Goodbye Hello (2/3), Sam, Dean, OMC, gen
Title: Goodbye Hello - Chapter Two
Rating: PG-13 for cussing and violence
Pairing: Sam, Dean, Cleo (OMC)
Spoiler: Nightshifter
Timeline: shortly after Heart
Wordcount: ~3300 this chapter
Feedback would be nice.
A/N: vision!Sam (Yeah! Don't you just miss this?)
A/N2: Sequel to Hello Goodbye, where Cleo is introduced. Go read it first! This story was inspired by the inkworld saga from Cornelia Funke. My greatest thanks goes to geminigrl11 as usual. She's a wonderful beta. Remaining mistakes are all mine.
A/N3: Why can't you just pronounce PI like pee? This story would have been much funnier if you would!
Summary: "It's not like she missed him. They didn't share an undying love, not even the same interests. But he had somehow touched her without physical contact, leaving behind a piece of her that felt colder without him."
Chapter 1
On with
Chapter 2
There'd be a bruise decorating her upper arm where Sam held her during their escape from the building. She stumbled and he caught her before she even had the chance to throw her arms forward. Everywhere, people panicked and ran to the exits. Cleo wished she could panic with them but a weird calmness had settled down in her mind. Like it wasn't really her running from her friend who had triggered a freaking earthquake.
They finally reached the main exit and stepped into the late afternoon sun.
“So...” Dean began when they were far enough from the crowds so no one could hear them.
“Soooo...” he repeated, after neither Sam nor Cleo had realized he had spoken. Emphasizing his statement by clapping his hands, he alternately stared at Sam and Cleo. “I'm hungry. What about you?”
“Hungry?”
“Yes, Sam. That's when your stomach's empty and growls and demands a burger.”
“Dean!” Sam replied in a 'be serious' voice and cocked his head. “We gotta question the witnesses. We gotta search for the kid. We...”
“...can't do anything right now, Sam!” Dean answered and spread his arm. In fact, the campus was more crowded than Union Square on New Year’s Eve. Police and firemen were bustling like rabid bees, students goggling, staring, taking freaking photographs for their freaking photo albums.
“Guys, aren't you kinda... fugitives?” Cleo whispered the last word and Sam was finally convinced. Together, they left the scene with their heads down, trying to figure out their next steps.
The walk gave Cleo the chance to take some careful glances at Sam. First of all, he had grown ridiculously tall. She wasn't exactly short with a body height of 5'7. But he was huge, nearly a foot taller than her. His face was narrower than it had been when he was a kid, the boyish features replaced by sharp lines. Not haggard but tired. Like the weight of the world pressed against his gigantic frame, elongating it until there was nothing left but a thin thread of nervousness. Walking beside her, he had his hands pushed deeply into the pockets of his jeans and kept looking sideways. As if he expected an ambush any second. Which wasn't that far from reality. Because his brother was a fugitive and Cleo helped him get away.
She was so screwed.
They turned a corner and Dean walked determinedly to a black, slightly sleazy looking car, opened the doors and reached over to unlock the doors for Sam and her. She crawled into the rear and slumped down. The leather was cold beneath her, making her skin crawl, and she skidded forwards to lean her arms on the backrests of the front seats.
“You know, guys, if you wanted to visit me, you just could have called,” she joked half-heartedly and wondered at the same time how she had gotten in this mess when only that morning, her greatest worry was being late for the lecture. “Now what?” she wanted to know. Dean answered with the turn of the ignition and a loud rock song started blaring out of the speakers. Sam turned down the volume and looked at Dean, his face as questioning as her own.
“What?” Dean said and snaked his way into the slow-going traffic. It was half past six in the evening but New York's rush hour tended to last twenty-four hours a day. Dean gave his horn a good push. “This's so not my gig, Sammy,” he rambled on. “You wanted us to come here... from California, no less.” In the rear-view mirror Cleo could see his eyes meeting hers and he didn't look happy. Perfect way to make her own happy bubbly feelings for seeing Sam jump out of the window and fall into the garbage truck rattling beside them.
Sam blinked at her apologetically over his shoulder.
“Sorry, the next time I wait in line for special abilities I'll ask for teleportation,” the younger brother replied exasperatedly, and went back to staring out of the window.
She wanted to ask, what he'd meant with the special abilities but an uncomfortable silence had stretched between them and the decrease of adrenaline in her body made Cleo jittery. Goosebumps trailed over her skin and she rubbed her arms to keep the warmth inside. In the rush, she'd totally forgotten her backpack and her jacket in the library.
“Great!” she huffed when she realized this. “I lost my backpack.”
“That's okay. The police will probably collect the stuff and give it back to you,” Sam tried to reassure her but it didn't really work.
She crossed her arms over her chest and he finally turned around, looking at her with a worried expression. “Are you really okay? Are you cold?”
He didn't even wait for her answer, but peeled out of his own jacket, which was warm with his body heat when Cleo put it around her shoulder. It smelled strongly... in a good way. Like car and leather and musk.
“Can we drop you off somewhere?” Dean asked, followed by another loud honk. He looked stressed.
“He doesn't like big cities,” Sam explained with a small grin. “Too many car accidents.”
She nodded and leaned back again. The car swayed, gave a jolt and Dean started a waterfall of swear words directed to the small Toyota parking second row.
“Lost my keys,” she finally answered Dean's question. “Lu's probably not home yet either. So... no. I've nowhere to go.” It sounded more dramatic spoken out loud and she coughed embarrassed. “How did you know I was here?”
Sam turned back to the street and now it was his turn to look sheepish.
“We didn't, actually. We knew about your friend.”
“Pi?”
“Pie? What kinda name is that?” Dean mumbled. “No wonder he's going all Mathilda.”
“Not P...I...E, but P...I. It's a number. A mathematical constant. You know, like Euler-Mascheroni.”
“See, I knew it was something to eat,” he retaliated, wriggling his eyebrows. “Hmm, macaroni.” He had barely said the words when he twisted the wheel sharply and parked, half on the curb, in front of a small dinner. He got out of the car without another word and stuck his head back through the door, when neither Sam nor Cleo followed him. “You guys coming or what?”
Five minutes later, they were seated in a booth in the far corner of the dinner, which was semi-crowded with a mix of mothers and their children, a few CEO-types wearing expensive looking suits and sipping from their cups of coffee now and then and a small group of young people, talking heatedly over their milk shakes.
“You ready to order?” A middle-aged woman had suddenly appeared next to their table like from thin air, startling Dean, who was bent over the menu.
“Hey...” he croaked and his face fell a little, when he found out the waitress was overweight, with orange hair and a lipstick redder than dead man's blood. A nametag that read Melissa was pinned at her oversized bosom. “Uhh... yes. The Supper Special please.”
“Not before seven pm.” Her manicured thumb pointed towards a large sign over the counter.
Supper Special, Burger with Fries, Coke or Beer and Dessert of your choice, Eight Dollars, every night at seven.
“You're kidding, right?” Dean made a grimace and took a look at the clock next to the ad. “It's ten to seven.”
“Not yet seven, boy,” the waitress grumbled in a bored voice. “So, you want anything else?”
“Ask again in nine minutes,” he pointed out with a death glare, which the waitress accepted with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Is everyone in New York insane?”
He met Sam's and Cleo's irritated gazes.
“What's wrong with you guys?” he said with a grim face and Cleo felt the urge to shove a barbecue fork in his hand.
It felt weird, sitting with the boy---actually the two boys from her past---in a random diner in the middle of New York City. Until now, there hadn’t been much time to process what had happened but now quite suddenly, questions started to waterfall from her brain and she had barely time to pick one before her mouth opened. Maybe she should make a list so she wouldn't forget one... where was a pen and a Post-It when you needed one?
“You said, you'd know about PI.” She ignored Dean's smirk. “How could you know this would happen?”
“It's complicated,” Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably on his chair.
“I want a cent for every time someone says It's complicated.” She rolled her eyes. “You don't just barge in a library, running towards a guy who makes books dance around like the gum balls in the Bravia ad by accident.”
Dean ogled longingly at the clock and sighed. Still five minutes to go. “It's what we do. You know that.”
She'd almost missed his words but when she did, her head shot upward and she stared at him. “Actually, I know nothing. I had so many questions but no one to ask.” She hated the way her words sounded bitter.
“I'm sorry,” he said and she shook her head with a smile.
“Don't be sorry. I didn't want a sorry for the first time, so don't gimme that crap.” Now it was Dean's turn to stare at her and she suppressed a snort at his puzzled expression.
“I'm... “ Sam began but snapped his mouth shut. “Look, I didn't mean to leave you behind like that. But it's...”
“I know, don't say it. It's complicated.”
Sam shrugged, directing a soundless plea of help to his brother who was busy staring at the clock as if he could make it go faster by sending out waves of hunger.
“Guys, could we please just concentrate on this pie-guy?” Dean interjected.
“Stop calling him pie, his name is PI.”
“How do you know the difference? Pie - PI. It sounds the same,” Dean tried to defend himself.
“It's just... I know. You look like you want to take a bite of the edge of the table when you say his name.”
“I do... what?” Dean looked at the greasy table. “I'm not that hungry. What do you study anyway? Don't tell you are studying shrinkism!”
Cleo laughed. “There's no such thing as shrinkism. And no, I don't study psychology but linguistics.”
He shuddered. “I think that's worse.” Mercifully, the waitress came back in this moment, posing in front of their table and tipping her pen repeatedly against her notepad.
Dean rolled his eyes at her ignorance stated with a loud voice. “The Supper Special, please?”
“Power failure. No electricity in the kitchen. Anything else?”
Dean's ears turned a dark shade of red and his nostrils flared. It would've been frightening, if Sam hadn't pressed his closed fist against his lips to hide an amused snicker.
“Coffee. Black.” Dean finally announced and the waitress opened her mouth for a probably not very friendly reply. “No wait, that'd require a coffee machine. Gimme a sandwich and a coke.”
She waited one more second but when Sam and Cleo didn't order anything, she stomped off.
“What about PI? What did he study?” Sam asked when she was gone.
So they were back to the actual problem. “Psychology,” She answered and Dean coughed “I knew it.”
“What happened before we... found you?” Sam leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and he looked strangely grown up. Professional. As if he had done that before, questioning witnesses. Like Horatio on T.V., only more charming.
“He read a book...” Something in her memory made her scrunch up her face. “... which was really weird.”
“Yeah, because reading a book in a library is potential scary movie material.”
“Dude,” Sam pressed. ”Do you sometimes think before you speak?”
“I speak fast and thinking needs time.” Dean said and scratched his head. “So that'd be a no.”
“Guys,” Cleo interrupted. “That's not what I mean. The book ... was empty.”
“Empty?” This little piece of information had obviously spiked the younger brother’s interest.
“Yeah, there was nothing on the pages. Like it had never been written at all.”
Silence. Then a delighted sound (“Finally!”) from Dean as a sandwich and a coke was positioned in front of him.
“Blank pages, huh?” Sam contemplated and Cleo waited for him to scratch his chin thoughtfully, which unfortunately he didn't. “What about him? Was he... you know... normal?”
What the hell was the definition of normal in Sam's world?
“Define normal,” she started to say. “No, better yet, don't. But I guess you could say he was... is special.”
This earned a furrowed brow of Dean, who was looking for the best way to take a bite from his dinner.
“Special?”
“He was really smart. Like scary smart. What do you think where he got his name from?”
Fortunately Dean's mouth was filled with food and he was denied another smart ass comment.
Of course, Sam's answer turned out much more intellectual. “He could recite PI?”
“At least to the 200th-or-something digit. It was amazing. He could read a book and just like that... whoops... he knew all about it. Like he downloaded the words right into his brain.”
“Sammy, he must be nearly as smart as you are.”
A traitorous bang came from under the table and Dean made a painful noise, half a tomato hanging between his lips. “Mngh'Ouch!”
Rolling his eyes, Sam turned back to Cleo. “Since when did you know him?”
“PI? We started college together. That was two and a half years ago. Why?”
“What was he like? I mean, do you know if he only got this smart, say... two years ago?”
A loud clattering noise came from the diner’s kitchen and Cleo jumped in her seat, feeling childish for letting a fallen tablet make her skittish. A question. Sam had asked her a question.
“Uhm... he was really shy. I think he thought he wouldn't make it since he barely made it through high school.” She chuckled “Well, that's what he told us. But I guess...” - and frowned when she met Sam's thoughtful eyes. “You think this some kind of... clue, don't you?”
“Don't know yet,” he said and rubbed his temple. “The language he spoke when we found him, that was German, right?”
“Hm, yeah. He attended a course last summer. But he only made it to two or three meetings. He said it was an awful language. And really hard to learn.”
The plate in front of Dean was now empty and the older brother collected the crumbs with his fingertips.
“Then why did he speak it? In a situation like this of all times?” Sam pondered on and closed his eyes, leaning back against the head rest of the uncomfortable booth.
“Sam?” She asked when he made a small noise. A groan, barely audible. “Are you okay?”
Dean's head shot upwards and within a blink of an eye Cleo could see well-fed façade crumble like a house of cards in a gust of wind.
“Sammy?” His brother didn't reply. “Oh shit.”
“Dean? What's going on?” Hastily she slid from the booth and together they managed to get Sam out of the corner. His eyes were closed tight and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam?” She asked. No response, and she wanted to shake him.
“We need to get him somewhere else!” Dean said and his voice sounded pressed, like he wasn't far from screaming his exasperation at the rest of the world. Or at least the twenty-something gaping people in the diner.
“What? Where?”
“Restrooms,” he barked at her and it was the shock that made her follow his instructions. Sam's huge frame leaned against her shoulder and if it wasn't for the curious faces of the other customers, her knees would have buckled mercilessly. She tried to throw them an excusing glare but it turned out as a grimace.
Dean had taken Sam's left arm over his shoulder and directed him towards the back of the room. Soon, sweat was dribbling along the curve of her neck and she grunted. It felt like they had walked a mile, even though the restroom was barely twenty feet away. With a kick of his foot, Dean opened the door and heaved his brother into the white room, not even realizing that Cleo had stayed behind, watching him with big eyes through the open door.
“What?” he sneered, carefully letting Sam slide down the clean tiles next to the sinks.
“This is a men's restroom,” she squealed, hating herself for the stupid hitch in her voice. The resulting gaze she got from Dean, made her want to stick out her tongue. But she didn't. Actually, she wanted to stick her fingers in her ear to stop hearing the awful moaning from Sam, whose head had sunken down on his drawn up knees.
“Sammy?” Dean asked and knelt down in front of his brother, putting a hand on his tense shoulders. “Sammy, talk to me!” Even though his voice sounded soft and calming, she could hear the fear and urgency between the lines louder than words could have said.
“What's wrong with him?”
“What do you think? He's just peachy,” Dean snapped back but before he'd even finished speaking, Cleo knew, he hadn't meant it that way. “Sorry... it's complicated.”
Sam chose that time to lift his head. His eyes were directed at his brother and even though he was obviously in a lot of pain, he managed a lopsided smile. It made Cleo's heart jump in her chest and she wished this kind of smile would be directed at her. Alas, the smile changed again and rather alarmed, Cleo watched him bite on his lower lip. A runlet of blood trickled down his chin.
“Dean?” His voice, so small and fragile and in the next moment ... the back of his head connected forcefully with the wall behind him and his eyes rolled back, turning white.
“Shit!”
An ambulance! They needed an ambulance. And a freaking Dr House. But still, Dean didn't show any ambition of calling for help. She felt like she had back in her parent’s cellar, while Sam's blood spread over the dirty floor. But this time there was no piece of wood sticking out his chest.
“Dean?” she cried, frightened, and surprisingly he answered.
“It's okay. He's gonna be okay,” he answered, like he wanted to convince himself. “Don't worry, I got you.” His hands held his brother’s head to keep him from hitting the wall again. It felt like hours until Sam finally stopped shaking and spasming. From one second to next, he seemed to deflate under their worried eyes, blinking owlishly against the piercing restroom light.
“Sam?” Dean asked, not yet ready to let go of Sam's head. “You with us?”
“Where else would I be?” he replied and let his head sink down on his arms with a groan. “Ooooh, that so was not necessary.”
“What did you see?”
See?
“Library.”
“Been there, done that, remember?” the older Winchester returned confused.
“No, not the University. Another library.”
What the hell are they talking about?
“Another one? You mean there are two?”
To her surprise, Sam giggled weakly. “Yes Dean, we're in New York. And New York's got more than one. Sorry to disappoint you.” It didn't sound like he was sorry at all.
Dean shook his head and Cleo wanted to hit him. Or complete her fantasy with the fork.
“Libraries...” Dean snorted. “Like fighting demons isn't enough. You so owe me for that one, little bro.”
TBC
Next Chapter