Fanfic - SPN: Plain Gold Band - Ch. 2 - The Dead
Title: Plain Gold Band [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: The Dead
[068.Nostalgic]
Sam and Dean sat, suited and side-by-side, on a couch in the Edwards House common room, listening intently to the thankfully dry-eyed tale of a college roommate who literally went to jump in a lake. Detective Chris Slade and Detective Simon Wright had their badges in plain view on the coffee table to reinforce the professional nature of this meeting, despite their intrusion into female-only space.
Clearly, this pair of third floor students weren't really into drummers.
"She was sweet, a really great housemate, we never had any problems with her. She could get a little sad sometimes, but we never thought she'd take her own life. I know I would have helped her find a good counselor, if I had." The woman's white-blond crop swayed as she swiveled on the seat cushion, her pale hands tossing about haphazardly with her words. "I mean … she'd just started dating this nice guy - well, we never met him, but he sounded nice - and there were so many nights when she'd breeze in here so vibrant and excited and in love that I just kind of wanted to injure her, ya know? - But, of course, I didn't. - She was just so damn cheery sometimes, even if it came and went, so … I'd just never imagine she'd do that to herself. She seemed fine to me."
"So this guy ... what do you know about him?" Dean said it with that gravelly cop voice that always made people worry about lies and suspicion.
"Oh ... he might have been married or something, but he didn't seem the type - from what we heard - who would kill her. I mean … he wasn't violent. It's not like she ever came home with bruises and fell-into-a-doorknob excuses or anything." She looked to her companion for confirmation, but plugged on, leaning towards Dean conspiratorially before the quieter girl could get a word in. "You don't really think it was homicide, do you?"
"There were some inconsistencies. Hence, the investigation, ma'am." It felt like their elaborate con work was largely wasted on these two, but Dean kept with the persona he'd come in with. Not that it was hard. The unnecessary intensity of Sam's glances, in his direction and in every other direction, was really starting to unnerve him and the irritability of too much driving and too little sleeping was beginning to boil over. If he was gruff, he wasn't acting.
"Now, this guy she was dating? You never met him?" Sam said it with a puzzled hike in his tone, as if he, or the detective he was playing, would know enough about the world of women to find it strange that Tammy's friends had never met her beau.
"Nope." Both women shook their heads, the brunette using the moment to hide deeper in the sweep of her straight, waist-length hair, but Dean could see her shy eyes were trained on Sam's mouth, even when there weren't any words coming out.
Her voice was gentle as she spoke, melodic though a little slurred, and Dean tried not to roll his eyes as he wondered if her clothes were all organic hand-dyed cotton or some other hippie junk. "He was some high-profile business guy, I think, drove a BMW and everything, so I don't think it would've gone over well if she'd wanted us to meet him. Those guys are all about image."
Dean butted in, deeply wishing he could poke them both with the pen balancing atop his ear. "So you don't know his name then? He was just some mystery guy that your friend hung out with?"
Sam's knee knocked hard against his and Dean shut his mouth for a moment, knowing he wasn't helping even though he couldn't seem to calm down. Sam kept with the flow, though, all business and leisurely charm. "Did she describe him?"
"Not really." The blond lifted a carefully arched eyebrow as she thought. "Muscles, tall, handsome, sweet, rich, nice- ... lips. Not much else. She was trying to keep it a secret, so ..." She shrugged apologetically.
"Do you have any idea where she was heading that night?"
"Oh yeah. Kismet." She threw the word out like they were just supposed to move on with an 'oh, of course'.
Dean could feel his forehead scrunch. "I'm sorry?"
"Kismet. It's this kind of jazz lounge-bar-thing downtown. There isn't much around here to do, so … it's sort of the place to be. Well … for some people."
"And she was meeting this guy?" Sam nodded as he watched the witnesses intently.
"Probably. I mean … I think so. That's where they first got together, so they seemed to head out there a lot."
"Okay. Well, did anything else happen that day?" Sam's hand was jotting down notes on his pad, it was at least half for show, but it seemed pretty damn sincere and Dean was reminded of why Sam tended to handle the delicate ones.
"Not that I know of. She just … got up, went to class, came back for dinner, then headed out to club."
"And never came home." The sadly musing little note that Sam dropped right then was so well-played that even Dean had to nod a little, eyes dropping in sympathy.
She looked down at her hands, fingers picking at her splitting nails. "Right."
"Anything else you can think of?"
The two women exchanged looks, as if that ever helped people remember things.
"Not really." Both their heads shook with their shrugging shoulders. "Sorry. It's been … weird, ya know?" The chatty one got quiet suddenly, her eyes wandering off somewhere before clicking back to them with a heightened level of worry. "I just keep thinking, 'what if it really is about the water?' I don't think I care, but … I didn't think she cared about that whole situation either and then … bam. I mean … maybe we're all bottling it up or something."
"Well ... we're continuing to investigate these deaths from every angle, and we haven't received any information beyond the odd rumor with regard to the water situation being the primary cause." Sam's voice slid into an even more comforting timbre, reassuring the woman enough to see her relax somewhat, as if his words were hugs from someone she trusted. "You should be safe."
Dean barely restrained a stage cough. It seemed like he was the only one there who thought everyone was nuts for imagining that some controversy over water in some middle-class American town was making people off themselves. It made him grateful for the silence that fell when Sam ran out of questions and comforting words. He just nodded, lifting his eyebrows and trying not to look anxious to get away. Then, he inclined his head towards the door and stood. "Yeah. So, we'll just leave you ladies to your lunch." He flashed a final tight smile as he waited for Sam to stand, then he headed towards the nearby entryway.
At the door, Sam turned back to the women who had followed them the few feet from the living room, and Dean stopped with his hand on the knob, watching the exchange. Sam's tone was soft and sincere, his smile sympathetic. "Thanks for taking the time to speak with us. We really appreciate it." The act was so Sam and yet smoother somehow, polished and maybe even a little flirty.
Both women mirrored his smile without hesitation and fumbled over each other's phrases saying it was their pleasure and they were always happy to help the authorities and yack yack and so on. Dean just wanted to get out of there and that little tug in his stomach told him that it was probably because he hadn't eaten in a while and needed food. Yeah. Food.
When they got to the car, though, Sam's smirk was back and he might not have been laughing, but he seemed on the verge of doing so. Dean didn't even start the car, he just sat and looked at his brother, until he stopped musing in his own little world. His eyes still smiled even as he put on a faux-serious face, waiting for Dean to say something.
"What's so funny, Sam?"
Sam snickered. "You. Them. Everything."
"Them, I get, maybe, but me? Why am I funny all of a sudden?"
"Because you were tense but basically fine until they started gushing all over me, then you started making faces like someone blew up your puppy."
"I did not."
"You did too, Dean. I just can't decide if you wanted to be me or you wanted to be them."
Sam's eyes were so intent, so full of answers to questions Dean hadn't asked, offering information Dean really didn't want to know right then. There was a reason they were strictly professional, strictly brotherly.
"Whatever." He turned back to the road and started the car, driving them on to the next address on the list.
---
"Was he especially moody before he died? Seeing a counselor for depression or anything?" Sam was making his usual 'I'm-really-listening-to-you' face while they perched on the edge of chairs that seemed precariously placed in the only two clear spaces on the very messy floor.
"Nah, he was perfectly fine. I mean, I wasn't worried about his mental health or anything." The guy yawned and rubbed his stubble, half-mumbling and clearly unimpressed with their supposed credentials, perhaps especially since they'd woken him up from an afternoon nap. "Not that I tend to worry about other people's brains going haywire, because I don't, but …"
"Did he use any drugs or drink a lot?" The victim, Greg or Garry or George or something, hadn't died from an overdose or from alcohol poisoning, but there was always a chance that bad habits had put him in the bullseye of a bad crowd.
"No, no drugs, none that I knew of anyway, and hardly enough beer to even get a buzz. He was dating this older woman, you know, the kind who pays for everything and wants her guys to be just a certain way." His face twisted with disgust, or maybe the ugly side of envy. "I swear, that shit would drive me insane, but he never stopped talking about her, even when he found out she was married. He was a mess, but he just kept going back to her, like she'd ever choose him over that Richie Rich husband of hers."
"Had they started dating recently?"
"Not really." He scratched at his short bed-mussed hair, squinting his eyes as he worked to remember. "I'm pretty sure that they'd been off and on for a year or so, at least."
On a hunch, Dean asked about the meet-up spot. "Did they meet at Kismet, the jazz bar downtown?"
"Kismet only opened a few months ago, but … he did say he was going down there a few times because that's where she liked to go." Dean could see the way the man's nose turned up with his words and he wondered how these two had stayed friends when this one seemed so keen to put the other guy down, even though he wasn't alive and present to defend himself. "Apparently her hubby wasn't really into jazz. How convenient."
"Was he headed there on the night he died?" Maybe Dean was a little short, his voice a little loud, but they weren't learning anything from the needless snide remarks. Well, nothing more than that their witness was a jerk.
"Honestly? I don't know. I mean … he said he had a date, but I didn't ask for details. It wasn't my job to keep track of him. Hell, she nearly had him on a leash anyway. Why don't you ask her?" The man almost seemed put out by the mere thought that he should know his friends' whereabouts on the night of his death any more than any other night. "Maybe he was headed there. Maybe not. But, really, there aren't too many other places to go in this town and they both seemed to like it, so … could be."
---
Dating. Married. Kismet. Dating. Married. Kismet.
They only made four stops before Dean's stomach was seriously rumbling from its many-houred emptiness, but those three words just kept rising to the surface.
"You think it's a shapeshifter?"
"Killing people who date married people?" Sam was picking off the last bits of his medium rare steak.
"You have a better idea?"
"No, but ... none of the victims were noticeably traumatized or altered beyond their exact cause of death and some of them were in pretty difficult circumstances for a shapeshifter killing. Locked rooms and whatnot, kind of like with the daevas, so ... I think it'd have to be something incorporeal."
"You think it's a spirit? Someone wronged by their cheating spouse?" Dean sucked his spoon into his mouth, bobbing it on his tongue as he waited for his brother's answer.
"See ..." Sam seemed momentarily distracted, by the bobbing spoon and Dean pulled it out, setting it on his plate and smiling innocently, encouraging Sam to continue. "I don't know about that either, though, because ... let's say you were mad that your ... partner ... had cheated on you ... mad enough to kill ... wouldn't you kill them both? I mean ... everyone's guilty in that kind of situation, right? Like- …" He mouthed through some words as he thought, but then shook his head. "I was going to say, like that Woman-in-White, but she didn't kill everyone involved in cheat situations. She just killed unfaithful guys in general, so … this mix of victims doesn't fit that exactly, but … maybe something like that?" His voice strained as he did, reaching for possible answers to the mystery in question.
"Maybe. And maybe the spirit doesn't think less of their spouse. Maybe they think their husband or wife or whatever wouldn't have cheated if there hadn't been that temptation, so they don't go after the married folks, they go after the unmarried ones."
"Could be. We can check the newspaper archive tomorrow, but ... how would we even know if someone died hating their spouse's lover unless there was reported violence or something?"
"Honestly, Sam? I dunno, but we don't have much else to go on here."
The waitress interrupted, dropping the bill, which Sam slapped his hand down on, before Dean could even reach for it. "What about Kismet?"
"Why don't we check that after we exhaust the library search, or we won't even know what we're looking for." He knew that was right, but he found himself wondering why he'd said it instead of Sam.
"Okay. Fine."
They rose to leave and Sam dropped the requisite amount of cash on the table before they headed back to the motel to re-organize their info. Apparently, casino security guards and construction workers made a damn good bit of money and Sam had that strange money-saving skill that other Winchester men seemed to lack.
---
Back at the motel they began reorganizing their information based on the interviews they'd done, but no further connections cropped up. They each made a few phone calls, managing to interview a few more people before it started to get seriously late, but neither were sure how much all that had really helped.
"Ugh." Sam made a face as he hung up the motel phone and ran his fingers through his hair. "Same stuff. Again. They're like … completely random and yet- …" He shook his head with a yawn, clearly beat. "I'm gonna grab a shower."
"Okay." Dean nodded, not looking up from his case notes as if the fourth time through would cause the hidden solution to the puzzle to blink into existence, highlighted between the lines of standard ink.
Sam got up, his clothes rustling as he stripped down and tossed things into the dirty half of his bag. Then the quiet of the room was broken by a string of minor notes one beat from being a scale.
Dean snorted and raised his head, a quip about emo ringtones on the tip of his tongue, but Sam was turning away from him as he picked up his phone, voice somewhat strained.
"Hey. … Yeah, of course. … Uhh, I'm in town, kinda. Well, I'm in Tiffany. … Yeah, mostly. … Right now? … Sure. That'd be great. … Uhh, could you meet me in town? … Yeah, no, it's just- … Okay, yeah. I'll meet you there. … Yeah, that's fine. … Okay. … Bye."
Sam stilled for a moment, just breathing, before slowly clicking his phone back into sleep mode and turning around to continue getting ready for his shower.
It seemed like a pretty short conversation to really say much of anything and it always made Dean uncomfortable to have Sam turn his back like that, as if his facial expressions would reveal something he didn't want Dean to know. There might have been a hint of annoyance mixed in with his curiosity when he spoke. "You gonna tell me who that was, Sam?"
Sam huffed, straightening back up to stand in his boxers after tearing off his socks. "Dude, it's not like someone called me on your phone. And, unlike you, I actually pay for this phone with my own money, so … I can talk to whoever I want."
Dean nearly groaned, Sam's combative tone making him long for a beer and a lapful of distraction. "I'm not trying to be an ass here, Sam. I just heard you say that you would meet this person somewhere and it might've slipped your mind, but the car outside is mine and I kinda like to know where she's supposed to be going."
"I can walk just fine, thanks, but- …" He paused, looking Dean over before continuing, cautiously. "Her name's Mel, Melanie. She's a- … friend from school. Her dad's actually the one who gave me my first construction job after we- … you know."
Dean nodded slowly, waiting for Sam to go on, but apparently he was done. "So … where're you meeting her?"
"Oh, umm, the diner downtown, but … not until tomorrow … for lunch. I mean … even if the library work's gonna take all day, that would be a natural break, so- …"
"Hey, no worries. That's fine with me." He smirked. "I mean, just say the word and I'll find somewhere else to be so you can … have the room to yourself."
Sam's eyebrows smashed together as his eyes got big. Then he burst into a deep laugh, a hand on his gut. "Maybe all your calls from women are for sex, but … Mel is really just a friend. And she's all about the ladies anyway."
Dean only smirked harder and opened his mouth, intent to tack on a relevant quip, but Sam cut him off with a wagging hand. "Don't, Dean. Just … don't."
Dean shut his mouth, content to think the classic 'because she hasn't met me yet', even if Sam refused to face the truth.
"Besides …" That intense look was back in Sam's eyes, edged with something soft and conveying more than Dean wanted to think about right then. His words were heavy and deep. "I wouldn't be interested anyway."
Dean looked at his brother for a long moment, but Sam's expression didn't change and eventually Dean just gave up, breathing deep and shaking his head as he returned his eyes to the paper in his hands.
"You gonna grab a shower too?" Sam's voice was lighter than it had been, but still so expectant.
"Maybe." Dean mumbled, scanning the same words over and over without getting any of the meaning. "After you."
Dean didn't hear Sam move, though. He just stood there breathing and Dean saw the black on the white of the page, but it might as well have been abstract art as Sam spoke, hesitant and nearly a whisper. "You, uh- … You don't have to wait, ya know."
He heard the double thump of his heart as if it was an elephant bouncing on his shoulders. "Sam." He sighed, no longer pretending that he was reading, but still unable to bring himself to look up.
"Dean."
The invitation was out now, as clear as they'd ever let it be, but Dean wanted to do things right this time, wanted to give Sam something halfway normal now more than ever and Sam constantly shoving offerings in his face that he couldn't take was grinding things all wrong in his stomach.
He lifted his head, eyes glaring. "Just get your shower, alright?"
The words came out more forceful than he'd intended and he saw hurt flash in his brother's eyes, chased by something that almost looked like shame, before everything locked up tight and hard again. "Yeah, okay."
Sam turned toward the bathroom, hands fumbling at the waist of his boxers, then curling into fists without stripping fully. He just bowed his head and walked into the bathroom, his hands dragging roughly against his shorts like something stubborn clung there and he couldn't rub it off. "Door's open."
Sam's words were soft and Dean could almost think that he'd only imagined them, but the door remained slightly ajar as the shower creaked on, water splashing loudly against tile.
Dean sat for a while, watching the light stream through the door, then watching the steam billow out into the room, momentarily curious about why there wasn't yelling about too-hot water with all the steam that kept pouring out. It was only an attempt at mental distraction, though, and a poor one at that.
He didn't want to think about Sam in the shower, about water slipping over his skin, soap-slick hands sliding between them, about the weight of wet hair through his fingers, the feel of his brother wrapped around him, about knowing for certain via incontestable physical proof that Sam was really back with him and not lost, never lost.
He didn't want to think about it. But he did anyway.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, steam-wet and hardly covered by a too-small towel, one leg bare nearly to the waist, Dean was watching TV. Or, he had been watching TV until then. He really should've been working on the case, but he couldn't focus enough to make sense of words so he'd moved on to visuals. Only now he had a living picture only a few feet from him and he sincerely wished that he could figure out how to stop focusing on that.
He stared, unknowingly, almost forgetting how to breathe though his mouth hung partially open. Looking at Sam right then had Dean remembering cramped quarters in the backseat, his foot hooked over the front and his brother's hands touching everything they could reach as Sam whispered 'need you', desperately, in between groans.
It had been a long time, too long and too damn complicated.
Dean would've sighed, nostalgic for that connection more than anything else, but Sam's laughter hit him like a bouquet of flowerless thorns and his eyes snapped up to see Sam, smirking back at him, all traces of hurt banished by an ample coating of arrogance. "You want some of this?"
Dean's head gave the barest of shakes as his eyes purposefully shifted back to the television. He really didn't want to talk about this. Ever. "We're not doing that, Sam."
Sam walked up to the edge of Dean's bed, leaning over Dean, bare-chested and grinning. "Why not?"
Sam's hands slid to the tuck in the waist of his towel but Dean stopped them, his fingers making unwanted but necessary contact with too many shower-heated inches his brother's skin. "We're just not."
Sam pulled his hands away with a dark chuckle, but the towel held and Dean snatched his hands back. "I saw the way you tried not to look at me while we were at the cemetery this morning. Just like you've been doing all day. Were you worried that you'd have impure thoughts on holy ground? Or did it just feel a little wrong to still be jealous, to think that I never would've come back to you if she'd lived?"
Dean cracked his jaw with a slow roll, his eyes boring into his brother as he let his words out in an even stream of air. "If she'd lived and you could've been happy with her, then … I would've been okay if you didn't come back." He hadn't strictly thought about it before, but it was the truth. If the price of Sam's happiness was his own, then … he'd deal. It would be hard, damn hard, but he'd deal.
"I couldn't've been happy with her, though, so … it's just as well."
Sam's voice was quiet but solid. Dean, though, was lost and taken aback in the extreme. "Just as well? As in it's just as well that she's dead?"
Dean pushed up from the bed and climbed off, knocking his brother aside and back a pace as he stood. "Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Sam just huffed. "I don't mean it like that, but … think about it Dean. I would've had a damn hard time letting her go and it would've been a mess trying to bring her into a life like this, if she'd even agree to a life like this. And with what I am? And where my future's headed? There'd be no place for her, Dean. She'd be a liability."
Sam spoke with his eyebrows plummeting down and an arm outstretched and tense, like it was all some too-obvious truth that Dean could surely see, even though that was far from being the case.
Dean felt his head tilt as he regarded his brother, all his words sticking on his tongue like cold molasses. He looked at Sam, really looked, watched the glimmer in his eyes and the agitated rise of his chest after his diatribe, and … he felt his focus narrow, breathing slow like he was reaching for the gun they didn't have anymore. "A liability?"
It was hard enough for Dean to wrap his brain around this newly sprung up theory of Sam's that he and Jessica couldn't have worked, but the way Sam was talking about it and her now was just … so far removed from reasonable emotion, as if this kind of rationality wasn't extreme and disturbing, the self-centered philosophies of a sociopath. "Is that really what you think, Sam? That the woman you said you'd thought you were gonna marry is just … better off dead … because she'd be a liability to you?"
Dean's words were crafted carefully and given the delivery they deserved and a part of him was relieved to see it affect his brother, hearing his thoughts mirrored back to him.
Sam double-blinked then rolled his neck with closed eyes, exhaling thickly as his arm fell and his whole body relaxed visibly, almost slumping. "I'm sorry." He sighed through the words, head bowing as he breathed, nodding gently to himself. "I didn't mean that. It's just- …" He lifted his head, finding Dean's eyes again. "I wanna let it go. I wanna put it away. It's not doing me any good. Okay? And that may sound harsh, but …" His hair shook as he shrugged, eyes shimmering around the edges, his voice gruff. "I had a long time to think and it made sense back then, but now … I need more than her memory can give me. And I don't think that's too much to ask."
Dean tried to find his breath and keep it moving as he swallowed down the hurt pouring off of his brother. "It's not, but that's not what you- …"
"I know, okay? I know. I was upset, I let my mouth run off, and I didn't mean it like that …"
Sam shut his mouth slowly with a deep breath and Dean played along because he wanted this to fit back into okay again, he wanted Sam to make this work in human terms because- … "But …"
"But … I'm not unhappy with what I've got, and I don't think I should have to be."
Dean shook his shoulders, blinking, but releasing some of his tension. "I don't understand."
"You, Dean. You already live like this, you already know how to take care of yourself, and it's not like I have to start from scratch with you. We have more history with each other than with anyone else on the planet. You know my secrets and you accept me anyway. This makes sense." Sam gestured between them as if collecting pieces of each and holding them together in his palm. "You and me is something that just … makes sense. Always has. I was just too busy trying to be something that I'm not. But I'm done with that."
The secondary hairs all over Dean's body from his nape and down over his arms all felt like they were standing and he didn't know whether to be honored or horrified, but the latter was where his gut was leaning and he fought with himself to hold his ground in front of his brother. Whatever he'd thought he was doing by getting Sam to talk didn't really seem to be helping, but the stones were laid out already and there was only one path ahead. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying … I loved her, I did, but … you're here … and you're better. Mostly." Sam sniffed as he nodded slowly. "She didn't lie to me like you do. You seem to be learning, though. That's good."
Sam nodded with a soft smile, bearing a mix of encouragement and pride, but Dean didn't get warm and fuzzy inside, he just felt even more confused, tension puddling in his stomach and making him queasy. "Are you- … Are you feeling okay, Sam?"
"Yeah. I mean … I guess." Sam bit his lip, eyes flitting away as more of his confidence gave way to hesitancy. "I just think today was goodbye, okay? For real this time. She's not here, ya know? And I need- … I need something more than memories, Dean. I can't- …" His voice slid quietly into something raw and desperate as he blinked, head and shoulders twitching once as if tossing off a bug. "I just need something more than memories, okay?"
"Right."
Dean was starting to think that Sam wasn't half as over everything as he seemed to be most of the time, that maybe he'd held more under the surface these years than he'd ever let on. It was almost like he'd regressed, fallen into some kind of bizarre grieving process, and Dean was out of his element again, thrown back to times when Sam wouldn't sleep or eat, when he'd tear up and storm off. He could soothe bruised bodies and bandage new wounds, but all he could think of right now was distraction, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough.
He nodded slowly, words of wisdom slow in coming. "Just- …"
But Sam stepped into his space before any lightbulb went on and Dean was crowded back against the edge of the bed as Sam lifted a hand to his face.
"No." Dean snaked away from him, suddenly breathing hard as if he'd done more than just dodge and step to the right.
Sam just followed him, creeping up again. "But, Dean- …"
"No." He spoke more forcefully and pulled away again, this time too hastily, without the finesse and concentration he used to get away from fights. He nearly tripped over the corner of the bed. "I c- … We can't. We're just- … No."
Sam advanced on him again, but the almost endearing layer of hurt was peeling away to reveal a desperation that wasn't pretty at all. "Dean, I n- …"
"No!" He scrambled, snatching up his keys and his jacket without putting his back to Sam, but Sam had already stopped, as if a wall had sprung up from the carpet to keep him where he was.
Dean shook his head, waving his arms in deterrent to halt Sam as he opened his mouth to speak. "Sam, you- … Well, I don't know what but … why don't you just … chill out for a bit, okay? Watch some TV or … do whatever you do. Don't think too hard. Just … relax, okay?"
Dean took a shaky breath, trying to take his own advice, but he knew he needed something he could feel. Entertainment, food, sex, alcohol, something, anything. Just not this.
"I'm gonna- … I'm just gonna, umm, go for a drink, give you some space." He found the knob of the door sticking into his back and he swallowed, not having realized that he'd backed up that far, that Sam hadn't moved for a while but it still felt like the space he took up in the room was getting bigger, that he was getting closer. "I'll bring you back a case of beer or something, alright?"
He sped through the words as he yanked the door open and all but ran out of the room, snapping the door shut on his brother's pained hitch of breath. The sound he heard leak through the door was not a sob, though. It made him ache, throat twisting up and fingers itching to just turn the knob again, but it wasn't a sob, because it couldn't be. They didn't need more complications when things were already fucked nine ways to hell. Sam just needed some time to get his head straight and Dean just needed some beer.
The drive downtown didn't quiet Dean's mind, though, all his music coming through as noise, because every lyric was another jab at the tender question of his brother and them.
They hadn't really done much of anything … physical … since right after Dad … and even that had mostly just been a body-based translation of "I'm here … I'm alive." After they'd both calmed, though, it just hadn't felt right. Not to Dean, anyway. They hadn't decided not to be that way with each other. They'd just stopped being that way with each other. And as much as Dean sometimes longed for that kind of connection with Sam, he knew that he couldn't have it, maybe didn't deserve it, because every minute of every day he was lying to his brother, keeping secrets from him, secrets that he shouldn't have to keep.
Dean had seen the hurt look on Sam's face when he'd pulled back sometimes, when he'd avoided Sam's eyes, and it made him ache like the slow pump of blood from a wound in his side. But now that Sam was back and so … different … somehow it just didn't seem any more right. It wasn't that Dean didn't want it, but there was something else in the mix between them. Much of it was likely his fault, all the secret-keeping wedging distrust into a partnership that was already strained by distance and time, but there was more to it than that. Sam's own hefty load of baggage was weighing down every attempt at communication, every step in any direction that might have once been progress. He couldn't fault Sam for being upset, but he also couldn't deal with all of Sam's insinuations and the latest of his brother's bizarre reactions had left him reeling, floundering without a shore in sight.
He wasn't trying to be a replacement for anybody and not that it should matter, but if Sam was only reaching for him because he couldn't reach for her, then this had been fucked up for a long time. Not that it had ever not been fucked up, but- … Dean shook his head, a puff of self-deprecating laughter on his tongue. He'd been half-deluding himself about what they did ever being okay, but back when it first started it had been like this, Sam had needed it, and after everything, Dean couldn't just let him hurt like that.
This time, though, it had to be different. With the world falling apart around them and Sam's supposed destiny looming against the dark horizon, they had to find some other way to get through this, some way that wouldn't just keep twisting them up. They had to. He'd decided it.
Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Epilogue
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: The Dead
[068.Nostalgic]
Sam and Dean sat, suited and side-by-side, on a couch in the Edwards House common room, listening intently to the thankfully dry-eyed tale of a college roommate who literally went to jump in a lake. Detective Chris Slade and Detective Simon Wright had their badges in plain view on the coffee table to reinforce the professional nature of this meeting, despite their intrusion into female-only space.
Clearly, this pair of third floor students weren't really into drummers.
"She was sweet, a really great housemate, we never had any problems with her. She could get a little sad sometimes, but we never thought she'd take her own life. I know I would have helped her find a good counselor, if I had." The woman's white-blond crop swayed as she swiveled on the seat cushion, her pale hands tossing about haphazardly with her words. "I mean … she'd just started dating this nice guy - well, we never met him, but he sounded nice - and there were so many nights when she'd breeze in here so vibrant and excited and in love that I just kind of wanted to injure her, ya know? - But, of course, I didn't. - She was just so damn cheery sometimes, even if it came and went, so … I'd just never imagine she'd do that to herself. She seemed fine to me."
"So this guy ... what do you know about him?" Dean said it with that gravelly cop voice that always made people worry about lies and suspicion.
"Oh ... he might have been married or something, but he didn't seem the type - from what we heard - who would kill her. I mean … he wasn't violent. It's not like she ever came home with bruises and fell-into-a-doorknob excuses or anything." She looked to her companion for confirmation, but plugged on, leaning towards Dean conspiratorially before the quieter girl could get a word in. "You don't really think it was homicide, do you?"
"There were some inconsistencies. Hence, the investigation, ma'am." It felt like their elaborate con work was largely wasted on these two, but Dean kept with the persona he'd come in with. Not that it was hard. The unnecessary intensity of Sam's glances, in his direction and in every other direction, was really starting to unnerve him and the irritability of too much driving and too little sleeping was beginning to boil over. If he was gruff, he wasn't acting.
"Now, this guy she was dating? You never met him?" Sam said it with a puzzled hike in his tone, as if he, or the detective he was playing, would know enough about the world of women to find it strange that Tammy's friends had never met her beau.
"Nope." Both women shook their heads, the brunette using the moment to hide deeper in the sweep of her straight, waist-length hair, but Dean could see her shy eyes were trained on Sam's mouth, even when there weren't any words coming out.
Her voice was gentle as she spoke, melodic though a little slurred, and Dean tried not to roll his eyes as he wondered if her clothes were all organic hand-dyed cotton or some other hippie junk. "He was some high-profile business guy, I think, drove a BMW and everything, so I don't think it would've gone over well if she'd wanted us to meet him. Those guys are all about image."
Dean butted in, deeply wishing he could poke them both with the pen balancing atop his ear. "So you don't know his name then? He was just some mystery guy that your friend hung out with?"
Sam's knee knocked hard against his and Dean shut his mouth for a moment, knowing he wasn't helping even though he couldn't seem to calm down. Sam kept with the flow, though, all business and leisurely charm. "Did she describe him?"
"Not really." The blond lifted a carefully arched eyebrow as she thought. "Muscles, tall, handsome, sweet, rich, nice- ... lips. Not much else. She was trying to keep it a secret, so ..." She shrugged apologetically.
"Do you have any idea where she was heading that night?"
"Oh yeah. Kismet." She threw the word out like they were just supposed to move on with an 'oh, of course'.
Dean could feel his forehead scrunch. "I'm sorry?"
"Kismet. It's this kind of jazz lounge-bar-thing downtown. There isn't much around here to do, so … it's sort of the place to be. Well … for some people."
"And she was meeting this guy?" Sam nodded as he watched the witnesses intently.
"Probably. I mean … I think so. That's where they first got together, so they seemed to head out there a lot."
"Okay. Well, did anything else happen that day?" Sam's hand was jotting down notes on his pad, it was at least half for show, but it seemed pretty damn sincere and Dean was reminded of why Sam tended to handle the delicate ones.
"Not that I know of. She just … got up, went to class, came back for dinner, then headed out to club."
"And never came home." The sadly musing little note that Sam dropped right then was so well-played that even Dean had to nod a little, eyes dropping in sympathy.
She looked down at her hands, fingers picking at her splitting nails. "Right."
"Anything else you can think of?"
The two women exchanged looks, as if that ever helped people remember things.
"Not really." Both their heads shook with their shrugging shoulders. "Sorry. It's been … weird, ya know?" The chatty one got quiet suddenly, her eyes wandering off somewhere before clicking back to them with a heightened level of worry. "I just keep thinking, 'what if it really is about the water?' I don't think I care, but … I didn't think she cared about that whole situation either and then … bam. I mean … maybe we're all bottling it up or something."
"Well ... we're continuing to investigate these deaths from every angle, and we haven't received any information beyond the odd rumor with regard to the water situation being the primary cause." Sam's voice slid into an even more comforting timbre, reassuring the woman enough to see her relax somewhat, as if his words were hugs from someone she trusted. "You should be safe."
Dean barely restrained a stage cough. It seemed like he was the only one there who thought everyone was nuts for imagining that some controversy over water in some middle-class American town was making people off themselves. It made him grateful for the silence that fell when Sam ran out of questions and comforting words. He just nodded, lifting his eyebrows and trying not to look anxious to get away. Then, he inclined his head towards the door and stood. "Yeah. So, we'll just leave you ladies to your lunch." He flashed a final tight smile as he waited for Sam to stand, then he headed towards the nearby entryway.
At the door, Sam turned back to the women who had followed them the few feet from the living room, and Dean stopped with his hand on the knob, watching the exchange. Sam's tone was soft and sincere, his smile sympathetic. "Thanks for taking the time to speak with us. We really appreciate it." The act was so Sam and yet smoother somehow, polished and maybe even a little flirty.
Both women mirrored his smile without hesitation and fumbled over each other's phrases saying it was their pleasure and they were always happy to help the authorities and yack yack and so on. Dean just wanted to get out of there and that little tug in his stomach told him that it was probably because he hadn't eaten in a while and needed food. Yeah. Food.
When they got to the car, though, Sam's smirk was back and he might not have been laughing, but he seemed on the verge of doing so. Dean didn't even start the car, he just sat and looked at his brother, until he stopped musing in his own little world. His eyes still smiled even as he put on a faux-serious face, waiting for Dean to say something.
"What's so funny, Sam?"
Sam snickered. "You. Them. Everything."
"Them, I get, maybe, but me? Why am I funny all of a sudden?"
"Because you were tense but basically fine until they started gushing all over me, then you started making faces like someone blew up your puppy."
"I did not."
"You did too, Dean. I just can't decide if you wanted to be me or you wanted to be them."
Sam's eyes were so intent, so full of answers to questions Dean hadn't asked, offering information Dean really didn't want to know right then. There was a reason they were strictly professional, strictly brotherly.
"Whatever." He turned back to the road and started the car, driving them on to the next address on the list.
---
"Was he especially moody before he died? Seeing a counselor for depression or anything?" Sam was making his usual 'I'm-really-listening-to-you' face while they perched on the edge of chairs that seemed precariously placed in the only two clear spaces on the very messy floor.
"Nah, he was perfectly fine. I mean, I wasn't worried about his mental health or anything." The guy yawned and rubbed his stubble, half-mumbling and clearly unimpressed with their supposed credentials, perhaps especially since they'd woken him up from an afternoon nap. "Not that I tend to worry about other people's brains going haywire, because I don't, but …"
"Did he use any drugs or drink a lot?" The victim, Greg or Garry or George or something, hadn't died from an overdose or from alcohol poisoning, but there was always a chance that bad habits had put him in the bullseye of a bad crowd.
"No, no drugs, none that I knew of anyway, and hardly enough beer to even get a buzz. He was dating this older woman, you know, the kind who pays for everything and wants her guys to be just a certain way." His face twisted with disgust, or maybe the ugly side of envy. "I swear, that shit would drive me insane, but he never stopped talking about her, even when he found out she was married. He was a mess, but he just kept going back to her, like she'd ever choose him over that Richie Rich husband of hers."
"Had they started dating recently?"
"Not really." He scratched at his short bed-mussed hair, squinting his eyes as he worked to remember. "I'm pretty sure that they'd been off and on for a year or so, at least."
On a hunch, Dean asked about the meet-up spot. "Did they meet at Kismet, the jazz bar downtown?"
"Kismet only opened a few months ago, but … he did say he was going down there a few times because that's where she liked to go." Dean could see the way the man's nose turned up with his words and he wondered how these two had stayed friends when this one seemed so keen to put the other guy down, even though he wasn't alive and present to defend himself. "Apparently her hubby wasn't really into jazz. How convenient."
"Was he headed there on the night he died?" Maybe Dean was a little short, his voice a little loud, but they weren't learning anything from the needless snide remarks. Well, nothing more than that their witness was a jerk.
"Honestly? I don't know. I mean … he said he had a date, but I didn't ask for details. It wasn't my job to keep track of him. Hell, she nearly had him on a leash anyway. Why don't you ask her?" The man almost seemed put out by the mere thought that he should know his friends' whereabouts on the night of his death any more than any other night. "Maybe he was headed there. Maybe not. But, really, there aren't too many other places to go in this town and they both seemed to like it, so … could be."
---
Dating. Married. Kismet. Dating. Married. Kismet.
They only made four stops before Dean's stomach was seriously rumbling from its many-houred emptiness, but those three words just kept rising to the surface.
"You think it's a shapeshifter?"
"Killing people who date married people?" Sam was picking off the last bits of his medium rare steak.
"You have a better idea?"
"No, but ... none of the victims were noticeably traumatized or altered beyond their exact cause of death and some of them were in pretty difficult circumstances for a shapeshifter killing. Locked rooms and whatnot, kind of like with the daevas, so ... I think it'd have to be something incorporeal."
"You think it's a spirit? Someone wronged by their cheating spouse?" Dean sucked his spoon into his mouth, bobbing it on his tongue as he waited for his brother's answer.
"See ..." Sam seemed momentarily distracted, by the bobbing spoon and Dean pulled it out, setting it on his plate and smiling innocently, encouraging Sam to continue. "I don't know about that either, though, because ... let's say you were mad that your ... partner ... had cheated on you ... mad enough to kill ... wouldn't you kill them both? I mean ... everyone's guilty in that kind of situation, right? Like- …" He mouthed through some words as he thought, but then shook his head. "I was going to say, like that Woman-in-White, but she didn't kill everyone involved in cheat situations. She just killed unfaithful guys in general, so … this mix of victims doesn't fit that exactly, but … maybe something like that?" His voice strained as he did, reaching for possible answers to the mystery in question.
"Maybe. And maybe the spirit doesn't think less of their spouse. Maybe they think their husband or wife or whatever wouldn't have cheated if there hadn't been that temptation, so they don't go after the married folks, they go after the unmarried ones."
"Could be. We can check the newspaper archive tomorrow, but ... how would we even know if someone died hating their spouse's lover unless there was reported violence or something?"
"Honestly, Sam? I dunno, but we don't have much else to go on here."
The waitress interrupted, dropping the bill, which Sam slapped his hand down on, before Dean could even reach for it. "What about Kismet?"
"Why don't we check that after we exhaust the library search, or we won't even know what we're looking for." He knew that was right, but he found himself wondering why he'd said it instead of Sam.
"Okay. Fine."
They rose to leave and Sam dropped the requisite amount of cash on the table before they headed back to the motel to re-organize their info. Apparently, casino security guards and construction workers made a damn good bit of money and Sam had that strange money-saving skill that other Winchester men seemed to lack.
---
Back at the motel they began reorganizing their information based on the interviews they'd done, but no further connections cropped up. They each made a few phone calls, managing to interview a few more people before it started to get seriously late, but neither were sure how much all that had really helped.
"Ugh." Sam made a face as he hung up the motel phone and ran his fingers through his hair. "Same stuff. Again. They're like … completely random and yet- …" He shook his head with a yawn, clearly beat. "I'm gonna grab a shower."
"Okay." Dean nodded, not looking up from his case notes as if the fourth time through would cause the hidden solution to the puzzle to blink into existence, highlighted between the lines of standard ink.
Sam got up, his clothes rustling as he stripped down and tossed things into the dirty half of his bag. Then the quiet of the room was broken by a string of minor notes one beat from being a scale.
Dean snorted and raised his head, a quip about emo ringtones on the tip of his tongue, but Sam was turning away from him as he picked up his phone, voice somewhat strained.
"Hey. … Yeah, of course. … Uhh, I'm in town, kinda. Well, I'm in Tiffany. … Yeah, mostly. … Right now? … Sure. That'd be great. … Uhh, could you meet me in town? … Yeah, no, it's just- … Okay, yeah. I'll meet you there. … Yeah, that's fine. … Okay. … Bye."
Sam stilled for a moment, just breathing, before slowly clicking his phone back into sleep mode and turning around to continue getting ready for his shower.
It seemed like a pretty short conversation to really say much of anything and it always made Dean uncomfortable to have Sam turn his back like that, as if his facial expressions would reveal something he didn't want Dean to know. There might have been a hint of annoyance mixed in with his curiosity when he spoke. "You gonna tell me who that was, Sam?"
Sam huffed, straightening back up to stand in his boxers after tearing off his socks. "Dude, it's not like someone called me on your phone. And, unlike you, I actually pay for this phone with my own money, so … I can talk to whoever I want."
Dean nearly groaned, Sam's combative tone making him long for a beer and a lapful of distraction. "I'm not trying to be an ass here, Sam. I just heard you say that you would meet this person somewhere and it might've slipped your mind, but the car outside is mine and I kinda like to know where she's supposed to be going."
"I can walk just fine, thanks, but- …" He paused, looking Dean over before continuing, cautiously. "Her name's Mel, Melanie. She's a- … friend from school. Her dad's actually the one who gave me my first construction job after we- … you know."
Dean nodded slowly, waiting for Sam to go on, but apparently he was done. "So … where're you meeting her?"
"Oh, umm, the diner downtown, but … not until tomorrow … for lunch. I mean … even if the library work's gonna take all day, that would be a natural break, so- …"
"Hey, no worries. That's fine with me." He smirked. "I mean, just say the word and I'll find somewhere else to be so you can … have the room to yourself."
Sam's eyebrows smashed together as his eyes got big. Then he burst into a deep laugh, a hand on his gut. "Maybe all your calls from women are for sex, but … Mel is really just a friend. And she's all about the ladies anyway."
Dean only smirked harder and opened his mouth, intent to tack on a relevant quip, but Sam cut him off with a wagging hand. "Don't, Dean. Just … don't."
Dean shut his mouth, content to think the classic 'because she hasn't met me yet', even if Sam refused to face the truth.
"Besides …" That intense look was back in Sam's eyes, edged with something soft and conveying more than Dean wanted to think about right then. His words were heavy and deep. "I wouldn't be interested anyway."
Dean looked at his brother for a long moment, but Sam's expression didn't change and eventually Dean just gave up, breathing deep and shaking his head as he returned his eyes to the paper in his hands.
"You gonna grab a shower too?" Sam's voice was lighter than it had been, but still so expectant.
"Maybe." Dean mumbled, scanning the same words over and over without getting any of the meaning. "After you."
Dean didn't hear Sam move, though. He just stood there breathing and Dean saw the black on the white of the page, but it might as well have been abstract art as Sam spoke, hesitant and nearly a whisper. "You, uh- … You don't have to wait, ya know."
He heard the double thump of his heart as if it was an elephant bouncing on his shoulders. "Sam." He sighed, no longer pretending that he was reading, but still unable to bring himself to look up.
"Dean."
The invitation was out now, as clear as they'd ever let it be, but Dean wanted to do things right this time, wanted to give Sam something halfway normal now more than ever and Sam constantly shoving offerings in his face that he couldn't take was grinding things all wrong in his stomach.
He lifted his head, eyes glaring. "Just get your shower, alright?"
The words came out more forceful than he'd intended and he saw hurt flash in his brother's eyes, chased by something that almost looked like shame, before everything locked up tight and hard again. "Yeah, okay."
Sam turned toward the bathroom, hands fumbling at the waist of his boxers, then curling into fists without stripping fully. He just bowed his head and walked into the bathroom, his hands dragging roughly against his shorts like something stubborn clung there and he couldn't rub it off. "Door's open."
Sam's words were soft and Dean could almost think that he'd only imagined them, but the door remained slightly ajar as the shower creaked on, water splashing loudly against tile.
Dean sat for a while, watching the light stream through the door, then watching the steam billow out into the room, momentarily curious about why there wasn't yelling about too-hot water with all the steam that kept pouring out. It was only an attempt at mental distraction, though, and a poor one at that.
He didn't want to think about Sam in the shower, about water slipping over his skin, soap-slick hands sliding between them, about the weight of wet hair through his fingers, the feel of his brother wrapped around him, about knowing for certain via incontestable physical proof that Sam was really back with him and not lost, never lost.
He didn't want to think about it. But he did anyway.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, steam-wet and hardly covered by a too-small towel, one leg bare nearly to the waist, Dean was watching TV. Or, he had been watching TV until then. He really should've been working on the case, but he couldn't focus enough to make sense of words so he'd moved on to visuals. Only now he had a living picture only a few feet from him and he sincerely wished that he could figure out how to stop focusing on that.
He stared, unknowingly, almost forgetting how to breathe though his mouth hung partially open. Looking at Sam right then had Dean remembering cramped quarters in the backseat, his foot hooked over the front and his brother's hands touching everything they could reach as Sam whispered 'need you', desperately, in between groans.
It had been a long time, too long and too damn complicated.
Dean would've sighed, nostalgic for that connection more than anything else, but Sam's laughter hit him like a bouquet of flowerless thorns and his eyes snapped up to see Sam, smirking back at him, all traces of hurt banished by an ample coating of arrogance. "You want some of this?"
Dean's head gave the barest of shakes as his eyes purposefully shifted back to the television. He really didn't want to talk about this. Ever. "We're not doing that, Sam."
Sam walked up to the edge of Dean's bed, leaning over Dean, bare-chested and grinning. "Why not?"
Sam's hands slid to the tuck in the waist of his towel but Dean stopped them, his fingers making unwanted but necessary contact with too many shower-heated inches his brother's skin. "We're just not."
Sam pulled his hands away with a dark chuckle, but the towel held and Dean snatched his hands back. "I saw the way you tried not to look at me while we were at the cemetery this morning. Just like you've been doing all day. Were you worried that you'd have impure thoughts on holy ground? Or did it just feel a little wrong to still be jealous, to think that I never would've come back to you if she'd lived?"
Dean cracked his jaw with a slow roll, his eyes boring into his brother as he let his words out in an even stream of air. "If she'd lived and you could've been happy with her, then … I would've been okay if you didn't come back." He hadn't strictly thought about it before, but it was the truth. If the price of Sam's happiness was his own, then … he'd deal. It would be hard, damn hard, but he'd deal.
"I couldn't've been happy with her, though, so … it's just as well."
Sam's voice was quiet but solid. Dean, though, was lost and taken aback in the extreme. "Just as well? As in it's just as well that she's dead?"
Dean pushed up from the bed and climbed off, knocking his brother aside and back a pace as he stood. "Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Sam just huffed. "I don't mean it like that, but … think about it Dean. I would've had a damn hard time letting her go and it would've been a mess trying to bring her into a life like this, if she'd even agree to a life like this. And with what I am? And where my future's headed? There'd be no place for her, Dean. She'd be a liability."
Sam spoke with his eyebrows plummeting down and an arm outstretched and tense, like it was all some too-obvious truth that Dean could surely see, even though that was far from being the case.
Dean felt his head tilt as he regarded his brother, all his words sticking on his tongue like cold molasses. He looked at Sam, really looked, watched the glimmer in his eyes and the agitated rise of his chest after his diatribe, and … he felt his focus narrow, breathing slow like he was reaching for the gun they didn't have anymore. "A liability?"
It was hard enough for Dean to wrap his brain around this newly sprung up theory of Sam's that he and Jessica couldn't have worked, but the way Sam was talking about it and her now was just … so far removed from reasonable emotion, as if this kind of rationality wasn't extreme and disturbing, the self-centered philosophies of a sociopath. "Is that really what you think, Sam? That the woman you said you'd thought you were gonna marry is just … better off dead … because she'd be a liability to you?"
Dean's words were crafted carefully and given the delivery they deserved and a part of him was relieved to see it affect his brother, hearing his thoughts mirrored back to him.
Sam double-blinked then rolled his neck with closed eyes, exhaling thickly as his arm fell and his whole body relaxed visibly, almost slumping. "I'm sorry." He sighed through the words, head bowing as he breathed, nodding gently to himself. "I didn't mean that. It's just- …" He lifted his head, finding Dean's eyes again. "I wanna let it go. I wanna put it away. It's not doing me any good. Okay? And that may sound harsh, but …" His hair shook as he shrugged, eyes shimmering around the edges, his voice gruff. "I had a long time to think and it made sense back then, but now … I need more than her memory can give me. And I don't think that's too much to ask."
Dean tried to find his breath and keep it moving as he swallowed down the hurt pouring off of his brother. "It's not, but that's not what you- …"
"I know, okay? I know. I was upset, I let my mouth run off, and I didn't mean it like that …"
Sam shut his mouth slowly with a deep breath and Dean played along because he wanted this to fit back into okay again, he wanted Sam to make this work in human terms because- … "But …"
"But … I'm not unhappy with what I've got, and I don't think I should have to be."
Dean shook his shoulders, blinking, but releasing some of his tension. "I don't understand."
"You, Dean. You already live like this, you already know how to take care of yourself, and it's not like I have to start from scratch with you. We have more history with each other than with anyone else on the planet. You know my secrets and you accept me anyway. This makes sense." Sam gestured between them as if collecting pieces of each and holding them together in his palm. "You and me is something that just … makes sense. Always has. I was just too busy trying to be something that I'm not. But I'm done with that."
The secondary hairs all over Dean's body from his nape and down over his arms all felt like they were standing and he didn't know whether to be honored or horrified, but the latter was where his gut was leaning and he fought with himself to hold his ground in front of his brother. Whatever he'd thought he was doing by getting Sam to talk didn't really seem to be helping, but the stones were laid out already and there was only one path ahead. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying … I loved her, I did, but … you're here … and you're better. Mostly." Sam sniffed as he nodded slowly. "She didn't lie to me like you do. You seem to be learning, though. That's good."
Sam nodded with a soft smile, bearing a mix of encouragement and pride, but Dean didn't get warm and fuzzy inside, he just felt even more confused, tension puddling in his stomach and making him queasy. "Are you- … Are you feeling okay, Sam?"
"Yeah. I mean … I guess." Sam bit his lip, eyes flitting away as more of his confidence gave way to hesitancy. "I just think today was goodbye, okay? For real this time. She's not here, ya know? And I need- … I need something more than memories, Dean. I can't- …" His voice slid quietly into something raw and desperate as he blinked, head and shoulders twitching once as if tossing off a bug. "I just need something more than memories, okay?"
"Right."
Dean was starting to think that Sam wasn't half as over everything as he seemed to be most of the time, that maybe he'd held more under the surface these years than he'd ever let on. It was almost like he'd regressed, fallen into some kind of bizarre grieving process, and Dean was out of his element again, thrown back to times when Sam wouldn't sleep or eat, when he'd tear up and storm off. He could soothe bruised bodies and bandage new wounds, but all he could think of right now was distraction, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough.
He nodded slowly, words of wisdom slow in coming. "Just- …"
But Sam stepped into his space before any lightbulb went on and Dean was crowded back against the edge of the bed as Sam lifted a hand to his face.
"No." Dean snaked away from him, suddenly breathing hard as if he'd done more than just dodge and step to the right.
Sam just followed him, creeping up again. "But, Dean- …"
"No." He spoke more forcefully and pulled away again, this time too hastily, without the finesse and concentration he used to get away from fights. He nearly tripped over the corner of the bed. "I c- … We can't. We're just- … No."
Sam advanced on him again, but the almost endearing layer of hurt was peeling away to reveal a desperation that wasn't pretty at all. "Dean, I n- …"
"No!" He scrambled, snatching up his keys and his jacket without putting his back to Sam, but Sam had already stopped, as if a wall had sprung up from the carpet to keep him where he was.
Dean shook his head, waving his arms in deterrent to halt Sam as he opened his mouth to speak. "Sam, you- … Well, I don't know what but … why don't you just … chill out for a bit, okay? Watch some TV or … do whatever you do. Don't think too hard. Just … relax, okay?"
Dean took a shaky breath, trying to take his own advice, but he knew he needed something he could feel. Entertainment, food, sex, alcohol, something, anything. Just not this.
"I'm gonna- … I'm just gonna, umm, go for a drink, give you some space." He found the knob of the door sticking into his back and he swallowed, not having realized that he'd backed up that far, that Sam hadn't moved for a while but it still felt like the space he took up in the room was getting bigger, that he was getting closer. "I'll bring you back a case of beer or something, alright?"
He sped through the words as he yanked the door open and all but ran out of the room, snapping the door shut on his brother's pained hitch of breath. The sound he heard leak through the door was not a sob, though. It made him ache, throat twisting up and fingers itching to just turn the knob again, but it wasn't a sob, because it couldn't be. They didn't need more complications when things were already fucked nine ways to hell. Sam just needed some time to get his head straight and Dean just needed some beer.
The drive downtown didn't quiet Dean's mind, though, all his music coming through as noise, because every lyric was another jab at the tender question of his brother and them.
They hadn't really done much of anything … physical … since right after Dad … and even that had mostly just been a body-based translation of "I'm here … I'm alive." After they'd both calmed, though, it just hadn't felt right. Not to Dean, anyway. They hadn't decided not to be that way with each other. They'd just stopped being that way with each other. And as much as Dean sometimes longed for that kind of connection with Sam, he knew that he couldn't have it, maybe didn't deserve it, because every minute of every day he was lying to his brother, keeping secrets from him, secrets that he shouldn't have to keep.
Dean had seen the hurt look on Sam's face when he'd pulled back sometimes, when he'd avoided Sam's eyes, and it made him ache like the slow pump of blood from a wound in his side. But now that Sam was back and so … different … somehow it just didn't seem any more right. It wasn't that Dean didn't want it, but there was something else in the mix between them. Much of it was likely his fault, all the secret-keeping wedging distrust into a partnership that was already strained by distance and time, but there was more to it than that. Sam's own hefty load of baggage was weighing down every attempt at communication, every step in any direction that might have once been progress. He couldn't fault Sam for being upset, but he also couldn't deal with all of Sam's insinuations and the latest of his brother's bizarre reactions had left him reeling, floundering without a shore in sight.
He wasn't trying to be a replacement for anybody and not that it should matter, but if Sam was only reaching for him because he couldn't reach for her, then this had been fucked up for a long time. Not that it had ever not been fucked up, but- … Dean shook his head, a puff of self-deprecating laughter on his tongue. He'd been half-deluding himself about what they did ever being okay, but back when it first started it had been like this, Sam had needed it, and after everything, Dean couldn't just let him hurt like that.
This time, though, it had to be different. With the world falling apart around them and Sam's supposed destiny looming against the dark horizon, they had to find some other way to get through this, some way that wouldn't just keep twisting them up. They had to. He'd decided it.
Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Epilogue