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Entry tags:
(All The Things) Come Back To You, SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17
Title: (All The Things) Come Back To You
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Pairing: NC-17, Sam/Dean
Length: ~21,000 words
Spoilers: Through 5.22, AU after that (and by AU, I mean I haven't watched even a minute of S6 yet, omg, and have been dodging spoilers since August.)
Notes/Warnings: Sequel to Dream On, and will definitely make more sense if you've read that first. Title from Aerosmith's Dream On. Notes and thanks at the end.
Summary: With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams.
Also in one part on AO3: (All The Things) Come Back To You
The weather stayed freaky. As far as Dean could tell, they got maybe a week of true summer weather before the weirdness moved back in. There were a couple of hurricanes pounding the East Coast, and while they were at Bobby's, the few times they'd been able to pick up a TV signal they watched drier climates fight brush fires and Switzerland deal with a heat wave.
"Switzerland," Dean said, turning off the TV in disgust. Sam was out of the room, so he muttered to Bobby, "What the hell did Switzerland do to the angel-boys?"
Bobby snorted but didn't answer, just went back to watching Sam sit at the kitchen table and take notes in the ever-present composition book. Dean hadn't been able to get in touch with Bobby before he and Sam had arrived and it had been touch-and-go the first few minutes, Bobby covering them both from the porch with the Colt and Sam's memories coming back enough to remember Bobby but not enough to really know what the hell was going on. Dean figured he might owe Cas for watching out for them, giving them all enough time that Dean could convince Bobby not to shoot the both of them and get out the holy water and silver instead. Once they'd gotten through all that, Bobby'd sat down hard on the front step, staring at Sam like he'd disappear again if Bobby so much as blinked. Dean understood that.
The part of Sam's brain that was on gate-keeper duty was being damn stingy with the details. Sam had recognized Bobby as soon as he saw him--and had known the last few turns to the junkyard, almost laughing as he told Dean how to get there as they drove up--but other than the stuff he'd already dreamed, nothing new was popping up. Nothing about being possessed or opening the Devil's Gate or saying yes to Lucifer had leaked through. He spent his days skimming Bobby's library, cross-checking what he remembered and winding himself up more and more over what he didn't.
Bobby wouldn't talk about his own deal, warning Dean off the topic with a hard glare and a threat to throw them both out if Dean pressed the issue. Dean backed off and let Bobby send them out to comb through the junkyard for spare parts whenever Bobby thought Sam had had enough of the books. They filled more orders than Bobby had in a year, plus got enough stuff set aside for the Impala that Dean could rebuild her again if he needed to. Dean had to admit that it was good just hanging out with Sam; digging around all the cars gave them something to do and talk about, and took enough brain power that they weren't dwelling on Sam not getting his memory back.
"I know you don't remember this," Bobby said over supper one night, pointing at Sam with his fork and waiting to make sure he had Sam's attention, "but the last thing I told you was to fight like hell, and seeing as we're all here now, that's exactly what you did, boy."
"Maybe," Sam said. "But--"
"No maybes or buts about it," Bobby snapped. "Don't you go pushing anything. It'll shake itself free when it's time."
Sam looked a little startled at the fierceness in Bobby's voice; to tell the truth, Dean was, too. Bobby glared at the both of them.
"What if it doesn't?" Sam said, finally putting it into words. "What if it never comes back?"
"Then I reckon we say thank you for what we've got and mean it." Bobby shook his head. "It's not my life that's gone, I know that, but I'm not gonna be anything but damned happy to be feeding you two chuckleheads."
He pushed his chair back from the table and went to put his plate in the sink and that was the end of that.
* * *
Dean got lucky and got a call through to Lisa on one of Bobby's landlines. It was a shitty connection, but Dean was taking whatever he could get. Ben answered the phone and Dean got maybe two words in edgewise, what with Ben going off on how stupid it was that they were having to go back to school again, and early this time because of all the time they'd missed in the spring. He was gone just as fast, handing the phone over to Lisa and yelling his good-byes.
"Dean?" Lisa said, and the connection got good enough that Dean heard a door slam in the background. "Sorry about all that."
"I'm guessing that if he has that much energy to bitch about school, things are still okay there," Dean said.
"Or there's no limit to how horrible school is," Lisa answered.
"Maybe both?" Dean said, smiling at the exasperation in her voice. Sam looked up from whatever book he'd buried his geek head in, watching Dean for a couple of seconds before going back to his first love.
"We're fine. Nothing--" Lisa said, the connection crackling and hissing for a second before going dead. Dean swore and started redialing.
"Everything okay?" Sam looked up again from his books; Dean shrugged and hung up when the call didn't go through.
"I guess," Dean said. "She sounded okay, a little annoyed with Ben but…" She had sounded fine; Dean didn't think he was making that up to let himself off the hook.
"You can keep trying," Sam said.
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I guess that's what I'll do."
* * *
Bobby had a truly impressive ham radio setup--of course--that they used to contact people across the country and map out a pretty decent route to Palo Alto. The roads were torn up in a couple of places, but the people they were talking to had alternates that Dean could live with, even if they were going to end up doubling back once or twice.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked. "It's more than a thousand miles and we really don't know what we might run into--"
"It was a thousand miles to get here, Sam," Dean interrupted, knowing good and well that it wasn't the distance that was freaking Sam out, but not sure if he was allowed to call him on not wanting to find out for sure that he wasn't going to remember. "We're good to go whenever you're ready."
Sam's eyes were glued to the damned notebook; Dean finally slapped his hand down on the page. "Dude," Dean said. "It's your call."
Sam finally looked up; Dean met his eyes steadily, a little surprised how easy it was to be that way again. Sam nodded, finally, and for better or worse Dean started packing up.
* * *
They took it in easy stages. Dean drove most of the first day, but he let Sam talk him into switching off for a couple of hours.
"It's a straight line," Sam said, pointing to the road with a calm that Dean knew was only about an inch deep. "It's not like I can't see everything that's coming at me for a mile."
Dean wasn't actually all that freaked about giving up the wheel to a Sam who wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. He figured it'd be like muscle memory or something. It was just fun having something to yank Sammy's chain over. The pissy little crease between Sam's eyes told Dean Sam knew he was being played, and that made it all the better. Besides, Dean figured he could yank the wheel and get them off the road in a hurry if he really needed to.
They hit a diner in the afternoon, too late for lunch but before the dinner rush started; other than the waitress behind the counter and the cook in the back, they had the place to themselves.
"What if it's the same thing?" Sam asked, while they waited for their food. "What if we get there and I don't remember anything else?"
"Then we find somebody to give us directions to the beach and we chill for a while," Dean answered, shrugging. There were plenty of days when he thought Sam not remembering wouldn't be a bad thing, except he knew Sam well enough to realize he'd never let it go. "It's not a race, Sam, and we don't have anyplace we need to be."
Sam shrugged and didn't say anything more. Dean figured they weren't done with the topic yet, but their orders arrived--hot open-face turkey sandwiches and mashed potatoes for the both of them; what with the flashbacks Dean still had to Famine, burgers and fries remained off the menu--and it was easy enough to let it go for the time being.
There was a little rack of postcards next to the cash register. Dean twirled it around while he was waiting for the waitress to finish up with her soaps and take his money. On the fourth spin, it occurred to him that he actually had people he could send mail to. He grabbed one at random and nodded to the waitress to add it to the tab, figuring they'd see a post office sooner or later.
Unexpectedly, the waitress said, "We got stamps if you want some. Mail comes around four; you can leave it and I'll give it with the rest of our stuff."
"Thanks," Dean said, scrawling a quick note to Ben and Lisa. Sam came back from the head as Dean was writing out the address, taking extra care to get it legible. He watched silently as Dean stowed the extra stamps in his billfold and didn't mention it until the middle of the next day when they stopped for gas. Even then he didn't say anything, only bought a panoramic card that showed the Grand Tetons and pointed Dean toward a corner mailbox.
* * *
They were halfway through Montana when the engine started running hot. Dean babied her for an hour, running the heater full blast to siphon the hot air off the engine, but the needle on the temperature gauge stayed stuck right on the edge of the red zone and he figured they'd best not press their luck. Sam was crashed out in the passenger seat, head pillowed against the window on a balled-up jacket; Dean managed to get the map out from under his thigh without waking him, and balanced it against the steering wheel to check out his options. They were coming up on a town; Dean hoped like hell it was big enough to have a garage that could deal with an older car. If it came right down to it Dean could do the work himself, get word to Bobby and have him send whatever parts they needed, but he wasn't sure how well Sam was going to deal with down-time.
With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams. Or, as their dad would have put it: SOS. The same old shit, just a different day. The one good thing was that Dean didn't have to worry about what Sam might really be--he'd watched Bobby check every which way and come up with nothing but Sam.
Sam stirred as Dean slowed at the town's edge, coming awake and rubbing his eyes as the road went from a relatively well-maintained state route to patched and uneven in the space of a block.
"Is it me, or does it look kind of… off," Sam said, jerking his head toward the little strip of businesses in front of them.
It was mid-morning on a Sunday, and gray and raw at that, so Dean wasn't expecting much activity, but even so, he had to agree. Main Street was deserted, the awnings of the local restaurant rippling in the wind, while the light at the railroad crossing blinked slowly, left and then right and then left again. The whole town wasn't much more than a dozen blocks square; Dean would bet the Impala that a block or two off the main drag--which was all of maybe four blocks long--the roads would be that kind of heavily oiled and compacted gravel and dirt that only passed for paved when it wasn't raining.
"Not just you," Dean said, with an odd reluctance. It used to be that the thought of a hunt got his blood pumping, but this was leaving him curiously flat. He pulled into a parking space in front of the hardware and building supply store and turned the engine off.
"Maybe it's quiet around here always," Sam offered, as though he caught Dean's mood.
"Maybe," Dean answered, getting out of the car and looking up and down the deserted street. He could see movement behind the big plate glass windows of the diner, so it wasn't a total ghost town. "We're usually not that lucky, though. Just in case you weren't sure about that."
"Yeah," Sam said, following Dean out of the car. "I kinda figured."
They crossed the empty street and pushed open the glass-framed door of the diner. Inside, it was as normal and routine as the street was weird. The breakfast rush was over, but a few tables were still occupied. A waitress wearing a denim shirt and jeans, with a long white apron tied over them, had coffee at the booth they snagged before Sam even got his legs situated under the table.
"Breakfast all day, or Joe'll slap a burger on for you if you want an early lunch," she said over Patsy Cline on the jukebox. She waited patiently, long dark hair feathered with silver pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed in time with the music, while Sam did his thing with figuring out what he hadn't tried yet.
"Wilkinson's, at the end of the block," she said once they'd each ordered a short stack with an extra side of bacon and Dean asked about a garage. "It's kind of a mess because of how they're tearing down the old high school right across the street, but they're still open."
"Any chance somebody might be around today?"
She nodded toward a guy sitting at the bar, more jeans and boots and long dark hair, this time in a low ponytail. "It's my cousin Tom's place, and that's him over there. I can tell him you're looking for some help, if you want."
"Thanks, darlin'," Dean told her, and then added to Sam, "Gotta love small towns."
"Even the creepy ones?" Sam asked, his hands moving restlessly in the way that Dean had come to figure out meant that he was itching for pen and paper to write stuff down. "I--there are a couple different ones, I think."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, little brother. There have been more than a couple creepy small towns in our life."
Sam smiled, a little, and shook his head. "They're all tangled up, right now. Hard to tease them apart, except you look different, even as an adult. Younger, sometimes. Not as…"
"Beaten down?" Dean offered, when Sam couldn't seem to find the right word.
"I was going to say not as tired," Sam said, taking a sip of coffee and making a face. Dean had to admit the stuff was strong enough to walk on its own, but that wasn't necessarily something Dean disapproved of.
"Call a spade a spade, man." Dean flipped him a pack of sugar. "We're never gonna get through everything if we're dancing around shit."
"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "You're right." He tore open the sugar and stirred it into his coffee. "You look better now."
* * *
Tom from Wilkinson's was okay with Dean bringing the car in, and even with Dean checking things out himself.
"If she was mine, I'd be picky about who worked on her, too," Tom said, the weathered lines around his eyes deepening in an almost smile. Sam huffed out a little laugh at that, which Dean assumed meant there was a little bit more in Sam's head background-wise.
Like he thought, the water pump was about to go; Tom checked his files and thought he could probably lay his hands on a replacement by end of day Monday, Tuesday at the latest. That was probably quicker than Bobby would be able to get anything to them, so Dean dug out some cash for a deposit and asked about places to stay.
"There are a couple of motels out by the highway," Tom said. "Chains. Pretty basic. Or my cousin Jennie, from the diner--she has a couple of rooms she rents out. They're right here in town."
"Works for me," Dean said. "C'mon, Sam, grab your gear."
"You don't even want to see the place?" Tom asked.
"It'd have to be pretty bad for him to even notice," Sam said.
"I'm not driving her," Dean said, slamming the hood of the Impala. "And I'm not hiking back out to the highway." He grabbed his duffel and started back out toward the street. "You got a problem with that, princess?"
"Let me guess," Dean heard Tom say. "Brothers?"
Sam laughed, and Dean had to admit it was a good sound to hear, even if he was tempted to turn around and smack him on the back of his head.
* * *
The room over the diner was fine. If you asked Dean, it was pretty nice except for the part where there wasn't a TV, but they were only going to be there for a couple of days and there was no guarantee on reception anyway. The windows faced out over Main Street; if they got really bored, they could sit around and snoop.
Sam looked at him like he was insane, but hey, the place was looking a little more alive now, and Sam was just pissy because the beds were twins and there was no way his ginormous self was going to fit.
"Dude, come on, there's food right downstairs. Open early and late, and enough of a menu that it'll take you a week to get through it even if we eat there all the time," Dean said in as obnoxious a tone as he could, because Sam getting pissed about Dean implying he was being whiny was better than Sam getting broody about how long it was taking them to get to California. Sam sighed and dropped his gear on the bed, and Dean poked and prodded until he agreed to go out and walk around town, see what there was to see.
Dean had to admit there wasn't all that much. Like he'd figured earlier, paved roads gave out after two blocks and the only stoplight in town was the one at the end of Main Street, right where the high school was, probably to keep the kids from tearing in and out of the field that served as a parking lot. For the rest of it, there was a dry cleaners and a post office and a small storefront with handmade quilts and sweaters in the window and a sign announcing that guitar lessons were available on the second floor. Railroad tracks cut the town in half, but as far as Dean could tell, neither side was the wrong side of the tracks. The best part--for Sam, and Dean was happy enough to see it for that reason alone--was the library tucked in behind the bank. It was small and old, but it was open even on a Sunday and Dean breathed a sigh of relief at how Sam perked up at the sight.
"Go on, you know you're dying to check it out," Dean said. "Go get your geek on."
"You could come in, too," Sam said. "What? I know you know how to read, remember?"
"Dude," Dean said, laughing. "Unless there's something trying to kill me, libraries are not my thing." He jerked his head back toward the high school. "Looks like the football team is scrimmaging; I'm gonna go check that out. You have fun with the books."
Dean thought it was healthy, him being able to leave Sam without completely freaking out, but that didn't mean it was easy. He walked quickly back down the way they'd come, before he lost his nerve. He thought he felt Sam's eyes on him but he didn't look back, just kept going until he got to the edge of the practice field where there was a fence to lean on and enough activity to distract him.
It was a small enough town that everyone already knew he was one of the guys who were waiting on parts for their car. Tom from the garage nodded to him--Dean figured out that he was there watching one of the wide receivers, who turned out to be a nephew--and a couple of people Dean thought he might have seen in the diner were standing around, too. The kids on the field were running without pads--no hits, only going through plays after the game the Friday before--and despite the first weird feel to the place, people were friendly enough, happy to tell Dean about the winning streak the team was on and how they were gunning for a state championship this year. By the time Sam showed up saying that the library had closed, Dean had sprung for a book of coupons to local businesses for the band fundraiser and promised to bring the Impala by the varsity cheerleaders car wash as soon as he was finished working on her.
"Buy one, get one free at the DQ, Sammy," Dean said, waving the coupons at Sam's arched eyebrow. "It'll give you a whole new menu to explore."
Sam rolled his eyes but let Dean take him down the three blocks and around the corner to start dinner off with a Blizzard. Sam stared at the menu board for, like, ten minutes, and then ordered an Oreo-M&M-Butterfinger-Heath Bar one, like he'd always done.
"It sounded good," he said, when Dean indulged in a little eye-rolling of his own.
"To nobody in the world but you." Dean licked the long-handled spoon he'd stuck in his Peanut Buster parfait--a classic, even if Sam had never gotten into it. "The rest of your brain might still be in a zone but your taste buds must be coming back online."
Sam looked at him as though Dean was feeding him a line just to cheer him up, but finally nodded and ate another spoonful of ridiculously jumbled candy and ice cream. They sat on the concrete wall bordering the DQ parking lot and watched the clouds roll in off the mountains.
"What did you learn today, Research Boy?" Dean asked, and let Sam ramble on about all the stuff Dean knew he'd just looked up. Neither of them was very hungry, but once the diner closed for the night there didn't seem to be much else in the way of food in walking distance, so they wandered back that way and split a couple of orders of chili-cheese fries and some onion rings to get them through the night. Their waitress was one of the kids Dean had bought the DQ coupons from, and he thought he recognized one or two of the football players bussing tables. It had been a long time since Dean had wondered what it would have been like to grow up as an insider in a place where everyone knew everybody else, but it still surfaced every now and then.
When Jennie came by to see if they needed anything for the room, Dean got her to save him some apple pie for breakfast. It wasn't an exciting night, but it was nice enough, at least until they walked back around to the outside staircase and half the lights along the street hissed and popped and blew out. Before Dean could do more than whistle in appreciation at the damage, the big crane parked at the edge of the new construction around the high school started tilting, leaning further and further over, hanging on the edge of over-balanced for a long few seconds before it fell with a groaning crash, the sound bouncing off the storefronts up and down Main Street. And like there needed to be an aftershock, the rest of the street lights blew out.
"Well, hell, Sammy," Dean sighed. "I was kinda starting to like this place."
* * *
The whole town came running at the crash, everyone yelling and fussing, but with an interesting undertone of here-we-go-again. Dean hung back, not crowding around the trashed crane; Sam did the same, and for a second Dean forgot that Sam didn't really know how they worked together, so it was a gut punch when he remembered. He shook it off quick enough that he was pretty sure Sam didn't notice, and motioned Sam back away from the crowd.
"Okay, so we're definitely back to the creepy side of things," Sam murmured. "Now what?"
"Now we hang out and see what we can see, because my EMF meter is back in the car," Dean said. "Act normal," he added, and Sam snorted. "No, really."
A county sheriff's car pulled up, blue lights flashing. There was some discussion about whether to call out the local volunteer fire department, but since there didn't seem to be anyone hurt and nothing was actively on fire, that suggestion was abandoned. The construction crew chief got there, adding some seriously creative cursing to the general noise level until somebody pointed out equally loudly that they were standing in front of a church, but generally, Dean thought things were pretty calm for having a thirty-foot crane fall over, as though shit like this happened all the time.
Tom was pretty annoyed, though. He came stalking out of the crowd, muttering under his breath, aggravated enough that he answered Dean straight up when Dean asked what was happening. "Somebody doesn't want this construction to happen and all Dave Cranston can think is that it's kids fooling around. For fuck's sake, how are a bunch of kids supposed to have done this? I swear, you'd think you'd have to learn at least a little bit of logic when you get a fancy degree in criminology."
Dean thought about the cops and sheriffs and deputies he'd run into over his life. There were a good number who'd been on top of their game, but the ones who weren't were generally spectacularly dumb. "Yeah, you'd think that but you'd be wrong."
"Well, calling him an idiot to his face isn't exactly the way to get him to see reason," Jennie said, coming up from behind them.
"Maybe I should have gone with Deputy Idiot?" Tom shook his head, and turned back to Dean. "Look, I can't raise the guys out at the junkyard I figure has the best chance of having your water pump, but they never have been too good about answering their phone. Figured I'd take a ride out tomorrow morning, early, roust them out of bed and see what they've got. You want to come along, make sure it's what you need if I find anything?"
"Sure," Dean said, slanting a look toward Jennie. "So long as I can get some coffee before I go."
"He may say early," Jennie said, nodding back at Tom. "But he's never in his life gotten out of bed before me, so you'll be fine."
They moved off to talk to some of the people straggling back down the street, leaving Dean and Sam a clear view to the school.
"I might have to have a little chat with Tom tomorrow," Dean said, watching as the construction crew stared helplessly at the big crane on its side.
"That sounds like a good idea," Sam answered. "I'm thinking I can hit the library, see what else has happened."
"Maybe it's nothing, like the cops say." Dean turned and started walking back toward the diner and their room. Sam fell into step next to him. "But it's not gonna hurt to check things out a little. Look for the weird stuff," he added, in case Sam needed a little extra memory boost.
"I can do that," Sam said, nodding, and it was just like old times.
* * *
Somebody finally got the deputy to shut down the lights on his patrol car, so at least there weren't blues flashing in Dean's eyes while he tried to sleep. The construction guys had fired up all theirs, though, and the blinds in the room weren't much use against the super-white halogen floods they used. It took Sam a while to settle, but once he was out, hearing his breathing made it easier for Dean to relax.
He woke up a couple of times during the night; both times, Sam was sitting on the floor under the window, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Both times, Sam waved him off when he asked if everything was okay, so Dean took it at face value and crashed back out. He moved as quietly as he could when he was up for good; Sam was asleep again by then and Dean wanted him to make up for as much of the dreams as he could.
Jennie had two big-ass travel mugs waiting on the diner counter, with a couple of foil-wrapped packets next to them.
"Tell Tom that's his cholesterol for the week," she called as Dean juggled everything out the door. "Yours, too, if you stick around long enough."
"My arteries thank you, even if the rest of me is crying," Dean said and let the door slam shut in the wind.
Tom grunted as Dean climbed up into his truck and relayed the message. "You'd never know that girl's five years younger than me, not with how bossy she is. Always been that way, even when she was just a little thing."
"At least her bossy comes with a side order of getting fed," Dean said, biting into the biscuit overflowing with eggs and bacon and cheese and, whoa, peppers and onions, too.
"Small mercies." Tom turned off Main Street and headed out toward the mountains, away from the highway. Dean finished off Jennie's breakfast, licking his fingers to get the last bits, and started in pumping Tom for information.
* * *
The sun was almost down as they came back to town, low slanting rays throwing shadows across the wrecked crane and the buildings. Tom let Dean out in front of the diner.
"Tomorrow morning," Tom said, jerking his thumb back to where the salvaged pump sat in the back seat.
"Thanks, man," Dean said. "I appreciate it." He could see Sam sitting inside, long legs stretched out and a beer that Dean was so stealing on the table in front of him. He had his backpack slung on the chair and what looked like a stack of copies from the library spread out.
"Successful trip?" Sam asked, glancing up as Dean dropped into the other chair. He went back to his notes, smacking Dean's hand away as he reached for the beer. "Get your own, leech."
"Dude, you always shared with me," Dean said, utterly failing to keep a straight face. "You should remember that, at least." Sam flipped him off without looking up, but Dean saw the grin he was trying to hide. "Got a water pump. Didn't find out a whole lot else, though."
"Yeah, me neither." Sam relented and pushed the bottle over toward Dean. "The school was built in the '60s, and it's been more or less falling apart ever since. The county keeps trying to build a consolidated school, but every time the town's rallied to keep this one." He flipped over a stack of papers, copies of newspaper stories of fundraisers and festivals and fairs. Dean thought he recognized Jennie in a couple of the blurry pictures. "They finally got some state funding to expand the building and update and--"
"Weird shit keeps happening," Dean finished for him. "Tom said they've had stuff happening all along--equipment damaged, cement dumped, surveying crew locked in the building--but nothing quite as big as last night."
"Whatever it is, it's escalating," Sam said, tapping his pen against the table. Dean nodded and went to get a couple more beers. He snagged a couple of menus from up by the cash register, too; Sam had all the papers stacked neatly by the time Dean got back to the table. "You want to check it out?"
Dean hesitated for a long couple of seconds. "Yeah, I think maybe so."
"You're saying 'maybe' because of me, right?" Sam said, quietly. "Because you're not sure I can handle it."
"A little, yeah," Dean admitted, because after all, he'd been the one telling Sam they weren't going to make it through all of this if they weren't being honest with each other. "There's a lot that can go wrong and this doesn't feel like de--like anything really bad, but you never know, not until all hell's breaking loose on your head."
"Yeah, I think I've got that," Sam said. "I don't want to be in your way--"
"It's not just that," Dean said, because again, it was the truth. It wasn't only that Sam wasn't going to be Sam here. "It's--I haven't done this, haven't hunted anything since--" He caught himself before he spilled too much. "For a while," he said. "Months, now."
"It doesn't seem like an easy life," Sam said, softly. Dean shrugged. "Do you want to check this out?" Sam asked again.
"I don't know that 'want' is the right word," Dean said, after a bit. "But yeah, I think somebody needs to see what's up."
"Okay," Sam said. "So what do you think we're looking for?"
"What do you think it might be?" Dean said, without thinking, and whoa, shades of Dad there: endless nights of research when Dean wouldn't let him stay up by himself and Dad only agreed if Dean sat there and worked with him.
"Could be a poltergeist," Sam said. "It's a high school--lots of kids and stress and drama."
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I was thinking that, too, and trust me, Sammy, poltergeists are a bitch."
"Then we better eat before we go," Sam said calmly, and handed Dean a menu.
* * *
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Pairing: NC-17, Sam/Dean
Length: ~21,000 words
Spoilers: Through 5.22, AU after that (and by AU, I mean I haven't watched even a minute of S6 yet, omg, and have been dodging spoilers since August.)
Notes/Warnings: Sequel to Dream On, and will definitely make more sense if you've read that first. Title from Aerosmith's Dream On. Notes and thanks at the end.
Summary: With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams.
Also in one part on AO3: (All The Things) Come Back To You
The weather stayed freaky. As far as Dean could tell, they got maybe a week of true summer weather before the weirdness moved back in. There were a couple of hurricanes pounding the East Coast, and while they were at Bobby's, the few times they'd been able to pick up a TV signal they watched drier climates fight brush fires and Switzerland deal with a heat wave.
"Switzerland," Dean said, turning off the TV in disgust. Sam was out of the room, so he muttered to Bobby, "What the hell did Switzerland do to the angel-boys?"
Bobby snorted but didn't answer, just went back to watching Sam sit at the kitchen table and take notes in the ever-present composition book. Dean hadn't been able to get in touch with Bobby before he and Sam had arrived and it had been touch-and-go the first few minutes, Bobby covering them both from the porch with the Colt and Sam's memories coming back enough to remember Bobby but not enough to really know what the hell was going on. Dean figured he might owe Cas for watching out for them, giving them all enough time that Dean could convince Bobby not to shoot the both of them and get out the holy water and silver instead. Once they'd gotten through all that, Bobby'd sat down hard on the front step, staring at Sam like he'd disappear again if Bobby so much as blinked. Dean understood that.
The part of Sam's brain that was on gate-keeper duty was being damn stingy with the details. Sam had recognized Bobby as soon as he saw him--and had known the last few turns to the junkyard, almost laughing as he told Dean how to get there as they drove up--but other than the stuff he'd already dreamed, nothing new was popping up. Nothing about being possessed or opening the Devil's Gate or saying yes to Lucifer had leaked through. He spent his days skimming Bobby's library, cross-checking what he remembered and winding himself up more and more over what he didn't.
Bobby wouldn't talk about his own deal, warning Dean off the topic with a hard glare and a threat to throw them both out if Dean pressed the issue. Dean backed off and let Bobby send them out to comb through the junkyard for spare parts whenever Bobby thought Sam had had enough of the books. They filled more orders than Bobby had in a year, plus got enough stuff set aside for the Impala that Dean could rebuild her again if he needed to. Dean had to admit that it was good just hanging out with Sam; digging around all the cars gave them something to do and talk about, and took enough brain power that they weren't dwelling on Sam not getting his memory back.
"I know you don't remember this," Bobby said over supper one night, pointing at Sam with his fork and waiting to make sure he had Sam's attention, "but the last thing I told you was to fight like hell, and seeing as we're all here now, that's exactly what you did, boy."
"Maybe," Sam said. "But--"
"No maybes or buts about it," Bobby snapped. "Don't you go pushing anything. It'll shake itself free when it's time."
Sam looked a little startled at the fierceness in Bobby's voice; to tell the truth, Dean was, too. Bobby glared at the both of them.
"What if it doesn't?" Sam said, finally putting it into words. "What if it never comes back?"
"Then I reckon we say thank you for what we've got and mean it." Bobby shook his head. "It's not my life that's gone, I know that, but I'm not gonna be anything but damned happy to be feeding you two chuckleheads."
He pushed his chair back from the table and went to put his plate in the sink and that was the end of that.
Dean got lucky and got a call through to Lisa on one of Bobby's landlines. It was a shitty connection, but Dean was taking whatever he could get. Ben answered the phone and Dean got maybe two words in edgewise, what with Ben going off on how stupid it was that they were having to go back to school again, and early this time because of all the time they'd missed in the spring. He was gone just as fast, handing the phone over to Lisa and yelling his good-byes.
"Dean?" Lisa said, and the connection got good enough that Dean heard a door slam in the background. "Sorry about all that."
"I'm guessing that if he has that much energy to bitch about school, things are still okay there," Dean said.
"Or there's no limit to how horrible school is," Lisa answered.
"Maybe both?" Dean said, smiling at the exasperation in her voice. Sam looked up from whatever book he'd buried his geek head in, watching Dean for a couple of seconds before going back to his first love.
"We're fine. Nothing--" Lisa said, the connection crackling and hissing for a second before going dead. Dean swore and started redialing.
"Everything okay?" Sam looked up again from his books; Dean shrugged and hung up when the call didn't go through.
"I guess," Dean said. "She sounded okay, a little annoyed with Ben but…" She had sounded fine; Dean didn't think he was making that up to let himself off the hook.
"You can keep trying," Sam said.
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I guess that's what I'll do."
Bobby had a truly impressive ham radio setup--of course--that they used to contact people across the country and map out a pretty decent route to Palo Alto. The roads were torn up in a couple of places, but the people they were talking to had alternates that Dean could live with, even if they were going to end up doubling back once or twice.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked. "It's more than a thousand miles and we really don't know what we might run into--"
"It was a thousand miles to get here, Sam," Dean interrupted, knowing good and well that it wasn't the distance that was freaking Sam out, but not sure if he was allowed to call him on not wanting to find out for sure that he wasn't going to remember. "We're good to go whenever you're ready."
Sam's eyes were glued to the damned notebook; Dean finally slapped his hand down on the page. "Dude," Dean said. "It's your call."
Sam finally looked up; Dean met his eyes steadily, a little surprised how easy it was to be that way again. Sam nodded, finally, and for better or worse Dean started packing up.
They took it in easy stages. Dean drove most of the first day, but he let Sam talk him into switching off for a couple of hours.
"It's a straight line," Sam said, pointing to the road with a calm that Dean knew was only about an inch deep. "It's not like I can't see everything that's coming at me for a mile."
Dean wasn't actually all that freaked about giving up the wheel to a Sam who wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. He figured it'd be like muscle memory or something. It was just fun having something to yank Sammy's chain over. The pissy little crease between Sam's eyes told Dean Sam knew he was being played, and that made it all the better. Besides, Dean figured he could yank the wheel and get them off the road in a hurry if he really needed to.
They hit a diner in the afternoon, too late for lunch but before the dinner rush started; other than the waitress behind the counter and the cook in the back, they had the place to themselves.
"What if it's the same thing?" Sam asked, while they waited for their food. "What if we get there and I don't remember anything else?"
"Then we find somebody to give us directions to the beach and we chill for a while," Dean answered, shrugging. There were plenty of days when he thought Sam not remembering wouldn't be a bad thing, except he knew Sam well enough to realize he'd never let it go. "It's not a race, Sam, and we don't have anyplace we need to be."
Sam shrugged and didn't say anything more. Dean figured they weren't done with the topic yet, but their orders arrived--hot open-face turkey sandwiches and mashed potatoes for the both of them; what with the flashbacks Dean still had to Famine, burgers and fries remained off the menu--and it was easy enough to let it go for the time being.
There was a little rack of postcards next to the cash register. Dean twirled it around while he was waiting for the waitress to finish up with her soaps and take his money. On the fourth spin, it occurred to him that he actually had people he could send mail to. He grabbed one at random and nodded to the waitress to add it to the tab, figuring they'd see a post office sooner or later.
Unexpectedly, the waitress said, "We got stamps if you want some. Mail comes around four; you can leave it and I'll give it with the rest of our stuff."
"Thanks," Dean said, scrawling a quick note to Ben and Lisa. Sam came back from the head as Dean was writing out the address, taking extra care to get it legible. He watched silently as Dean stowed the extra stamps in his billfold and didn't mention it until the middle of the next day when they stopped for gas. Even then he didn't say anything, only bought a panoramic card that showed the Grand Tetons and pointed Dean toward a corner mailbox.
They were halfway through Montana when the engine started running hot. Dean babied her for an hour, running the heater full blast to siphon the hot air off the engine, but the needle on the temperature gauge stayed stuck right on the edge of the red zone and he figured they'd best not press their luck. Sam was crashed out in the passenger seat, head pillowed against the window on a balled-up jacket; Dean managed to get the map out from under his thigh without waking him, and balanced it against the steering wheel to check out his options. They were coming up on a town; Dean hoped like hell it was big enough to have a garage that could deal with an older car. If it came right down to it Dean could do the work himself, get word to Bobby and have him send whatever parts they needed, but he wasn't sure how well Sam was going to deal with down-time.
With Sam still asleep, Dean let himself think about all the crap he kept locked down when Sam could see him: all the worries about what had gotten Sam back and what shit might be waiting out there to take them down again, and mostly, what had really happened to Sam, all the stuff that his brain didn't know how to handle other than shutting it away and only letting it out in bits and pieces in his dreams. Or, as their dad would have put it: SOS. The same old shit, just a different day. The one good thing was that Dean didn't have to worry about what Sam might really be--he'd watched Bobby check every which way and come up with nothing but Sam.
Sam stirred as Dean slowed at the town's edge, coming awake and rubbing his eyes as the road went from a relatively well-maintained state route to patched and uneven in the space of a block.
"Is it me, or does it look kind of… off," Sam said, jerking his head toward the little strip of businesses in front of them.
It was mid-morning on a Sunday, and gray and raw at that, so Dean wasn't expecting much activity, but even so, he had to agree. Main Street was deserted, the awnings of the local restaurant rippling in the wind, while the light at the railroad crossing blinked slowly, left and then right and then left again. The whole town wasn't much more than a dozen blocks square; Dean would bet the Impala that a block or two off the main drag--which was all of maybe four blocks long--the roads would be that kind of heavily oiled and compacted gravel and dirt that only passed for paved when it wasn't raining.
"Not just you," Dean said, with an odd reluctance. It used to be that the thought of a hunt got his blood pumping, but this was leaving him curiously flat. He pulled into a parking space in front of the hardware and building supply store and turned the engine off.
"Maybe it's quiet around here always," Sam offered, as though he caught Dean's mood.
"Maybe," Dean answered, getting out of the car and looking up and down the deserted street. He could see movement behind the big plate glass windows of the diner, so it wasn't a total ghost town. "We're usually not that lucky, though. Just in case you weren't sure about that."
"Yeah," Sam said, following Dean out of the car. "I kinda figured."
They crossed the empty street and pushed open the glass-framed door of the diner. Inside, it was as normal and routine as the street was weird. The breakfast rush was over, but a few tables were still occupied. A waitress wearing a denim shirt and jeans, with a long white apron tied over them, had coffee at the booth they snagged before Sam even got his legs situated under the table.
"Breakfast all day, or Joe'll slap a burger on for you if you want an early lunch," she said over Patsy Cline on the jukebox. She waited patiently, long dark hair feathered with silver pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed in time with the music, while Sam did his thing with figuring out what he hadn't tried yet.
"Wilkinson's, at the end of the block," she said once they'd each ordered a short stack with an extra side of bacon and Dean asked about a garage. "It's kind of a mess because of how they're tearing down the old high school right across the street, but they're still open."
"Any chance somebody might be around today?"
She nodded toward a guy sitting at the bar, more jeans and boots and long dark hair, this time in a low ponytail. "It's my cousin Tom's place, and that's him over there. I can tell him you're looking for some help, if you want."
"Thanks, darlin'," Dean told her, and then added to Sam, "Gotta love small towns."
"Even the creepy ones?" Sam asked, his hands moving restlessly in the way that Dean had come to figure out meant that he was itching for pen and paper to write stuff down. "I--there are a couple different ones, I think."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, little brother. There have been more than a couple creepy small towns in our life."
Sam smiled, a little, and shook his head. "They're all tangled up, right now. Hard to tease them apart, except you look different, even as an adult. Younger, sometimes. Not as…"
"Beaten down?" Dean offered, when Sam couldn't seem to find the right word.
"I was going to say not as tired," Sam said, taking a sip of coffee and making a face. Dean had to admit the stuff was strong enough to walk on its own, but that wasn't necessarily something Dean disapproved of.
"Call a spade a spade, man." Dean flipped him a pack of sugar. "We're never gonna get through everything if we're dancing around shit."
"Yeah, okay," Sam said. "You're right." He tore open the sugar and stirred it into his coffee. "You look better now."
Tom from Wilkinson's was okay with Dean bringing the car in, and even with Dean checking things out himself.
"If she was mine, I'd be picky about who worked on her, too," Tom said, the weathered lines around his eyes deepening in an almost smile. Sam huffed out a little laugh at that, which Dean assumed meant there was a little bit more in Sam's head background-wise.
Like he thought, the water pump was about to go; Tom checked his files and thought he could probably lay his hands on a replacement by end of day Monday, Tuesday at the latest. That was probably quicker than Bobby would be able to get anything to them, so Dean dug out some cash for a deposit and asked about places to stay.
"There are a couple of motels out by the highway," Tom said. "Chains. Pretty basic. Or my cousin Jennie, from the diner--she has a couple of rooms she rents out. They're right here in town."
"Works for me," Dean said. "C'mon, Sam, grab your gear."
"You don't even want to see the place?" Tom asked.
"It'd have to be pretty bad for him to even notice," Sam said.
"I'm not driving her," Dean said, slamming the hood of the Impala. "And I'm not hiking back out to the highway." He grabbed his duffel and started back out toward the street. "You got a problem with that, princess?"
"Let me guess," Dean heard Tom say. "Brothers?"
Sam laughed, and Dean had to admit it was a good sound to hear, even if he was tempted to turn around and smack him on the back of his head.
The room over the diner was fine. If you asked Dean, it was pretty nice except for the part where there wasn't a TV, but they were only going to be there for a couple of days and there was no guarantee on reception anyway. The windows faced out over Main Street; if they got really bored, they could sit around and snoop.
Sam looked at him like he was insane, but hey, the place was looking a little more alive now, and Sam was just pissy because the beds were twins and there was no way his ginormous self was going to fit.
"Dude, come on, there's food right downstairs. Open early and late, and enough of a menu that it'll take you a week to get through it even if we eat there all the time," Dean said in as obnoxious a tone as he could, because Sam getting pissed about Dean implying he was being whiny was better than Sam getting broody about how long it was taking them to get to California. Sam sighed and dropped his gear on the bed, and Dean poked and prodded until he agreed to go out and walk around town, see what there was to see.
Dean had to admit there wasn't all that much. Like he'd figured earlier, paved roads gave out after two blocks and the only stoplight in town was the one at the end of Main Street, right where the high school was, probably to keep the kids from tearing in and out of the field that served as a parking lot. For the rest of it, there was a dry cleaners and a post office and a small storefront with handmade quilts and sweaters in the window and a sign announcing that guitar lessons were available on the second floor. Railroad tracks cut the town in half, but as far as Dean could tell, neither side was the wrong side of the tracks. The best part--for Sam, and Dean was happy enough to see it for that reason alone--was the library tucked in behind the bank. It was small and old, but it was open even on a Sunday and Dean breathed a sigh of relief at how Sam perked up at the sight.
"Go on, you know you're dying to check it out," Dean said. "Go get your geek on."
"You could come in, too," Sam said. "What? I know you know how to read, remember?"
"Dude," Dean said, laughing. "Unless there's something trying to kill me, libraries are not my thing." He jerked his head back toward the high school. "Looks like the football team is scrimmaging; I'm gonna go check that out. You have fun with the books."
Dean thought it was healthy, him being able to leave Sam without completely freaking out, but that didn't mean it was easy. He walked quickly back down the way they'd come, before he lost his nerve. He thought he felt Sam's eyes on him but he didn't look back, just kept going until he got to the edge of the practice field where there was a fence to lean on and enough activity to distract him.
It was a small enough town that everyone already knew he was one of the guys who were waiting on parts for their car. Tom from the garage nodded to him--Dean figured out that he was there watching one of the wide receivers, who turned out to be a nephew--and a couple of people Dean thought he might have seen in the diner were standing around, too. The kids on the field were running without pads--no hits, only going through plays after the game the Friday before--and despite the first weird feel to the place, people were friendly enough, happy to tell Dean about the winning streak the team was on and how they were gunning for a state championship this year. By the time Sam showed up saying that the library had closed, Dean had sprung for a book of coupons to local businesses for the band fundraiser and promised to bring the Impala by the varsity cheerleaders car wash as soon as he was finished working on her.
"Buy one, get one free at the DQ, Sammy," Dean said, waving the coupons at Sam's arched eyebrow. "It'll give you a whole new menu to explore."
Sam rolled his eyes but let Dean take him down the three blocks and around the corner to start dinner off with a Blizzard. Sam stared at the menu board for, like, ten minutes, and then ordered an Oreo-M&M-Butterfinger-Heath Bar one, like he'd always done.
"It sounded good," he said, when Dean indulged in a little eye-rolling of his own.
"To nobody in the world but you." Dean licked the long-handled spoon he'd stuck in his Peanut Buster parfait--a classic, even if Sam had never gotten into it. "The rest of your brain might still be in a zone but your taste buds must be coming back online."
Sam looked at him as though Dean was feeding him a line just to cheer him up, but finally nodded and ate another spoonful of ridiculously jumbled candy and ice cream. They sat on the concrete wall bordering the DQ parking lot and watched the clouds roll in off the mountains.
"What did you learn today, Research Boy?" Dean asked, and let Sam ramble on about all the stuff Dean knew he'd just looked up. Neither of them was very hungry, but once the diner closed for the night there didn't seem to be much else in the way of food in walking distance, so they wandered back that way and split a couple of orders of chili-cheese fries and some onion rings to get them through the night. Their waitress was one of the kids Dean had bought the DQ coupons from, and he thought he recognized one or two of the football players bussing tables. It had been a long time since Dean had wondered what it would have been like to grow up as an insider in a place where everyone knew everybody else, but it still surfaced every now and then.
When Jennie came by to see if they needed anything for the room, Dean got her to save him some apple pie for breakfast. It wasn't an exciting night, but it was nice enough, at least until they walked back around to the outside staircase and half the lights along the street hissed and popped and blew out. Before Dean could do more than whistle in appreciation at the damage, the big crane parked at the edge of the new construction around the high school started tilting, leaning further and further over, hanging on the edge of over-balanced for a long few seconds before it fell with a groaning crash, the sound bouncing off the storefronts up and down Main Street. And like there needed to be an aftershock, the rest of the street lights blew out.
"Well, hell, Sammy," Dean sighed. "I was kinda starting to like this place."
The whole town came running at the crash, everyone yelling and fussing, but with an interesting undertone of here-we-go-again. Dean hung back, not crowding around the trashed crane; Sam did the same, and for a second Dean forgot that Sam didn't really know how they worked together, so it was a gut punch when he remembered. He shook it off quick enough that he was pretty sure Sam didn't notice, and motioned Sam back away from the crowd.
"Okay, so we're definitely back to the creepy side of things," Sam murmured. "Now what?"
"Now we hang out and see what we can see, because my EMF meter is back in the car," Dean said. "Act normal," he added, and Sam snorted. "No, really."
A county sheriff's car pulled up, blue lights flashing. There was some discussion about whether to call out the local volunteer fire department, but since there didn't seem to be anyone hurt and nothing was actively on fire, that suggestion was abandoned. The construction crew chief got there, adding some seriously creative cursing to the general noise level until somebody pointed out equally loudly that they were standing in front of a church, but generally, Dean thought things were pretty calm for having a thirty-foot crane fall over, as though shit like this happened all the time.
Tom was pretty annoyed, though. He came stalking out of the crowd, muttering under his breath, aggravated enough that he answered Dean straight up when Dean asked what was happening. "Somebody doesn't want this construction to happen and all Dave Cranston can think is that it's kids fooling around. For fuck's sake, how are a bunch of kids supposed to have done this? I swear, you'd think you'd have to learn at least a little bit of logic when you get a fancy degree in criminology."
Dean thought about the cops and sheriffs and deputies he'd run into over his life. There were a good number who'd been on top of their game, but the ones who weren't were generally spectacularly dumb. "Yeah, you'd think that but you'd be wrong."
"Well, calling him an idiot to his face isn't exactly the way to get him to see reason," Jennie said, coming up from behind them.
"Maybe I should have gone with Deputy Idiot?" Tom shook his head, and turned back to Dean. "Look, I can't raise the guys out at the junkyard I figure has the best chance of having your water pump, but they never have been too good about answering their phone. Figured I'd take a ride out tomorrow morning, early, roust them out of bed and see what they've got. You want to come along, make sure it's what you need if I find anything?"
"Sure," Dean said, slanting a look toward Jennie. "So long as I can get some coffee before I go."
"He may say early," Jennie said, nodding back at Tom. "But he's never in his life gotten out of bed before me, so you'll be fine."
They moved off to talk to some of the people straggling back down the street, leaving Dean and Sam a clear view to the school.
"I might have to have a little chat with Tom tomorrow," Dean said, watching as the construction crew stared helplessly at the big crane on its side.
"That sounds like a good idea," Sam answered. "I'm thinking I can hit the library, see what else has happened."
"Maybe it's nothing, like the cops say." Dean turned and started walking back toward the diner and their room. Sam fell into step next to him. "But it's not gonna hurt to check things out a little. Look for the weird stuff," he added, in case Sam needed a little extra memory boost.
"I can do that," Sam said, nodding, and it was just like old times.
Somebody finally got the deputy to shut down the lights on his patrol car, so at least there weren't blues flashing in Dean's eyes while he tried to sleep. The construction guys had fired up all theirs, though, and the blinds in the room weren't much use against the super-white halogen floods they used. It took Sam a while to settle, but once he was out, hearing his breathing made it easier for Dean to relax.
He woke up a couple of times during the night; both times, Sam was sitting on the floor under the window, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Both times, Sam waved him off when he asked if everything was okay, so Dean took it at face value and crashed back out. He moved as quietly as he could when he was up for good; Sam was asleep again by then and Dean wanted him to make up for as much of the dreams as he could.
Jennie had two big-ass travel mugs waiting on the diner counter, with a couple of foil-wrapped packets next to them.
"Tell Tom that's his cholesterol for the week," she called as Dean juggled everything out the door. "Yours, too, if you stick around long enough."
"My arteries thank you, even if the rest of me is crying," Dean said and let the door slam shut in the wind.
Tom grunted as Dean climbed up into his truck and relayed the message. "You'd never know that girl's five years younger than me, not with how bossy she is. Always been that way, even when she was just a little thing."
"At least her bossy comes with a side order of getting fed," Dean said, biting into the biscuit overflowing with eggs and bacon and cheese and, whoa, peppers and onions, too.
"Small mercies." Tom turned off Main Street and headed out toward the mountains, away from the highway. Dean finished off Jennie's breakfast, licking his fingers to get the last bits, and started in pumping Tom for information.
The sun was almost down as they came back to town, low slanting rays throwing shadows across the wrecked crane and the buildings. Tom let Dean out in front of the diner.
"Tomorrow morning," Tom said, jerking his thumb back to where the salvaged pump sat in the back seat.
"Thanks, man," Dean said. "I appreciate it." He could see Sam sitting inside, long legs stretched out and a beer that Dean was so stealing on the table in front of him. He had his backpack slung on the chair and what looked like a stack of copies from the library spread out.
"Successful trip?" Sam asked, glancing up as Dean dropped into the other chair. He went back to his notes, smacking Dean's hand away as he reached for the beer. "Get your own, leech."
"Dude, you always shared with me," Dean said, utterly failing to keep a straight face. "You should remember that, at least." Sam flipped him off without looking up, but Dean saw the grin he was trying to hide. "Got a water pump. Didn't find out a whole lot else, though."
"Yeah, me neither." Sam relented and pushed the bottle over toward Dean. "The school was built in the '60s, and it's been more or less falling apart ever since. The county keeps trying to build a consolidated school, but every time the town's rallied to keep this one." He flipped over a stack of papers, copies of newspaper stories of fundraisers and festivals and fairs. Dean thought he recognized Jennie in a couple of the blurry pictures. "They finally got some state funding to expand the building and update and--"
"Weird shit keeps happening," Dean finished for him. "Tom said they've had stuff happening all along--equipment damaged, cement dumped, surveying crew locked in the building--but nothing quite as big as last night."
"Whatever it is, it's escalating," Sam said, tapping his pen against the table. Dean nodded and went to get a couple more beers. He snagged a couple of menus from up by the cash register, too; Sam had all the papers stacked neatly by the time Dean got back to the table. "You want to check it out?"
Dean hesitated for a long couple of seconds. "Yeah, I think maybe so."
"You're saying 'maybe' because of me, right?" Sam said, quietly. "Because you're not sure I can handle it."
"A little, yeah," Dean admitted, because after all, he'd been the one telling Sam they weren't going to make it through all of this if they weren't being honest with each other. "There's a lot that can go wrong and this doesn't feel like de--like anything really bad, but you never know, not until all hell's breaking loose on your head."
"Yeah, I think I've got that," Sam said. "I don't want to be in your way--"
"It's not just that," Dean said, because again, it was the truth. It wasn't only that Sam wasn't going to be Sam here. "It's--I haven't done this, haven't hunted anything since--" He caught himself before he spilled too much. "For a while," he said. "Months, now."
"It doesn't seem like an easy life," Sam said, softly. Dean shrugged. "Do you want to check this out?" Sam asked again.
"I don't know that 'want' is the right word," Dean said, after a bit. "But yeah, I think somebody needs to see what's up."
"Okay," Sam said. "So what do you think we're looking for?"
"What do you think it might be?" Dean said, without thinking, and whoa, shades of Dad there: endless nights of research when Dean wouldn't let him stay up by himself and Dad only agreed if Dean sat there and worked with him.
"Could be a poltergeist," Sam said. "It's a high school--lots of kids and stress and drama."
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I was thinking that, too, and trust me, Sammy, poltergeists are a bitch."
"Then we better eat before we go," Sam said calmly, and handed Dean a menu.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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