New: Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down 1/3 (SPN-Sam/Dean) [NC-17]
Author: Rini (myficjournal) and Saklani (saklani2)
Title: Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down
Codes: Sam/Dean
Series: SPN
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Lyns from runedgirl
Summary: It’s almost Halloween, and Sam’s getting visions of his Stanford friends dying at the hands of a vengeful spirit. Worse yet, the spirit is Jess. Sam needs his brother’s support to fight and survive old ghosts, but Dean’s got troubles of his own.
Word Count: 25,111
Disclaimer: We don’t own them. We mean them no harm. We make no profit.
Posting: Please ask first!
Author's Notes: My annual Halloween fic, and the first with my lovely co-author, Rini! *hugs* This is our second foray into SPN. We hope you enjoy!
Sam leaned against the passenger door and stared into the night, pretending they were on their way to just another hunt. Another bunch of nameless, faceless people to be saved from another evil. But he couldn’t lie to himself.
Three of his friends from Stanford were dead, all under suspicious circumstances. One found in the middle of campus, eyes and mouth wide. One sprawled over his bed, throat crushed. And most tellingly, the first in the middle of a graveyard, sprawled by a tombstone inscribed ‘Jessica Moore.’
Dean looked across the distance between him and Sam, sighing before looking back at the road. He could only wonder what rumbled around in his brother's head, and Dean was damned if he knew how to jolt Sam out of this mood.
Feeling Dean's eyes on his neck, Sam said, "Why her grave, Dean? Why did it have to be her grave?"
"Not a clue, Sammy. Doesn't have to mean anything, you know." Dean drummed his thumb on the steering wheel, eyes still trained on the road.
Sam snorted and shook his head. "You know better. Her grave. My friends. One year anniversary of her death, almost. Fucking Halloween." He rubbed his eyes, not surprised to wipe away moisture, even though they felt gritty.
Dean grunted at Sam, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror and then to Sam. "Yeah, I know. You got anything on it yet?”
Sam bit his lip and shook his head. "You know what it looks like, Dean." He did not, could not, say that he hoped to Hell he was wrong.
"Wish there was something I could say, Sammy." Dean swiped his thumb over his lip before dropping his hand to his thigh and strumming his fingers in time with the low music. "We'll have to see what we can find when we get there."
"Besides the ruins of my normalcy," Sam said, bitterness mixed with despair. Since the death of their father, he felt the bonds of their existence squeezing ever more tightly, trying to crush the life out of him. "My stupid dreams."
Dean didn't know what to say. He knew, as well as Sam, what they were likely to find and there was little he could do to protect his brother. It gutted him, and left Dean on uncertain footing. "Not stupid, Sam. Just not meant to be."
Sam let his head collapse against the cool window. "I wish you had gotten to know her, Dean. You woulda liked her, even if she was part of the reason I stayed away from you and dad."
Grunting again, Dean's fist tightened on the wheel. He might've liked her just fine, as Sam said, but Dean wasn't inclined to believe it - because she'd managed to make a life with Sam that didn't include his family. "She seemed nice the time I met her."
"Yeah. When I left her to die." Sam rubbed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I thought I'd left this behind, resolved myself to it, but this- what if it is her, Dean? She's got a right to be angry at me."
"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean knew this argument was pointless, something they circled around time and again, but he stood by his opinion. "If it is her, Sam, then we’ll do what it takes to put her to rest."
Sam nodded, though he didn't believe they put souls to rest. They destroyed them forever. "The three people who died were all my friends, too, and I haven't thought of them in a year."
"You've had a lot on your mind this year, and seeing some of your friends didn't exactly go well, either." Dean grimaced, thinking about the shapeshifter and Sam's friend, Becky.
"Yeah," Sam said. "You and dad were right about me after all. I'm too much of a freak to do anything but this." He touched his forehead, thinking of the visions which prompted their return to Stanford.
~~~~~~~
No one detail alerted Sam that his dreams were morphing from nightmare to nightmarish reality. He simply knew, as instinctively as a newborn knows its mother, what marked vision from imagination. So, when the image of his father struggling desperately up a steep cliff after a Mary who pulled ever farther away from him morphed into Melissa kneeling at Jess' grave, Sam understood the real torture had begun. At first, Melissa appeared simply to be mourning, head bowed and lips moving soundlessly. But a dark shade hovered around her, through her and settled slowly over the mass of dirt that covered Jess' earthly remains. Melissa lifted her head suddenly, eyes wide and shot through with fear. Her hands went to her throat and clutched, trying to claw away something that nobody could see and only she could feel. Except, Sam could feel it, the grip of a powerful hand around his throat and esophagus. Delicate, familiar fingers that now clamped with terrifying strength to squeeze the life out of him. He grabbed for them, trying to breathe, trying to cry for help, and plunged to the floor of the motel room, head full of a thousand pounding drums, breath harsh and unsteady.
Dean woke when Sam started thrashing in his bed. His brother's nightmares had become his torment, with Dean impotent to help or beat back the things that threatened. He rolled on his side to watch Sam, eyes quickly taking stock while he waited to see if his brother needed to be shaken awake. When Sam crashed to the floor, he threw the covers back and vaulted to his brother's side. Taking Sam in his arms, he looked into Sam's eyes to see if his brother was coherent.
"Jess' grave," Sam stammered, not really focused. "Something strangling Melissa." He shook his head, which only made his brain ache more. "Got to go back to Stanford."
"Stanford?" Dean scowled at the mere thought, his face smoothing out when Sam's gaze slid to his. "Something was strangling Melissa over Jess' grave?" He arched an eyebrow. "Sure this wasn't just a nightmare, dude?"
Sam held his head and clenched his teeth in reaction to the blinding headache. "I always know the difference," he said, too distressed to be upset at Dean. "This was part of the real nightmare that is my life." He rocked back and forth in Dean's grip, unconscious of the motion.
Holding tight to Sam, Dean nodded and clenched his own teeth. Sam's constant criticism of their life got to him more often than he let his brother know. "Let's get you back into bed, and I'll get the Excedrin."
Sam reached out to clutch his brother's shoulders. "Think I'll need extra tonight. Won't sleep anymore for sure." His head slumped forward until it rested on Dean. "I don't want to go back to Stanford, Dean."
"I'd say we don't have to, but we both know better." Dean sighed and hiked Sam up against him, hoping he could get them to their feet and Sam back into bed. Though he knew his brother wasn't good for any more sleep, Dean wanted to try and ease the headache. "Help me out here, Sammy. Gotta get you back into bed."
Sam slumped against Dean, enjoying the warmth and support. But he struggled upward at Dean's words and heaved himself onto the bed. His brain seemed to slam around his skull when he landed, but he shifted to lie against the pillows. "Fucking hate all of this, man," he muttered, eyes shut tight.
Dean reached out, hand poised to touch Sam, before he drew back with a muted sigh. "I know you do, Sammy. I know." Defeat colored his words, and Dean made his way into the bathroom to rummage in the toiletries he'd unpacked, coming up with a mostly full bottle of Excedrin He filled a glass with water and headed back to sit on Sam's bed. "Here you go," he murmured softly, holding both hands out.
Sam took the items with a soft, "Thanks," shook out two more pills than normal and downed them all with a slug of water. Shutting his eyes, he slumped back against the bed. "We got enough money to stay somewhere in Stanford?"
"We'll manage." Dean had enough to cover a day and could easily earn them some more in a college town. He'd done it a few times while cruising in to check up on Sam. Not that Sam knew he'd ever been in town. "What time do you want to head out?"
"When you wake up and are ready to go," Sam said. He sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering why pain had to accompany his visions. Wasn't the horror enough? "You took a bit of a beating yesterday. Should catch up on your sleep."
Dean snorted, his own aches making themselves known now that Sam was settled back in bed. He really shouldn't have gone vaulting over the two beds to get to his brother. "Not sure I'm gonna sleep much, but I'll try and crash out. Wake me if you get too restless or find something online that means we have to move out now." Smiling weakly at Sam, Dean climbed back under the covers on his bed, sighing when his head hit the pillow.
~~~~~~~
Sam sighed, head still resting against the cool window, thinking how neither had gotten anymore sleep. They'd both lain there; thinking their own thoughts, until Sam finally gave up and headed for the bathroom. By the time he was done, Dean was already finished packing. They were on their way for Stanford by seven a.m.
He stared at the scenery visible in the Impala's headlights and figured they were somewhere in Nevada, on the loneliest highway in the world. "We should stop at the next town, Dean.”
"If you want." Dean looked at Sam and then back to the road, seeing the same emptiness that Sam saw, but not feeling nearly so lonely about it. Since Sam's defection to college, he'd taken solace in the long empty stretches of American highway.
"We should get some sleep," Sam said, though he dreaded the thought of closing his eyes. "We can't drive the rest of the way tonight, anyway. It's still too far." He pressed a fist between his eyes.
Nodding, Dean lowered the music slightly in deference to what he assumed was Sam's persistent headache. "Keep your eye out, and I'll pull off at the next motel we can find."
Sam noticed his brother turn down the music and smiled a little at him. "My head hasn't been right all day. I keep waiting to get hit by another one, you know? Since we found out about Mark and Stewart getting killed, too."
"Yeah," Dean responded, another quick glance at Sam. "You keeping it at bay?" His eyes scanned Sam's face, remembering the details Sam had unearthed.
Sam laughed hollowly and shook his head. "I got no kind of control over it. Wish I did." He leaned back in his seat, face strained and pale in the darkness. "Why would she kill them?"
Dean still didn't know how the visions worked, but he hoped that Sam keeping himself dosed helped. "At least the pain is staying at bay, right?" He thought about Sam's question and then shrugged. "I've no idea, Sammy...didn't know her or what might set her off."
Sam shot Dean a quick glare, clearly indicating he had wanted some sort of reassurance, but obviously had asked the wrong person. He shrugged off Dean's other question. "Nothing stops the pain."
The frustration in Sam's face raised Dean's hackles. He knew Sam was looking for reassurance, but also knew that Sam would be pissed if he gave him false hope.
Sam turned back to the blank scenery and stared into the night. "Have you ever thought about what might have been if dad never disappeared?"
"Everyday, Sam. Everyday." Dean wondered how his life would have been different if he'd not been abandoned, in one way or another, by everyone he loved.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Dean." Sam flinched a little from the words and pressed his face harder against the glass. Sorry for being such a disappointment. Sorry for being such a freak. Sorry for not being a good little Winchester and toeing the line.
"Me too, Sammy." Dean thrummed at the steering wheel, looking at lights coming up on the horizon. Sorry that Sam couldn't have the life he wanted. Sorry that the life he'd had was slowly being destroyed.
"For which part are you sorry?" Sam asked, not really expecting a straight answer. Despite years of experience, he'd never learned to censor himself from asking Dean questions he didn’t want to answer, from pushing them into scenes Dean wanted to avoid.
"I'm sorry you felt you had to leave; I'm sorry that Dad thought he had to leave." It still seemed to Dean that he caused everyone to leave. “I’m sorry that your former life is being shattered on you."
Sam looked at Dean and smiled sadly. "I did have to leave, Dean. It wasn't a whim or something I did lightly. I missed you every day, especially my first year. Know why I didn't call, Dean? I was afraid if I called, I'd beg you to come pick me up."
Dean nodded, his breath caught in his throat. He'd have been there, in a second - a heartbeat- to bring Sam back into the family, into their lives. "At the time, it felt like you left and didn't look back." He took the exit ramp faster than he should have, braking hard at the stoplight, before turning right toward the only motel listed on the sign by the road.
Sam jerked to the right and banged his sore head against the door. "Ow, fuck, Dean. What was that for?"
Grimacing, Dean growled a short apology and then eased into the parking lot. He pulled up to the front door and shut off the car. "I'll get us a room, Sam. Just wait here and then we can get you settled and hopefully, sleeping."
Sam stared at Dean and then sighed. "Whatever, man." He climbed out of the car and stretched in the cool night air.
~~~~~~~
Sam froze by the entrance to Skylawn Memorial Park and stared at the headstones. "I don't know if I can do this, Dean.”
Dean looked into the cemetery, remembering the location of Jess' grave from the only time he'd brought Sam there. "I can go in on my own, Sam. If you can't go in there, just get back in the car and have my baby ready to run if we need it."
Sam looked down at his feet and back up at the graves. He took a step forward, past the ugly wrought iron gates and then another. Instinct and memory led him easily through the rows of monuments, until he stood before the one that made his heart clench. "It looks exactly the same."
Following behind, Dean braced to grab Sam, to prop him up or give him whatever he needed. “The same as last year? The same as your dream?"
"Same as in my dreams," Sam said. He knelt by the grave and traced Jess' name with his fingers. "There's no sign of disturbance."
Dean looked around, taking note of the neat area. "Nothing here?"
Sam stroked the dirt with his fingers. "The scene must have been cleaned up since Melissa died here. It's been several days. We need to find crime scene photos, see what the place looked like before." He closed his eyes and hung his head. "There was nothing left of Jessica but ashes, Dean. We can't salt and burn ashes."
"No, we can't, Sammy. Which means, we have to figure out how and why she was brought back...what magic was used, so that we can lay her to rest." Dean looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
"If it is her," Sam said, but in his heart, he knew- Jess was the one responsible for the deaths. He leaned his head against the solid, cold stone. "It should be me here."
Sighing, Dean looked away, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his leather coat. "It would never have been you, Sam. You weren't meant to die. Not there and not then." He scrunched his shoulders up to his ears, before relaxing them and finally looking back to Sam.
"I knew it was coming, Dean," Sam whispered. "I knew and did nothing. It should be me here, just for that. Jess and dad are the ones who should be alive."
"You know, well as I do, that it doesn't work that way." Dean scuffed at the ground with his boots. "Things happen the way they are meant to, whether or not we like it."
Sam snorted and stood, glancing back at Dean. "That's why you hate yourself for being alive," he said and winced as soon as the words left his mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Just... Jesus, our lives are fucked up."
Dean grunted. Sam wasn't wrong, but Dean didn't want to get into his own feelings. Their dad sold himself for Dean, and that was an entirely different situation from Sam and Jess. "Should we see if we can get those photos?"
"Yeah, I'll check online tonight. You can go to the paper tomorrow, while I try to break into the police records." Sam looked back at Jess' grave and suddenly plummeted straight to the ground, hands clasping his head.
"Sammy!" Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, trying to keep him still while the vision wracked his body.
"Hic en spiritum," Sam said, his voice thick and full of grit. "Decretum espugnare. En inferno inremeablis." His hands tore at his face, scratching deep enough to bleed. "Wa ta na sy yam."
"Sam! No!" Dean shook Sam, hard. He cradled his brother to him, using one hand to curl his face toward Dean. "Look at me, Sammy. C'mon, man."
"Evokare lemures de mortus," Sam said, completely unaware of Dean. He saw the grave in front of him, but not as Sam. He curled his fingers deeper into his cheeks, needing the blood. "Sed non incorpore."
"Sam, stop!" Dean grabbed Sam's hands, yanked them away from his face and backed up, dragging Sam as far away as he could, as fast as he could.
Sam gasped and pulled away from Dean, ending up sprawled on the ground. He blinked at his brother, head pounding and face stinging. "Dean?"
"Fuck, man." Dean dropped back onto his ass and sat there, breathing hard and looking at Sam. "You okay?
"I- She-” Sam grimaced and rubbed his hand across his face, smearing blood. "She did it wrong, Dean. Mixed something up... brought back Jess wrong."
"Yeah?" Dean sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "No more of that, okay? Let's get the knowledge some other way."
Sam shut his eyes, hearing only criticism. "I told you I can't control them, Dean. This isn't how I would choose to learn things." He looked at his hands and gingerly pressed against his cheeks.
Dean sighed, head tipping back until he saw Sam touching his face. Springing forward, he grabbed Sam's dirty hands and tugged them down. "I know you can't control them, Sam. Didn't mean that." He looked at Sam, could see the pain and exhaustion in his brother's eyes. "Let's get you back so we can get you patched up."
Sam frowned and nodded, though his eyes were distant. "I need to look up the incantation, see what she did wrong. What she called instead of Jess... or what she changed Jess into..." He made no move to get up, staring into the distance.
Sitting there, Dean watched Sam, saw the many thoughts and feelings flitting across his face. "You want me to try and break into the police station instead for the photos?"
"No," Sam said, sharp and quick, eyes instantly on Dean. "You can't chance being caught. You know that. And this isn't some backwoods town with a tiny police department that's out of tune with the rest of the world." He took a deep breath, forcing down the jittery sensation in his stomach.
"Alright, Sam. I won't try it." Dean did his best to placate Sam. "C'mon, let's get you back to the room."
Sam fought to his feet, swaying for a second before steadying himself. He glanced back at Jess' grave. "She made a real mess, even before she was killed."
"Melissa?" Dean asked, hands out and ready to steady Sam, if needed.
"Yeah." Sam wiped his face, smearing more blood without noticing. "No wonder they cleaned up so well." He shuddered and started back toward the Impala, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the graveyard as possible. As he reached the entrance, Sam paused and looked over his shoulder, sure he felt a familiar gaze on his back, but only the rows of the dead lurked behind him.
~~~~~~~
Dean put the Impala in park and sat behind the wheel for a moment, fingers idly caressing. He stared at the door to their room, half dreading that Sam might be there and half dreading that he might not. Dean swore at the thought that he couldn't back Sammy up at the police station because of the damn shapeshifter. Sighing, he pushed the door open, wincing at the creak and making a note to oil the hinges before shutting the door and crossing to their room. He entered their room and let out a breath when he realized it was empty. He dropped the paperwork he had collected on the table and toed off his boots. Dean crossed to his bed and dropped onto it, feet still on the floor, one arm flung over his eyes. He'd not slept well, kept awake by Sam’s movements.
Sam hopped off the bus and walked slowly toward their motel, clutching his backpack tight. He’d managed to steal the files on his friends’ deaths, copy them, return the paperwork and sneak out without being caught. But there had been some tense moments. Fortunately, Palo Alto was not a high crime town, so the police were somewhat more relaxed than in other portions of the Bay Area. He caught sight of the Graduate Inn and smiled a little; glad to be staying somewhere that wasn't a complete dump for once. The Impala looked strange in the parking lot full of sensible new imports. He ran an affectionate hand over her side, before heading to their room. Opening the door, he caught sight of Dean sprawled across the bed and said, "Everything all right, dude?"
Dean waved a hand at Sam to assure him he was fine, legs moving slightly against the bed when he settled in. Wiping the hand over his face, he propped himself up slightly, still sprawled over the end of the bed. "What'd you find, Sammy?"
"I got all the files, haven't had time to read them yet." Sam set the backpack on his bed and sank into the mattress. "It's a huge deal around here, Dean. Three students dead, all connected to each other. The school's in panic mode, and so are the police. We're going to have to be careful not to get tangled with either of them." He opened his pack and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper. "They've ruled all three deaths as suspicious."
"That's something, at least." Dean replied and dropped back to the bed, hand extended and making a slight grabby motion for Sam to give him some of the details. "Looks like you got more than I did. I took what you wrote down of that spell and did some searching. Didn't pop much, but I called Bobby to see if he could come up with anything else."
Sam pulled out the crime photos from Jess' grave and handed them to Dean. "These might help us figure out what she was doing. Look at the candles arranged at the cardinal points around the body. And what's with the water glasses? I've never seen this ritual before... It would help if I could actually remember more of what I was saying last night."
"I was more concerned with getting you away from the grave than remembering the Latin." Dean looked over the photos, noting what Sam pointed out and then narrowing in on the edges of the circle. "The one thing I do know is that a circle has to be complete for the magic to work and there are several marks along this edge that look like fingers were dragged through it."
"Bloody fingerprints," Sam said and mimed the scratches he had made on his own face. "She kept scratching her face and dragging it over the grave. She thought it was part of the ritual." He shook his head. "We need to find out where she got the ritual from, too. Dark magic like that... there's only so many people who would know. And if they told her wrong on purpose..."
Dean grunted again, cursing under his breath about witches and black magic. "Why'd anyone tell her wrong on purpose? Why'd she want to raise Jess in the first place?" He turned a thoughtful gaze on Sam, leaning back again and really looking at his brother. "You got any idea on that last one, Sammy-boy?"
Sam glared at Dean and then looked away. "Mel always had a crush on Jess. She never liked me much. I guess she ended up with good cause not to."
"Not your fault, Sam." Dean mulled over the fact that Melissa had the hots for Jess. "And Jess only had eyes for you...which means that with you long gone, Melissa could raise Jess from the grave and have her all to herself." He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face again. "Damn, we need to know more about the ritual...was she trying to raise a zombie? Or a ghost?"
"How could she have raised Jess' body?" Sam asked, ignoring the pain of talking about her this way. "There was no body left. She must have been trying to raise her spirit. And you can't make love to a spirit. But she might have just been lonely without her." His eyes dropped to the bed while he picked at the spread. "I can understand the urge to bring her back, see her one more time. She might have meant for it to be temporary, too. There's still too much guesswork."
"She also could have been irrational, Sam. Maybe Melissa refused to believe there was nothing left to raise. How the hell do we know?" Dean dropped back to the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Without being able to see Melissa's things, there's going to be a lot more guesswork. We might be able to figure some things out if we can get at her stuff."
"Whatever she had with her, the police will have in evidence. That's out of our reach for now. And they probably took anything they thought was relevant from her apartment, too. Still, they wouldn't necessarily know what to look for." Sam smiled in slight embarrassment at Dean, knowing he wasn't telling Dean anything new.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, not commenting on Sam's stating the obvious, though he was afraid he'd end up biting off his tongue if he tiptoed around Sam this whole case. "Where do you want to go next, Sherlock? Until we hear back from Bobby on the ritual, my stuff's a dead end."
Sam pointed at the rest of the case notes from the deaths. "We should go through these first. And look at where my other friends died." He sighed and tossed a sheath of paper to Dean. "Try these."
Dean caught the papers to his chest, groaning at the idea of doing more work. Not that he didn't understand the seriousness of it all, but this case had him feeling out of sorts. Dean chalked it up to being back in Palo Alto and the potential draw it might have for Sam.
Pushing himself upright, Dean started rifling through them. Nothing much jumped out on the first couple of pages, but he stopped to look at the details of where the second dead body was found.
"Why don't you go out, Dean? I'll read these and do some more research." Sam carried his papers to the table and began to read.
"It'll go faster with the two of us." Dean shuffled the pages together again and then shoved himself back against the headboard. He crossed his ankles and went back to studying the documents.
Sam nodded and read through the details of Stewart's death- -- found sprawled in the middle of campus, mouth and eyes wide. "Stewart dated Jess when first they were at college. He was an art history major with a taste for partying. I never understood how they ever got along."
Dean looked up at Sam. "Why not? Cause he liked to party?"
"He was rough at the edges," Sam said with a wry little smile of memory. "Every other word was fuck or shit. But smart as anyone I ever met." He stared down at the pages unseeing. "Hard to imagine anything scaring him to death."
Dean raised an eyebrow and then shrugged and went back to his file. "This guy - Mark - looks like he died in his bed, head tilted back. Almost like something choked him."
"That's more like the way Melissa died," Sam said softly. He rifled through his pages, reading the details without finding much of interest. "But Stewart is completely different. No marks on him. And nobody saw or heard anything.”
"Yeah, we've got nothing on Mark either as far as witnesses.” Dean tilted his head at Sam, eyes narrowing at the tension lingering in his brother's shoulders.
Sam set down the papers and looked at Dean. "If she's killing off her friends, you know I have a large target on my forehead."
Tipping his head back, Dean sighed. "Yeah, and I'm of half a mind to get you the fuck out of this town." He looked back at Sam, shrugging and then going back to the papers. "Don't wanna fight you on it, so instead, you go nowhere without me to guard your back, Sam. Got it?"
Sam snorted and set the papers down. "Away from a hunt, Dean? I'm as liable to get killed in any hunt as this one. I was just thinking that we might use me as bait to attract Jess. Not that it may be necessary. I’m bait anyway."
"Yeah, well, there's no need to stick you further in the middle of it." Dean scowled at the thought, swearing internally that Sam had to get this vision. All he wanted was to keep his brother safe and get them as far away from California as possible. Maine or Florida would be nice.
"My own abilities stuck me in the middle," Sam said softly. "As well as my past. You’re the one who can leave this hunt, Dean, not me."
"I'm not leaving you behind. Ever." Dean huffed, and rifled through his papers. "I don't think there's much of anything in here that’s going to be that helpful. The police didn't give much information on what else was at the scene."
"Melissa's will be most helpful, I think," Sam said, opening her file. He scanned quickly, mumbling under his breath. "They have a list of things found in her apartment, including five books on witchcraft. They mostly look like junk, except for the last. Now, where would a college girl have found a copy of 'Psychomantium'?"
"Plotting to do bad things." Dean shook his head in disgust.
"You can't walk into a book store and ask for a copy of 'Psychomantium,' Dean," Sam said with a sigh. "She'd need a contact to get hold of the book."
"So, maybe she was being led to do bad things." Dean sighed and pressed a hand over his eyes, stomach suddenly grumbling. Dean rubbed at his belly and pulled out his cell phone to check the time.
Sam scrolled through more of the report, before grabbing a piece of paper and writing down a set of names. "She had several appointments before she went to Jess' grave. Maybe one of them is her contact." He ignored Dean's blatant hint that it was time to eat.
"Yeah? Anyone we can drop in on tonight?" Dean tucked the phone away, just short of pouting that Sam was being particularly obtuse.
"Have to find their addresses and statements in here," Sam muttered. He waved a hand at Dean. "Go get some food, if you want. Just bring me something green back."
Dean grunted, levered off the bed and dropped the papers on the table. He clasped Sam's shoulder with a hand. "No taking off without me, okay? I won't be long and can’t help you if you take off on me."
"Why would I take off without you?" Sam asked, honestly bewildered. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows drawn in confusion.
"Just making sure, dude." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and then stomped into his boots, tying them off before yanking the door open. "Back soon, Sammy."
Sam watched his brother go, eyes narrowed now. Finally, he shrugged and returned to his research, trying to discover who had given Melissa the book. And then the blinding pain seared his temples, frying his synapses and sending him to the floor.
~~~~~~~
Sam's head still pounded when the Impala screeched to a stop in front of Stanford's main library. He vaulted out before the car's engine turned off and ran for the all night study room. His gun was tucked inside his shirt, just out of sight of anyone who might be here this late. He didn’t pause to see if Dean followed, too intent on getting to Serena in time to stop the attack.
Dean swore at Sam's hasty departure, shutting off the engine and slamming out of the car. He took stock of the knife in his boot, the one at his back and the gun cradled, hidden in his hand. He'd shoved a few other trinkets in his pockets and vaulted up the stairs trying to track Sam's progression through the unfamiliar library.
The lights flickered on once Sam streaked into the study room. He followed the images from his vision, knowing exactly where to find Serena. A faint light appeared when he rounded the far corner of the room, into the graduate student area, and headed for the back corner. Drawing the gun, he knew he should slow down, be careful, but all he could see was his vision of Serena's body -- twisted and broken.
Putting on a burst of speed, Dean leapt the last few stairs and saw Sam turn the corner ahead. Head down, Dean's legs ate up the linoleum floor, boots clomping on the surface while he tried to catch Sam.
The light brightened, turned into a form, wretched and familiar. And then Sam tumbled over something on the floor, something he didn't see in his preoccupation. He rolled over sharp hardcover book corners, a pair of legs and the hard floor, before landing on his back and staring straight up... into Jess' eyes. They stared at him, wide and cold, before something flickered in their blank depths -- recognition. She opened her mouth, lifted her hands, and Sam shot her with rock salt.
Dean skidded to a stop, mouth open to scream for Sammy to shoot just a second before Sam actually did. He watched Jess' figure flicker and then scatter into the non-existent wind. Panting, Dean moved to Sam and looked down at him. "You okay, Sam?"
Sam looked wildly at his brother and then back over his shoulder, where Serena lay exactly how he'd seen in the vision. "We're too fucking late," he whispered. "Too fucking late!" His voice rose into a shout. "What the fuck good are these fucking visions if I can't even get here in time?" He hauled himself to his feet. "What good is being a freak and a fucking hunter when you can't even stop your girlfriend from being fried on the ceiling and then turned into a vengeful spirit who goes around murdering her own friends?"
Dean grabbed Sam and tugged him in for a slightly awkward, but heartfelt hug. "We're going to get this, Sam. We will. I'm sorry we didn't get here in time for Serena."
Sam shook his head, but wrapped his arms around Dean and held on tightly for a moment. He pushed off, holding up the gun and looking around. "We can't stay here. There's nothing we can do for Serena, and Jess might come back. And you can't be found with another dead girl." He looked at her for a second, face twisted with mourning, recrimination and self-loathing.
"We'll figure this out, Sam." Dean grasped Sam around the bicep and tugged to encourage him to move.
Sam stumbled a little at the first tug, but then trudged out of the library. "At least one good thing came out of this," he said softly. "Jess knows I'm here now. She won't go after anyone else until I'm dead.
"We'll work this one out, Sam,” Dean repeated, trying to clamp down on the fear in his stomach. We'll put her to rest, relieve Jess of her anger." He knew of no other way to reassure Sam.
Sam nodded again without any conviction. "Before the vision struck, I was sorting through the police notes on Melissa's appointments. Only one of them didn't seem to fit- -- she saw someone named Misery Haltings on Wednesday. The police took her statement, but she just said Melissa picked up some books from her for school. Only, there’s no reason Melissa would have to go off campus to get her books."
"Except to get something that the school can't provide." Dean rubbed his face and then rolled his shoulders. "And of course, the idiots of the police department never bothered to check any further than that.”
Sam sighed and pushed open the exit door, tumbling into the night air gratefully. "They wouldn't have any reason to doubt her explanation. Especially if she did give Melissa a bunch of books, one of which happened to be a real spell book. We need to get a copy of ‘Pyschomantium’ and see if we can find the spell she used."
"And what do you think the chances are that it's still in her room and we can get to it?" Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, knowing the possibility was low. He let the door slam shut behind him and strode past Sam to get to the car first. Stroking once over the roof, he patted it and then opened his door.
"Unless she memorized the spell, she took it to the grave and the police have it." Sam crawled into the Impala, trying to keep his mind focused on the mundane business of hunting and forget the vision of Jess, features twisted with hatred as she reached for him. "We need to put out word to the right people that we're looking for one."
Dean settled in the driver's seat, starting the engine and smiling slightly at the low purr. "You think you can do that? You have an idea of who to talk with? Or, are you thinking of talking to this Misery woman?" He eased them out of the library lot, speeding them far away from the library before Serena's body was found.
"I did some research while I was here, Dean, as unbelievable as that sounds," Sam said, voice low and wounded. "I know who to contact."
"Jesus, Sam!" Dean pounded the steering wheel for emphasis. "That's not what I meant, Sammy."
Sam flinched and leaned against the door. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Dean." He took a few, deep, calming breaths. "There's a Wiccan group that’s trustworthy and who might know where to get black magic items, if one was looking. Who knows, Melissa may have tried them first."
Dean took a couple of heaving breaths and forced himself to calm down before he spoke. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if she did try them first. It would certainly be a more familiar ground, right?"
"Well, they'd feel safer for someone who's never been involved in magic and the supernatural before," Sam agreed. He shoved himself harder against the door and tried to mold himself into the comforting metal and glass.
"True enough." Dean looked quickly at Sam and then turned back to the road. "We need to go back to the motel? Or, do you have an address on you?”
"I need to look them up. Never thought I'd need that information again. But I have it on my laptop somewhere." Sam reached out unconsciously for Dean, seeking reassurance, while his mind rehashed all the circumstances of his retreat to and from Stanford. His hand settled on Dean's leg, resting there.
Looking down for a brief moment, Dean saw Sam's hand on his thigh and had to bite his tongue and steel himself to keep from shaking. "To the motel, it is." Dean focused back on the road, though the short trip certainly didn't require that much concentration.
"Won't take me long to find it and send them a message. I'll track down Misery, too." Sam settled his head against the door, hand tightening into the firm curve of Dean's leg. "We can talk to them all tomorrow. I can't go anymore tonight."
"If that's what you want, Sam." Dean's thigh twitched slightly at Sam's grip, but he bit his lip to keep from commenting. "You want any food?"
"Yeah. The stuff you brought back, will it have gone bad?" Sam did not feel up to going to a diner. He wanted the motel room, his bed and Dean.
"Probably not." Dean had grabbed a few sandwiches, with snacks as sides. And beer, of course. Dean grinned at Sam. "We should be good when we get back."
Sam nodded in relief and sighed, body relaxing a fraction. "Serena asked me out before I met Jess. She and I were never really compatible. You woulda liked her, though. She was an animal about sex. Always wanted to settle down and have kids, though." He laughed sadly.
"Animal, huh? Too much for you? Or not compatible in other ways?" Dean wondered if Jess had been boring in bed, and if Sam had been happy with that part of their life. Dean stopped that train of thought before he got to thinking about his brother and sex.
"I met Jess and that was it for everyone else. I loved her from the first." Sam tightened his fingers again, drawing comfort. "She was my other half. Except..." He paused and looked over at Dean. "Not the same way you are."
Dean blinked. He was Sam's other half, but not in the way Jess was? That confused the hell out of him, so Dean let the comment go. "I'm glad you met her and sorry that you lost her."
"I thought I was getting over it all, you know. Resigned to being a Winchester, on the road, hunting things, never stopping until we get killed. But this... just brings it all back, you know? Not just having lost Jess, but all the things I dreamed about, too." Sam tapped on the window with one hand, the other still gripping Dean.
"If I'd had a choice, you'd never have seen this place again, Sam. Not once in the rest of your life." The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to see what he was missing, miss those things even more and maybe leave Dean again for them.
"Yeah. Me, too." Sam shifted to look at Dean, hand sliding up an inch or two. "But I knew, somehow, that I'd be back here, Dean. That things weren't done with me here. I used to see Jess, you know. When you and I were first back together. I'd look across the street or out a window, and she'd be standing there, all in white, smiling at me."
The thought of Sam seeing a woman in white made Dean's blood run cold and completely wiped out the fact that his hand had gravitated north. "You saw her? In white?"
"It was a long time ago, Dean. And she's chasing me for real now anyway, so it hardly matters." Sam drew his hand off Dean to run both hands through his hair.
Dean pulled into the motel parking lot, his leg acutely aware of the absence of Sam's hand. "I guess not. We'll just have to make sure she doesn't find you."
"Until we figure out how to stop her. And then we have to make sure she knows where to find me," Sam said. "But I don't think that will be a problem."
"Yeah, somehow I think she'll be able to find you no matter where you are." Dean cut the engine and looked over at Sammy. His eyes scanned his brother's face. "Let's get inside and rest for tomorrow." He opened the door and climbed out of the Impala, waiting for Sam.
Sam met Dean's eyes squarely, not trying to disguise the pain and loneliness in them. "I need to finish the research for tomorrow," he said softly. He heaved himself out of the Impala and headed for the motel door. "We'll head for the Sisters of Serenity tomorrow."
"You'll eat first, because it's what you need to keep up your strength to do the research." Dean’s tone brooked no argument, though Sam hadn't really done what he'd said for years now.
For once, Sam felt warm that Dean cared about him and smiled over his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I'll eat while I'm working on the computer. Did you get me some vegetables?"
Dean scoffed. "Do chips count? They were potatoes once." He chuckled and nudged Sam toward the room, hands shoved in his pockets.
Sam sighed and hunched his shoulders. "Oh, ok." He opened the door and headed for his laptop, knowing Dean would lay the salt lines and other protective wards.
Sighing at Sam's easy acceptance, Dean went about the nightly tasks of locking the place down. When everything was the way it should be, he went to the mini fridge and grabbed the sandwiches, beer and yes, bag of salad he'd bought for Sam. "Dinner's ready, Sammy-boy."
Sam looked at the salad, and his smile was blinding. "You got me salad." He sat down across from Dean and dug into his food. "I love you, man."
"Love you too, Sammy." And of course, he bought Sam salad. Dean dropped next to Sam, digging into his sandwich and chips. Sipping at his beer, he groaned happily.
Sam took his salad back to the laptop and started pounding away again. He alternated between shoveling lettuce in his mouth and typing. Finally, he leaned back and jotted something down on a scrap of paper. "They'll see us tomorrow."
"They will?" Dean looked up from his sandwich, chewing and finally swallowing before drinking his beer again.
"They may have an idea where Melissa got the book. Might even be able to help us put Jess to rest." Sam fixed stern eyes on Dean. "No cracks about witchcraft or lesbians when we’re there."
Opening his mouth to protest, Dean finally closed it and frowned. "Fine...maybe I should stay in the car, if I'm not allowed to talk."
"So, you're going to let me go in alone?" Sam asked all innocence.
"Fuck no," Dean grumbled again and bit viciously at his sandwich, chewing it with intent while glaring at Sam.
"I don't believe that's all you have to say anyway," Sam said with a little smile for Dean. "You can control your mouth for once."
Dean kept eating his sandwich and didn't deign to answer. He wasn't at all sure he'd be able to control his mouth. A lot depended on how they treated Sam.
Sam carried his salad back over to Dean and sat down again. "I got Misery's address, too.” He stole a couple of chips. "Vegetables, right?"
"Yeah, vegetables." Dean beamed at Sam and finished off his sandwich in one bite. He still had half a beer, and Sam looked far more relaxed than he'd been in the past three days.
Sam nudged Dean once with his knee and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to get my shower and go to bed. Thanks, man."
Dean nodded at Sam and then got up to dump his trash in the garbage. While Sam was in the shower, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed under the covers of his motel bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. He lay there, listening for Sam and waiting for him to come back out.
Sam came out, wearing only his towel, and dug through his duffle bag. He tugged on his boxers and a t-shirt, before sliding under the covers. "Good night, Dean."
Rolling to his back as soon as Sam emerged without clothes, Dean closed his eyes and breathed out. It took considerable effort to keep from staring at Sam, to watch him slip into his clothes and then curl in bed, but Dean knew that he shouldn't allow himself the guilty pleasure of even a glimpse. The last thing he wanted was to send Sam running from him again. “Goodnight, Sammy.”
Title: Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down
Codes: Sam/Dean
Series: SPN
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Lyns from runedgirl
Summary: It’s almost Halloween, and Sam’s getting visions of his Stanford friends dying at the hands of a vengeful spirit. Worse yet, the spirit is Jess. Sam needs his brother’s support to fight and survive old ghosts, but Dean’s got troubles of his own.
Word Count: 25,111
Disclaimer: We don’t own them. We mean them no harm. We make no profit.
Posting: Please ask first!
Author's Notes: My annual Halloween fic, and the first with my lovely co-author, Rini! *hugs* This is our second foray into SPN. We hope you enjoy!
Sam leaned against the passenger door and stared into the night, pretending they were on their way to just another hunt. Another bunch of nameless, faceless people to be saved from another evil. But he couldn’t lie to himself.
Three of his friends from Stanford were dead, all under suspicious circumstances. One found in the middle of campus, eyes and mouth wide. One sprawled over his bed, throat crushed. And most tellingly, the first in the middle of a graveyard, sprawled by a tombstone inscribed ‘Jessica Moore.’
Dean looked across the distance between him and Sam, sighing before looking back at the road. He could only wonder what rumbled around in his brother's head, and Dean was damned if he knew how to jolt Sam out of this mood.
Feeling Dean's eyes on his neck, Sam said, "Why her grave, Dean? Why did it have to be her grave?"
"Not a clue, Sammy. Doesn't have to mean anything, you know." Dean drummed his thumb on the steering wheel, eyes still trained on the road.
Sam snorted and shook his head. "You know better. Her grave. My friends. One year anniversary of her death, almost. Fucking Halloween." He rubbed his eyes, not surprised to wipe away moisture, even though they felt gritty.
Dean grunted at Sam, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror and then to Sam. "Yeah, I know. You got anything on it yet?”
Sam bit his lip and shook his head. "You know what it looks like, Dean." He did not, could not, say that he hoped to Hell he was wrong.
"Wish there was something I could say, Sammy." Dean swiped his thumb over his lip before dropping his hand to his thigh and strumming his fingers in time with the low music. "We'll have to see what we can find when we get there."
"Besides the ruins of my normalcy," Sam said, bitterness mixed with despair. Since the death of their father, he felt the bonds of their existence squeezing ever more tightly, trying to crush the life out of him. "My stupid dreams."
Dean didn't know what to say. He knew, as well as Sam, what they were likely to find and there was little he could do to protect his brother. It gutted him, and left Dean on uncertain footing. "Not stupid, Sam. Just not meant to be."
Sam let his head collapse against the cool window. "I wish you had gotten to know her, Dean. You woulda liked her, even if she was part of the reason I stayed away from you and dad."
Grunting again, Dean's fist tightened on the wheel. He might've liked her just fine, as Sam said, but Dean wasn't inclined to believe it - because she'd managed to make a life with Sam that didn't include his family. "She seemed nice the time I met her."
"Yeah. When I left her to die." Sam rubbed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I thought I'd left this behind, resolved myself to it, but this- what if it is her, Dean? She's got a right to be angry at me."
"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean knew this argument was pointless, something they circled around time and again, but he stood by his opinion. "If it is her, Sam, then we’ll do what it takes to put her to rest."
Sam nodded, though he didn't believe they put souls to rest. They destroyed them forever. "The three people who died were all my friends, too, and I haven't thought of them in a year."
"You've had a lot on your mind this year, and seeing some of your friends didn't exactly go well, either." Dean grimaced, thinking about the shapeshifter and Sam's friend, Becky.
"Yeah," Sam said. "You and dad were right about me after all. I'm too much of a freak to do anything but this." He touched his forehead, thinking of the visions which prompted their return to Stanford.
~~~~~~~
No one detail alerted Sam that his dreams were morphing from nightmare to nightmarish reality. He simply knew, as instinctively as a newborn knows its mother, what marked vision from imagination. So, when the image of his father struggling desperately up a steep cliff after a Mary who pulled ever farther away from him morphed into Melissa kneeling at Jess' grave, Sam understood the real torture had begun. At first, Melissa appeared simply to be mourning, head bowed and lips moving soundlessly. But a dark shade hovered around her, through her and settled slowly over the mass of dirt that covered Jess' earthly remains. Melissa lifted her head suddenly, eyes wide and shot through with fear. Her hands went to her throat and clutched, trying to claw away something that nobody could see and only she could feel. Except, Sam could feel it, the grip of a powerful hand around his throat and esophagus. Delicate, familiar fingers that now clamped with terrifying strength to squeeze the life out of him. He grabbed for them, trying to breathe, trying to cry for help, and plunged to the floor of the motel room, head full of a thousand pounding drums, breath harsh and unsteady.
Dean woke when Sam started thrashing in his bed. His brother's nightmares had become his torment, with Dean impotent to help or beat back the things that threatened. He rolled on his side to watch Sam, eyes quickly taking stock while he waited to see if his brother needed to be shaken awake. When Sam crashed to the floor, he threw the covers back and vaulted to his brother's side. Taking Sam in his arms, he looked into Sam's eyes to see if his brother was coherent.
"Jess' grave," Sam stammered, not really focused. "Something strangling Melissa." He shook his head, which only made his brain ache more. "Got to go back to Stanford."
"Stanford?" Dean scowled at the mere thought, his face smoothing out when Sam's gaze slid to his. "Something was strangling Melissa over Jess' grave?" He arched an eyebrow. "Sure this wasn't just a nightmare, dude?"
Sam held his head and clenched his teeth in reaction to the blinding headache. "I always know the difference," he said, too distressed to be upset at Dean. "This was part of the real nightmare that is my life." He rocked back and forth in Dean's grip, unconscious of the motion.
Holding tight to Sam, Dean nodded and clenched his own teeth. Sam's constant criticism of their life got to him more often than he let his brother know. "Let's get you back into bed, and I'll get the Excedrin."
Sam reached out to clutch his brother's shoulders. "Think I'll need extra tonight. Won't sleep anymore for sure." His head slumped forward until it rested on Dean. "I don't want to go back to Stanford, Dean."
"I'd say we don't have to, but we both know better." Dean sighed and hiked Sam up against him, hoping he could get them to their feet and Sam back into bed. Though he knew his brother wasn't good for any more sleep, Dean wanted to try and ease the headache. "Help me out here, Sammy. Gotta get you back into bed."
Sam slumped against Dean, enjoying the warmth and support. But he struggled upward at Dean's words and heaved himself onto the bed. His brain seemed to slam around his skull when he landed, but he shifted to lie against the pillows. "Fucking hate all of this, man," he muttered, eyes shut tight.
Dean reached out, hand poised to touch Sam, before he drew back with a muted sigh. "I know you do, Sammy. I know." Defeat colored his words, and Dean made his way into the bathroom to rummage in the toiletries he'd unpacked, coming up with a mostly full bottle of Excedrin He filled a glass with water and headed back to sit on Sam's bed. "Here you go," he murmured softly, holding both hands out.
Sam took the items with a soft, "Thanks," shook out two more pills than normal and downed them all with a slug of water. Shutting his eyes, he slumped back against the bed. "We got enough money to stay somewhere in Stanford?"
"We'll manage." Dean had enough to cover a day and could easily earn them some more in a college town. He'd done it a few times while cruising in to check up on Sam. Not that Sam knew he'd ever been in town. "What time do you want to head out?"
"When you wake up and are ready to go," Sam said. He sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering why pain had to accompany his visions. Wasn't the horror enough? "You took a bit of a beating yesterday. Should catch up on your sleep."
Dean snorted, his own aches making themselves known now that Sam was settled back in bed. He really shouldn't have gone vaulting over the two beds to get to his brother. "Not sure I'm gonna sleep much, but I'll try and crash out. Wake me if you get too restless or find something online that means we have to move out now." Smiling weakly at Sam, Dean climbed back under the covers on his bed, sighing when his head hit the pillow.
~~~~~~~
Sam sighed, head still resting against the cool window, thinking how neither had gotten anymore sleep. They'd both lain there; thinking their own thoughts, until Sam finally gave up and headed for the bathroom. By the time he was done, Dean was already finished packing. They were on their way for Stanford by seven a.m.
He stared at the scenery visible in the Impala's headlights and figured they were somewhere in Nevada, on the loneliest highway in the world. "We should stop at the next town, Dean.”
"If you want." Dean looked at Sam and then back to the road, seeing the same emptiness that Sam saw, but not feeling nearly so lonely about it. Since Sam's defection to college, he'd taken solace in the long empty stretches of American highway.
"We should get some sleep," Sam said, though he dreaded the thought of closing his eyes. "We can't drive the rest of the way tonight, anyway. It's still too far." He pressed a fist between his eyes.
Nodding, Dean lowered the music slightly in deference to what he assumed was Sam's persistent headache. "Keep your eye out, and I'll pull off at the next motel we can find."
Sam noticed his brother turn down the music and smiled a little at him. "My head hasn't been right all day. I keep waiting to get hit by another one, you know? Since we found out about Mark and Stewart getting killed, too."
"Yeah," Dean responded, another quick glance at Sam. "You keeping it at bay?" His eyes scanned Sam's face, remembering the details Sam had unearthed.
Sam laughed hollowly and shook his head. "I got no kind of control over it. Wish I did." He leaned back in his seat, face strained and pale in the darkness. "Why would she kill them?"
Dean still didn't know how the visions worked, but he hoped that Sam keeping himself dosed helped. "At least the pain is staying at bay, right?" He thought about Sam's question and then shrugged. "I've no idea, Sammy...didn't know her or what might set her off."
Sam shot Dean a quick glare, clearly indicating he had wanted some sort of reassurance, but obviously had asked the wrong person. He shrugged off Dean's other question. "Nothing stops the pain."
The frustration in Sam's face raised Dean's hackles. He knew Sam was looking for reassurance, but also knew that Sam would be pissed if he gave him false hope.
Sam turned back to the blank scenery and stared into the night. "Have you ever thought about what might have been if dad never disappeared?"
"Everyday, Sam. Everyday." Dean wondered how his life would have been different if he'd not been abandoned, in one way or another, by everyone he loved.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Dean." Sam flinched a little from the words and pressed his face harder against the glass. Sorry for being such a disappointment. Sorry for being such a freak. Sorry for not being a good little Winchester and toeing the line.
"Me too, Sammy." Dean thrummed at the steering wheel, looking at lights coming up on the horizon. Sorry that Sam couldn't have the life he wanted. Sorry that the life he'd had was slowly being destroyed.
"For which part are you sorry?" Sam asked, not really expecting a straight answer. Despite years of experience, he'd never learned to censor himself from asking Dean questions he didn’t want to answer, from pushing them into scenes Dean wanted to avoid.
"I'm sorry you felt you had to leave; I'm sorry that Dad thought he had to leave." It still seemed to Dean that he caused everyone to leave. “I’m sorry that your former life is being shattered on you."
Sam looked at Dean and smiled sadly. "I did have to leave, Dean. It wasn't a whim or something I did lightly. I missed you every day, especially my first year. Know why I didn't call, Dean? I was afraid if I called, I'd beg you to come pick me up."
Dean nodded, his breath caught in his throat. He'd have been there, in a second - a heartbeat- to bring Sam back into the family, into their lives. "At the time, it felt like you left and didn't look back." He took the exit ramp faster than he should have, braking hard at the stoplight, before turning right toward the only motel listed on the sign by the road.
Sam jerked to the right and banged his sore head against the door. "Ow, fuck, Dean. What was that for?"
Grimacing, Dean growled a short apology and then eased into the parking lot. He pulled up to the front door and shut off the car. "I'll get us a room, Sam. Just wait here and then we can get you settled and hopefully, sleeping."
Sam stared at Dean and then sighed. "Whatever, man." He climbed out of the car and stretched in the cool night air.
~~~~~~~
Sam froze by the entrance to Skylawn Memorial Park and stared at the headstones. "I don't know if I can do this, Dean.”
Dean looked into the cemetery, remembering the location of Jess' grave from the only time he'd brought Sam there. "I can go in on my own, Sam. If you can't go in there, just get back in the car and have my baby ready to run if we need it."
Sam looked down at his feet and back up at the graves. He took a step forward, past the ugly wrought iron gates and then another. Instinct and memory led him easily through the rows of monuments, until he stood before the one that made his heart clench. "It looks exactly the same."
Following behind, Dean braced to grab Sam, to prop him up or give him whatever he needed. “The same as last year? The same as your dream?"
"Same as in my dreams," Sam said. He knelt by the grave and traced Jess' name with his fingers. "There's no sign of disturbance."
Dean looked around, taking note of the neat area. "Nothing here?"
Sam stroked the dirt with his fingers. "The scene must have been cleaned up since Melissa died here. It's been several days. We need to find crime scene photos, see what the place looked like before." He closed his eyes and hung his head. "There was nothing left of Jessica but ashes, Dean. We can't salt and burn ashes."
"No, we can't, Sammy. Which means, we have to figure out how and why she was brought back...what magic was used, so that we can lay her to rest." Dean looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
"If it is her," Sam said, but in his heart, he knew- Jess was the one responsible for the deaths. He leaned his head against the solid, cold stone. "It should be me here."
Sighing, Dean looked away, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his leather coat. "It would never have been you, Sam. You weren't meant to die. Not there and not then." He scrunched his shoulders up to his ears, before relaxing them and finally looking back to Sam.
"I knew it was coming, Dean," Sam whispered. "I knew and did nothing. It should be me here, just for that. Jess and dad are the ones who should be alive."
"You know, well as I do, that it doesn't work that way." Dean scuffed at the ground with his boots. "Things happen the way they are meant to, whether or not we like it."
Sam snorted and stood, glancing back at Dean. "That's why you hate yourself for being alive," he said and winced as soon as the words left his mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Just... Jesus, our lives are fucked up."
Dean grunted. Sam wasn't wrong, but Dean didn't want to get into his own feelings. Their dad sold himself for Dean, and that was an entirely different situation from Sam and Jess. "Should we see if we can get those photos?"
"Yeah, I'll check online tonight. You can go to the paper tomorrow, while I try to break into the police records." Sam looked back at Jess' grave and suddenly plummeted straight to the ground, hands clasping his head.
"Sammy!" Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, trying to keep him still while the vision wracked his body.
"Hic en spiritum," Sam said, his voice thick and full of grit. "Decretum espugnare. En inferno inremeablis." His hands tore at his face, scratching deep enough to bleed. "Wa ta na sy yam."
"Sam! No!" Dean shook Sam, hard. He cradled his brother to him, using one hand to curl his face toward Dean. "Look at me, Sammy. C'mon, man."
"Evokare lemures de mortus," Sam said, completely unaware of Dean. He saw the grave in front of him, but not as Sam. He curled his fingers deeper into his cheeks, needing the blood. "Sed non incorpore."
"Sam, stop!" Dean grabbed Sam's hands, yanked them away from his face and backed up, dragging Sam as far away as he could, as fast as he could.
Sam gasped and pulled away from Dean, ending up sprawled on the ground. He blinked at his brother, head pounding and face stinging. "Dean?"
"Fuck, man." Dean dropped back onto his ass and sat there, breathing hard and looking at Sam. "You okay?
"I- She-” Sam grimaced and rubbed his hand across his face, smearing blood. "She did it wrong, Dean. Mixed something up... brought back Jess wrong."
"Yeah?" Dean sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "No more of that, okay? Let's get the knowledge some other way."
Sam shut his eyes, hearing only criticism. "I told you I can't control them, Dean. This isn't how I would choose to learn things." He looked at his hands and gingerly pressed against his cheeks.
Dean sighed, head tipping back until he saw Sam touching his face. Springing forward, he grabbed Sam's dirty hands and tugged them down. "I know you can't control them, Sam. Didn't mean that." He looked at Sam, could see the pain and exhaustion in his brother's eyes. "Let's get you back so we can get you patched up."
Sam frowned and nodded, though his eyes were distant. "I need to look up the incantation, see what she did wrong. What she called instead of Jess... or what she changed Jess into..." He made no move to get up, staring into the distance.
Sitting there, Dean watched Sam, saw the many thoughts and feelings flitting across his face. "You want me to try and break into the police station instead for the photos?"
"No," Sam said, sharp and quick, eyes instantly on Dean. "You can't chance being caught. You know that. And this isn't some backwoods town with a tiny police department that's out of tune with the rest of the world." He took a deep breath, forcing down the jittery sensation in his stomach.
"Alright, Sam. I won't try it." Dean did his best to placate Sam. "C'mon, let's get you back to the room."
Sam fought to his feet, swaying for a second before steadying himself. He glanced back at Jess' grave. "She made a real mess, even before she was killed."
"Melissa?" Dean asked, hands out and ready to steady Sam, if needed.
"Yeah." Sam wiped his face, smearing more blood without noticing. "No wonder they cleaned up so well." He shuddered and started back toward the Impala, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the graveyard as possible. As he reached the entrance, Sam paused and looked over his shoulder, sure he felt a familiar gaze on his back, but only the rows of the dead lurked behind him.
~~~~~~~
Dean put the Impala in park and sat behind the wheel for a moment, fingers idly caressing. He stared at the door to their room, half dreading that Sam might be there and half dreading that he might not. Dean swore at the thought that he couldn't back Sammy up at the police station because of the damn shapeshifter. Sighing, he pushed the door open, wincing at the creak and making a note to oil the hinges before shutting the door and crossing to their room. He entered their room and let out a breath when he realized it was empty. He dropped the paperwork he had collected on the table and toed off his boots. Dean crossed to his bed and dropped onto it, feet still on the floor, one arm flung over his eyes. He'd not slept well, kept awake by Sam’s movements.
Sam hopped off the bus and walked slowly toward their motel, clutching his backpack tight. He’d managed to steal the files on his friends’ deaths, copy them, return the paperwork and sneak out without being caught. But there had been some tense moments. Fortunately, Palo Alto was not a high crime town, so the police were somewhat more relaxed than in other portions of the Bay Area. He caught sight of the Graduate Inn and smiled a little; glad to be staying somewhere that wasn't a complete dump for once. The Impala looked strange in the parking lot full of sensible new imports. He ran an affectionate hand over her side, before heading to their room. Opening the door, he caught sight of Dean sprawled across the bed and said, "Everything all right, dude?"
Dean waved a hand at Sam to assure him he was fine, legs moving slightly against the bed when he settled in. Wiping the hand over his face, he propped himself up slightly, still sprawled over the end of the bed. "What'd you find, Sammy?"
"I got all the files, haven't had time to read them yet." Sam set the backpack on his bed and sank into the mattress. "It's a huge deal around here, Dean. Three students dead, all connected to each other. The school's in panic mode, and so are the police. We're going to have to be careful not to get tangled with either of them." He opened his pack and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper. "They've ruled all three deaths as suspicious."
"That's something, at least." Dean replied and dropped back to the bed, hand extended and making a slight grabby motion for Sam to give him some of the details. "Looks like you got more than I did. I took what you wrote down of that spell and did some searching. Didn't pop much, but I called Bobby to see if he could come up with anything else."
Sam pulled out the crime photos from Jess' grave and handed them to Dean. "These might help us figure out what she was doing. Look at the candles arranged at the cardinal points around the body. And what's with the water glasses? I've never seen this ritual before... It would help if I could actually remember more of what I was saying last night."
"I was more concerned with getting you away from the grave than remembering the Latin." Dean looked over the photos, noting what Sam pointed out and then narrowing in on the edges of the circle. "The one thing I do know is that a circle has to be complete for the magic to work and there are several marks along this edge that look like fingers were dragged through it."
"Bloody fingerprints," Sam said and mimed the scratches he had made on his own face. "She kept scratching her face and dragging it over the grave. She thought it was part of the ritual." He shook his head. "We need to find out where she got the ritual from, too. Dark magic like that... there's only so many people who would know. And if they told her wrong on purpose..."
Dean grunted again, cursing under his breath about witches and black magic. "Why'd anyone tell her wrong on purpose? Why'd she want to raise Jess in the first place?" He turned a thoughtful gaze on Sam, leaning back again and really looking at his brother. "You got any idea on that last one, Sammy-boy?"
Sam glared at Dean and then looked away. "Mel always had a crush on Jess. She never liked me much. I guess she ended up with good cause not to."
"Not your fault, Sam." Dean mulled over the fact that Melissa had the hots for Jess. "And Jess only had eyes for you...which means that with you long gone, Melissa could raise Jess from the grave and have her all to herself." He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face again. "Damn, we need to know more about the ritual...was she trying to raise a zombie? Or a ghost?"
"How could she have raised Jess' body?" Sam asked, ignoring the pain of talking about her this way. "There was no body left. She must have been trying to raise her spirit. And you can't make love to a spirit. But she might have just been lonely without her." His eyes dropped to the bed while he picked at the spread. "I can understand the urge to bring her back, see her one more time. She might have meant for it to be temporary, too. There's still too much guesswork."
"She also could have been irrational, Sam. Maybe Melissa refused to believe there was nothing left to raise. How the hell do we know?" Dean dropped back to the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Without being able to see Melissa's things, there's going to be a lot more guesswork. We might be able to figure some things out if we can get at her stuff."
"Whatever she had with her, the police will have in evidence. That's out of our reach for now. And they probably took anything they thought was relevant from her apartment, too. Still, they wouldn't necessarily know what to look for." Sam smiled in slight embarrassment at Dean, knowing he wasn't telling Dean anything new.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, not commenting on Sam's stating the obvious, though he was afraid he'd end up biting off his tongue if he tiptoed around Sam this whole case. "Where do you want to go next, Sherlock? Until we hear back from Bobby on the ritual, my stuff's a dead end."
Sam pointed at the rest of the case notes from the deaths. "We should go through these first. And look at where my other friends died." He sighed and tossed a sheath of paper to Dean. "Try these."
Dean caught the papers to his chest, groaning at the idea of doing more work. Not that he didn't understand the seriousness of it all, but this case had him feeling out of sorts. Dean chalked it up to being back in Palo Alto and the potential draw it might have for Sam.
Pushing himself upright, Dean started rifling through them. Nothing much jumped out on the first couple of pages, but he stopped to look at the details of where the second dead body was found.
"Why don't you go out, Dean? I'll read these and do some more research." Sam carried his papers to the table and began to read.
"It'll go faster with the two of us." Dean shuffled the pages together again and then shoved himself back against the headboard. He crossed his ankles and went back to studying the documents.
Sam nodded and read through the details of Stewart's death- -- found sprawled in the middle of campus, mouth and eyes wide. "Stewart dated Jess when first they were at college. He was an art history major with a taste for partying. I never understood how they ever got along."
Dean looked up at Sam. "Why not? Cause he liked to party?"
"He was rough at the edges," Sam said with a wry little smile of memory. "Every other word was fuck or shit. But smart as anyone I ever met." He stared down at the pages unseeing. "Hard to imagine anything scaring him to death."
Dean raised an eyebrow and then shrugged and went back to his file. "This guy - Mark - looks like he died in his bed, head tilted back. Almost like something choked him."
"That's more like the way Melissa died," Sam said softly. He rifled through his pages, reading the details without finding much of interest. "But Stewart is completely different. No marks on him. And nobody saw or heard anything.”
"Yeah, we've got nothing on Mark either as far as witnesses.” Dean tilted his head at Sam, eyes narrowing at the tension lingering in his brother's shoulders.
Sam set down the papers and looked at Dean. "If she's killing off her friends, you know I have a large target on my forehead."
Tipping his head back, Dean sighed. "Yeah, and I'm of half a mind to get you the fuck out of this town." He looked back at Sam, shrugging and then going back to the papers. "Don't wanna fight you on it, so instead, you go nowhere without me to guard your back, Sam. Got it?"
Sam snorted and set the papers down. "Away from a hunt, Dean? I'm as liable to get killed in any hunt as this one. I was just thinking that we might use me as bait to attract Jess. Not that it may be necessary. I’m bait anyway."
"Yeah, well, there's no need to stick you further in the middle of it." Dean scowled at the thought, swearing internally that Sam had to get this vision. All he wanted was to keep his brother safe and get them as far away from California as possible. Maine or Florida would be nice.
"My own abilities stuck me in the middle," Sam said softly. "As well as my past. You’re the one who can leave this hunt, Dean, not me."
"I'm not leaving you behind. Ever." Dean huffed, and rifled through his papers. "I don't think there's much of anything in here that’s going to be that helpful. The police didn't give much information on what else was at the scene."
"Melissa's will be most helpful, I think," Sam said, opening her file. He scanned quickly, mumbling under his breath. "They have a list of things found in her apartment, including five books on witchcraft. They mostly look like junk, except for the last. Now, where would a college girl have found a copy of 'Psychomantium'?"
"Plotting to do bad things." Dean shook his head in disgust.
"You can't walk into a book store and ask for a copy of 'Psychomantium,' Dean," Sam said with a sigh. "She'd need a contact to get hold of the book."
"So, maybe she was being led to do bad things." Dean sighed and pressed a hand over his eyes, stomach suddenly grumbling. Dean rubbed at his belly and pulled out his cell phone to check the time.
Sam scrolled through more of the report, before grabbing a piece of paper and writing down a set of names. "She had several appointments before she went to Jess' grave. Maybe one of them is her contact." He ignored Dean's blatant hint that it was time to eat.
"Yeah? Anyone we can drop in on tonight?" Dean tucked the phone away, just short of pouting that Sam was being particularly obtuse.
"Have to find their addresses and statements in here," Sam muttered. He waved a hand at Dean. "Go get some food, if you want. Just bring me something green back."
Dean grunted, levered off the bed and dropped the papers on the table. He clasped Sam's shoulder with a hand. "No taking off without me, okay? I won't be long and can’t help you if you take off on me."
"Why would I take off without you?" Sam asked, honestly bewildered. He looked up at Dean, eyebrows drawn in confusion.
"Just making sure, dude." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and then stomped into his boots, tying them off before yanking the door open. "Back soon, Sammy."
Sam watched his brother go, eyes narrowed now. Finally, he shrugged and returned to his research, trying to discover who had given Melissa the book. And then the blinding pain seared his temples, frying his synapses and sending him to the floor.
~~~~~~~
Sam's head still pounded when the Impala screeched to a stop in front of Stanford's main library. He vaulted out before the car's engine turned off and ran for the all night study room. His gun was tucked inside his shirt, just out of sight of anyone who might be here this late. He didn’t pause to see if Dean followed, too intent on getting to Serena in time to stop the attack.
Dean swore at Sam's hasty departure, shutting off the engine and slamming out of the car. He took stock of the knife in his boot, the one at his back and the gun cradled, hidden in his hand. He'd shoved a few other trinkets in his pockets and vaulted up the stairs trying to track Sam's progression through the unfamiliar library.
The lights flickered on once Sam streaked into the study room. He followed the images from his vision, knowing exactly where to find Serena. A faint light appeared when he rounded the far corner of the room, into the graduate student area, and headed for the back corner. Drawing the gun, he knew he should slow down, be careful, but all he could see was his vision of Serena's body -- twisted and broken.
Putting on a burst of speed, Dean leapt the last few stairs and saw Sam turn the corner ahead. Head down, Dean's legs ate up the linoleum floor, boots clomping on the surface while he tried to catch Sam.
The light brightened, turned into a form, wretched and familiar. And then Sam tumbled over something on the floor, something he didn't see in his preoccupation. He rolled over sharp hardcover book corners, a pair of legs and the hard floor, before landing on his back and staring straight up... into Jess' eyes. They stared at him, wide and cold, before something flickered in their blank depths -- recognition. She opened her mouth, lifted her hands, and Sam shot her with rock salt.
Dean skidded to a stop, mouth open to scream for Sammy to shoot just a second before Sam actually did. He watched Jess' figure flicker and then scatter into the non-existent wind. Panting, Dean moved to Sam and looked down at him. "You okay, Sam?"
Sam looked wildly at his brother and then back over his shoulder, where Serena lay exactly how he'd seen in the vision. "We're too fucking late," he whispered. "Too fucking late!" His voice rose into a shout. "What the fuck good are these fucking visions if I can't even get here in time?" He hauled himself to his feet. "What good is being a freak and a fucking hunter when you can't even stop your girlfriend from being fried on the ceiling and then turned into a vengeful spirit who goes around murdering her own friends?"
Dean grabbed Sam and tugged him in for a slightly awkward, but heartfelt hug. "We're going to get this, Sam. We will. I'm sorry we didn't get here in time for Serena."
Sam shook his head, but wrapped his arms around Dean and held on tightly for a moment. He pushed off, holding up the gun and looking around. "We can't stay here. There's nothing we can do for Serena, and Jess might come back. And you can't be found with another dead girl." He looked at her for a second, face twisted with mourning, recrimination and self-loathing.
"We'll figure this out, Sam." Dean grasped Sam around the bicep and tugged to encourage him to move.
Sam stumbled a little at the first tug, but then trudged out of the library. "At least one good thing came out of this," he said softly. "Jess knows I'm here now. She won't go after anyone else until I'm dead.
"We'll work this one out, Sam,” Dean repeated, trying to clamp down on the fear in his stomach. We'll put her to rest, relieve Jess of her anger." He knew of no other way to reassure Sam.
Sam nodded again without any conviction. "Before the vision struck, I was sorting through the police notes on Melissa's appointments. Only one of them didn't seem to fit- -- she saw someone named Misery Haltings on Wednesday. The police took her statement, but she just said Melissa picked up some books from her for school. Only, there’s no reason Melissa would have to go off campus to get her books."
"Except to get something that the school can't provide." Dean rubbed his face and then rolled his shoulders. "And of course, the idiots of the police department never bothered to check any further than that.”
Sam sighed and pushed open the exit door, tumbling into the night air gratefully. "They wouldn't have any reason to doubt her explanation. Especially if she did give Melissa a bunch of books, one of which happened to be a real spell book. We need to get a copy of ‘Pyschomantium’ and see if we can find the spell she used."
"And what do you think the chances are that it's still in her room and we can get to it?" Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, knowing the possibility was low. He let the door slam shut behind him and strode past Sam to get to the car first. Stroking once over the roof, he patted it and then opened his door.
"Unless she memorized the spell, she took it to the grave and the police have it." Sam crawled into the Impala, trying to keep his mind focused on the mundane business of hunting and forget the vision of Jess, features twisted with hatred as she reached for him. "We need to put out word to the right people that we're looking for one."
Dean settled in the driver's seat, starting the engine and smiling slightly at the low purr. "You think you can do that? You have an idea of who to talk with? Or, are you thinking of talking to this Misery woman?" He eased them out of the library lot, speeding them far away from the library before Serena's body was found.
"I did some research while I was here, Dean, as unbelievable as that sounds," Sam said, voice low and wounded. "I know who to contact."
"Jesus, Sam!" Dean pounded the steering wheel for emphasis. "That's not what I meant, Sammy."
Sam flinched and leaned against the door. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Dean." He took a few, deep, calming breaths. "There's a Wiccan group that’s trustworthy and who might know where to get black magic items, if one was looking. Who knows, Melissa may have tried them first."
Dean took a couple of heaving breaths and forced himself to calm down before he spoke. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if she did try them first. It would certainly be a more familiar ground, right?"
"Well, they'd feel safer for someone who's never been involved in magic and the supernatural before," Sam agreed. He shoved himself harder against the door and tried to mold himself into the comforting metal and glass.
"True enough." Dean looked quickly at Sam and then turned back to the road. "We need to go back to the motel? Or, do you have an address on you?”
"I need to look them up. Never thought I'd need that information again. But I have it on my laptop somewhere." Sam reached out unconsciously for Dean, seeking reassurance, while his mind rehashed all the circumstances of his retreat to and from Stanford. His hand settled on Dean's leg, resting there.
Looking down for a brief moment, Dean saw Sam's hand on his thigh and had to bite his tongue and steel himself to keep from shaking. "To the motel, it is." Dean focused back on the road, though the short trip certainly didn't require that much concentration.
"Won't take me long to find it and send them a message. I'll track down Misery, too." Sam settled his head against the door, hand tightening into the firm curve of Dean's leg. "We can talk to them all tomorrow. I can't go anymore tonight."
"If that's what you want, Sam." Dean's thigh twitched slightly at Sam's grip, but he bit his lip to keep from commenting. "You want any food?"
"Yeah. The stuff you brought back, will it have gone bad?" Sam did not feel up to going to a diner. He wanted the motel room, his bed and Dean.
"Probably not." Dean had grabbed a few sandwiches, with snacks as sides. And beer, of course. Dean grinned at Sam. "We should be good when we get back."
Sam nodded in relief and sighed, body relaxing a fraction. "Serena asked me out before I met Jess. She and I were never really compatible. You woulda liked her, though. She was an animal about sex. Always wanted to settle down and have kids, though." He laughed sadly.
"Animal, huh? Too much for you? Or not compatible in other ways?" Dean wondered if Jess had been boring in bed, and if Sam had been happy with that part of their life. Dean stopped that train of thought before he got to thinking about his brother and sex.
"I met Jess and that was it for everyone else. I loved her from the first." Sam tightened his fingers again, drawing comfort. "She was my other half. Except..." He paused and looked over at Dean. "Not the same way you are."
Dean blinked. He was Sam's other half, but not in the way Jess was? That confused the hell out of him, so Dean let the comment go. "I'm glad you met her and sorry that you lost her."
"I thought I was getting over it all, you know. Resigned to being a Winchester, on the road, hunting things, never stopping until we get killed. But this... just brings it all back, you know? Not just having lost Jess, but all the things I dreamed about, too." Sam tapped on the window with one hand, the other still gripping Dean.
"If I'd had a choice, you'd never have seen this place again, Sam. Not once in the rest of your life." The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to see what he was missing, miss those things even more and maybe leave Dean again for them.
"Yeah. Me, too." Sam shifted to look at Dean, hand sliding up an inch or two. "But I knew, somehow, that I'd be back here, Dean. That things weren't done with me here. I used to see Jess, you know. When you and I were first back together. I'd look across the street or out a window, and she'd be standing there, all in white, smiling at me."
The thought of Sam seeing a woman in white made Dean's blood run cold and completely wiped out the fact that his hand had gravitated north. "You saw her? In white?"
"It was a long time ago, Dean. And she's chasing me for real now anyway, so it hardly matters." Sam drew his hand off Dean to run both hands through his hair.
Dean pulled into the motel parking lot, his leg acutely aware of the absence of Sam's hand. "I guess not. We'll just have to make sure she doesn't find you."
"Until we figure out how to stop her. And then we have to make sure she knows where to find me," Sam said. "But I don't think that will be a problem."
"Yeah, somehow I think she'll be able to find you no matter where you are." Dean cut the engine and looked over at Sammy. His eyes scanned his brother's face. "Let's get inside and rest for tomorrow." He opened the door and climbed out of the Impala, waiting for Sam.
Sam met Dean's eyes squarely, not trying to disguise the pain and loneliness in them. "I need to finish the research for tomorrow," he said softly. He heaved himself out of the Impala and headed for the motel door. "We'll head for the Sisters of Serenity tomorrow."
"You'll eat first, because it's what you need to keep up your strength to do the research." Dean’s tone brooked no argument, though Sam hadn't really done what he'd said for years now.
For once, Sam felt warm that Dean cared about him and smiled over his shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I'll eat while I'm working on the computer. Did you get me some vegetables?"
Dean scoffed. "Do chips count? They were potatoes once." He chuckled and nudged Sam toward the room, hands shoved in his pockets.
Sam sighed and hunched his shoulders. "Oh, ok." He opened the door and headed for his laptop, knowing Dean would lay the salt lines and other protective wards.
Sighing at Sam's easy acceptance, Dean went about the nightly tasks of locking the place down. When everything was the way it should be, he went to the mini fridge and grabbed the sandwiches, beer and yes, bag of salad he'd bought for Sam. "Dinner's ready, Sammy-boy."
Sam looked at the salad, and his smile was blinding. "You got me salad." He sat down across from Dean and dug into his food. "I love you, man."
"Love you too, Sammy." And of course, he bought Sam salad. Dean dropped next to Sam, digging into his sandwich and chips. Sipping at his beer, he groaned happily.
Sam took his salad back to the laptop and started pounding away again. He alternated between shoveling lettuce in his mouth and typing. Finally, he leaned back and jotted something down on a scrap of paper. "They'll see us tomorrow."
"They will?" Dean looked up from his sandwich, chewing and finally swallowing before drinking his beer again.
"They may have an idea where Melissa got the book. Might even be able to help us put Jess to rest." Sam fixed stern eyes on Dean. "No cracks about witchcraft or lesbians when we’re there."
Opening his mouth to protest, Dean finally closed it and frowned. "Fine...maybe I should stay in the car, if I'm not allowed to talk."
"So, you're going to let me go in alone?" Sam asked all innocence.
"Fuck no," Dean grumbled again and bit viciously at his sandwich, chewing it with intent while glaring at Sam.
"I don't believe that's all you have to say anyway," Sam said with a little smile for Dean. "You can control your mouth for once."
Dean kept eating his sandwich and didn't deign to answer. He wasn't at all sure he'd be able to control his mouth. A lot depended on how they treated Sam.
Sam carried his salad back over to Dean and sat down again. "I got Misery's address, too.” He stole a couple of chips. "Vegetables, right?"
"Yeah, vegetables." Dean beamed at Sam and finished off his sandwich in one bite. He still had half a beer, and Sam looked far more relaxed than he'd been in the past three days.
Sam nudged Dean once with his knee and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to get my shower and go to bed. Thanks, man."
Dean nodded at Sam and then got up to dump his trash in the garbage. While Sam was in the shower, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed under the covers of his motel bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. He lay there, listening for Sam and waiting for him to come back out.
Sam came out, wearing only his towel, and dug through his duffle bag. He tugged on his boxers and a t-shirt, before sliding under the covers. "Good night, Dean."
Rolling to his back as soon as Sam emerged without clothes, Dean closed his eyes and breathed out. It took considerable effort to keep from staring at Sam, to watch him slip into his clothes and then curl in bed, but Dean knew that he shouldn't allow himself the guilty pleasure of even a glimpse. The last thing he wanted was to send Sam running from him again. “Goodnight, Sammy.”