dean. No matter how much whisky he drank, or how many demons he killed, the absence, the loss, the confusion over Dean’s departure was all-consuming.
He flipped through his cell phone, eyes landing on his wallpaper, a photo of Dean driving , lit up by the morning desert sun, blurry cactus in the background. Dean had a small smile on his face, the one that meant he knew Sam was stealing a picture of him. God, how he missed that smile, or any of Dean’s smiles. It made him ache deep inside, this separation that seemed to be without end. He had to keep searching, if only to find out why Dean had left him. It was the one thing that he had left to do.