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(All The Things) Come Back To You, 3/3
"I'm coming with you," Jennie said, before Sam even finished explaining.
"Really not a good idea," Dean said. "This--"
"I don't care," Jennie interrupted.
"Could get nasty in a heartbeat," Dean finished, because it wasn't like he hadn't grown up having to talk over people to get his point across.
"I don't care," Jennie repeated, her mouth set in a hard, determined line. Dean flicked a glance at Tom, who nodded.
"Jen," Tom said. "I was there--you don't want to tangle with this, not if you don't have to."
"He's my brother," Jennie said. "Of course I have to." She and Tom went into some kind of wordless conversation that Dean knew Tom was going to lose long before Jennie smiled a grim smile and added, "Besides, he won't listen to you. None of you."
"She's right," Tom sighed. "We spent his whole life telling him not to listen to strangers."
"It scared my mother to death, thinking about what somebody might talk Buddy into doing," Jennie said. "But he always listened to me."
"I can't guarantee you'll be safe," Dean said. Jennie opened her mouth and Dean knew exactly what she was going to say. "No, that's not your brother up there. It's not, Jennie. It's… an echo. A bad echo."
"I can't just leave him," Jennie whispered. "Even if it's only a little bit of him."
Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. He had that look on his face that meant he'd go along with what Dean said. Dean really didn't like the idea, but what did Dean know about sending ghosts on to their reward anyway?
"All right," he sighed. "But we're not going out there unless we have a damn good idea of what he wants."
"Okay," Jennie answered. "Let me get one of the kids to cover for me at the counter and you can tell me what you need from me."
"Jesus, Dad would have kicked my ass over this," Dean added, to Sam.
"Wouldn't be the first time Dad was wrong," Sam said, in an undertone, then hauled himself out of the booth to go get his research.
In the end, they pulled an all-nighter in the diner, going over and over everything Jennie and Tom could think of. Sitting did a number on Dean's headache and his ribs, but at least they were well-fed. Plus, Jennie's personal stash of coffee was enough to make a grown man weep for joy.
"A thermos of this and I could drive cross-country," Dean said, after the first taste.
"Yeah, we definitely need something to make you more hyper," Sam answered, but it didn't escape Dean's notice that he never had to get up to get a refill. It was still mother-henning, but Dean decided he could live with it.
They walked through all the basics--Buddy had died peacefully by all accounts; he hadn't had any arguments with anyone; nobody wanted to hurt him; he didn't want to hurt anyone. Even the opposing football teams were apparently part of his extended network of friends--he'd known everyone who went to college on a scholarship and followed their stats almost as religiously as he'd followed the Tiger players.
All of which sounded like a great life, but left them with nothing that was keeping Buddy around, no reason for him to be throwing tantrums with construction equipment, and no idea of what to tell him to get him to move on.
Dean didn't want to say so, but it wasn't looking good for the no-fire strategy.
Sam finally called a halt to the session a little before five in the morning, when the early shift cook came fumbling in the back door. Sam had that overprotective look in his eyes; Dean would have argued with him on principle, except that he really did feel like warmed-over shit, so he gave Sam a break and didn't argue, even when Sam made arrangements with Tom to have one of his mechanics do the water pump replacement on the Impala. Dean did, however, threaten to kick Sam's ass as they started up the stairs to their room and Sam made like Dean was too crippled to make it on his own.
"Fine," Sam snorted. "Is it okay if I stand behind you so I can catch you when you pass out?"
"You know, Sam, it's okay if you want to watch my ass. You don't have to pretend like you're back there to save my life."
As comebacks went Dean thought it was pretty weak, but Sam kinda choked on it anyway, so maybe it wasn't too bad.
"Just for that," Sam said, in a strangled voice that meant Dean really was making him insane, "I'm letting you bounce once or twice before I grab you."
That definitely deserved a comment or two, but Dean was halfway up to the room and his head was ready to explode and really, bouncing once or twice didn't sound all that bad, not if it meant he could get horizontal. He kept going, though, and managed to get to the top without completely embarrassing himself. Sam got the door open and Dean made his way to a bed without staggering. Much.
Sam thunked a glass of water down on the floor next to Dean and shook a couple of pills out into Dean's hand. Dean appreciated the water, he did, but the thought of sitting up long enough to drink it made his head swim, so he swallowed the pills dry and decided he could sleep with his boots on. It wouldn't be the first time.
"Come on, Dean," Sam sighed, fumbling at the laces. "Little help here?" Dean held his foot the way Sam wanted him to, but that was about as much as he could offer.
"You used to be better at the staying up for three days straight thing," Sam said, adding, "Getting old there, big brother?"
"Against all predictions, expectations and odds," Dean said, "Yes."
Sam's laugh was soft and surprised, and Dean felt his own mouth quirk up into a smile. When he opened his eyes, Sam was right there over him, one of Dean's boots in his hand and a rueful smile on his face.
"Hate to tell you this, Sammy," Dean mumbled as he dragged himself fully up onto the bed. Sam threw a blanket over him and then sat down to take off his own boots. "You're not such a kid anymore either."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Sam said, falling backward onto the bed and groaning.
"Anytime, dude," Dean slurred. "Anytime."
Dean slept like a rock, except for the part where Sam woke him up every hour to make sure his brain hadn't exploded or whatever. When he finally woke up for good, Sam was sprawled out on his own bed, reading, and Dean got to remember that Sam was really Sam, through and through. It made the minutes before he could get some coffee and more drugs for the now-dull-but-still-there pounding in his head a lot more bearable.
"How's your head?" Sam asked.
"I'll live." Dean stretched cautiously, wincing only a little when the bruises over his ribs woke up. "How's your memory?"
"Still a little muddled, but mostly there," Sam answered, marking his place in the book and setting it on the bed next to him. His movements were careful and precise and set off alarm bells Dean had forgotten he had. "You know," Sam said. "I was thinking--I mean, I remember stuff now, so we don't have to do this whole trip down memory lane."
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. He wasn't going to argue about not hitting Stanford; it was never going to be his favorite place and he could understand Sam not wanting to get near it either. He didn't think that was all that was going on, though. "We can go wherever."
"Yeah," Sam said, slowly, and more alarm bells went off in Dean's head. "About that… I think--It's okay if you go back to Indiana, to Lisa and Ben. You should."
And there it was, Dean thought.
"I should go back," Dean said, goddamn amazed at how steady his voice was, and even more surprised that he wasn't pretending he wasn't pissed. "Me. And you'll be going… where, exactly?"
"It--I don't know," Sam said, shrugging. "I don't guess it matters."
"Really," Dean said. "Really?" He went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and pissed and stared at his reflection in the mirror while he washed up and splashed some water on his face. Sam was still sitting on the bed when Dean came back out. "Just like that, I'm gone?"
"I don't mean it like--"
"Then how exactly did you mean it, Sam?" Dean was yelling, and he really didn't care.
"I meant--you had a life and I interrupted it and--"
"Bullshit," Dean snapped. "We've been through this fifty times and I'm not buying it this time." Sam sat on the bed and looked at his hands. "Don't you lie to me, Sam. Not after everything."
"It would be… better if we weren't together," Sam said, finally.
"Is that what you want?" Dean stayed where he was; resisted the temptation to go shake some sense into Sam. That had never worked. Besides, Dean was getting all kinds of weird vibes off Sam. "Sam. Look at me and tell me that's what you want."
"It would be better," Sam repeated, and when he flicked his eyes to meet Dean's, Dean could read the truth in them, read that Sam truly thought it would be better. That still didn't account for everything else Dean was seeing in Sam's expression, though.
"Better than what?" Dean asked, and yeah, that was what he needed to find out, if the way Sam flinched at the question was any indicator. "Better than what?
Dean kept his distance and his patience and waited. Sam had always been able to out-stubborn him--hell, Sam could out-stubborn Dad--but Dean wasn't budging on this one. He leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door, and arched an eyebrow at Sam.
"Dean," Sam said, and Dean could hear the panic threading through his voice. It made Dean even more determined to find out exactly what Sam thought was going on. "Let it go. Please."
"Not happening," Dean said. Sam kept his eyes planted firmly on the floor. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Not this time."
Sam shook his head, and when he looked up Dean could see fear, honest-to-god fear, more than he'd seen when Sam had walked away from him to go meet Lucifer. It drove him off the wall and two steps across the floor before someone was knocking on the door, pounding on it, and Sam was up and across the room, opening the door before Dean could tell him to let it be.
"I know," Jennie said, breathless and shaky, grabbing at Sam like she was going to drag him out with her right that instant. "I know why he's still here."
Sam threw one quick look over his shoulder at Dean, and then turned to go with Jennie, sort through whatever she thought she knew. Dean let him go, but that didn't mean they weren't going to finish this conversation later.
"The high school?" Sam said, in that neutral tone that Dean knew he pulled out when he was trying to not insult someone he needed to get information from. "He's sticking around because--"
"Because we fought for years to keep the school here, and he died before he knew we'd won."
Dean couldn't say he entirely believed what Jennie was saying, but Tom was nodding in agreement, and they were the ones who knew the guy in real life.
"This last round with the state and county was pretty heated--we got pretty much the whole town into the council meetings. It was going on right as he passed," Tom said. "And now, well--if you didn't know better, you'd only see them tearing down the gym."
Dean glanced at Sam, expecting him to be all over this if only to get out of finishing their conversation, but Sam just cocked his head at Dean, the familiar signal that it was Dean's call. That settled and smoothed some of the raw edges in the back of Dean's brain, the ones that whispered in Dad's voice that they should damn well salt and burn the guy and be done with it, because doing anything else would be putting civilians--not to mention Sammy--in the line of fire unnecessarily. Dean was honest enough to admit that if Sam had pushed him, he'd have ended up going with the knee-jerk reaction and nixed the whole thing.
"Okay," Dean said, slowly. "I never would have thought of it, but if you say it was important to him--"
"It was the most important thing in the world to him," Jennie interrupted. "Not the school so much, but… The whole town revolves around it. That's what he heard, over and over, before he died."
"More important than you?" Sam asked, and Jennie smiled.
"Oh, I was the solid thing, the one that kept life even. That's pretty boring, don't you think?"
Sam shrugged. "Maybe," he said, not looking at Dean.
"Besides," Jennie added. "There's nothing wrong with me, and he never thought he had to take care of me--I'm not something he ever had to worry about."
"I think we're missing one big point," Tom said. "Whether or not Buddy knew or understood what was going on, it was something he knew you cared about, Jennie-girl." Tom put his arm around Jennie's shoulder. "That always counted for a lot with Buddy. He couldn't do for you like he knew other people did for their family, but that didn't mean he didn't want to."
Jennie half-covered her mouth with her hand, and her face twisted up for a second. Tom hugged her gently. Dean pretended not to notice; Jennie didn't seem like the type who wanted people to see her emotions. He looked at Sam instead, and Sam looked back at him, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"All right," Dean said. "But if we're going to do this, I'm the one calling the shots--if it goes south, it's going to get there in a hurry and we won't have time for discussion. If I say we go to Plan B, we're going."
Jennie hesitated for a couple of seconds; Plan B was a nice euphemism, but Dean knew she understood exactly what he was saying, and he could tell she didn't like even thinking about it. He couldn't blame her; it wasn't a nice thing to think about. It was necessary, though, so he kept his face impassive and waited for her to make up her mind.
"Okay," Jennie finally said. Tom nodded his agreement. On the other side of the table Sam relaxed a tiny bit, as though he'd been holding his breath waiting for everyone to come to an agreement.
Jennie refused a shotgun, but Tom had one that he went and got, and Dean let Sam take point on showing him how to repack the shell casings with salt. Dean made Jennie go find an iron poker; it wasn't much but it was better than nothing. Between him and Sam and Tom, he figured they could cover her if they needed to. He hoped.
In the back room, while they waited for the town to settle for the night, Jennie was nearly vibrating wth suppressed energy, nerves, adrenaline… all of them rolled together, Dean figured. Tom was grim and stone-faced with determination. Sam loaded the shotguns with a matter-of-fact calm, and Dean wished he could believe in something to pray to to get them through this thing intact.
In the end, it turned out better than he could have hoped. Dean dodged a couple of wrenches and Sam got knocked into a wall, but as soon as Jennie stepped up past them everything quieted down. Tom stayed right there with her; Dean could see how she leaned on him for support, but her voice never wavered--not until she finished explaining that all the construction was a good thing, that they'd won and everything was going to be better, and that Buddy didn't have to stay and fight.
"You go, honey," Jennie whispered, her voice cracking and tears spilling over to run down her face. "I love you and I miss you, but Mama is looking for you and you don't want to keep her waiting." It started to get bright, and Jennie nodded. "That's it. I'll see you when it's my time; you can show me everything when I get there."
Dean had to close his eyes then; the light was too much, like staring into the sun. Dean couldn't see how the whole town wasn't going to be tipped off, but at least it was over quickly. When he could see again, Jennie had turned so she could cry into Tom's shoulder, and Sam was solid and warm at Dean's back. Dean fumbled in his pocket and got the EMF meter out, not surprised but still pretty damn relieved at how it didn't find anything.
"We're clear," he said softly to Tom, who nodded and bent down to whisper in Jennie's ear. "Good call, little brother," Dean said to Sam.
"Thank you," Sam answered, and there was a lot going on behind his eyes. "For doing it this way."
Dean nodded, and started steering Tom and Jennie back toward the street before somebody got nosy and decided to see where all the light had come from. Outside the diner, Jennie rallied and said something about seeing what was in the cooler, and Tom offered to go get a bottle of the good stuff, but Dean waved them both off.
"You two, you should probably try to get some sleep," he said. "And thanks for the offer, but Sam and I have got things we need to talk about."
Sam heard him, exactly like Dean had intended, and he didn't say anything, but he didn't fight it when Dean got him going up the stairs either.
"Lucifer hated you," Sam said, low and hoarse, leaning against the wall and looking out the window.
"Yeah, mud monkey human, Michael's vessel, blah, blah, blah," Dean said, shrugging.
"No," Sam said. "That was contempt and maybe a little aggravation on account of Michael, but not enough to expend any energy on." He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes down. Dean was getting really fucking tired of that pose, and the defeat that was written all over Sam's slumped shoulders every time he saw it. "He hated--hates you."
"Seeing as how he's the prince of darkness, I'll take that as a ringing endorsement," Dean said.
"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I just--you have to understand that. He fixated on you."
"Sam," Dean said. "I got it. I'm Number One with a bullet. Awesome. That still doesn't answer what the hell is going on with you."
"It does, a little," Sam said.
"Sam--"
"Yeah, I know. Let me--there's no good way to say this, okay?" Sam glanced up at Dean and then went back to studying the floor. "I was there, in that cage for--a long time."
"Yeah," Dean said, taking a slow deep breath, and then another.
"He wanted me to be on his side," Sam said, quietly, and there was no doubt who he was. "He wanted me to tell him he was right. He wanted me to, to love him."
Dean kept as quiet and still as he could.
"He was mad at first, but after a while he changed, went back to how he used to talk to me in my dreams. Reasonable and persuasive and--like a really good lawyer. He talked Michael into letting Adam go," Sam said, shrugging. "A show of good faith, he called it. The cage, it wasn't built to hold humans, only angels. Lucifer, really, but it held Michael, too. Once Michael let go, Adam was gone."
"That's… good," Dean said, one tiny bit of weight he didn't realize he was still carrying easing off.
"I didn't really think much about it then," Sam said. "But yeah, it's good."
It got quiet again, but before Dean could make himself prod Sam along, Sam shifted restlessly and said, "It didn't really change anything. And that made him more determined."
"You should have just played along, Sam. Let him think--"
"I couldn't," Sam said. "It was the only thing that was keeping me, me." He looked up then, straight at Dean, and didn't look away. "You. He kept trying to get rid of you, get you out of my head. The more he tried, the more I held on."
"I could have told him you were a stubborn bastard," Dean said. "Fuck, everybody could have told him that. Too bad he's too smart to listen to anyone but himself."
"Yeah," Sam said, with a little laugh. "Too bad."
"What happened, Sam?"
"He told me you weren't worth it," Sam said.
"Yeah, big surprise there." That wasn't it; Dean knew Sam was dancing around the real issue. "Come on, Sam."
"He wanted to show me I was making it all up, that the memories I had weren't what I thought they were, but they--I…"
"You what?"
"He was right, but not the way he thought, only that made it better. He liked that, thought it was very fitting. That's when he let me go."
Dean was still missing something, but he thought they were circling in on it, on whatever it was that Sam couldn't tell him.
"What made it better, Sam?"
"That I love you," Sam said, very, very quietly, and Dean was still missing something. Sam stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Dean, every inch of him folded in on himself as though he was waiting for the world to fall in on him. He reached out and touched Dean's face, the backs of his fingers brushing over Dean's cheekbones, his mouth.
"I love you," Sam repeated, and Dean finally, finally got it, the clue bus hitting him hard enough that he couldn't breathe for a second. Sam knew when Dean figured it out; Dean watched as his mouth twisted up into a half-smile that looked like something was tearing out his insides and he was pretending it was nothing but a scratch.
"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, dropping his hand and backing away. "I didn't want to have to tell you." He got all the way to the door before Dean found his voice.
"Sam, don't," Dean choked out, taking two steps off the wall before he noticed how Sam was braced to take a punch. Dean stopped and breathed out, slow and deliberate, made himself relax and watched Sam until he did the same. "Don't go."
"I need--I can't," Sam said, shaking his head. "I won't. I--need some air."
"Just, don't, don't fucking disappear on me," Dean said, staying back because Sam still looked like he was two seconds from running. "Please," he added.
Sam nodded once, as he fumbled with the doorknob, and then disappeared. Dean could hear him going down the stairs at what sounded like a dead run. He made it over to the beds and sank down on the closest one to take stock of where they were now. It was automatic, second nature, drilled into him over the years by Dad--you can't figure out where you're going if you don't know where you are--except Dean knew Dad had never had anything like this in mind.
Still. It was what he did: look at it all and try to figure out how badly they were fucked this time.
Sam was spooked, that much was for sure; Dean thought he might be, too, but mostly, he was blank. He should be losing it; he got that. He should be freaked out and bouncing off the walls. He just--wasn't.
He sat there for a little while longer, turning everything over in his head, looking at it from every angle he could think of. The sky was still dark when he stood, but there were a few cars moving on Main Street, and the lights in the diner were on when he got down the stairs. Jennie wasn't there--Dean hoped she was home, sleeping off the adrenaline crash of sending your brother into the light--but the kid behind the counter got Dean a couple of coffees to go and Dean set out to track Sam down.
It was pretty easy. Tom had left a message that they'd finished with the car and were parking it behind the garage; Dean found Sam sitting on the trunk, his arms wrapped around himself, as much to keep himself together, Dean thought, as to keep warm. He looked up as Dean got close, but his eyes were guarded and Dean couldn't read anything in the semi-darkness.
"Here," Dean said, holding out the coffee with sugar and cream, and shaking his head at the ice-cold touch of Sam's hand against his own. He unlocked the front door and dug around under the seat until he came up with a pair of sheepskin-lined work gloves. "I didn't drive halfway across the country and back to lose you to pneumonia, Sam."
Sam nodded and fumbled them on. Dean nudged him until he took a couple of sips of the coffee. Sam kept sneaking quick glances at Dean, but Dean ignored him until he stopped shaking from the cold and looked like he might not frost over in the immediate future. Of course, not saying anything had as much to do with Dean not knowing how the fuck to start the conversation as it did with making sure Sam didn't keel over on him, but whatever. Finally, though, Dean took a deep breath and said it. "Are you sure that wasn't Lucifer fucking with your head?"
"Pretty sure," Sam answered. "I thought of that, yeah, but--even before I knew who you were, when I was just dreaming about you, I lo--felt like that. And then, you found me and you told me who you were, and I told myself that it didn't go away because I didn't really know you were my brother." He shrugged. "You said it, and I believed you, but… I didn't know it."
Sam looked back down at his hands. "I don't think it was him. He was so… pleased about it. Like it was something he wished he'd thought of himself, or like I'd given him this excellent present."
"I suppose it goes without saying, him being who he is and all, but that sounds just like the sick fuck."
"I freaked when he was letting me go," Sam said. "He really liked that; I think he might have held on to me if he could, so he could play with that some, but it was too late. I was gone before he could change his mind."
"You know, in a lifetime of fucked-up things, this is pretty much taking the cake, but good." Dean took a long drink of coffee. "I don't give a flying fuck why he let you go, so long as he did it."
Sam didn't say anything. Dean elbowed him and said, "Seriously, Sam. I know you're freaked out, but I'm not going to be anything but happy you're here."
Sam nodded after a bit, and then said, "I think it's why I didn't remember anything. I just… shut it out. Shut everything out. And then I remembered and…"
"You've been tangled up in that ginormous brain of yours, going around and around and around."
"Yeah," Sam said. "I kept telling myself I could deal with it, and then I'd be halfway to touching you before I even noticed and--"
"Like I said: round and round and round." Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "I mean, I appreciate the concern and all--and thanks for not groping me in my sleep--but…"
"God, you're such an ass," Sam said, with equal parts frustration and aggravation and definitely a little laughter.
"Yeah, and you love me anyway," Dean said, with a pleased smirk. The whole situation was too weird for words, but it was good to know he could still needle Sam out of his mopey sulks.
"God, I do," Sam said, serious again, but at least not folded in on himself. "I really do, and I think I always have, and Dean, come on, this isn't something you can just crack a couple jokes at and make it go away." Dean started to tell Sam to calm down, but Sam was calm, and he wasn't letting Dean get a word in edgewise. "You don't need to be here with me. Really, man--Dad and I--we had maybe one actual conversation in our lives, about what he wanted for us, school and a home, a family. He couldn't give it to you, but hell, even he knew that was what would make you happy--"
"That was a long time ago, Sam," Dean snapped. "And yeah, I managed not to completely screw over Lisa and Ben, but let's be real here. Do you honestly think that's on the ticket for me now? After everything?"
"You had some--" Sam had that stubborn glint in his eyes, but this time Dean knew better.
"Do you really think she'd want me within a hundred feet of her kid if she knew everything? The things I've done, Sam." Dean took a deep breath and pulled back from the brink, because him losing it over Hell--again--wasn't going to help either one of them. "Do you think anyone would want me, if they really knew?"
"I know," Sam said, quietly.
"No, you don't." Dean got off the trunk; he couldn't sit there, even if he didn't have anyplace he could go. "You don't."
"You told me," Sam said, keeping very still, as though he was afraid Dean might bolt.
"That's not the same," Dean made himself say. "It's different; you don't--"
"Lucifer showed me." Sam did move then, sliding carefully off the trunk and edging closer to where Dean stood frozen, the slender pillars of the life he'd managed to put back together all but crumbling under Sam's words. "He wanted me to hate you; he showed me everything."
Dean could only stare at Sam, the words echoing in his head. It was inevitable that someone would find out for real, Dean thought. He'd been waiting for it all to fall down around him; he realized that now.
"I knew it already, though," Sam said; Dean heard him distantly. "You told me--you trusted me with it, even though I didn't want to hear it."
"Yeah," Dean finally managed to say. "Yeah, I got you. We can--we can split up now, or whenev--"
"Dean," Sam repeated, and Dean shut up, and just waited for whatever was coming next. "Now you're ready to leave? Now?"
Dean found himself watching Sam, how alive he was, how the energy was all but vibrating through him--like when they'd get into an argument: something he cared about, but not something that was making him crazy the way Dad could most of the time.
"Why are you still here?" Dean made himself look at Sam, really look at him, not look over his shoulder or focus on his hair or any one of a hundred tricks he'd used in the past. It felt necessary to do it, so his brain would get the message on as many levels as possible.
"You know," Sam said, slowly. "I've been mad most of my life--mad at Dad, mad at you, mad at the world. Everyone told me it was bad, that it wouldn't help, but I couldn't stop. I hated so much, Dean."
Sam was looking at Dean, too; standing straight in the cold, clear night, his hands in fists at his sides. Dean could see that anger, pure and absolute fury drawn through every muscle, every edge.
"All that," Sam said, low and dangerous. "My whole life--none of it came close to what it felt like to see what they did to you. Lucifer--he maybe could have worn me down before that, but after? Not hardly."
Dean stood there between Sam and the Impala and completely failed at trying to figure out what might happen next. He thought Sam might go, or at least turn away and go sit in the car, but Sam stayed right where he was, watching Dean watch him, and fuck if Dean knew what Sam wanted him to do. It took three tries for him to find his voice.
"You don't have to stay--"
"Don't," Sam said. "Don't go there." He started to reach out toward Dean, but then dropped his arm and pushed his hand into the pocket of his coat. "I know. That's all I wanted to tell you."
Dean closed his eyes for a second; when he opened them again, Sam was still there, solid and real. Some part of Dean's brain was still functioning, turning Sam's words over and around, letting them settle. It was too early to say that he was sorting out where they were, but it felt like it might happen someday. For right then, the wind was picking up, sweeping down fresh and cold from the mountains (the mountains Sam had told him all about while they were sitting out on the wall outside the Dairy Queen, eating Blizzards like there was nothing wrong with this whole fucked-up life) and Dean could see Sam trying not to shake with the chill.
"Come on," Dean finally said, his voice thin and ragged, but steadier than he'd have thought he'd be able to manage. "We can't stay out here."
He turned and headed back toward the room, deliberately not looking back to see if Sam followed. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen and he'd figure out what the fuck to do about it then.
That still didn't mean he wasn't shocked as shit when he got halfway up the stairs and heard Sam's boots behind him. And it still didn't mean he had any real idea of what to do.
Sam, though--Sam came into the room and went straight to his computer, not even bothering to take off his coat or turn on a light.
"Here," he said, turning the laptop so Dean could see the screen, and then all but shoving it into Dean's hands. Dean tried to focus on what was on the screen--a small-town, badly laid out newspaper Web site, no different than any one of a thousand pages Sam had called up during their lives, but Sam was still talking and that was always going to trump everything else for Dean. "Earlier--before Jennie came up to the room… you wanted to know what I was going to do. This is it."
Dean looked at the screen again and pulled it together enough to figure out he was looking at an article about a string of weird occurrences, things with no reasonable explanation that anyone could come up with, still no different than a thousand other things Sam had shoved at him, and yeah, Dean might not have been firing on all cylinders, but he had enough brain cells working that it really fucking irritated him.
"You're gonna hunt? The thing you fucking hated all your life--"
"Not hunt," Sam said, before Dean could really get going. "Not exactly. What I said yesterday--I'm so sick of killing things, Dean." His voice was quiet and he still had a little bit of that defeated edge to him, but Dean could see the stubborn starting to wear its way through. "I thought, I don't know--maybe there are more things out there that will let go and move on."
"So your plan is to go be a… a ghost whisperer?"
"I guess." Sam shrugged. "It's not like there are hunters lining up to not kill ghosts."
"Sam," Dean sighed, but before he could go on, Sam had taken the computer back and was talking again.
"No, really, Dean--you tell me how likely it is that some trigger-happy hunter ever stopped to consider that there might be another way." He put the computer down on the table and stood there, hands on his hips, and Dean had to admit he probably had a point. Hunters did tend to shoot first and forget the questions entirely. "We've seen it more than once, and we weren't looking for it."
"And when it doesn't work?" Dean asked. "Because, yeah, we've seen it a couple of times, but I don't even know how many ghosts we've ganked, Sam."
"If it doesn't work, then salt and burn, I guess." Sam looked resolute. "At least I'll know I tried." He closed the laptop and started to sort through all the research he'd pulled together. "It's the first thing I've thought about doing that didn't make me want to beat my head against the wall."
Dean walked over and sat down on his bed. "And me?" he made himself ask.
"You should do something that doesn't make you want to beat your head against a wall, too," Sam said, softly.
"Straight up, Sam." Dean was so incredibly tired, and his head was pounding again, the pain like a dull pressure spider-webbing out from the cut over his eye. "Do you want me there with you or not?"
"You should do something that you want--"
"Sam."
"Yes," Sam whispered. "I want you there."
"Okay," Dean said, groping blindly for the ibuprofen he'd left on the bedside. "You know where this candidate for moving-on therapy is?"
"Yeah," Sam said, in a hoarse, crackly voice.
"All right, let's go."
"I--are you sure? Even after. Everything?"
"Are you?" Dean swallowed a couple of pills dry.
"I am." Sam was back to the whisper, but Dean was intimately acquainted with the stubbornness under it. "It--I swear I won't bother you."
Dean wanted to tell Sam to shut up with the emo, but at the last second decided that might be a little too much, like he hadn't been paying attention or whatever. So he bit his lip and said, "Let's get the hell out of here, man. You can drive."
Sam kept sneaking glances at Dean while he packed, little looks that Dean ignored because he didn't really have a fucking clue what was going on, and even if he had, he sure as hell didn't know how to talk about it. Sam got all their clothes and shit shoved into their duffels in record time; Dean grabbed one automatically as they headed down the stairs.
Jennie was behind the counter in the diner; Dean pulled enough energy up from somewhere to put a good face on the conversation as they dropped off the key to the room. She made them wait while she wrapped up a couple of her breakfast sandwiches and poured out coffees. She wouldn't let them pay and pushed away the cash Sam left on the counter for the room. She didn't suggest they keep in touch, though, and Dean was pretty sure it was relief he saw in her eyes when they turned to go.
She must have called Tom; he walked up right as Sam wedged the duffels in the trunk and slammed it shut.
"Looking a little ragged around the edges," Tom said to Dean.
"Spending a couple of nights chasing a pissed-off spirit will do that to you," Dean answered. Tom made a wordless noise of agreement; he wasn't looking so hot himself, but Dean figured it was even worse if it wasn't your regular gig.
"Didn't expect you two to be hitting the road quite so soon."
"It's better to move on," Dean said. "Easier for everyone."
"Well," Tom said. "You're the experts." He sounded doubtful, but he let it go. He got Sam to pop the hood and showed Dean where his guys had dealt with the water pump. It looked good to Dean; he had Sam start her up and let her idle and everything ran smooth. Tom wouldn't take Dean's money either, just shoved it right back at him and told him to give it up or he'd call Jennie and let her deal with him. "You covered the parts; we're square with everything else," he said, and shook Dean's hand. Sam, he nodded to across the hood of the Impala. "Take it easy. Both of you."
"Same to you," Dean said, and got in the passenger seat. He'd been doing this all his life and there really wasn't anything even vaguely normal to say. He was used to it, but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward every damn time. Sam got them going; Dean stripped off his jacket and got it balled up to use as a pillow between the window and the seat.
"I figure we can head west a little and then cut south once we get to--"
"Whatever gets us there," Dean said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. The engine sounded good, sounded like home, as Sam pulled out onto the highway and picked up speed. "Just drive, Sammy."
"Yeah," Sam said, and maybe Dean was kidding himself, but all the strain was gone from Sam's voice. It was pretty much all Dean needed to let the hum of the car drag him under. "I'll do that."
Cas still wore the suit and trench coat, and his eyes were still impossibly blue. He sat next to Dean on a dock on a river, and didn't say anything for the longest time. As dreams went, it was pretty boring, except that Dean knew it wasn't a regular dream. He spared a thought about how much better weird dreams were when the person he was dreaming about knew Dean was there, unlike those weeks and weeks of dreaming about an oblivious Sam.
It was good to see Cas, however they could communicate these days; Dean wasn't going to argue with that, especially when there didn't seem to be any angelic emergency in the offing. It felt like Cas was there to hang out, which was A-OK with Dean. They hadn't parted on the best of terms; Dean was pretty happy to get a little evidence that they had the kind of relationship that could pick back up after something like that.
After a while, Cas shifted around like it was time to go. Dean cocked his head and asked, "So, was there a reason for this visit?"
"I did not think friends required a reason for visiting."
"You're right," Dean said. "I was just checking."
"You should not mistrust things that bring you happiness, Dean," Cas said.
"Yeah, and what the hell does that even mean, Cas?" Dean asked, and jolted awake.
It was still just him and Sam, in the middle of Montana, the Impala growling quietly under them. Sam took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a glance, but didn't say anything.
"Dreaming about Cas," Dean muttered.
"And?"
"He's still an uncommunicative fucker."
Sam snorted out a laugh, and Dean felt his mouth quirk up in response. If nothing else, it was really good to have Sam all the way back, to know that he knew what Dean was talking about. Dean reached for the rest of his coffee and settled back to watch the trees and mountains and the occasional sign fly by.
Sam was driving in silence, which was fine, Dean guessed. He personally would have had some music on, but he didn't feel like giving Sam grief about it. He actually didn't feel like giving Sam grief about anything. He sat there and drank his coffee and let his thoughts wander in the quiet.
"What?" Sam said after a while, and Dean came out of whatever zone he'd been in and realized that somewhere in there he'd stopped watching the scenery and started watching Sam. He realized a couple of other things, too, big things, big enough that he needed to think about them more.
"Just admiring your handsome profile, Sammy," he said, and then could have kicked himself when he saw the blush creeping over Sam's cheekbones. "Sorry, man."
"It's--I'm fine," Sam said, but he reached out and flicked on the radio, not even pretending to be subtle. Dean let it go, mostly because of all the shit that was bouncing around in his head and how he really needed to think everything through. He thought it was a pretty solid tell that he ended up right back where he'd started, his eyes tracing over every curve and plane of Sam's face.
"Next place you see that looks half-decent, stop, okay?" Dean said, quietly. He had no idea how he was gonna say what he needed to say, but he didn't figure he'd ever work that out without a little extra pressure.
"I'm fine, man," Sam said. "You don't need--"
"I know," Dean said. "This isn't about your driving."
Sam shot him a suspicious look, one that was exasperated and aggravated and so familiar Dean couldn't help grinning.
"Humor me, Sam," he said. "I've caught what? Three hours of sleep in the last couple of days? And you're not even working on that much. Just find us someplace to crash."
"Fine," Sam muttered, clearly in a huff.
Dean maybe enjoyed it a little more than he should have.
Sam rejected the first three places they passed; Dean agreed with him on two, but the third one was Sam being pissy, which meant Dean would have to force the issue and insist on the fourth place even if it was crappy. Somebody--maybe Cas?--liked them, though, and the Grand Teton Motor Court turned out to walk that fine line between not being a dive, not being a chain, and not having the rooms decorated in any kind of headache-inducing theme.
Dean got them registered while Sam continued with the glowering. It was getting a little old, so Dean made sure Sam saw him shake out a couple ibuprofen. He didn't really need them, but he didn't not need them either, and it was the easiest way Dean could think of to get Sam to let go of the attitude. This was going to be hard enough without Dean having to fight his way through a fit of Sam sulking first.
It worked, exactly like Dean knew it would--Sam's shoulders unknotting and the tight cast to his jaw relaxing by the time they got into the room. Dean was just congratulating himself on a job well-done when Sam tossed his duffel on the floor and turned around to study Dean, arms crossed over his chest and a calculating, inquisitive look in his eyes, the one that said he thought he'd busted Dean.
"Seriously," Sam said. "What's going on?"
"We need to talk," Dean said.
"Okay," Sam said, slowly, and that was Dean's cue, except Dean still didn't have a clue what to say. "Look," Sam added, after a few seconds. "If you've changed your mind, if you don't want to have to deal with this, with me, that's--it's…o--"
"No, it's not," Dean said. "It is not okay, Sam. It's one more time they thought they could jerk us around, and fuck, but I am tired of that."
Sam didn't say anything.
"All right, look," Dean sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "We're here: you realized… some things, and Lucifer decided to let you go, because he gets his jollies out of making people miserable and he figures that it's a win all the way around. Either you don't tell me and it eats away at you--which he knows is going to make me crazy--or you do tell me and I flip out. Either way, we're both miserable."
"Like you said, win-win," Sam murmured.
"Yeah, well, I got tired of dancing to their crappy, emo boyband music a long time ago." Dean took a breath and thought about dialing it down a notch, but couldn't, not when everything was riding on him getting Sam to believe him. "Listen, man," he said, crossing the room to grab Sam by the biceps. "We stopped the apocalypse, and we did it by playing by our own rules. I don't see where this is any different."
"Meaning?" Sam breathed.
"Meaning this," Dean answered, and let go of Sam's arms so he could catch Sam's face in both hands and draw him down for a kiss. Sam's breathing hitched, caught in his chest hard enough that Dean could feel it, and he made one tiny, helpless noise before he wrenched himself back and broke the contact between them.
"Don't," Sam said, in a voice that wasn't much more than choking. "Dean, please. Don't do this just because--"
"I'm not." Dean made himself stay still, because Sam looked about two seconds from turning and running.
"This isn't what you wa--"
"Don't tell me what I want, Sam."
"You mind letting me finish a sentence?" Sam snapped.
"When you're too damn stubborn to listen to me, yeah, maybe I do mind." Dean eyed Sam up and down. "I mean it, Sam. Fuck Lucifer's game. Our lives. Our decisions. Period."
Sam looked at him for a long couple of seconds and then he was moving, lightning-quick and strong. Dean knew a split-second of pride that Sammy, his one-time clumsy little brother, could move like a fucking ninja when he wanted to now, but then Sam had him up against the wall and was all over him, his mouth hot and hard on Dean's, one strong thigh pressing insistently between Dean's, big hands stripping off Dean's jacket and sliding up under his shirt.
"Like this, Dean?" Sam stopped kissing him long enough to growl in Dean's ear, all but vibrating with how much he knew Dean was going to back off. "Is this really your decision?"
Dean knew that attitude, that certainty, in Sam's voice; the one that said he knew he was right, but only because he couldn't let himself believe Dean had any idea what he was talking about.
"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, shifting his weight and pressing forward to grind into Sam's thigh. "Really." He turned his head enough that he could brush a kiss along Sam's jaw, and then another, and another, until Sam was shaking against him. "Really," Dean repeated. There were other things he wanted to say, like always, and yes, and, most importantly, mine, but Sam was kissing him again, deep and insistent, and who was Dean to stop him?
This time when Sam pulled back, it was only to get them moving toward a bed, and Dean moved with him, pulling and pushing at Sam's clothes, until they hit the mattress in a tangle of flannel and cotton and leather, Sam's hands greedy and grasping on Dean's ass, his thighs.
"Dean," Sam kept saying, breathless and shaky. "Dean, Dean."
Dean kissed him every time, until he was flushed and panting, still not letting Dean go, and Dean didn't know that he'd ever been wanted by someone as much as Sam wanted him now. It sparked along his nerves, made everything bright and sharp and electric, so that Dean was as desperate and needy and wanting as Sam, neither one of them willing to stop kissing each other long enough to do anything but tear at the buttons and zippers on their jeans, shoving them down and out of the way enough that they could grind against each other.
Sam made a helpless noise at the first touch of Dean's cock against his, and fuck if Dean didn't need to hear it again and again. He twisted and turned, hips moving against Sam's, and heard his own voice mixing with Sam's, just as wrecked and mindless. "Sam," he was saying. "Sam, Sam, mine."
Sam moaned low in his throat every time Dean told him he belonged to Dean. Dean wasn't going to stop repeating it, not when every noise Sam made went straight to Dean's dick, made him want it to never end, made him want more than he'd ever thought was possible.
Sam kept his hands moving, still greedy and possessive, and Dean was going to be wearing as many bruises from Sam as he was from the job. Dean maybe whined a little at that thought, or maybe it was that Sam had finally stopped fooling around and went for the main event, one big hand wrapped hard around both their cocks.
"Fuck, yeah, Sam," Dean groaned as Sam tightened his grip even more. "Fucking love your hands."
"Feel so good," Sam panted, jacking them both with a wicked, wicked twist of his wrist. Dean felt it coming, felt it building in his thighs and belly and balls. "Want to feel you, all of you, want to spread you out and find out what it feels like to fuck you, fuck your mouth, fuck your ass, feel you come on my dick--"
It all slammed through Dean then--Sam's hand rough and sure on his cock; Sam's voice growling in his ear; Sam warm and strong and eager against him, almost shaking from how much he wanted Dean--and there wasn't anything Dean could do but arch into Sam and let it roll over him, every nerve sparking into the next, jagged streaks of light and dark behind his eyes, Sam coming hard with him, staying with him, letting Dean hold him close and ride everything out, until their breathing slowed and evened and the rest of the world trickled back in.
Now that it was a done deal, Dean let it all wash over him, waiting for anything he'd buried to come flying out and attack while his defenses were down, stuff like how this really wasn't a good idea, and how the last thing he and Sam needed was to throw sex into the mix. All very important things to think about, but he kept getting distracted by Sam and how he was curved into Dean, half-asleep, breathing easy and deep.
"You're doing it again," Sam mumbled. "Staring at me."
There were a half-dozen things Dean could say to that--wisecracks, insults, jokes--but instead, he just said, "Yeah."
Sam opened one eye at that; stared at Dean suspiciously. Dean gave him a half-shrug, one that translated to I got nothin'. Sam quirked a smile at him and settled back down, still more-or-less boneless, but awake. He put his hand on Dean's hip, a warm heavy weight that sank into Dean, drew circles over Dean's skin with his thumb. Dean found enough brainpower to make a pleased sound; he wasn't exactly verbal but he thought Sam might want to know Dean liked what he was doing.
"We should clean up," Sam murmured after a while. Dean shrugged. "At least get rid of the rest of our clothes."
Sam maybe had a point, Dean thought. They were still mostly dressed and they hadn't slept the previous night, or much the night before. That didn't mean he didn't make a face when Sam hauled himself up and stumbled toward the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went.
The bed Dean was on was a mess; he gave himself a little pep talk and managed to get vertical long enough to get over to the other one. While he was at it, he stripped down, too, and cleaned up as best he could with a discarded T-shirt. The fact that it was Sam's was incidental, though he was sure Sam wouldn't see it that way. The blinds were still down and mostly closed, so the room was dark except for a few stripes of warm, late-afternoon sunlight on the floor.
Sam came out of the bathroom, hesitating between the two beds as though he wasn't sure where he should go.
"Dude," Dean sighed, and it wasn't much of an invitation, but Sam took the hint. His skin was cool but heated up fast, all except his feet, which were fucking blocks of ice. Dean hissed every time they got close to him, but then Sam put his hand back on Dean's hip and things settled down fast. Dean's eyelids were heavier every second; when he could keep them open, he could see Sam's eyes on him.
"Now who's doing the watching thing?" Dean mumbled. "Creepy. Stalker."
"Learned it from the best," Sam said, and Dean snorted.
"How long do we have the room for?" Sam asked, in between drawing those little circles with his thumb again.
"Paid for two nights," Dean mumbled. "Are we gonna need it longer?"
"If you think I have any idea what we're doing, you really are crazy," Sam said. He didn't sound too stressed about it, but Dean made himself wake up enough to poke him, to make sure Sam was paying attention.
"We're living, okay?" It came out a little loud, but fuck it, it was just him and Sam and it was important. "Okay?"
"Okay," Sam said, one side of his mouth quirking up into one of his lopsided smiles. Dean poked him again, and it turned into a full-on grin. "Ow, okay. Living."
"Okay." Dean settled back down on the mattress and let Sam put his ice-cold feet on Dean's. "Good."
* * *
A/N: Giant thanks to
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
bientot, who kept reading and poking and cheerleading, even though it took me five months to write this; and to without_me who once again pointed out where it didn't quite hang together and fixed all my comma splices, too. whoooo! YAY! Now I can go watch S6!!!
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Nice way of making Sam remember everything/and Dean. And the reasons of how he came to the realization that he loved Dean this late in life were good too.
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Thanks for sharing this with us, honey. It was an awesome way to spend my afternoon :)
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I'm really glad the plot flowed for you, and I very much enjoyed writing Dean with Lisa and Ben--when I started that originally, it was supposed to be about Sam standing outside Lisa's house and not knowing what/who he was seeing, but then out came pages of Dean slowly putting himself back together at Lisa's. And then, of course it was all about Sam and Dean finding their way together, because even after 5 years in this fandom, that's it for me.
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Of course, I liked how you introduced the Wincest too and I really liked the case and how it brought the idea of the boys not "hunting" anymore but trying to help the ghosts.
Thanks for sharing!
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things come back
Re: things come back
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Cheers,
Ace
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I liked the case, the OCs, and I just loved the idea that Sam was so tired of killing things and wanted to find a way to live their lives a little differently.
Definitely worth it.
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Thank you for listening to me for months and months and I'm sorry for leaving you alone to fight through the first half of S6!
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This was another gorgeous read! Sam is so Sam in this. I loved how when the moment came, Dean knew what he wanted and didn't agonize. guh, this line: Really," Dean repeated. There were other things he wanted to say, like always, and yes, and, most importantly, mine, but Sam was kissing him again, deep and insistent, and who was Dean to stop him? Possessive boys are my favorite and you conveyed it so well. :)
Very satisfying. :)
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I spent a ridiculous amount of time working through all of this and didn't watch the new season until I posted so I am veryvery glad you liked it!
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I thought I commented on this the first time I read it, but apparently not! Re-reading now, and I still love it as much or more. Excellent and unique case-fic - so very Sam, finding his own way to do things - and you have both boys down so beautifully. My heart ached for both of them, and oh, when Dean found out that Sam knew what he had done, and assumed Sam would leave...amazing, hurty and perfect. Brilliant job.
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