vail_kagami
in
ohsam
Along the Way
Title: Along the Way
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, OCs (past Sam/Jess)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5301
Warnings: non-con (mentioned, not described)
Spoilers: Set in the season 3, spoilers up to episode 3.05.
Summary: During a stop in California, the brothers run into some guys with connections to Sam Sam doesn't want to think about and Dean can't ignore.
Note: Witten for this prompt by thelocation at the h/c prompt challenge.
Being in California again was… weird. Not that they hadn’t crossed the state before. They’d even worked a case at Stanford, but it was still weird being here and not belonging here anymore.
And weird was the word Sam used to avoid calling it painful.
Even when he had come to help Becky and Zack, he had felt that this wasn’t his world anymore. And perhaps somehow he had even then already guessed that it never would be again, despite all his plans to go back to school once the demon was dead and all this was over. Now he knew that he couldn’t come back, had maybe never even truly arrived in the first place; that Stanford was symbol of a life he just couldn’t have, and it was… well. Weird.
At least it wasn’t quite Palo Alto. It was close enough, though, for him to recognize the town, find streets he had passed through. There was a restaurant nearby where he’d once gone with Jess, and they’d both agreed that the food was terrible and they wouldn’t go there again. (They hadn’t.) After that dinner, Jess had insisted on getting some real food from the nearest Burger King and then they’d taken a walk around the lake and it had taken so long that the sun was rising by the time they’d finally got home. (Jess had an important test the next morning, one she hadn’t told Sam about because she knew he’d insist on going back earlier or at least worry about it all night long. She’d taken the test on no sleep at all and still done well. Afterwards she’d come home and slept until evening. Sam had ordered take out and they’d eaten the pizza in bed while watching bad horror movies from the 1980s.)
Dean didn’t know that. Of course he didn’t; he knew next to nothing about Sam’s life without him, always refusing to accept that a life without him had existed for Sam and never asking questions. It worked just fine for Sam who didn’t want to share any of this. This had been his life, and it was over.
Had Dean known about it - about the restaurant and the lake and the test in the morning - he wouldn’t have stopped anywhere near here. Sam knew that. Dean might not be too interested in anything of his brother’s he had no part of, but Sam had no illusions that Dean wouldn’t do all it took to protect him from any hurt.
It was one of the reasons why Sam had never mentioned having been here before. If he had, Dean would have insisted to keep driving until they had crossed the borders of at least two states, and that, at the moment, would have been a very bad idea. The fact alone that Dean was willing to stop anywhere near Palo Alto was testament of just how badly Sam’s brother needed a break.
The last hunt hadn’t gone well, and neither had the one before, or the one before that. They always got the thing in the end, but never without effort, and never without paying a price.
And the clock was ticking. Sam didn’t want to stop, he wanted to keep looking for a way to save his brother, but he knew that Dean needed to have things to enjoy, every now and then, because he was the one going to hell, and he needed this break to find have fun and fight the desperation that would drag him down if he and Sam let it.
A few days off would be great, but their job came without paid holidays, and hell wouldn’t accept a delay. As it was, a night off would have to do - just relaxing for a bit, having a few drinks, not worrying about anything but having a good time. Things like that had always been important, were what kept them sane, and now it had been too long. Whenever they’d tried to relax lately, something had come up. Another hunt, another revelation of suck-ass destiny, another lead on a way to break Dean deal that had them drive through all of the United States without a break only to turn out to be leading nowhere.
They needed this break, so when Dean had pulled off the interstate and found them a motel in the nearest city before midday was over, Sam had said nothing. It was okay. Palo Alto was still far away and Jess’ ghost never left him, no matter where he was.
At least he hadn’t been in this bar before. It wasn’t the kind of place he would have chosen to go to himself. This was the kind of bar he visited with his brother. Places like this were good for hustling pool, but neither of them had gone anywhere near the pool table yet, nor were they going to. Hustling always carried the risk of getting into trouble. Not a good way to relax, and anyway, they had enough money for the moment.
They’d hung out at the motel until nightfall, watched bad tv and taken a nab or two while avoiding the news or anything that could point them into the direction of another hunt. Eventually, they had gone out and grabbed a pizza before coming to the bar. Dean had declared his aim to be drunk out of his mind by morning and get laid at least once, but the evening had only just started and so far, he was still in the early stages of flirting with the woman behind the bar. She seemed interested enough. If Dean didn’t get too smashed, Sam was optimistic he would obtain his goal.
Good for him. His brother deserved to have a good time every once in a while. (Sam just wished he would concentrate less on his fun and more on finding a way to stay alive, as if he hadn’t given up from the beginning.)
The music playing in the background was slightly annoying, and Sam had a headache. He would have been fine just sitting in the motel all night, having a beer or two and falling asleep in front of the tv, but Dean would have worried if he’d left early, and thought something was wrong with him and that he was having one of his emo moments, and then Dean wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself as he could when he didn’t worry about Sam, so Sam stayed and was fine, joked with Dean bout the décor and had some drinks that were slightly stronger than he would have liked. Jessica’s shadow was in every corner, but Sam didn’t want to get drunk. Days like this, getting drunk was dangerous. He just wanted to not be among people.
He’d leave as soon as Dean was done chatting up the barkeeper and would say goodbye to Sam with a stupid remark and a wink. Sam would then roll his eyes at him in annoyance and finish his own drink before going back to the motel. By his estimation, that moment would come in half an hour, an hour at best, depending on when Dean’s newest conquest could leave her work.
At the moment, Dean had pretty much forgotten his brother existed. That was fine by Sam - he tuned out the conversations going on around him and concentrated on the drink he didn’t intend to finish anytime soon. Watched the clear liquid move around in the glass, contemplated the way it reflected the light and tried to think of nothing.
Someone laughed, loud and harsh, a couple of seats away. Amused voices, exchanged words that slurred together and made no sense. Sam stared into his drink. Beside him, Dean was talking to the barkeeper, laughing. The other guy’s laugh was louder, drowning out Dean’s. Sam didn’t move. His fingers were frozen around his glass. He didn’t breathe and then he was breathing too fast, and then he felt like throwing up.
The conversations continued around him. Dean chatting, the two women to his left exchanging amused remarks, the guys beside Dean towering over everything and the only thing Sam could hear until he couldn’t anymore because they became quieter and were swallowed by the noise.
Perhaps he’d imagined it. Perhaps he hadn’t heard them and perhaps nothing had ever happened. Sam wanted to look and make sure but he didn’t move. Didn’t look up from his glass until his hands around the glass were shaking so badly he began spilling the liquid on the counter.
If he kept this up, he would attract attention, and Sam didn’t want to attract attention. He wanted to be invisible, somewhere else. He had to get out of the dark alley, away from the stench of the garbage cans and the slick feeling of blood…
The harsh sound of breaking glass pulled Sam back to the present and the seedy bar. Startled, he looked up, saw the waitress who’d dropped a bottle, and when Dean leaned forward he saw the men sitting beside him and his eyes met the eyes of another for a second before Dean leaned back again and Sam knocked over his glass as he stumbled away from the counter and out of the bar.
-
Initially, Dean didn’t even notice his brother leave. He was caught up in his conversation with Melanie the barkeeper and had drunken himself into a comfortable haze, had settled into the atmosphere of the bar and was simply enjoying himself for a change. It was more a sense of absence that made him look - that, and the confused look Melanie shot the place beside him where his brother was supposed to be.
He looked just in time to see Sam’s back disappearing through the door. His eyes fell on the fallen glass, the drink dripping off the counter.
It wasn’t like Sam to just run off like that, without a word. If he wanted to leave, he would have told Dean, and he would have finished his drink - it was paid for after all. Maybe he was feeling sick and puking his guts out right now. Dean hadn’t noticed anything that indicated he wasn’t feeling well all evening, but then he had to admit that he hadn’t been paying an awful lot of attention to his little brother since they got here.
“What’s gotten into that guy?” Melanie wondered out loud. She looked at Dean and shrugged before moving to wipe up the spilt drink. Didn’t seem to expect any kind of elaborate explanation from him, and that was when Dean became aware that she didn’t know Dean and the guy running out had any connection to each other. She hadn’t seen them arrive together, and ever since Dean had started flirting with her, he hadn’t spared so much as a glance for his little brother.
Dean didn’t feel exactly guilty - it wasn’t like Sam sought to interact with them in any way, and he was old enough to find a way to entertain himself - but he did feel a little worried. If Sam got sick, he had to make sure he was okay, simple as that.
He opened his mouth to excuse himself for a second, explain that that was his little brother and he had to check on him before doing just that, when the guy to his right cursed softly.
“Fuck,” he hissed, and something about the way he turned to his friends and pulled their arms to get their attention made Dean stop. Wait. Listen. It was his hunter instinct, or maybe his big brother instinct, and if Melanie was talking to him, he didn’t hear it.
“That was him!” the guy beside him told his friend, his voice urgent but so quiet the noise of the bar would have drowned it out had Dean not been listening consciously and closely.
“Was who?” another one asked, unconcerned, the grin not quite fading from his face.
“The guy who just ran out. That was him! And he recognized me! Us,” the man, as tall as Sam and heavily built, corrected himself. Dean wanted to shake him, make him spill what the hell he was talking about, but he held himself still, watched only out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what was going on, but from Sam’s reaction, he didn’t share fond memories of these guys, and they probably wouldn’t react too positive to an older brother threatening to kill them.
He was lucky, since the other three guys that man was with didn’t seem to get it either. Unfortunately, the man reduced his hints to random words thrown at is friends, hoping they would light the proverbial light bulb.
“Like, what - four years back? Stanford? Pretty guy who didn’t want your money? Or were you so drunk out of your mind that you don’t even remember that, Rob? It was your idea after all.”
One of them - Rob, Dean presumed - breathed in sharply. “I thought he was… well, you know. Dead.” The last word was so quiet it was almost inaudible over the noise, but Dean heard it, and it was all he could do not to pull out his gun right there and then.
“Don’t you think if he’d died, it would have been on the news?” the guy right beside Dean snapped angrily and perhaps louder than intended.
“How would I know, Jim? To be honest, I’d been avoiding the news for a week after,” Rob admitted, and one of the others said, “Yeah, me too. Actually, I kept waiting for the police to knock on my door for weeks afterwards.” And then he snickered softly and Rob made a noise of agreement as if they were revelling in fond memories of a jest they had gotten away with as kids, and God, what had they done to Sammy?
“Well, obviously he’s still alive. And here.” Jim didn’t sound too impressed with his friends. In fact, he sounded mildly panicked. “And he fucking recognized me!”
There was silence when the information sank into the brains of the slightly drunk men, while Dean just wanted to get up and slam their heads together until they told him exactly what had happened.
Then he thought that he could easily find out by simply asking Sam. And then he realised that Sam was out there, obviously upset and alone, and no matter how desperately Dean wanted to find out what these guys had done to his baby brother and make them pay, the need to make sure Sam was okay was stronger. He vaguely recalled seeing one of the guys arrive when he and Sam did. He knew which car he was driving, could write down the number on the plate and find them if he had to. Sammy was more important now.
Sammy had been alone out there for a good five minutes. There was a lot of trouble someone with his brother’s talents could get into in five minutes, especially if he was upset.
Dean even forgot to excuse himself to his shapely would-have-been conquest as he hurried outside. The cold air hit him like a fist, sobering him up immediately, but it did nothing to ease the tight knot of fury and dread in his stomach overhearing that conversation given him.
Sam was nowhere to be seen. Dean called his name and got no answer. His worry grew as he checked the car and found it empty.
He called again and went to check behind the bar, silently cursing his stupid little brother for running off without a word when his cell phone rang, once, indicating an incoming message.
It was from Sam. Of course it was from Sam. And of course Sam told him, in no more than ten words, that he’d gone home because he wasn’t feeling so well, and Dean should enjoy the night.
The motel wasn’t far away. If he had taken a shortcut along the lake, Sam must have been nearly there by the time he sent the message. Not point chasing after him in a panic. Dean briefly considered calling him, but the chances of his brother telling him what was wrong on the phone were even slimmer than the chances of him telling Dean face to face.
No, if Dean wanted answers, he needed to look here, and that was all fine by him, because there were some asses here that needed to be kicked. He didn’t know what had happened, but Sam wasn’t the sort to mindlessly run off over nothing. Whatever these guys had done, they had hurt his little brother.
And Dean wasn’t the sort to let anyone get away with that.
‘Enjoy the night.’ The words on the small screen seemed to mock him.
Dean certainly wouldn’t have fun tonight. But he would get some satisfaction by making sure no one else did, either.
-
The worst part was… Sam didn’t actually think about what had been worst. He regretted having chosen this path, along the lake where Jessica’s ghost walked beside him. It brought back memories of waking in a hospital bed and her trying not to cry beside him. Worse than that, it brought back memories of her sitting on their cough, laughing about some silly joke Brady had made, her knees drawn to her chest, her head thrown back, exposing her throat, so open and happy. (Sam didn’t know what Brady had said to make her laugh like this; he’d never known, had been too busy watching Jess to pay attention to anything else. It had probably been some joke at his expanse.)
He had come this way because the need to get back to the seeming safety of the motel room had been overwhelming, had him take the shortest route by instinct. The route that brought him too close to his past, and now he felt like he was running from Jess as well and he knew he shouldn’t, that it was wrong and unfair to her when it was all his fault to begin with (Jess, mom, Dean) and he thought that he might only escape her (them) by diving into the lake. He kept running towards the motel, could already see the lights in the distance, and just wanted to be there and alone because most of all - under the grief and the anger and losing his mind - he was scared. So fucking scared, driven by remembered fear. He ran, and he felt vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to feeling. Wasn’t supposed to be feeling. All his life he had learned how to fight, how to defend himself.
He still didn’t understand how it could have happened.
The worst part was that he didn’t think… He hadn’t thought it possible. They were just people. Big and strong but not trained, not armed except with a knife, and that wasn’t even theirs, they’d taken it from the bar when they followed him outside. He’d seen it, and he’d been amused. He remembered being amused. He remembered being so damn sure of himself. Because they outnumbered him and were bigger and stronger, but he’d been killing monsters since he was twelve. He was able to protect himself. Everything else would be ridiculous.
The worst part was the realisation that he couldn’t stop them. That he was helpless. He remembered the panic, but more than that he remembered feeling ashamed. Even before he realised what they were going to do to him. He thought they were going to kill him, and he’d felt ashamed. He should have been able to defeat them easily and he wasn’t.
When they had pressed the knife to his throat and forced him to his knees, and he’d begun to realise what was going to happen, he’d known…
He’d known that he shouldn’t let the knife control him. He shouldn’t fear death, should accept it rather then letting them defile him like that. But he had. He’d been afraid. He’d been living the life he always wanted, had friends and good marks and he was in love. He didn’t want to die. Perhaps for the first time in his life he’d wanted to stay alive more than anything.
When their blows and kicks rendered him immobile and their pathetic knife cut the clothes off his body, he’d thought of Dean, thought of his father, and how disappointed they would be. More than anything else, he’d hated himself for failing them. Even after two years apart, they still had that much control over him.
-
Luck was with Dean as much as anything about this situation could be called lucky. He was still behind the dumpsters beside the bar, just about to round the corner and get back in, when he heard the door open and the four guys came out, the volume of their conversation picking up considerably now they deemed themselves alone. Dean happily left them to that illusion, remaining out of view and listening to the heated voices.
“Of course we have to do something!” one of the as yet nameless guys was saying just as the door closed behind them. “I don’t know about you, but I for my part have a life. And I want to keep it.”
“Tommy’s right,” Jim said. “The guy could ruin everything.”
“And what do you propose we do?” Rob asked. “Offer him money?”
“Why not? Jerry’s got enough of that.”
“And he’s the one who has most to lose,” the forth man agreed, indicating to Dean that Jerry was not actually present. So at least five of them. Five on their side and one on Sam’s. And now Dean and his anger that was rising with every word he heard.
“You gotta be kidding,” Tommy protested, with the indignation of a drunk on the verge of panic. “I’m not givin’ that bitch any of my hard earned money!”
Something clenched in Dean at those words. He was calling Sam ‘Bitch’ all the time but never like this.
“And anyway, what’s he going to do?” Ron said, with a shrug. Of all of them, he seemed the least concerned. “Tell the police? It was years ago, guys. Even if he did, he couldn’t prove shit. And if we had to, we could still say he wanted it. Five arguments against one. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you stupid or something?” Jim asked incredulously. “What if he tells your wife, huh? Or the neighbours hear of it? My boss is looking for a reason to fire me anyway, and who cares if he can’t prove it? The people just have to hear it and they’ll wonder. People want to believe shit like that. He could easily destroy our lives without even involving the police.”
“And if we offer him money he’ll just keep coming back for more. He’ll have us by the balls for eternity!” Tommy pointed out.
“Also, he never tried anything so far,” Rob said, trying to keep everyone calm. “Why would he start now?”
“Because then he didn’t know who we were. We’re regulars here - he can easily find out.” The forth guy again.
“Well, I’m saying, you should come up with something, Rob.” Jim looked at Rob with challenge. “It was your idea after all. You got us into this mess, you get us out!”
Now even Rob’s large, jovial face darkened in anger. “Excuse me? Far as I remember, you were pretty enthusiastic to join in. ‘Best fuck ever! We should do that again!’ Ring any bells?”
“You know how these things go. We just had a good time, everyone was doing it - doesn’t mean we would’ve done it if you hadn’t suggested it in the first place,” Jim said defensively.
“Yeah, but the fact remains that you did do it. We’re in this together, my friends.”
“Damn!” Timmy slammed his fist on the hood of the car, obviously on the edge of a temper tantrum. “I’m not letting my life get ruined because of some silly mistake we made years back!”
“We should call Jerry,” the one without a name suggested. “Let him know what’s going on. They we’ll figure something out.”
Mutters of agreement. They all got in the car while Dean watched from the shadows, his hands balled into fists and itching for his gun. Wanting to stop them. He knew he’d find them again but right now, watching them drive off, it felt like he was letting them get away, like he was letting justice remain unserved.
It felt like a betrayal to Sam, and he just wanted to stop them, make them pay, right here and now.
The backlights of their car disappeared around a corner and where gone.
-
Melanie wasn’t happy with Dean. First he ran off without a word and then he came back demanding the names of some of her best customers. Dean had to work his charms a little. Explained that the guy who’d spilt his drink was his little brother, that he wasn’t feeling well, that the other men were old friends of Sam’s who’d taken him home and Dean had forgotten to ask where they lived. Some guy named Jerry? They said they wanted to meet there.
Fortunately, Melanie knew Jerry and where he lived. She even told Dean to give his brother her get-well wishes when he left.
Dean was so wrapped in his desperate fury that he didn’t even feel guilty.
He didn’t waste time wondering why Sam had never told him about this - it was obvious. He did waste time cursing the fact that there had been a time in Sam’s life when Dean had not been there to protect him. But blaming Sam for leaving was not going to help any, and it wouldn’t do anything to draw his fury (and hate) off its rightful direction.
But that time wasn’t really wasted, because he could curse and drive at the same time. A part of him wanted to check in on his brother, make sure he made it to the motel, make sure he wasn’t lost in some horrible memories. But there was no time for that. This wasn’t just about revenge, it was about assuring that those guys didn’t come up with a plan to get rid of Sam that was a little more permanent than bribing him with money.
Though Dean almost wanted to see them try. If they ever approached Sam again, Sam would be prepared, armed and very, very pissed.
And lately, there was no way of telling how far Sam would go. Dean was willing to guess that he’d still shy away from outright murder of humans if there was no immediate need for it, but there was little more frightening than his brother when he didn’t like someone and had a reason to act on it.
This chain of thought didn’t do anything to make Dean feel better, because it brought his mind back to the blame that lay on him regarding the changes in Sam. It was his deal that forced his little brother down paths he wouldn’t even have considered before. And Dean was well aware that the seemingly ruthless actions Sammy had made lately - killing the crossroad demon being one of them - were all in order to protect Dean. It did nothing to make Dean feel better about it, but he knew there were still limits to what Sammy was willing to do for himself.
The other way round, there was absolutely nothing Dean wouldn’t do for his brother. Nothing at all. He was backed up by a lifetime of making sure no harm befell Sammy; a lifetime of failing, and no reason to hold back. No future to lose, so soul to damn. He was going to hell anyway.
-
The sun was rising by the time Dean returned to the motel. He got in quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Sam, but Sam wasn’t sleeping. Sam was sitting on his bed and stared at the tv with hollow eyes. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, looking heartbreakingly defenceless and young.
‘I’m leaving him alone,’ Dean thought, and it hurt, like it had only just hit him. He hadn’t protected his little brother then and soon he would never be able to protect him again.
But this, at least, he had been able to do for Sam. Even if Sam wouldn’t like it. Even if Sam would never know about it.
Sam didn’t react when Dean turned off the tv. Maybe he didn’t even notice it.
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said softly. “You alright?”
Almost half a minute went by before Sam blinked slowly and turned his eyes toward Dean. “Hey,” he replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. “You’re back late.”
Dean looked at the morning light falling through the window. “I’d rather say I’m back early,” he said lightly.
“You’re not drunk?” Sam seemed vaguely surprised by this fact.
“Hey, I don’t need to get smashed to have a good night.” And Dean winked, and grinned smugly in a way that should have made Sam roll his eyes and make a grimace of disapproval, but only caused him to give Dean a tired something that looked like it had died halfway to becoming a smile.
Dean would have liked to take him in his arms, but Sam would have known then, because Dean didn’t do that.
“Ready to hit the road?” he asked around the lump in this throat. “Since I’m not drunk, there’s no reason to linger. You can sleep in the car.”
There was something like relief in Sam’s eyes. “I thought lingering was the idea,” he said none the less and frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Not as such. But turned out my date had a boyfriend, and he isn’t happy with me. I just don’t feel like dealing with this shit right now. We’ll find another motel in a couple of states. I’m sure there must be one or two we don’t know yet.” It had been a stupid idea to stop here to begin with. Too close to Sam’s old life (though Dean couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not really).
Dean half expected Sam to question his decision. Normally, he would have been suspicious, because he was Sam and he knew Dean like no other. Now, he just accepted it, perhaps because he was too tired, perhaps because he didn’t want to question it. Minutes later, they dropped the room key off at the reception and hit the road.
Thirty minutes later, when Dean was driving with the rising sun in his back, he glanced over at his brother sleeping uneasily on the passenger seat, and thought that they should probably talk about it. Like they should talk about so many things they never would mention - because they were running out of time, and because it just wasn’t like them.
And maybe that was for the best, except lately Dean began to understand that problems didn’t go away if they went unacknowledged. This hadn’t gone away for Sam even though he pretended it never happened. Hell wouldn’t spare Dean if he pretended not to care.
But he wasn’t there yet. Right now, he was breaking the speed limit on some back road, and Sam was sleeping beside him, not fine but safe, and it felt like inside the impala they could outrun all trouble, forever.
And then Dean thought about turning on his music, quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb his brother’s sleep, and found himself wondering if anyone else would ever wake Sam up with loud music and plastic spoon in his mouth.
Both possible answers broke his heart.
December 17, 2010
Author: vail_kagami
Genre: gen
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, OCs (past Sam/Jess)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5301
Warnings: non-con (mentioned, not described)
Spoilers: Set in the season 3, spoilers up to episode 3.05.
Summary: During a stop in California, the brothers run into some guys with connections to Sam Sam doesn't want to think about and Dean can't ignore.
Note: Witten for this prompt by thelocation at the h/c prompt challenge.
Being in California again was… weird. Not that they hadn’t crossed the state before. They’d even worked a case at Stanford, but it was still weird being here and not belonging here anymore.
And weird was the word Sam used to avoid calling it painful.
Even when he had come to help Becky and Zack, he had felt that this wasn’t his world anymore. And perhaps somehow he had even then already guessed that it never would be again, despite all his plans to go back to school once the demon was dead and all this was over. Now he knew that he couldn’t come back, had maybe never even truly arrived in the first place; that Stanford was symbol of a life he just couldn’t have, and it was… well. Weird.
At least it wasn’t quite Palo Alto. It was close enough, though, for him to recognize the town, find streets he had passed through. There was a restaurant nearby where he’d once gone with Jess, and they’d both agreed that the food was terrible and they wouldn’t go there again. (They hadn’t.) After that dinner, Jess had insisted on getting some real food from the nearest Burger King and then they’d taken a walk around the lake and it had taken so long that the sun was rising by the time they’d finally got home. (Jess had an important test the next morning, one she hadn’t told Sam about because she knew he’d insist on going back earlier or at least worry about it all night long. She’d taken the test on no sleep at all and still done well. Afterwards she’d come home and slept until evening. Sam had ordered take out and they’d eaten the pizza in bed while watching bad horror movies from the 1980s.)
Dean didn’t know that. Of course he didn’t; he knew next to nothing about Sam’s life without him, always refusing to accept that a life without him had existed for Sam and never asking questions. It worked just fine for Sam who didn’t want to share any of this. This had been his life, and it was over.
Had Dean known about it - about the restaurant and the lake and the test in the morning - he wouldn’t have stopped anywhere near here. Sam knew that. Dean might not be too interested in anything of his brother’s he had no part of, but Sam had no illusions that Dean wouldn’t do all it took to protect him from any hurt.
It was one of the reasons why Sam had never mentioned having been here before. If he had, Dean would have insisted to keep driving until they had crossed the borders of at least two states, and that, at the moment, would have been a very bad idea. The fact alone that Dean was willing to stop anywhere near Palo Alto was testament of just how badly Sam’s brother needed a break.
The last hunt hadn’t gone well, and neither had the one before, or the one before that. They always got the thing in the end, but never without effort, and never without paying a price.
And the clock was ticking. Sam didn’t want to stop, he wanted to keep looking for a way to save his brother, but he knew that Dean needed to have things to enjoy, every now and then, because he was the one going to hell, and he needed this break to find have fun and fight the desperation that would drag him down if he and Sam let it.
A few days off would be great, but their job came without paid holidays, and hell wouldn’t accept a delay. As it was, a night off would have to do - just relaxing for a bit, having a few drinks, not worrying about anything but having a good time. Things like that had always been important, were what kept them sane, and now it had been too long. Whenever they’d tried to relax lately, something had come up. Another hunt, another revelation of suck-ass destiny, another lead on a way to break Dean deal that had them drive through all of the United States without a break only to turn out to be leading nowhere.
They needed this break, so when Dean had pulled off the interstate and found them a motel in the nearest city before midday was over, Sam had said nothing. It was okay. Palo Alto was still far away and Jess’ ghost never left him, no matter where he was.
At least he hadn’t been in this bar before. It wasn’t the kind of place he would have chosen to go to himself. This was the kind of bar he visited with his brother. Places like this were good for hustling pool, but neither of them had gone anywhere near the pool table yet, nor were they going to. Hustling always carried the risk of getting into trouble. Not a good way to relax, and anyway, they had enough money for the moment.
They’d hung out at the motel until nightfall, watched bad tv and taken a nab or two while avoiding the news or anything that could point them into the direction of another hunt. Eventually, they had gone out and grabbed a pizza before coming to the bar. Dean had declared his aim to be drunk out of his mind by morning and get laid at least once, but the evening had only just started and so far, he was still in the early stages of flirting with the woman behind the bar. She seemed interested enough. If Dean didn’t get too smashed, Sam was optimistic he would obtain his goal.
Good for him. His brother deserved to have a good time every once in a while. (Sam just wished he would concentrate less on his fun and more on finding a way to stay alive, as if he hadn’t given up from the beginning.)
The music playing in the background was slightly annoying, and Sam had a headache. He would have been fine just sitting in the motel all night, having a beer or two and falling asleep in front of the tv, but Dean would have worried if he’d left early, and thought something was wrong with him and that he was having one of his emo moments, and then Dean wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself as he could when he didn’t worry about Sam, so Sam stayed and was fine, joked with Dean bout the décor and had some drinks that were slightly stronger than he would have liked. Jessica’s shadow was in every corner, but Sam didn’t want to get drunk. Days like this, getting drunk was dangerous. He just wanted to not be among people.
He’d leave as soon as Dean was done chatting up the barkeeper and would say goodbye to Sam with a stupid remark and a wink. Sam would then roll his eyes at him in annoyance and finish his own drink before going back to the motel. By his estimation, that moment would come in half an hour, an hour at best, depending on when Dean’s newest conquest could leave her work.
At the moment, Dean had pretty much forgotten his brother existed. That was fine by Sam - he tuned out the conversations going on around him and concentrated on the drink he didn’t intend to finish anytime soon. Watched the clear liquid move around in the glass, contemplated the way it reflected the light and tried to think of nothing.
Someone laughed, loud and harsh, a couple of seats away. Amused voices, exchanged words that slurred together and made no sense. Sam stared into his drink. Beside him, Dean was talking to the barkeeper, laughing. The other guy’s laugh was louder, drowning out Dean’s. Sam didn’t move. His fingers were frozen around his glass. He didn’t breathe and then he was breathing too fast, and then he felt like throwing up.
The conversations continued around him. Dean chatting, the two women to his left exchanging amused remarks, the guys beside Dean towering over everything and the only thing Sam could hear until he couldn’t anymore because they became quieter and were swallowed by the noise.
Perhaps he’d imagined it. Perhaps he hadn’t heard them and perhaps nothing had ever happened. Sam wanted to look and make sure but he didn’t move. Didn’t look up from his glass until his hands around the glass were shaking so badly he began spilling the liquid on the counter.
If he kept this up, he would attract attention, and Sam didn’t want to attract attention. He wanted to be invisible, somewhere else. He had to get out of the dark alley, away from the stench of the garbage cans and the slick feeling of blood…
The harsh sound of breaking glass pulled Sam back to the present and the seedy bar. Startled, he looked up, saw the waitress who’d dropped a bottle, and when Dean leaned forward he saw the men sitting beside him and his eyes met the eyes of another for a second before Dean leaned back again and Sam knocked over his glass as he stumbled away from the counter and out of the bar.
-
Initially, Dean didn’t even notice his brother leave. He was caught up in his conversation with Melanie the barkeeper and had drunken himself into a comfortable haze, had settled into the atmosphere of the bar and was simply enjoying himself for a change. It was more a sense of absence that made him look - that, and the confused look Melanie shot the place beside him where his brother was supposed to be.
He looked just in time to see Sam’s back disappearing through the door. His eyes fell on the fallen glass, the drink dripping off the counter.
It wasn’t like Sam to just run off like that, without a word. If he wanted to leave, he would have told Dean, and he would have finished his drink - it was paid for after all. Maybe he was feeling sick and puking his guts out right now. Dean hadn’t noticed anything that indicated he wasn’t feeling well all evening, but then he had to admit that he hadn’t been paying an awful lot of attention to his little brother since they got here.
“What’s gotten into that guy?” Melanie wondered out loud. She looked at Dean and shrugged before moving to wipe up the spilt drink. Didn’t seem to expect any kind of elaborate explanation from him, and that was when Dean became aware that she didn’t know Dean and the guy running out had any connection to each other. She hadn’t seen them arrive together, and ever since Dean had started flirting with her, he hadn’t spared so much as a glance for his little brother.
Dean didn’t feel exactly guilty - it wasn’t like Sam sought to interact with them in any way, and he was old enough to find a way to entertain himself - but he did feel a little worried. If Sam got sick, he had to make sure he was okay, simple as that.
He opened his mouth to excuse himself for a second, explain that that was his little brother and he had to check on him before doing just that, when the guy to his right cursed softly.
“Fuck,” he hissed, and something about the way he turned to his friends and pulled their arms to get their attention made Dean stop. Wait. Listen. It was his hunter instinct, or maybe his big brother instinct, and if Melanie was talking to him, he didn’t hear it.
“That was him!” the guy beside him told his friend, his voice urgent but so quiet the noise of the bar would have drowned it out had Dean not been listening consciously and closely.
“Was who?” another one asked, unconcerned, the grin not quite fading from his face.
“The guy who just ran out. That was him! And he recognized me! Us,” the man, as tall as Sam and heavily built, corrected himself. Dean wanted to shake him, make him spill what the hell he was talking about, but he held himself still, watched only out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what was going on, but from Sam’s reaction, he didn’t share fond memories of these guys, and they probably wouldn’t react too positive to an older brother threatening to kill them.
He was lucky, since the other three guys that man was with didn’t seem to get it either. Unfortunately, the man reduced his hints to random words thrown at is friends, hoping they would light the proverbial light bulb.
“Like, what - four years back? Stanford? Pretty guy who didn’t want your money? Or were you so drunk out of your mind that you don’t even remember that, Rob? It was your idea after all.”
One of them - Rob, Dean presumed - breathed in sharply. “I thought he was… well, you know. Dead.” The last word was so quiet it was almost inaudible over the noise, but Dean heard it, and it was all he could do not to pull out his gun right there and then.
“Don’t you think if he’d died, it would have been on the news?” the guy right beside Dean snapped angrily and perhaps louder than intended.
“How would I know, Jim? To be honest, I’d been avoiding the news for a week after,” Rob admitted, and one of the others said, “Yeah, me too. Actually, I kept waiting for the police to knock on my door for weeks afterwards.” And then he snickered softly and Rob made a noise of agreement as if they were revelling in fond memories of a jest they had gotten away with as kids, and God, what had they done to Sammy?
“Well, obviously he’s still alive. And here.” Jim didn’t sound too impressed with his friends. In fact, he sounded mildly panicked. “And he fucking recognized me!”
There was silence when the information sank into the brains of the slightly drunk men, while Dean just wanted to get up and slam their heads together until they told him exactly what had happened.
Then he thought that he could easily find out by simply asking Sam. And then he realised that Sam was out there, obviously upset and alone, and no matter how desperately Dean wanted to find out what these guys had done to his baby brother and make them pay, the need to make sure Sam was okay was stronger. He vaguely recalled seeing one of the guys arrive when he and Sam did. He knew which car he was driving, could write down the number on the plate and find them if he had to. Sammy was more important now.
Sammy had been alone out there for a good five minutes. There was a lot of trouble someone with his brother’s talents could get into in five minutes, especially if he was upset.
Dean even forgot to excuse himself to his shapely would-have-been conquest as he hurried outside. The cold air hit him like a fist, sobering him up immediately, but it did nothing to ease the tight knot of fury and dread in his stomach overhearing that conversation given him.
Sam was nowhere to be seen. Dean called his name and got no answer. His worry grew as he checked the car and found it empty.
He called again and went to check behind the bar, silently cursing his stupid little brother for running off without a word when his cell phone rang, once, indicating an incoming message.
It was from Sam. Of course it was from Sam. And of course Sam told him, in no more than ten words, that he’d gone home because he wasn’t feeling so well, and Dean should enjoy the night.
The motel wasn’t far away. If he had taken a shortcut along the lake, Sam must have been nearly there by the time he sent the message. Not point chasing after him in a panic. Dean briefly considered calling him, but the chances of his brother telling him what was wrong on the phone were even slimmer than the chances of him telling Dean face to face.
No, if Dean wanted answers, he needed to look here, and that was all fine by him, because there were some asses here that needed to be kicked. He didn’t know what had happened, but Sam wasn’t the sort to mindlessly run off over nothing. Whatever these guys had done, they had hurt his little brother.
And Dean wasn’t the sort to let anyone get away with that.
‘Enjoy the night.’ The words on the small screen seemed to mock him.
Dean certainly wouldn’t have fun tonight. But he would get some satisfaction by making sure no one else did, either.
-
The worst part was… Sam didn’t actually think about what had been worst. He regretted having chosen this path, along the lake where Jessica’s ghost walked beside him. It brought back memories of waking in a hospital bed and her trying not to cry beside him. Worse than that, it brought back memories of her sitting on their cough, laughing about some silly joke Brady had made, her knees drawn to her chest, her head thrown back, exposing her throat, so open and happy. (Sam didn’t know what Brady had said to make her laugh like this; he’d never known, had been too busy watching Jess to pay attention to anything else. It had probably been some joke at his expanse.)
He had come this way because the need to get back to the seeming safety of the motel room had been overwhelming, had him take the shortest route by instinct. The route that brought him too close to his past, and now he felt like he was running from Jess as well and he knew he shouldn’t, that it was wrong and unfair to her when it was all his fault to begin with (Jess, mom, Dean) and he thought that he might only escape her (them) by diving into the lake. He kept running towards the motel, could already see the lights in the distance, and just wanted to be there and alone because most of all - under the grief and the anger and losing his mind - he was scared. So fucking scared, driven by remembered fear. He ran, and he felt vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to feeling. Wasn’t supposed to be feeling. All his life he had learned how to fight, how to defend himself.
He still didn’t understand how it could have happened.
The worst part was that he didn’t think… He hadn’t thought it possible. They were just people. Big and strong but not trained, not armed except with a knife, and that wasn’t even theirs, they’d taken it from the bar when they followed him outside. He’d seen it, and he’d been amused. He remembered being amused. He remembered being so damn sure of himself. Because they outnumbered him and were bigger and stronger, but he’d been killing monsters since he was twelve. He was able to protect himself. Everything else would be ridiculous.
The worst part was the realisation that he couldn’t stop them. That he was helpless. He remembered the panic, but more than that he remembered feeling ashamed. Even before he realised what they were going to do to him. He thought they were going to kill him, and he’d felt ashamed. He should have been able to defeat them easily and he wasn’t.
When they had pressed the knife to his throat and forced him to his knees, and he’d begun to realise what was going to happen, he’d known…
He’d known that he shouldn’t let the knife control him. He shouldn’t fear death, should accept it rather then letting them defile him like that. But he had. He’d been afraid. He’d been living the life he always wanted, had friends and good marks and he was in love. He didn’t want to die. Perhaps for the first time in his life he’d wanted to stay alive more than anything.
When their blows and kicks rendered him immobile and their pathetic knife cut the clothes off his body, he’d thought of Dean, thought of his father, and how disappointed they would be. More than anything else, he’d hated himself for failing them. Even after two years apart, they still had that much control over him.
-
Luck was with Dean as much as anything about this situation could be called lucky. He was still behind the dumpsters beside the bar, just about to round the corner and get back in, when he heard the door open and the four guys came out, the volume of their conversation picking up considerably now they deemed themselves alone. Dean happily left them to that illusion, remaining out of view and listening to the heated voices.
“Of course we have to do something!” one of the as yet nameless guys was saying just as the door closed behind them. “I don’t know about you, but I for my part have a life. And I want to keep it.”
“Tommy’s right,” Jim said. “The guy could ruin everything.”
“And what do you propose we do?” Rob asked. “Offer him money?”
“Why not? Jerry’s got enough of that.”
“And he’s the one who has most to lose,” the forth man agreed, indicating to Dean that Jerry was not actually present. So at least five of them. Five on their side and one on Sam’s. And now Dean and his anger that was rising with every word he heard.
“You gotta be kidding,” Tommy protested, with the indignation of a drunk on the verge of panic. “I’m not givin’ that bitch any of my hard earned money!”
Something clenched in Dean at those words. He was calling Sam ‘Bitch’ all the time but never like this.
“And anyway, what’s he going to do?” Ron said, with a shrug. Of all of them, he seemed the least concerned. “Tell the police? It was years ago, guys. Even if he did, he couldn’t prove shit. And if we had to, we could still say he wanted it. Five arguments against one. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you stupid or something?” Jim asked incredulously. “What if he tells your wife, huh? Or the neighbours hear of it? My boss is looking for a reason to fire me anyway, and who cares if he can’t prove it? The people just have to hear it and they’ll wonder. People want to believe shit like that. He could easily destroy our lives without even involving the police.”
“And if we offer him money he’ll just keep coming back for more. He’ll have us by the balls for eternity!” Tommy pointed out.
“Also, he never tried anything so far,” Rob said, trying to keep everyone calm. “Why would he start now?”
“Because then he didn’t know who we were. We’re regulars here - he can easily find out.” The forth guy again.
“Well, I’m saying, you should come up with something, Rob.” Jim looked at Rob with challenge. “It was your idea after all. You got us into this mess, you get us out!”
Now even Rob’s large, jovial face darkened in anger. “Excuse me? Far as I remember, you were pretty enthusiastic to join in. ‘Best fuck ever! We should do that again!’ Ring any bells?”
“You know how these things go. We just had a good time, everyone was doing it - doesn’t mean we would’ve done it if you hadn’t suggested it in the first place,” Jim said defensively.
“Yeah, but the fact remains that you did do it. We’re in this together, my friends.”
“Damn!” Timmy slammed his fist on the hood of the car, obviously on the edge of a temper tantrum. “I’m not letting my life get ruined because of some silly mistake we made years back!”
“We should call Jerry,” the one without a name suggested. “Let him know what’s going on. They we’ll figure something out.”
Mutters of agreement. They all got in the car while Dean watched from the shadows, his hands balled into fists and itching for his gun. Wanting to stop them. He knew he’d find them again but right now, watching them drive off, it felt like he was letting them get away, like he was letting justice remain unserved.
It felt like a betrayal to Sam, and he just wanted to stop them, make them pay, right here and now.
The backlights of their car disappeared around a corner and where gone.
-
Melanie wasn’t happy with Dean. First he ran off without a word and then he came back demanding the names of some of her best customers. Dean had to work his charms a little. Explained that the guy who’d spilt his drink was his little brother, that he wasn’t feeling well, that the other men were old friends of Sam’s who’d taken him home and Dean had forgotten to ask where they lived. Some guy named Jerry? They said they wanted to meet there.
Fortunately, Melanie knew Jerry and where he lived. She even told Dean to give his brother her get-well wishes when he left.
Dean was so wrapped in his desperate fury that he didn’t even feel guilty.
He didn’t waste time wondering why Sam had never told him about this - it was obvious. He did waste time cursing the fact that there had been a time in Sam’s life when Dean had not been there to protect him. But blaming Sam for leaving was not going to help any, and it wouldn’t do anything to draw his fury (and hate) off its rightful direction.
But that time wasn’t really wasted, because he could curse and drive at the same time. A part of him wanted to check in on his brother, make sure he made it to the motel, make sure he wasn’t lost in some horrible memories. But there was no time for that. This wasn’t just about revenge, it was about assuring that those guys didn’t come up with a plan to get rid of Sam that was a little more permanent than bribing him with money.
Though Dean almost wanted to see them try. If they ever approached Sam again, Sam would be prepared, armed and very, very pissed.
And lately, there was no way of telling how far Sam would go. Dean was willing to guess that he’d still shy away from outright murder of humans if there was no immediate need for it, but there was little more frightening than his brother when he didn’t like someone and had a reason to act on it.
This chain of thought didn’t do anything to make Dean feel better, because it brought his mind back to the blame that lay on him regarding the changes in Sam. It was his deal that forced his little brother down paths he wouldn’t even have considered before. And Dean was well aware that the seemingly ruthless actions Sammy had made lately - killing the crossroad demon being one of them - were all in order to protect Dean. It did nothing to make Dean feel better about it, but he knew there were still limits to what Sammy was willing to do for himself.
The other way round, there was absolutely nothing Dean wouldn’t do for his brother. Nothing at all. He was backed up by a lifetime of making sure no harm befell Sammy; a lifetime of failing, and no reason to hold back. No future to lose, so soul to damn. He was going to hell anyway.
-
The sun was rising by the time Dean returned to the motel. He got in quietly so he wouldn’t disturb Sam, but Sam wasn’t sleeping. Sam was sitting on his bed and stared at the tv with hollow eyes. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, looking heartbreakingly defenceless and young.
‘I’m leaving him alone,’ Dean thought, and it hurt, like it had only just hit him. He hadn’t protected his little brother then and soon he would never be able to protect him again.
But this, at least, he had been able to do for Sam. Even if Sam wouldn’t like it. Even if Sam would never know about it.
Sam didn’t react when Dean turned off the tv. Maybe he didn’t even notice it.
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said softly. “You alright?”
Almost half a minute went by before Sam blinked slowly and turned his eyes toward Dean. “Hey,” he replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. “You’re back late.”
Dean looked at the morning light falling through the window. “I’d rather say I’m back early,” he said lightly.
“You’re not drunk?” Sam seemed vaguely surprised by this fact.
“Hey, I don’t need to get smashed to have a good night.” And Dean winked, and grinned smugly in a way that should have made Sam roll his eyes and make a grimace of disapproval, but only caused him to give Dean a tired something that looked like it had died halfway to becoming a smile.
Dean would have liked to take him in his arms, but Sam would have known then, because Dean didn’t do that.
“Ready to hit the road?” he asked around the lump in this throat. “Since I’m not drunk, there’s no reason to linger. You can sleep in the car.”
There was something like relief in Sam’s eyes. “I thought lingering was the idea,” he said none the less and frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Not as such. But turned out my date had a boyfriend, and he isn’t happy with me. I just don’t feel like dealing with this shit right now. We’ll find another motel in a couple of states. I’m sure there must be one or two we don’t know yet.” It had been a stupid idea to stop here to begin with. Too close to Sam’s old life (though Dean couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not really).
Dean half expected Sam to question his decision. Normally, he would have been suspicious, because he was Sam and he knew Dean like no other. Now, he just accepted it, perhaps because he was too tired, perhaps because he didn’t want to question it. Minutes later, they dropped the room key off at the reception and hit the road.
Thirty minutes later, when Dean was driving with the rising sun in his back, he glanced over at his brother sleeping uneasily on the passenger seat, and thought that they should probably talk about it. Like they should talk about so many things they never would mention - because they were running out of time, and because it just wasn’t like them.
And maybe that was for the best, except lately Dean began to understand that problems didn’t go away if they went unacknowledged. This hadn’t gone away for Sam even though he pretended it never happened. Hell wouldn’t spare Dean if he pretended not to care.
But he wasn’t there yet. Right now, he was breaking the speed limit on some back road, and Sam was sleeping beside him, not fine but safe, and it felt like inside the impala they could outrun all trouble, forever.
And then Dean thought about turning on his music, quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb his brother’s sleep, and found himself wondering if anyone else would ever wake Sam up with loud music and plastic spoon in his mouth.
Both possible answers broke his heart.
December 17, 2010