{SPN RBB} Entwined: Chapter 1 of 3
Chapter One
Another no name town, and yet another no name motel room. If Sam had to physically try and remember all the motels they'd ever stopped at over the years, he'd be sitting at the desk for at least the next five years of his life.
Sam groans inwardly. His thoughts were drifting again. He brings his attention back to his laptop in front of him. It's been two weeks and some days (Sam can't be bothered to remember right now) since they left Krissy and her father Lee. Sam is optimistic that Krissy will get the life that she deserves. At least, that's what he hopes.
Dean and Sam had spent the past two weeks hunting down any and all leads on Dick Roman, having agreed to work together. However, even after these few days, they'd come up with nothing. No leads, no plan.
So now, they were holed up in a motel room. Sam was sat at the small dinner table in a corner of the motel room while Dean sat on the bed closer to the door, eyes fixed onto his own laptop. Sam sighs quietly, looking at his brother. He knows Dean's scouring every source for any information on Roman. To be honest, Sam doesn't blame him. He knows, and understands how Dean feels.
Bobby is gone because of the dick, pun intended. The one person left, who they'd counted as a father, as part of their family is now gone.
So Sam really does understand the obsession that Dean exhibits on wanting to kick Roman's ass. There's just times he wishes Dean would also take care of himself. Sam knows that when his brother sets his mind on something, he's too stubborn to think about anything else.
Sam knows that Dean's sleeps only a minimum of three to four hours a night. He always hears the clacking of keys in the middle of the night, knowing Dean just wants to bring the son of a bitch down.
Sam notices that Dean doesn't eat sometimes. And that's worrisome because food is quite an important part of Dean's life, and, well, survival in general.
Sam just worries for Dean, knowing that loss is something they both find really difficult to deal with, sometimes Dean more than Sam.
“Dude, you're staring again,” Dean remarks, eyes still glued to his laptop screen.
Sam blinks, clears his throat, nods awkwardly and turns back to his own computer with a mumbled 'sorry'. Dean can obsess all he wants, Sam thinks. But he knows they both need to take their mind off of this, especially with no leads. Either they'll go crazy sitting in this motel room or they'll end up fighting with one another and neither is something Sam wants.
He closes the page on Dick Roman he'd been looking up and opens up a fresh page on his browser, looking up weird deaths.
Maybe a case might get their mind off things.
It is silent for a while, as Sam and Dean tap away on their laptops, both on a mission of their own.
Sam feels like he's reading the sentence over and over and not making any sense. He takes a deep breath, sitting up straighter. He frowns at the screen, knowing something seems familiar.
He re-reads the first sentence of the news report he's opened up.
It looks like this little town will never catch a break. Yet another man namely Howard Miller, age 52, was found brutally murdered at the Fairy Plaza Inn in room number 35. This makes a total of six individuals who have met their fate at this motel. Rumors of curses and hauntings float around the residents of....
“Howard Miller,” Sam murmurs to himself. He knows that name. Frowning, Sam gets up from his perch on the uncomfortable wooden chair and walks over to Dean's duffel, pulling out their father's journal. He ignores the curious look Dean's throws his way and sits back down at the table.
He flips through the journal, getting frustrated when he can't find the name. He shuts the journal, setting it aside and racking his brains. He knows he's seen that name somewhere.
“Why do you look like you're constipated?” Dean asks, walking over and taking a seat beside Sam. The genuine look on his face pulls a chuckle out of Sam.
“Shut up. It's...this name,” Sam says, turning his laptop towards Dean. “Haven't we heard it before?”
Dean's lips move soundlessly as he reads the report. Sam watches as Dean says the name over and over again, silent. Then a look of recognition crosses Dean's face. “Dad once hunted with a guy named Howard Miller. Some poltergeist or something. It was getting too hard for Howard to bring down and he found out Dad was the closest hunter in the area so Dad took off to help him. You had that like, soccer match or something, remember? Dad wanted me to come along but - “
“But you stayed back to see me play,” Sam completes, smiling to himself. “Yeah, I remember the yelling match you two had.”
Dean chuckles. “Well, I wasn't gonna miss seeing my brother kick some ass, was I?”
Sam nodded, smiling. Then he turned grim. “Dean, this report says Howard's dead. Murdered in his motel room.”
Before Dean could respond to that, however, Sam pulled the laptop towards him. His fingers flying away at the keys, he looked up the names of the other five people who lost their lives.
“Sandra Winston, Paul Lester, Terrence Dale, Rita Morrison and Kyle Oldman. These names strike a bell?”
Sam recognizes a few names. In the hunting community, having contacts and names of other hunters handy is a good thing especially in times of need. And Sam knows Dean is thinking the same as him when he sees the grave look on Dean's face.
“Yeah. Like, three of them at least. I met Rita on a case I was doing alone when you were in Stanford. She is...was, a pretty cool person and definitely knew how to kick ass and take care of herself. I know Dad used to keep in touch with that Paul guy. I'd heard them talk on the phone every now and again. Kyle, I'm not sure but I know I've heard that name before,” Dean says.
Sam grits his teeth. “Who could be killing hunters, Dean?”
“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Dean says, though it doesn't look like he believes himself.
“Does it look like a coincidence to you?” Sam argues. “Plus, I'm pretty sure I've seen the remaining two names in Bobby's pho-” Sam stops mid-way, knowing that Dean isn't gonna take that well. They're both still grieving.
Sam knows he's fucked up when the colour drains out of Dean's face and he gets up to walk over to this bed. He picks up his jacket from the foot of the bed and walks out the door, ignoring Sam's apology.
“Shit,” Sam curses as the door slams shut.
Someone fucked up, didn't he? Poor little Dean. You always hurt him one way or another, don't you, Sammy?
Sam jumps and warily eyes the opposite corner of the room where Lucifer sits on a narrow wooden stool, a big grin on his face.
You ain't gonna get rid of me that easy, buddy.
“Not real,” Sam tells himself, digging his finger into the scar on his left palm, wincing slightly at the pain. He lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's holding when Lucifer vanishes.
Sam then looks through his duffel and pulls out Bobby's phone. He goes through the contact list and his heart sinks as he realizes that Sandra and Terrence's names are on the list.
This doesn't seem like a coincidence anymore. Sam rubs his eyes, tired from the constant concentration on the computer screen.
Knowing that Dean needs time, he gets to his feet and lies down on his bed, deciding to get some shut eye until his brother gets back. Once he's back, Sam can apologize for speaking without thinking and then tell him about the other two names.
Hoping that Lucifer leaves him alone for once, Sam falls into an uneasy sleep.
~o~
Dean doesn't realize how long he's been walking until he reaches the diner which is at least a twenty minute walk from the motel. Leaning against the side of the building, Dean runs a hand over his face. He feels exhausted. He feels angry. He feels a million things and doesn't know how to deal with them anymore.
He looks up towards the sky, feeling guilty of his reaction. Dean knows Sam didn't mean to just throw in Bobby's name. But it had caught Dean so off guard that the only thing Dean could think of at that moment was getting out into the open before he broke something or said something hurtful that he didn't mean to Sam and making things worse between them. Neither of them deserved that. In some ways, Dean also envies how Sam's dealing with everything. Sam seems to have a lot more grip on himself than Dean does. There have been times when Dean wished he could be as strong, as level minded as his brother. Or at least know how to deal with problems and feelings without spontaneously combusting.
Dean chuckles dryly at that thought. Figuring he should get back to Sam and apologize for how he acted, he leans off the wall and heads into the diner, deciding to pick up their dinner while he's already here.
He places his order and supports himself by the counter, waiting.
He wonders when things got so fucked up in their lives, not that they hadn’t been screwed up already. Dean yearns for the past, wanting the simplicity of just hunting and being a big brother to Sam. No Azazel, no Lucifer, no apocalypse, no nothing. Just him and Sam, and the Impala and a long empty road in front of them.
“Here you go, sir,” says the cashier as he hands over a plastic bag to Dean.
Dean snaps out of his thoughts as he thanks the man, pays for their dinner and leaves the diner. Lost in his thoughts he makes his way back to the motel. After rummaging for the hotel room keys in his pockets, he opens the door to be greeted by a strangled gasp of pain from the far end of the room.
Sam is sweating profusely, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His hands are holding on his sheets for dear life as a litany of ‘nonono’ escapes his lips. Dean immediately shuts the door, sets the bag of food on the nearest table and rushes to Sam’s side, kneeling by the bed.
“Crap,” Dean curses, blaming himself for leaving in the first place. “Sam?” Dean says, patting Sam on the shoulder.
“No, ple’se,” Sam mumbles, forehead scrunched, breathing fast. “Stop!” Sam yells.
Ignoring the pain he feels at seeing his brother like this, Dean shakes Sam hard. “Sam, wake up! You’re out!” Dean says loudly.
Seeming to be deeply caught up in his nightmare, Sam lets out a strangled yell, hands tightening even more on his bed sheets.
“Sam, stop! You’re out. I’m here!” Dean says, desperate, feeling helpless.
“De’n,” Sam calls out brokenly.
“I’m here, Sammy. Come on, wake up,” Dean shakes Sam hard one last time only to receive a hard blow to his right temple by Sam’s elbow as Sam throws out his arms on instinct.
Dean crashes to the floor, head throbbing in pain. He cradles his head as he sits up on the floor, gritting his teeth.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice is barely above a whisper.
Dean looks up, relief flooding through him. “Hey, Sammy.”
Sam is still breathing hard. “Shit, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to - “
“Hey, it’s no big deal. I should have known that would happen,” Dean chuckles, brushing it off. He then frowns. “Sam, breathe.”
Sam blinks, confused and then nods, trying to match his breathing with Dean.
A few minutes pass as Dean watches Sam calm down. Dean then fills out a glass of water and hands it to Sam. “The Cage?” Dean asks, voice low.
Sam nods, hands shaking slightly as he holds the glass of water. He then flinches horribly, the glass slipping out of his hands and falling to the floor, wetting the carpet.
Dean reacts on ingrained instincts, immediately searching for the source of Sam’s reaction in the room. He then looks towards Sam and feels helpless yet again. Sam is eyeing the spot right next to Dean, eyes clouded in fear.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice is gentle as he picks up the now empty glass.
Sam gulps, looking back at Dean, pain etched on his face.
“What are you seeing?” Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head, shakily taking a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s, uh, nothing.”
“Sammy, your face is white as your freaking bed sheet. We agreed on this. You don’t get to hide this crap from me.”
Sam gulps again, mouthing to himself as his eyes are fixed to the spot next to Dean.
Dean’s heart rate speeds up, worrying what could Sam be seeing that is disturbing him so much. He snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face, drawing Sam’s attention to him.
“Sam, talk to me. None of what you’re seeing is real, do you hear me?” Dean says, voice soft yet stern enough to get through to Sam.
“He’s…he’s holding a gun to your head. It has just one bullet. The other five chambers are, um, empty. And he - “Sam flinches horribly before regaining a little composure. “He keeps spinning the barrel, and pulling the trig - NO!” Sam yells, eyes brimming with tears.
Dean immediately catches hold of Sam’s left hand and pushes his thumb into the scar, feeling horrible for hurting Sam.
Sam gasps in pain, pulling against Dean’s hold.
“I’m guesses the bullet actually went through me, yeah?”
Sam nods, one tear slipping through.
“I’m not dead, Sam. I’m right here,” Dean says, holding up their hands so Sam can see them. “Whatever he’s doing to hurt you, to mess with you, it’s not real, Sammy. I’m real. I’m right here. And I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon, you hear me?”
Sam looks uncertain, between wanting to believe Dean and afraid to find out if it’s the opposite.
“Stone number one, Sam,” Dean presses on the scar again.
Sam hisses in pain before locking eyes with Dean. He then nods, saying, “Stone number one, and build on it. You’re real. You’re real.”
“Damn right, I’m real,” Dean says, pulling Sam into a hug, feeling nothing but helplessness and frustration at the shit Sam’s going through. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
He feels Sam nod against his shoulder. He then let’s go, giving Sam his space.
“He gone?” Dean asks.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Don’t mention it. Now go freshen up, you stink.”
Sam chuckles weakly. “No I don’t,” he says, swinging his legs off the bed.
“Yeah you do, Sasquatch. Go freshen up, I got us dinner.”
Dean watches Sam head into the bathroom. As soon as the door shuts, Dean allows himself to break a little. He wipes hastily at his eyes. Sam doesn’t deserve any of this.
Dean tries to even out his breathing. It’s been a while since one of Sam’s nightmares affected either of them this much. Dean just hopes and hopes that it gets better. He’s barely holding it together and he can’t even begin to imagine how strong Sam must be to still be able to handle any of this.
Dean walks over to the table and starts unpacking their food, angry at their situation, their life. Frustration fills every inch of him, at not knowing how to fix any of it.
Bobby’s gone, Sam’s in pain and losing his mind and Dick Roman is in the wind.
Yeah, their life is pretty fucking great right now. He just hopes that together, they’ll be strong enough to get through this.
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