The Only Thing That Can't Fly Away
Title: The Only Thing That Can't Fly Away
Summary: Part of the Fusion 'verse. Sam and Dean look for a house.
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4,053
Disclaimer: Umm, I follow Jared on Twitter, does that count? Maybe? No? Damn.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: Yet another Fusion prequel. Set somewhere between The Wisdom to Know the Difference and Fusion itself. If you haven't read any of the 'verse, all you need to know is that Dean has permanently screwed up his leg, and Sam is kind of permanently screwed up from his time in hell, and they're making it work as best they can.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: This was partially inspired by a prompt from wave_obscura at the latest hoodie_time Dean-centered h/c comment-fic meme, although, as usual, the 'verse had other ideas than what the prompt was asking for. Why I ever try to make this 'verse do as I want is beyond me, because every single time it bucks, rebels, and goes its own way.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Unbeta'd comment-fic. You know the drill.
Whatever Ray Billings was expecting for his ten o'clock appointment, it definitely wasn't this. He's been in the real estate business for nearly twenty years and has in all those years become accustomed to being the sole real estate dealer within a twenty-mile radius, which is fine by him. The market pickings around here are just slim enough that they don't allow for competition, not unless the would-be competitor wants to starve, because everyone knows Ray and trusts him to give them a fair, honest deal. Most of his sales are to local people, because who else would deliberately want to move here? All the young people are moving out, not in.
So after talking with Dean Winchester on the phone for all of five minutes to determine just what sort of place he and his brother are looking for, he was expecting someone older. Maybe not a retiree, but definitely not the good-looking thirty-something guy hobbling up his front steps on a pair of those aluminum crutches that clip around your forearms. And he definitely wasn't expecting the huge guy with hair long enough to just brush against the collar of his shirt looming right behind him protectively, one hand hovering inches from the first guy's back as though to catch him if he falls. Catch him he could, even though the first guy doesn't look like a lightweight, either. Jesus, Ray has seen moose that were smaller than the other guy.
Still, he's not an idiot, and only an idiot would dismiss two young men interested in buying a house just based on an assumption that could prove totally wrong. So he gets up from behind his desk and goes to open the front door for them, catching sight of a gleaming black muscle car parked out front which must belong to them. The guy on crutches shoots him a look that's half-grateful and half-embarrassed, like he's not used to having people open doors for him and isn't exactly enjoying the experience. Now that he's up close Ray can just make out the outlines of what must be a brace under his jeans, keeping the injured leg protected. Ray extends a hand.
“Ray Billings, it's a pleasure.”
“Dean Winchester, likewise.” The guy has a firm grip, lightly-calloused hands, which speaks to some sort of manual work, but not a great deal of physical labour. “This is my brother, Sam,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at the big guy, who nods nicely enough but doesn't make a move to come closer.
Okay, then. “Good to meet you. Mr. Winchester. Why don't you step this way?”
“Dean, please. Mr. Winchester is my father, and I'm not nearly old enough for that yet,” Dean turns a sudden smile on him, the corners of his eyes creasing amiably. It makes his whole face soften, and Ray can't help but grin in response.
“I know exactly how you feel, so you go ahead and call me Ray. Why don't we get started? You say you're looking for a house in the area, and you said on the phone that you weren't particular about whether or not it was to buy or rent, so long as it was in your price range, am I right?” He shows them over to the chairs he keeps for clients, casts a dubious look at Dean's leg. “I got a footstool somewhere around here, if you want it.”
“It's fine,” Dean waves off the suggestion. “If we were going to be here all day, it would be a different story.”
They're both good-looking boys, definitely going to turn heads if they stay anywhere nearby, but there's something off about them both, especially the brother. Whatever's off about Dean is pretty easily explained: he looks like he's in constant pain. Ray's cousin once got crushed by her horse when she was show jumping, had to have God knows how many surgeries on her hip and leg, and Dean's posture and movements remind Ray of her when she was in-between surgeries and just trying to get through the day. The brother Sam, though, he's something else. Won't meet Ray's eyes, for one, which is never a good sign, but it doesn't feel like he's being untruthful, or trying to hide. More like he just can't find it in himself to focus his attention for a second. Ray's eyes flick to where Sam's hands are clasped in his lap, the thumb of the right hand rubbing unconsciously at the back of his left, figures the guy just isn't all there.
Ray drops into his desk chair and pulls out the file he's prepared, although he figures he's going to be adding to it by the time the day is out. “So what are you boys looking for, exactly? I know your price range, so now my job is to find you the house you want at the price you want.”
Dean takes a breath before answering, as though he has to work his way up to it. “Right. So the thing is, me and Sam here are looking for something pretty permanent. I messed up my leg and it's going to take surgery and whatever, so the first thing is that we can't be too far from the hospital. We don't have to be next door, but we can't be a hundred miles away, either.”
“Close to the hospital, got it,” Ray starts jotting notes on a legal pad. “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but the only way you can get really close to a hospital is if you're actually in the city. Wouldn't it work better for you to find an apartment with an elevator? Cheaper, too.”
Dean shakes his head. “No, we want to stick to a small town. It's what we know best. Cities... aren't our thing,” he says, and Ray doesn't miss how his eyes cut to his brother when he talks. “Also, stairs.”
“Stairs?” Ray echoes blankly.
“Stairs. I can manage 'em, but the staircases have to be straight. Although I guess no stairs would be better.”
Of course. It's not something Ray usually has to take into account, but he can do that. “No stairs or at least straight staircases. Anything else you're looking for?”
Sam clears his throat softly and Ray just about jumps out of his skin, because it's the first sound he's made the whole time they've been here. “Bathroom,” he says softly.
“Beg your pardon?”
Sam turns to look at him, and Ray has to suppress a shiver. He's a kid, not even thirty if Ray's any judge, but there's something about his face, something in those hazel eyes that tells Ray this kid has seen things no man should ever have to see. His voice is soft, though, even pleasant.
“The bathroom has to have enough room for Dean to move around, keep his leg stretched.”
“We'll, uh, have to take some measurements,” Ray manages.
This may well be the strangest client interview he's ever had, though he can't quite put his finger on why. It's not like they're asking for anything unusual, or anything he's never heard of before. It's just that there's something off about the whole situation. For one thing, both of these boys aren't dressed for the part of house-hunters. Ray has seen people from all walks of life, and these two with their worn, frayed jeans, flannel shirts and combat boots aren't exactly the picture of people with enough money to their names to be able to afford a house. In fact, it's probably time he addressed that.
“Look, Dean,” he starts, trying to gauge the man's face for his reaction, “there isn't a delicate way to ask this, so I'm going to be direct. Buying a house is an expensive proposition. Hell, even renting isn't exactly cheap. Sure, around these parts it's less expensive than elsewhere, but you're still looking at a pretty steep price tag by some standards. Are you sure this is what you want to look for?”
He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he gets another of those smiles from Dean. “Yeah, me and Sam don't exactly look like the kind to have a nest egg tucked away, do we? But yeah, look, we're okay. We're not rolling in money, but we've got enough to get started, and I'll be looking for work wherever we end up buying. We're pre-approved. Not for much, but we're good for the numbers I gave you. We, uh, we're getting a little help from an old friend in that department, for what it's worth.”
“Okay,” Ray nods, glad that this isn't going to turn unpleasant. “I just have to ask, you know? Sometimes folks are just setting themselves up for disappointment, and with the economy the way it is... anyway, I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were in for. So, as for what you're looking for, well, real estate isn't exactly booming around these parts, but I've got a few houses I can think of off the top of my head we can look at, if you want to get started.”
Dean looks over at his brother, but Sam's staring at something through the office window, still doing that weird thing with his hands. Dean reaches over and swats him lightly on the knee. “Hey, Sammy, you want to go take a look at some houses?”
Sam turns back slowly, as though he's not sure he understood the words coming out of his brother's mouth. He stares for a moment, then nods once, briefly, his hair falling forward into his face and partially obscuring his expression.
“Yeah, okay,” he says softly.
“Great,” Ray claps his hands once. “Let me make some calls, and we can get started.”
By the time he's showing the brothers the second house on his list, Ray is a lot more reaxed about this whole thing. Sure, they're both not what he's used to, especially Sam, who's definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but they're nice enough. Dean's the more outgoing of the two, though he doesn't talk much, which is fine by Ray. There's nothing he dislikes more than clients who want to talk his ear off about everything and anything with no regard whatsoever for the sanctity of silence. They follow him from address to address in their car, and he's a little surprised to see that Dean is the one driving, although when he stops to think about it it makes a fair amount of sense: easier for a guy with a bad leg to drive than to let his brother behind the wheel when he seems to space out so often. Still, the leg obviously hurts him a lot, and he's forced to let his brother help him a lot more than he's probably accustomed to.
“You need a break?” Ray asks at one point, observing Sam's large hand clasping Dean's arm just above the elbow. Dean's sweating a little, trying to keep his weight off his leg.
Dean makes a noncommittal gesture. “Yeah, maybe in a little bit. Why don't we finish looking around first?”
“You got it,” Ray looks dubiously at the steep set of stairs leading to the second floor, and judging by the expressions on the boys' faces, he's pretty sure this house isn't going to be the one they end up taking. “Just stick with me.”
There are four houses on Ray's immediate list. He can probably rustle up some more in a few days, but he figures they may as well get through these four and see what comes up. He has a good feeling about the fourth house, in spite of Dean's joke about 'third time's the charm.' For one thing, he knows the neighbours pretty well, especially Janet O'Keefe, who's been on her own for years now and could probably stand a couple of friendly faces nearby. She's nowhere in sight when they pull up in front of the house, but if Ray knows her -and he flatters himself that he does- then she'll be out in the next few minutes to perform some outdoor chore that just coincidentally occurred to her. He's not wrong. Sam is helping Dean out of the car when her front door opens and she appears, broom in hand, and begins carefully sweeping her front porch. Ray grins, waves at her.
“Afternoon, Janet!”
She looks up, returns the smile, her expression conspiratorial. “Afternoon, Ray. You showing these boys the old Johnston house?”
“That's right. You might have neighbours sooner than you think!”
For all that she's old enough to be their mother, Janet gives the boys an appreciative once-over as she comes down her stairs to greet them. She's a nice lady, silver hair braided and pinned, and he figures the brothers could do worse by way of neighbours.
“It's so nice to meet you. That house has been empty far too long.”
Dean carefully lets go of one crutch to shake her hand, and the smile he breaks out for her is nothing like the previous smiles Ray has seen. In fact, Ray isn't too sure that any woman would be able to resist this particular smile, all mischievous gleam and come-hither charm. For a split-second he almost hates the guy for managing to look that good while limping and in obvious pain. Ray's no slouch himself, but this guy's obviously a Casanova in his spare time. He doesn't miss the fact that his brother is basically holding him up, though, so he clears his throat.
“Janet O'Keefe, I'd like you to meet Dean and Sam Winchester. So, guys, what say we take a look around the house?”
“Absolutely,” Dean agrees, then winks at Janet. “But we'll be seeing you later, won't we?”
Janet blushes a little. “Of course. I'm always around. Do be careful on that leg, dear.”
“Oh, I'm the soul of caution,” Dean assures her, which gets a quiet snort and an eyeroll from his brother. “Ignore Sammy, he's a wet blanket. Always trying to get me to sit down and drink my water and sh- uh, and all that,” Dean grins, but the pinched look is back, and Ray figures it's time they moved on.
“See you later, Janet.”
The house is completely empty, unfurnished except for a few stray pieces that the previous owners didn't bother taking with them. Dean casts a look at the staircase leading upstairs, and while he doesn't look all that happy at the idea of going up another flight of stairs after the day they've had, this staircase at least is wide and perfectly straight.
“You're probably going to like this one,” Ray says, leading them into the kitchen where there's a rickety old table and two wooden chairs. Dean doesn't wait to be told to sit this time, sinking onto one of the chairs with an air of relief and stretching his bad leg out to the side. “Old Mr. Johnston wasn't doing too well at the end, there, and so they refitted a lot of the house to make it easier for him to get around. They even had one of those in-house elevator chairs installed, but they took that with them when they left, unfortunately.”
Dean shrugs. “Not a problem. I wouldn't be able to use it anyway.”
Ray's a little surprised at that. “I thought, what with the surgery...”
“Yeah, it's complicated, but the short version is that my knee's not going to bend ever again. So no chair-elevators or whatever.”
“I see.” Ray doesn't see, but it's not like it matters anyway. “Well, anyway, the bathroom's been completely refitted, complete with bars in the shower and next to the toilet, which you'll probably find useful.”
That seems to get Sam's attention. He glances toward the door, back toward his brother, leans over and, as though it's the most normal thing in the universe, reaches into the pocket of Dean's leather jacket. Dean makes a face when Sam produces a small prescription bottle of pills, but he doesn't say a word, pops open the cap one-handed and dry-swallows a pill before pocketing the bottle again.
“You let me know when you're good to go.”
Dean nods. “Sure thing. Just give me a minute, here, and we'll take a look.”
The doorbell rings, and Ray doesn't miss the way Sam flinches, the way he has at every loud noise today. The kid looks like he's about to come out of his skin, and Ray doesn't especially feel like being a ground zero if he ends up losing it. He can tell a ticking time bomb when he sees one, and if Sam doesn't have a red digital clock counting down somewhere in his brain, then Ray's a chicken dinner. He heads toward the door.
“Ten to one that'll be Janet O'Keefe. She's a nice lady, but you'd better get used to the idea of having her drop in with casseroles every so often. This is a very small town.”
Sure enough, Janet is standing just outside the door with a covered bowl and a thermos in hand. He can hear the clinking of china coming from a cloth bag hanging from her arm.
“I know you, Ray,” she starts. “And I'll bet you've been running those boys ragged all afternoon without so much as a bite to eat or a cup of coffee. As it happens, I have some muffins from Margery's which I'm not going to be able to finish before they go stale, and I brought some coffee to go with them.”
Ray chuckles. “All right, you win. Come on in.”
Dean's eyes widen a little bit when the purpose of Janet's presence becomes clear, but he doesn't hesitate before pouring the coffee out of the thermos into the cups she's brought with her. “This is really nice of you. We drove straight in, didn't really have time for much of a lunch. Sam,” he nudges his brother's knee when it looks like Sam has spaced out again. “Have a muffin. You faint from hunger and I won't be able to carry your giant carcass back to the car, Sasquatch.”
Sam ducks his head. “Not gonna faint. Not a girl, Dean,” he mumbles a little indignantly, which draws a laugh from Janet. He twitches a little, glances up at her through the hair that's fallen into his face. “Sorry,” he adds softly.
“You don't have to apologize, dear,” Janet reaches over and pats his hand. “I have an older brother too.”
Ray can see the moment in which Dean tenses, the way he coils himself as though he's expecting something terrible to happen, as though his brother is liable to burst into flames at the contact or something. Sam doesn't so much as blink, though, and for the first time since Ray met him this morning he breaks into a soft smile. The transformation is remarkable. Ray's livelihood depends on his ability to read people, but he'll be damned if he can get a handle on Sam. He moves like a guy who's accustomed to violence, who could probably turn around on a dime if it was needed, but the rest of his demeanour doesn't match up to that. It's like nothing Ray's ever seen before, and the smile is no exception. It's sweet and open and lights up his whole face, and the haunted look that Ray hadn't even realized was there disappears entirely, if only for a moment. Then the smile fades, Sam's eyes cut away and he pulls his hand back slowly. Janet doesn't try to stop him, but Ray can tell she's seen the same thing he has, and her expression turns a little sad.
“The blueberry ones are especially good,” she tells Sam in a conspiratorial whisper, plucking one out of the bowl and handing it to him. “You obviously need some feeding up.”
Dean throws her a look of unmistakeable gratitude. He gets unsteadily to his feet, but he already looks better than when he sat down, the food and pills clearly having a salutary effect on him. “Okay, dude. Break's over. Eat your muffin, and let's check the rest of the place out.”
While they're sorting themselves out, Ray shows Janet to the door. “Thanks, Janet. Looks like those two could use some mothering.”
“You always were perceptive, Raymond. It'll be nice to have some young blood around here.”
“Supposing they decide to stay.”
She laughs. “If Margery's muffins can't convince them, nothing will.”
Ray rolls his eyes good-naturedly, turns around to find both his clients gone. He finds Dean upstairs, examining the bathroom.
“You were right, this is really well-designed,” he says from where he's bending over a little awkwardly, leaning heavily on the rail that's been installed next to the toilet. “There's plenty of room, anyway.”
Ray nods. “I figured you'd like it. Apart from the stairs, it's very close to what you asked for.”
Dean straightens, rubs the back of his neck with one hand, the loose crutch propped up against the wall. “Yeah, well. I have to see if Sam will be okay here too. The stairs won't be much of a problem, I don't think. The rooms are nice, and the neighbours are obviously friendly,” he says with a wry grin.
“They are at that. Listen, it's not really my business, but your brother...” Ray trails off, uncertain about how to even broach the subject. From the look on Dean's face, he thinks it might have been a mistake, but Dean shrugs.
“Sam's... been through some stuff lately. He's okay, he just... he needs some time, some peace and quiet.”
“Well, you're definitely going to get that here. I don't remember the last time anything happened in this town that was more exciting than last year's highly-contested 'largest pumpkin' competition.”
That gets a laugh. “Sounds nice, actually.”
Dean hobbles past him back out into the small hallway. The upstairs is small -two bedrooms and the one bathroom- but it's not like they need more than that. “You seen Sam anywhere?”
“Actually, I though he was with you.” There's no mistaking the brief look of panic that flits across Dean's face, and Ray hastens to reassure him. “I wasn't gone for more than a minute, and he didn't go by me to the front door, so he's still got to be in the house somewhere. Let's check the kitchen.”
Dean lets him take the lead, tucks his crutches under his arm and hops down the steps, apparently willing to sacrifice dignity for speed in this case. Sam's not in the kitchen but the back door is open, and Ray makes his way into the overgrown back yard to find him standing on the dying grass, staring up into the bare branches of a cherry tree where a whole bunch of chickadees are chirruping up a storm. Dean has to pick his way more carefully across the uneven ground, but he makes pretty good time anyway. He stops at Sam's elbow, nudges him in the ribs.
“Penny for your thoughts?” There's relief in every word.
Sam's hand moves to Dean's back, holding him steady when he wobbles a little on his crutches. “Just watching the birds.”
“Oh?”
“They like it here,” Sam's voice is so low that Ray thinks that, if the garden weren't so quiet, they wouldn't be able to hear him at all.
“That so?” Dean's tone is casual, but there's something more there, Ray can tell. He finds himself holding his breath. “Think you could like it here too?”
Sam nods, still staring up at the birds, but he tightens his hold on his brother and Dean grins.
“All right, then, that settles it. We're staying.”
Summary: Part of the Fusion 'verse. Sam and Dean look for a house.
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4,053
Disclaimer: Umm, I follow Jared on Twitter, does that count? Maybe? No? Damn.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: Yet another Fusion prequel. Set somewhere between The Wisdom to Know the Difference and Fusion itself. If you haven't read any of the 'verse, all you need to know is that Dean has permanently screwed up his leg, and Sam is kind of permanently screwed up from his time in hell, and they're making it work as best they can.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: This was partially inspired by a prompt from wave_obscura at the latest hoodie_time Dean-centered h/c comment-fic meme, although, as usual, the 'verse had other ideas than what the prompt was asking for. Why I ever try to make this 'verse do as I want is beyond me, because every single time it bucks, rebels, and goes its own way.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Unbeta'd comment-fic. You know the drill.
Whatever Ray Billings was expecting for his ten o'clock appointment, it definitely wasn't this. He's been in the real estate business for nearly twenty years and has in all those years become accustomed to being the sole real estate dealer within a twenty-mile radius, which is fine by him. The market pickings around here are just slim enough that they don't allow for competition, not unless the would-be competitor wants to starve, because everyone knows Ray and trusts him to give them a fair, honest deal. Most of his sales are to local people, because who else would deliberately want to move here? All the young people are moving out, not in.
So after talking with Dean Winchester on the phone for all of five minutes to determine just what sort of place he and his brother are looking for, he was expecting someone older. Maybe not a retiree, but definitely not the good-looking thirty-something guy hobbling up his front steps on a pair of those aluminum crutches that clip around your forearms. And he definitely wasn't expecting the huge guy with hair long enough to just brush against the collar of his shirt looming right behind him protectively, one hand hovering inches from the first guy's back as though to catch him if he falls. Catch him he could, even though the first guy doesn't look like a lightweight, either. Jesus, Ray has seen moose that were smaller than the other guy.
Still, he's not an idiot, and only an idiot would dismiss two young men interested in buying a house just based on an assumption that could prove totally wrong. So he gets up from behind his desk and goes to open the front door for them, catching sight of a gleaming black muscle car parked out front which must belong to them. The guy on crutches shoots him a look that's half-grateful and half-embarrassed, like he's not used to having people open doors for him and isn't exactly enjoying the experience. Now that he's up close Ray can just make out the outlines of what must be a brace under his jeans, keeping the injured leg protected. Ray extends a hand.
“Ray Billings, it's a pleasure.”
“Dean Winchester, likewise.” The guy has a firm grip, lightly-calloused hands, which speaks to some sort of manual work, but not a great deal of physical labour. “This is my brother, Sam,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at the big guy, who nods nicely enough but doesn't make a move to come closer.
Okay, then. “Good to meet you. Mr. Winchester. Why don't you step this way?”
“Dean, please. Mr. Winchester is my father, and I'm not nearly old enough for that yet,” Dean turns a sudden smile on him, the corners of his eyes creasing amiably. It makes his whole face soften, and Ray can't help but grin in response.
“I know exactly how you feel, so you go ahead and call me Ray. Why don't we get started? You say you're looking for a house in the area, and you said on the phone that you weren't particular about whether or not it was to buy or rent, so long as it was in your price range, am I right?” He shows them over to the chairs he keeps for clients, casts a dubious look at Dean's leg. “I got a footstool somewhere around here, if you want it.”
“It's fine,” Dean waves off the suggestion. “If we were going to be here all day, it would be a different story.”
They're both good-looking boys, definitely going to turn heads if they stay anywhere nearby, but there's something off about them both, especially the brother. Whatever's off about Dean is pretty easily explained: he looks like he's in constant pain. Ray's cousin once got crushed by her horse when she was show jumping, had to have God knows how many surgeries on her hip and leg, and Dean's posture and movements remind Ray of her when she was in-between surgeries and just trying to get through the day. The brother Sam, though, he's something else. Won't meet Ray's eyes, for one, which is never a good sign, but it doesn't feel like he's being untruthful, or trying to hide. More like he just can't find it in himself to focus his attention for a second. Ray's eyes flick to where Sam's hands are clasped in his lap, the thumb of the right hand rubbing unconsciously at the back of his left, figures the guy just isn't all there.
Ray drops into his desk chair and pulls out the file he's prepared, although he figures he's going to be adding to it by the time the day is out. “So what are you boys looking for, exactly? I know your price range, so now my job is to find you the house you want at the price you want.”
Dean takes a breath before answering, as though he has to work his way up to it. “Right. So the thing is, me and Sam here are looking for something pretty permanent. I messed up my leg and it's going to take surgery and whatever, so the first thing is that we can't be too far from the hospital. We don't have to be next door, but we can't be a hundred miles away, either.”
“Close to the hospital, got it,” Ray starts jotting notes on a legal pad. “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but the only way you can get really close to a hospital is if you're actually in the city. Wouldn't it work better for you to find an apartment with an elevator? Cheaper, too.”
Dean shakes his head. “No, we want to stick to a small town. It's what we know best. Cities... aren't our thing,” he says, and Ray doesn't miss how his eyes cut to his brother when he talks. “Also, stairs.”
“Stairs?” Ray echoes blankly.
“Stairs. I can manage 'em, but the staircases have to be straight. Although I guess no stairs would be better.”
Of course. It's not something Ray usually has to take into account, but he can do that. “No stairs or at least straight staircases. Anything else you're looking for?”
Sam clears his throat softly and Ray just about jumps out of his skin, because it's the first sound he's made the whole time they've been here. “Bathroom,” he says softly.
“Beg your pardon?”
Sam turns to look at him, and Ray has to suppress a shiver. He's a kid, not even thirty if Ray's any judge, but there's something about his face, something in those hazel eyes that tells Ray this kid has seen things no man should ever have to see. His voice is soft, though, even pleasant.
“The bathroom has to have enough room for Dean to move around, keep his leg stretched.”
“We'll, uh, have to take some measurements,” Ray manages.
This may well be the strangest client interview he's ever had, though he can't quite put his finger on why. It's not like they're asking for anything unusual, or anything he's never heard of before. It's just that there's something off about the whole situation. For one thing, both of these boys aren't dressed for the part of house-hunters. Ray has seen people from all walks of life, and these two with their worn, frayed jeans, flannel shirts and combat boots aren't exactly the picture of people with enough money to their names to be able to afford a house. In fact, it's probably time he addressed that.
“Look, Dean,” he starts, trying to gauge the man's face for his reaction, “there isn't a delicate way to ask this, so I'm going to be direct. Buying a house is an expensive proposition. Hell, even renting isn't exactly cheap. Sure, around these parts it's less expensive than elsewhere, but you're still looking at a pretty steep price tag by some standards. Are you sure this is what you want to look for?”
He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he gets another of those smiles from Dean. “Yeah, me and Sam don't exactly look like the kind to have a nest egg tucked away, do we? But yeah, look, we're okay. We're not rolling in money, but we've got enough to get started, and I'll be looking for work wherever we end up buying. We're pre-approved. Not for much, but we're good for the numbers I gave you. We, uh, we're getting a little help from an old friend in that department, for what it's worth.”
“Okay,” Ray nods, glad that this isn't going to turn unpleasant. “I just have to ask, you know? Sometimes folks are just setting themselves up for disappointment, and with the economy the way it is... anyway, I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were in for. So, as for what you're looking for, well, real estate isn't exactly booming around these parts, but I've got a few houses I can think of off the top of my head we can look at, if you want to get started.”
Dean looks over at his brother, but Sam's staring at something through the office window, still doing that weird thing with his hands. Dean reaches over and swats him lightly on the knee. “Hey, Sammy, you want to go take a look at some houses?”
Sam turns back slowly, as though he's not sure he understood the words coming out of his brother's mouth. He stares for a moment, then nods once, briefly, his hair falling forward into his face and partially obscuring his expression.
“Yeah, okay,” he says softly.
“Great,” Ray claps his hands once. “Let me make some calls, and we can get started.”
By the time he's showing the brothers the second house on his list, Ray is a lot more reaxed about this whole thing. Sure, they're both not what he's used to, especially Sam, who's definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but they're nice enough. Dean's the more outgoing of the two, though he doesn't talk much, which is fine by Ray. There's nothing he dislikes more than clients who want to talk his ear off about everything and anything with no regard whatsoever for the sanctity of silence. They follow him from address to address in their car, and he's a little surprised to see that Dean is the one driving, although when he stops to think about it it makes a fair amount of sense: easier for a guy with a bad leg to drive than to let his brother behind the wheel when he seems to space out so often. Still, the leg obviously hurts him a lot, and he's forced to let his brother help him a lot more than he's probably accustomed to.
“You need a break?” Ray asks at one point, observing Sam's large hand clasping Dean's arm just above the elbow. Dean's sweating a little, trying to keep his weight off his leg.
Dean makes a noncommittal gesture. “Yeah, maybe in a little bit. Why don't we finish looking around first?”
“You got it,” Ray looks dubiously at the steep set of stairs leading to the second floor, and judging by the expressions on the boys' faces, he's pretty sure this house isn't going to be the one they end up taking. “Just stick with me.”
There are four houses on Ray's immediate list. He can probably rustle up some more in a few days, but he figures they may as well get through these four and see what comes up. He has a good feeling about the fourth house, in spite of Dean's joke about 'third time's the charm.' For one thing, he knows the neighbours pretty well, especially Janet O'Keefe, who's been on her own for years now and could probably stand a couple of friendly faces nearby. She's nowhere in sight when they pull up in front of the house, but if Ray knows her -and he flatters himself that he does- then she'll be out in the next few minutes to perform some outdoor chore that just coincidentally occurred to her. He's not wrong. Sam is helping Dean out of the car when her front door opens and she appears, broom in hand, and begins carefully sweeping her front porch. Ray grins, waves at her.
“Afternoon, Janet!”
She looks up, returns the smile, her expression conspiratorial. “Afternoon, Ray. You showing these boys the old Johnston house?”
“That's right. You might have neighbours sooner than you think!”
For all that she's old enough to be their mother, Janet gives the boys an appreciative once-over as she comes down her stairs to greet them. She's a nice lady, silver hair braided and pinned, and he figures the brothers could do worse by way of neighbours.
“It's so nice to meet you. That house has been empty far too long.”
Dean carefully lets go of one crutch to shake her hand, and the smile he breaks out for her is nothing like the previous smiles Ray has seen. In fact, Ray isn't too sure that any woman would be able to resist this particular smile, all mischievous gleam and come-hither charm. For a split-second he almost hates the guy for managing to look that good while limping and in obvious pain. Ray's no slouch himself, but this guy's obviously a Casanova in his spare time. He doesn't miss the fact that his brother is basically holding him up, though, so he clears his throat.
“Janet O'Keefe, I'd like you to meet Dean and Sam Winchester. So, guys, what say we take a look around the house?”
“Absolutely,” Dean agrees, then winks at Janet. “But we'll be seeing you later, won't we?”
Janet blushes a little. “Of course. I'm always around. Do be careful on that leg, dear.”
“Oh, I'm the soul of caution,” Dean assures her, which gets a quiet snort and an eyeroll from his brother. “Ignore Sammy, he's a wet blanket. Always trying to get me to sit down and drink my water and sh- uh, and all that,” Dean grins, but the pinched look is back, and Ray figures it's time they moved on.
“See you later, Janet.”
The house is completely empty, unfurnished except for a few stray pieces that the previous owners didn't bother taking with them. Dean casts a look at the staircase leading upstairs, and while he doesn't look all that happy at the idea of going up another flight of stairs after the day they've had, this staircase at least is wide and perfectly straight.
“You're probably going to like this one,” Ray says, leading them into the kitchen where there's a rickety old table and two wooden chairs. Dean doesn't wait to be told to sit this time, sinking onto one of the chairs with an air of relief and stretching his bad leg out to the side. “Old Mr. Johnston wasn't doing too well at the end, there, and so they refitted a lot of the house to make it easier for him to get around. They even had one of those in-house elevator chairs installed, but they took that with them when they left, unfortunately.”
Dean shrugs. “Not a problem. I wouldn't be able to use it anyway.”
Ray's a little surprised at that. “I thought, what with the surgery...”
“Yeah, it's complicated, but the short version is that my knee's not going to bend ever again. So no chair-elevators or whatever.”
“I see.” Ray doesn't see, but it's not like it matters anyway. “Well, anyway, the bathroom's been completely refitted, complete with bars in the shower and next to the toilet, which you'll probably find useful.”
That seems to get Sam's attention. He glances toward the door, back toward his brother, leans over and, as though it's the most normal thing in the universe, reaches into the pocket of Dean's leather jacket. Dean makes a face when Sam produces a small prescription bottle of pills, but he doesn't say a word, pops open the cap one-handed and dry-swallows a pill before pocketing the bottle again.
“You let me know when you're good to go.”
Dean nods. “Sure thing. Just give me a minute, here, and we'll take a look.”
The doorbell rings, and Ray doesn't miss the way Sam flinches, the way he has at every loud noise today. The kid looks like he's about to come out of his skin, and Ray doesn't especially feel like being a ground zero if he ends up losing it. He can tell a ticking time bomb when he sees one, and if Sam doesn't have a red digital clock counting down somewhere in his brain, then Ray's a chicken dinner. He heads toward the door.
“Ten to one that'll be Janet O'Keefe. She's a nice lady, but you'd better get used to the idea of having her drop in with casseroles every so often. This is a very small town.”
Sure enough, Janet is standing just outside the door with a covered bowl and a thermos in hand. He can hear the clinking of china coming from a cloth bag hanging from her arm.
“I know you, Ray,” she starts. “And I'll bet you've been running those boys ragged all afternoon without so much as a bite to eat or a cup of coffee. As it happens, I have some muffins from Margery's which I'm not going to be able to finish before they go stale, and I brought some coffee to go with them.”
Ray chuckles. “All right, you win. Come on in.”
Dean's eyes widen a little bit when the purpose of Janet's presence becomes clear, but he doesn't hesitate before pouring the coffee out of the thermos into the cups she's brought with her. “This is really nice of you. We drove straight in, didn't really have time for much of a lunch. Sam,” he nudges his brother's knee when it looks like Sam has spaced out again. “Have a muffin. You faint from hunger and I won't be able to carry your giant carcass back to the car, Sasquatch.”
Sam ducks his head. “Not gonna faint. Not a girl, Dean,” he mumbles a little indignantly, which draws a laugh from Janet. He twitches a little, glances up at her through the hair that's fallen into his face. “Sorry,” he adds softly.
“You don't have to apologize, dear,” Janet reaches over and pats his hand. “I have an older brother too.”
Ray can see the moment in which Dean tenses, the way he coils himself as though he's expecting something terrible to happen, as though his brother is liable to burst into flames at the contact or something. Sam doesn't so much as blink, though, and for the first time since Ray met him this morning he breaks into a soft smile. The transformation is remarkable. Ray's livelihood depends on his ability to read people, but he'll be damned if he can get a handle on Sam. He moves like a guy who's accustomed to violence, who could probably turn around on a dime if it was needed, but the rest of his demeanour doesn't match up to that. It's like nothing Ray's ever seen before, and the smile is no exception. It's sweet and open and lights up his whole face, and the haunted look that Ray hadn't even realized was there disappears entirely, if only for a moment. Then the smile fades, Sam's eyes cut away and he pulls his hand back slowly. Janet doesn't try to stop him, but Ray can tell she's seen the same thing he has, and her expression turns a little sad.
“The blueberry ones are especially good,” she tells Sam in a conspiratorial whisper, plucking one out of the bowl and handing it to him. “You obviously need some feeding up.”
Dean throws her a look of unmistakeable gratitude. He gets unsteadily to his feet, but he already looks better than when he sat down, the food and pills clearly having a salutary effect on him. “Okay, dude. Break's over. Eat your muffin, and let's check the rest of the place out.”
While they're sorting themselves out, Ray shows Janet to the door. “Thanks, Janet. Looks like those two could use some mothering.”
“You always were perceptive, Raymond. It'll be nice to have some young blood around here.”
“Supposing they decide to stay.”
She laughs. “If Margery's muffins can't convince them, nothing will.”
Ray rolls his eyes good-naturedly, turns around to find both his clients gone. He finds Dean upstairs, examining the bathroom.
“You were right, this is really well-designed,” he says from where he's bending over a little awkwardly, leaning heavily on the rail that's been installed next to the toilet. “There's plenty of room, anyway.”
Ray nods. “I figured you'd like it. Apart from the stairs, it's very close to what you asked for.”
Dean straightens, rubs the back of his neck with one hand, the loose crutch propped up against the wall. “Yeah, well. I have to see if Sam will be okay here too. The stairs won't be much of a problem, I don't think. The rooms are nice, and the neighbours are obviously friendly,” he says with a wry grin.
“They are at that. Listen, it's not really my business, but your brother...” Ray trails off, uncertain about how to even broach the subject. From the look on Dean's face, he thinks it might have been a mistake, but Dean shrugs.
“Sam's... been through some stuff lately. He's okay, he just... he needs some time, some peace and quiet.”
“Well, you're definitely going to get that here. I don't remember the last time anything happened in this town that was more exciting than last year's highly-contested 'largest pumpkin' competition.”
That gets a laugh. “Sounds nice, actually.”
Dean hobbles past him back out into the small hallway. The upstairs is small -two bedrooms and the one bathroom- but it's not like they need more than that. “You seen Sam anywhere?”
“Actually, I though he was with you.” There's no mistaking the brief look of panic that flits across Dean's face, and Ray hastens to reassure him. “I wasn't gone for more than a minute, and he didn't go by me to the front door, so he's still got to be in the house somewhere. Let's check the kitchen.”
Dean lets him take the lead, tucks his crutches under his arm and hops down the steps, apparently willing to sacrifice dignity for speed in this case. Sam's not in the kitchen but the back door is open, and Ray makes his way into the overgrown back yard to find him standing on the dying grass, staring up into the bare branches of a cherry tree where a whole bunch of chickadees are chirruping up a storm. Dean has to pick his way more carefully across the uneven ground, but he makes pretty good time anyway. He stops at Sam's elbow, nudges him in the ribs.
“Penny for your thoughts?” There's relief in every word.
Sam's hand moves to Dean's back, holding him steady when he wobbles a little on his crutches. “Just watching the birds.”
“Oh?”
“They like it here,” Sam's voice is so low that Ray thinks that, if the garden weren't so quiet, they wouldn't be able to hear him at all.
“That so?” Dean's tone is casual, but there's something more there, Ray can tell. He finds himself holding his breath. “Think you could like it here too?”
Sam nods, still staring up at the birds, but he tightens his hold on his brother and Dean grins.
“All right, then, that settles it. We're staying.”