Haunt
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
- "Mad Girl's Love Song", Sylvia Plath
Elena sits cross-legged on their bed. It's pale green comforter is now layered with her shed funeral-wear. She clutches her late fiance's pillow and breathes in the smell of pine that always seemed to follow him.
The funeral had ended two hours ago and she's still here in her mismatched underwear and the fuzzy socks that Sam had bought her last week.
Her ears strain against the void that he'd left in the apartment. Perhaps if she's quiet enough she'll hear him.
But no. There's not a sound, though something still lingers. A shadow of him haunting her, dripping from the ceilings and walls and sweating from the floors.
"Elena!" Cas calls from the kitchen, his voice an assault on the silence she'd carefully constructed. Muffled footsteps plod around outside the room, increasing in volume until they arrive at the bedroom door. He clears his throat. "Elena? You're, uh, a little quiet in there. Are you okay?"
Elena breathes out a soft laugh. Translation: Just checking if you tried to off yourself on those sleeping pills I saw on the nightstand earlier.
Cas had been the first one to call after Sam's death. His voice had arrived through the phone gently, careful lest any sudden force of volume might shatter her. He had told her how sorry he was. Repeatedly. As if saying it enough times would make her feel better. She'd told him to stop apologizing so much and he'd said he was sorry again.
Then his tone had shifted to cradle her, promising to help with the funeral arrangements. The family phone calls. The money. He'd even offered to let her move back into the house they'd all once shared in their early college years since she most definitely can't afford the rent for the apartment she and Sam have, or rather, had together.
"I'm fine," she says, running a hand back and forth over the pillow.
The door nudges open and Cas enters, crystal blue eyes sharp and concerned. "If you want I can help you pack - oh shit I am so sorry -"
Those baby blues widen to a comical circumference and he yanks his gaze from her so fast she's sure he gets whiplash. He's turned away but she can still see the deep red flush of his cheeks.
Elena snorts. "Relax, I'm not naked."
"Not funny, Elena," he grumbles.
Elena stands, setting the pillow down on the bed. Making her way to the closet, she throws over her shoulder, "If you're going to be weird every time you catch me indecent you're gonna have to stop accidentally walking in on me."
Cas face grows redder, as he recalls their first meeting. Elena snickers before disappearing into the closet. She'd been friends with him long before he had introduced her to Sam. Cas had been a resident at the hospital while she was interning, and had walked into the locker room to reprimand one of his interns. He'd charged in shouting only to find Elena there instead, half-dressed. They've been best friends ever since.
"Have you decided what to do with his things?" he asks, coughing.
"No," she says, tugging on a t-shirt and jeans. "I'll have to sort through it all."
"I'm sure the company'll want all his work files."
Elena hadn't even thought about that. She'd been mostly focused on his more intimate things. Clothes. Books. The adorable collection of joker cards that he'd been working on since he was eight.
God, she thinks. His toothbrush still leans against hers on the bathroom sink.
The thought of throwing it away seizes her so violently she starts to feel lightheaded. That seems to be the only thing she feels these days. She can feel Cas' eyes on her, searching her face for the sadness that had been alarmingly absent during the funeral.
" . . . and I noticed Dean stuck around for a while," Cas is saying, still watchful. "He just stood in the corner of the room the whole time not talking to anyone. Kai thinks he wants money or something but -"
"Where is he now?"
"Dean?"
"Kai."
"Same place you left him. Passed out in the living room."
The next person who had called her after Cas was Kai, his sarcastic-as-hell housemate who she'd known for probably a year now. Elena had answered the phone to him already mid-condolence, saying, "-shit, Elena . . . I mean . . . I mean shit."
"Yeah," she said. "Shit."
When he realized that she had nothing else to say he quickly filled the silence with less weighted words. As if today were an ordinary one. He relayed that morning's story of how Cas had burnt his tongue on fresh coffee.
Elena had laughed, surprising them both. He'd gone uncomfortably quiet on the other end of the line, fearful of breaking her brief moment of levity.
The silence had already stretched far too long and it irritated her that even Kai, the friend she'd counted on to be blunt with her, was already a different person. Two hours after her fiancé's death, and grief - the kind that warps someone's personality the second it makes contact - had already claimed its first victim.
She'd hung up the phone out of sheer frustration and regretted it immediately. Especially knowing how Kai could be in situations like this. She'd guessed grief had taken her as well.
Elena had hoped to apologize to him today but, based on Cas's answer, he wouldn't be sober enough to accept it until a solid three more days minimum. Until then, Cas would be the only one to help move her into their house.
Parts of the house are precise and orderly, just as Cas likes it. The shoes are lined up by the door, straight and tidy. The food in the refrigerator is organized by expiration date. There are parts of the house that are clearly marked by Kai, resembling a teen's bedroom. Textbooks lay open and dog-eared on the kitchen table, the living room couch, and even leaning upright in the staircase. Various articles of clothing are strewn everywhere - a lone dirty sock near the television set or a stained hoodie hanging in the dining area.
She can almost hear Sam laughing, remembering the warring roommates they'd once been.
You know, he'd say to her. Sometimes I wonder why Cas still lets Kai in the house.
Then she'd smile and suggest, Surely for his charming personality.
Then they'd burst into laughter, recalling the time Cas had called Kai into the living room to lecture him on the importance of hygiene. The time Kai had put plastic wrap under the toilet seat. The time Cas was passed out after a party and Kai snuck a ring onto his finger. When Cas woke, Kai was wearing a matching one. Cas went the entire morning thinking that they'd drunkenly married sometime in the night.
They seem different now, though, Elena thinks.
It could be because of you, she says to Sam. Because you're gone.
But the rooms are exactly as Elena remembers them. The living room, then Sam's old bedroom attached to it, separated by a sliding door. There are two more rooms upstairs for the boys, and the kitchen looks lightly used compared to when she'd been living there, but otherwise unchanged.
As soon as all her boxes are piled into Sam's old room, Cas is tactful enough to give her space, shutting the door behind him and sealing her in silence, once again, in a Samless room waiting for his ghost.
Kai staggers in just before midnight, pulling an arctic cold and the stench of alcohol into the house with him. Elena is sitting across the couch flipping through the piles of paperwork that her lawyer had sent her when she hears his boots thud against the floor. Melted snow drips from his body.
"Hey," she says, attempting a smile. She scans his face, skimming across drooping eyelids and a frown. When he sees her, his lips twist into a smile.
"Oh, hey, Elena." He kicks off his boots but stuffs his hands into his pockets. "How're you doing?"
Elena shrugs, "Just going over some of this legal stuff."
He pulls a hand from his pocket and reaches down to pick up his shoes and place them in the lineup of shoes by the door. After straightening them, he meets her eyes again. "Yeah, if you were dead, Sam would've dealt with that stuff no problem."
Most people would cringe at that observation but Elena just laughs, dry but not without humor. "You're an asshole."
Kai breathes a laugh and moves to join her on the sofa. She can smell the bourbon on his breath as he stretches out, head in her lap with eyes closed. "Only with you."
From the living room doorway Cas snorts, "Yeah, right."
He steps into the room with a bottle of water in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. When he reaches them he holds both out for Kai, "Sit up and eat this."
Kai cracks one eye open, a wry grin stretching his lips. "Gee, thanks mom."
Cas doesn't laugh. "You'll be sick tomorrow if you don't."
Kai raises and eyebrow, looking ready to challenge him when Elena nudges him with her knee. She gives him a pointed look, which he takes in with a disgruntled sigh. He rocks into an upright position and snatches the food from Cas. "You two aren't my parents, you know."
Cas and Elena exchange glances when Kai stands, bringing the food with him as he storms up the stairs to his room.
When her eyes close, Sam appears behind them. His ever-changing eyes. The way his fingers tuck his dark hair behind his ears. The way she'd find him half smiling at her from across the room. In her mind's eye he opens his mouth, trying to say something to her but no sound comes out. He seems to realize this, so he gives up. His eyebrows slant into a pained expression.
What? What is it, Sam? she asks him.
Sad eyes shine back at her and she waits. Waits and waits and waits for him.
Then, finally, he speaks again.
I'm so sorry.
She lies motionless in his old bed - the one he'd slept in as a young man. The one they once shared before they moved away.
Sorry for what? she asks.
But he's gone. His face is wiped from her mind and her eyes open.
The deep timbre of his voice still vibrates her ear drums, and she clutches a hand to her chest. It begins as a tiny pinch. Then it's a definite hand around her heart, squeezing. The pressure builds until it's unbearable, burning up her heart in a wild panic. Still, no tears come. Just pain.
God, she can't breathe.
The air gasps in and out of her harshly, violently, and she wonders if it's possible to die this way.
A loud thump startles her out of her panic. Her heart thunders, but the invisible hand releases it, and Elena jolts upright to listen. Despite the cool air, sweat soaks her body. It's pitch dark save for the glowing line of light beneath the closed bedroom door.
Another thump followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
Elena stands, grasping Sam's old bat that he'd kept at the bedside, and softly steps closer to the door. Steeling herself, she puts an ear to the wood.
A breathless, feminine giggle worms its way to her ears. It's quickly pursued by a man's voice shushing. The woman tries to giggle again but quickly cuts herself off with a throaty moan.
Elena lets out a breath of relief and rolls her eyes. It isn't Cas. He would never do this. At least not when he knows she's in the next room. It must be Kai and his girlfriend. Sighing, she goes back to bed, placing the bat back under it.
It isn't until several minutes later, when she's nearly half-asleep, that her door slides open with the deafening scrape of wood on wood. Back when they'd still lived here she'd told Sam a thousand times that thing needed to get fixed.
The giggles and the moans invade her quiet bubble with harsh, cringe-inducing volume. She flinches in the dark as the two figures, who are pressed together in a tight embrace, stagger towards her bed.
She opens her mouth to protest when they land on her mattress with an audible woomph. The air leaves her body and her eyebrows shoot up in sheer horror.
Reflexively, she scrunches into the headboard to avoid making contact with the couple, who are still utterly oblivious to her presence. Whether it's out of disgust, awkwardness, or some warped sense of courtesy, she doesn't know. Maybe she should just wait until-
Okay, the woman's moans are getting ridiculous. Obnoxious, really.
The dim light of the living room shines in and reveals the man's bare, muscled back as he moves over the woman. The pair's movements become more erratic and Elena freezes, body glued to the headboard. She looks to the ceiling. Dear God help her.
It's when the man's hand reaches out, perhaps to grasp a handful of blanket or something, that he touches her. His hot hand wraps around her ankle.
Elena shrieks, snatching the bat and not hesitating to pelt his arm. He recoils with a shout, tumbling onto the floor and dragging the woman, who squeals in fear, down to join him.
"Shit," he hisses, getting to his feet. He strides jerkily to the bedside table and snaps on the lamp, shedding light on Elena's expression of disgust as she clutches the bat to her chest.
"You," Elena says. The light hits his face kindly, exposing his handsome face to her. Unfortunately, his face isn't one that she's at all fond of.
Dean Winchester's eyes widen, realizing exactly whose ankle he'd grabbed.
"Shit," he says again, but with less anger and more shame.
The woman, assuming the worst, scoffs in a fury before snatching up her clothes and storming out of the room, leaving Dean and Elena to boil in the uncomfortable silence. Elena stares, letting her judgement shine through her eyes unfiltered. He appears to feel it already without her help, eyes dropping away from her to the floor before he starts quietly:
"Look, I didn't-"
"Save it."
His eyes flick toward her. They linger on her eyes for a long moment before moving to the bat in her hands. Elena skims over his bare chest, then to look at the spot on his forearm where she's struck him. The skin is an agitated red. They meet stares again and she sees defeat in him. No effort in his wide eyes to defend himself.
She doesn't know what might have happened next if it weren't for Cas running into the room, hair ruffled and eyes weak from slumber.
"What's going on?"
Elena's jaw hardens. She removes her glare from Dean and says to Cas, "Ask him. Preferably away from my room."
"Sam's room."
Elena looks back at Dean to find the smallest shadow of defiance in his expression before he looks at her and the shame returns. His eyes dart away.
"What?" she asks.
Cas, sensing the direction of the situation already, places a hand on Dean's shoulder. "How about we talk about this in the morning, okay? There must've been a misunderstanding about who would stay in which room. You can sleep on the couch for now until we figure this out."
Dean gives him a pained nod. Without another glance at her he lets himself out.
When the door shuts behind him Cas begins immediately, "Elena, I am so sorry-"
"You're letting him stay here?" she demands, getting off the bed. "Are you kidding me?"
"I couldn't let him stay at a hotel alone. I'm sorry, I was going to tell you earlier-"
"Stop apologizing."
"-but we were all so busy, and to be honest I completely forgot I offered."
She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling heavily. "They were about to do it on Sam's old bed, Cas."
He cringes. "Yes, well. Kai's in Dean's old room now so he probably thought he could stay in Sam's - Jesus, were you going to hit him?" He gestures to the bat in her hand.
"I already did."
"You already-" Cas mutters a curse or two, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is like college all over again."
Elena smirks. She'd met Sam one year after she did Cas. When they started dating, the three of them had lived in this house. In those days they'd spent way too much time together, each annoyingly close to another too often. A bat to the arm would have been the tamest of fights.
She huffs. "Well, how long is he staying?"
"Lay off him Elena, he just came to drop off a few boxes of Sam's stuff and help us settle a few legal things-"
"How long is he staying?" she says again, this time louder.
Only a hint of his exasperation shows in the stiffness of his mouth as he asks, "Will you ever tell me why you hate him so much?"
"How long, Cas?"
He just sighs and shakes his head, "I don't know." Then, seeing the look on her face, his eyes mark her significantly and he says, "He's his brother, Elena."
Elena softens only a little, then nods, willing herself to exhale the anger that had been coiling in her stomach. It barely works, but seeing the exhaustion on Cas' face stops her from further argument.
As he leaves her to sleep she slowly eases herself back under the blankets, which are still warm from the bodies that had been on it moments ago. Questions stir her brain. Sam's voice is gone now as she lies staring at the pitch black ceiling with eyes wide open. And as her thoughts tumble, the smell of Irish Spring soap and whiskey lies with her.
She has to give Dean credit. For the next three days after he'd brought in Sam's boxes, the most she sees of him is the back of his head as he retreats into the next room when he hears her coming. Occasionally she spots the side of his face as he shuts the door behind him on his way out of the house to the auto shop. His blankets and pillows are always folded and stacked neatly at the end of the couch. It's like he wants them all to pretend he doesn't exist.
For now, any reservations Elena has about him are pushed under the rug. After all, no one else in the house is even close to having as much of a problem with him as she does, and she's not about to explain to them why.
It's midnight on day four of their cohabitation and she's restless. Cas is on the night shift and Kai is who-knows-where, leaving her alone with Dean and her bleak thoughts. Cas had convinced the chief of surgery that she needed time off after Sam's death. Elena had argued that if that were the case, so did Cas. Unfortunately, he'd side-stepped her suggestion by pulling the rank card, which was something he only ever did when he was in full caretaker mode. He'd always feel guilty afterward, and Elena never had it in her to stay angry at him.
So now here she is, stuck at home with nothing to do. She'd unpacked all of her boxes already. The house was spotless since day two when she's cleaned the entire house, even Kai's room, much to his annoyance.
Sam's books, she thinks with a smile. I can sort through those.
She cracks a smile as the smell of fresh pages tickles her nose. Books were a love that the two of them had always had in common. Over the years they'd created a shared a library, though they both had a separate one all to themselves. Elena had always wondered what he had stashed in his. She giggles, leaping from her bed.
You almost look happier than when I proposed to you.
Elena pauses. There's his voice again, it's quieter than when she'd heard it the other night, as if it's coming from deeper inside her head.
Her response is teasing, I am.
She creeps out of her room and cracks the door open. No Dean. Grinning, she makes a beeline for the box labelled "books" and tears it open.
Aha, she snickers, how did I know you'd have Crime and Punishment in here?
She can almost see him rolling his eyes. Because I'm a lawyer. It doesn't take a genius to guess it.
Elena digs through the box, approving of most of his choices. It's an even mix of classics and contemporaries. She's even surprised to find a few that are in her private stash as well. She picks up The Bell Jar, a book that has always been the most personal to her, and smiles.
I have this one too, she says.
There's silence.
Sam?
No answer. She clutches the book to her chest and wonders if he already knew she had it too. If he had bought it because he knew what it was to her.
Before the pain in her chest begins to swell again, Elena gets to her feet. She can't be doing this - having a full on panic attack every time she thinks of him. She'd never get through anything this way.
Mindlessly, she floats toward the kitchen, putting one foot in front of the other with the book still pressed to her chest. She doesn't feel it, but her hand reaches out to quietly push open the door to the kitchen.
It takes a second for her eyes to register Dean standing there. Out in the open. Elena gets the distinct feeling of coming across an elusive animal in the wild.
Dean seems to think he's alone because he doesn't look her way. He just stands there with wide, blank eyes staring at nothing in particular. She can't guess what he'd doing, as he doesn't seem to have any direction in his posture. He's just there. The sight is odd, but unsettlingly familiar to Elena for reasons she can't quite place.
She doesn't say anything. She supposes her tact or social awareness is just another one of the things Sam had taken with him.
When Dean's gaze rises to look at her she makes no effort to apologize for staring. He, however, looks startled, eyes widening and averting themselves instantly. Then, without a word, he strides past her, taking great care not to let their bodies brush as he passes and exits the kitchen.
Early the next morning Elena is awake, enjoying the silence of her room. This is something that she'd started doing recently whenever she woke up, coming to terms with the empty quietness of reality that always comes with the morning.
She takes a breath, thinking, Give me strength.
But Sam had left her when the sun rose.
She slides the door open. Immediately the smell of coffee dances through. At first she thinks it was Dean who made it until she finds him still fast asleep on the couch, shirt wrinkled and legs tangles in blanket.
"Elena."
She looks away from Dean's relaxed figure to see Cas standing in the kitchen doorway. His dark hair appears freshly combed and his face still holds the slight puffiness of sleep.
"I need to talk to you," he says quietly, gesturing for her to follow him into the kitchen.
She waits until the door is closed behind them to speak. "I thought you had work today."
He nods, "I took off to take care of some things." He offers her a seat at the table, which she takes, then moves to pour her a cup of coffee.
"Is it about Sam?" she asks. Dumb question. It's rare that they talk about anything else anymore.
Cas had kept his word and more when it came to the technicalities of Sam's death. Although Elena can't be more grateful for his help, a part of her knows he isn't doing it to help her. Taking care of everyone but himself had always been his habit when things got difficult.
Cas nods, handing her a steaming mug. "I spoke to some lawyers. It looks like his lack of a will means that everything he owns is supposed to go to his children or closest relative."
Elena takes the coffee with a sigh. "So everything - this house - is Dean's?" She isn't surprised. After all, years ago before Sam and Dean had their falling out, they had owned the house together. Still, it feels strange since she, Cas, and Kai have so many memories here. The fact that they can't even have a single square inch of it stings a little.
Just as the thought enters her mind, Dean nudges the kitchen door open.
"Oh," he says hoarsely, eyes flicking to Elena quickly before he flushes slightly. He clears his throat, noticing the gravity of their expressions. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt-"
"Sit down," Cas says with a smile. "This involves you too."
Dean hesitates, looking at the two seats available to him - one next to Cas and the other next to Elena. He clears his throat again before settling into the one by Cas. Underneath the table Elena feels both her and Dean actively trying to avoid each other's legs like same-charged magnets.
"Okay," Cas starts, looking Dean in the eye. "The lawyers are saying that, because Sam and Elena never actually married, you are technically the inheritor of all of Sam's belongings."
Dean's eyes widen a fraction, surprised, before he says, "Oh."
Elena scans his face for any tells to leak through. But there's nothing that even hints at interest in the money or the house. She even sees a note of panic in his eyes as they slide from Cas to Elena. When their eyes meet, Elena becomes even more aware of how little they'd actually done that. Her brain had held onto mere impressions of his face but now, as she sits directly across from him, she sees everything. The angle of his cheeks and jaw. The sharpness of his stare. As much as she hates to admit it, her memories do him an injustice.
Not only that, but it also hits her how little she actually knows the man she'd been sharing oxygen with for the past several days. Has he not cried, like her? Or had he cried the first day, like Cas? Are he and Sam similar at all, or are they complete opposites? Why is he still here? What does he do in the night?
Dean clears his throat, nodding at Cas. "Well, I have to head to the shop. I'll, uh, see you guys later."
As Elena watches him go she can feel Cas' eyes on her. "Are you okay?"
Huh. He's early today. Usually he doesn't ask until after I finish my first coffee.
"Great," she replies. "Have you seen Kai at all?"
He sighs and shakes his head. Immediately, his posture slumps. "Not since Friday."
Elena's eyebrows lower, "That's longer than usual."
He nods, blue eyes shining. "He just misses Sam. You know how he gets about people leaving him."
She thinks about Kai constantly disappearing. Cas' unending workload. The way Dean looked as he stood with blank eyes in the middle of the kitchen at midnight. The way she speaks to Sam in the night when his voice whispers to her.
Elena looks at Cas with a sad smile. "Yeah. I guess everyone gets weird when someone leaves them."
Elena.
Mmmnh.
Elena, I'm sorry.
Sorry for what?
An insistent ringing wakes her. She groans, the sound slicing violently into the silence of the night. Elena glances at the clock. It ticks just past midnight.
She listens as the phone - probably Dean's - continues to ring, hoping that as soon as it goes to voicemail that that would be it. But no such luck. The peaceful quiet returns for a wonderful three seconds before the bells begin clanging again.
"Urrrrggghhhh."
By the caller's third try Elena's patience is worn and she yells through the walls, "For the love of all that is good, PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE."
She hears shuffling on the other side of the wall but the noise doesn't cease. Elena peels herself from the comfort of her bed, flicks the light on, and rips the door open.
Dean is sitting up on the couch, half-delirious from sleep. He looks up at her groggily, flinching at the light she lets into the room. His voice is gruff when he says, "Not my phone."
It takes a second for her brain to register the statement. She listens for the source of the grating sound, her head throbbing. It doesn't take long for her to realize that it's coming from one of the boxes stacked in the corner of the room.
Dean seems to realize this at the same time because he straightens, then clears his throat, "Actually, Elena, that might be mine after all."
She meets his eyes. That's the first time she's ever heard him say her actual name and he'd just used it to lie to her.
She lifts an eyebrow. "Those are Sam's boxes."
Dean swallows, his green eyes blinking deliberately. "I must've dropped my phone in there when I packed them - ELENA, DON'T-"
They both lunge toward the boxes at once but Elena, having been closer to them, gets there first. She finds the phone easily as its light flashes, demanding their attention. Dean's hands grab at hers, very nearly knocking the device from her fingers if not for her fierce, frightened determination. Soon they're wrestling on the floor skin on skin, making far more contact with each other within thirty seconds than they had in over a week of living together.
Somehow, Elena manages to roll away from him and smash the answer button.
"Hello?" she answers, putting the phone to her ear.
Dean, on his knees on the floor next to her, rubs his face with one hand muttering, "Son of a bitch."
But the voice on the other line is what causes her blood to run cold.
"Sam?" A woman's voice asks. "Sam, is that you?"
Out of sheer panic, Elena hangs up. A sensation of intense, shuddering shock passes through her as her trembling hand lets the phone fall from her fingers to the floor.
She can feel how wide her eyes are when they connect with Dean's guilt ridden ones. He searches her face carefully, as if wary of a bomb about to go off.
"Elena," he tries. "Are y-"
"Don't ask if I'm okay."
Dean presses his lips together, watching her for a moment longer before saying, "Actually, I was just asking if you were going to leave so I could sleep."
She almost laughs but her anger at him flares forward. "You know something."
Dean stands, avoiding her eyes. "Look, I forgot there was a phone in there when I packed it-"
Elena's eyes widen, "Oh my God. That's why you're still here, isn't it? You're cleaning up all the shit he left behind - the money, this woman, and - shit, even me-"
"Elena stop," he says, hurrying forward. His hands look like they're about to reach for her but he seems to think better of it, dropping them back to his sides. "That phone means nothing."
"Why would he keep it hidden from me?"
"Could just be a work phone."
"That women call at one in the morning?" Her eyes plead with him and he looks away. "Dean, just tell me the truth."
Dean winces, but makes no attempt to answer. Elena shakes her head at him. "Unbelievable."
She snatches the phone from the ground and storms back into the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
The woman's voice refuses to leave her ears. Elena starts by staring at her number on the phone's screen, just looking at it as if the series of numbers would somehow rearrange themselves into the woman's name. Tell her who she is. If she's his girlfriend. Or worse, his wife.
The more she thinks about it the more her imagination charges on, thrusting images of Sam, sitting happily with a picturesque family inside a beautiful home in the suburbs. God, maybe Elena had been the mistress this whole time. Maybe he'd never planned on marrying her.
She lifts her hand to her face, examining the sparkling engagement ring.
Elena shakes her head, tempering her irrationality. No. Sam wouldn't do that. She knows him. He couldn't hide that much from her, not when he had always looked at her the way he did. Warm and kind. He loved her.
For some reason, as if to squash her optimism, her brain reminds her of the copy of The Bell Jar that she'd pulled from his stash. It sits under her bed along with the bat. Maybe he did have secrets.
She sighs. She's being ridiculous. Sam Winchester would never lie to her.
Determined and slightly appeased, she dials the number.
The woman picks up by the third ring.
"Sam?"
Elena clears her throat. "Who is this?"
"Oh," the woman breaths. The pause that ensues crackles with discomfort. After some hesitation she says, "I'm Jessica."
Elena swallows. "How do you know Sam?"
More uncomfortable hesitation. "Who are you again?"
"I never said." Elena hadn't intended to be curt but raw anxiety starts to flare in her chest again.
"Look," Jessica says carefully, though her voice sounds compassionate. "Sam promised me some money a couple weeks ago and I was just calling him to see about it. I wouldn't've bothered calling if he hadn't told me a million times that he wanted me to have this money. Now, I'm not asking for it or anything, I just got worried when he never contacted me."
"I see," Elena says again. Hundreds of whys raced back and forth around her brain. Why is he giving her money? Why did he tell her a million times? But the sharp point of Elena's "bitchfork" dulls at the concern and remorse in Jessica's voice. Jessica. God, why does she have to have a name? Why does she have to have a crack in her voice that makes her feel too real? Why, against all of Elena's hopes that she'd be easy to hate, does she sound kind?
At her silence Jessica tries, "Are you . . . his girlfriend?"
Elena almost laughs. "I was about to ask you the same thing; my fiance's sending you money for fuck's sake."
Then, both she and Jessica actually laugh. Elena, more at the sheer absurdity of this conversation and Jessica seemingly out of embarrassment.
"Well, shit. Fiance," she says, a smile in her voice. "I . . . was his girlfriend. Like, way back in high school. He just wanted to help me because I've been struggling."
Yeah, that sounds like Sam. Jessica's emphasis on the past tense of their relationship seems genuine, but Elena still feels like there's more to this. Speaking of past tense, Elena lets out a heavy breath.
"I'm sorry, Jessica," Elena starts, the name feeling strange in her mouth, "but Sam's dead."
There was no nicer way to say it. She didn't want to break it to her slowly and excruciatingly like the E.R. doctor had. She didn't want pain to linger, waiting with its hand on this woman's shoulder.
The shock translates as a sharpness enters Jessica's voice, "What?"
Fluent in the language of grief, Elena is patient, waiting for the news to completely settle in Jessica's brain before she continues her line of questioning.
"It was a car accident," Elena clarifies. "A truck ran through an intersection and turned his car over. He died quickly."
She listens as Jessica's sniffles begin. Elena wonders if she shouldn't have said it like that. So cold. Like it doesn't hurt her too. But she finds that stating it clinically helps to distance herself from it. The distance keeps her safe. Keeps her sane. But at the same time, she wonders why this woman can cry seconds after being told of his death, but Elena has yet to cry once.
"Jessica," she starts again once the sniffles subside. "Why did Sam want to give you money?"
Perhaps it's the news of Sam's death, or perhaps it's the fact that Elena had shared a bit of herself with her, but Jessica sighs, seeming to surrender.
"Look, I'm sorry he hid it from you," she says, her voice still thick with tears and sadness. A feeling of absolute dread enters Elena as she braces herself for whatever blow she's about to endure. After a decisive pause, Jessica finally spits it out, "Sam and I have a son."
At first, Elena thinks she has herself under control. When she'd hung up the phone, her body felt oddly calm. She had been rather impressed with herself, actually.
But as the morning, then afternoon, creeps in, the more the thought plants itself into her brain to infect her. A son. A whole person made from Sam and Jessica. A human being that Sam is supposed to be responsible for. The infection had spread, ruthlessly, until it possessed her entire body. It doesn't help that she hadn't been outside of the house in over a week. Soon enough she finds herself in Sam's old truck, pulling into Dean's auto garage, and nearly running him over as he speaks to a client.
Dean turns just in time to see her brake just inches away from him. He flinches, putting a hand on the hood to distance himself.
"Elena, what-?"
"What the fuck, Dean?" She jumps out of the driver's seat. She charges up to him until she's close enough to see those goddamn freckles and smell the faint sweat on his body. Ignoring his indignant customer, she hisses with force, "A son? He has a son?"
Realization slaps the confusion off of Dean's face. His mouth opens and closes for a second before he finally settles on saying, "Elena-"
"Just listen and answer me this," she looks him straight in the eyes, feeling as if her anger were splitting her open and exposing every raw nerve for him to see. "Did you know?"
A short breath huffs out of him and he rips his stare from her to look at his client, who had been looking back and forth between him and Elena with alarm. "Excuse us for a moment." He gestures for one of his employees to take over for him.
His eyes return to her and he puts a hand out to usher her into the back office. She steps away from him before contact can be made and storms ahead. When they're in the office and the door shuts, the air is sucked from the room. Dean makes no move to turn the lights on, as if the darkness could keep him from seeing the ugly reality that's about it hit him. The only light streams in faint slivers from between the window blinds.
Elena takes a breath, then repeats, "Did. You. Know?"
He passes a hand over his face and through his hair. He meets her wild eyes, searching them with a pained expression. "Yes."
Two strides bring her close enough to swing her arm and slap him. It's hard enough to hurt but he just stiffens and takes it. The pressure in her chest builds, threatening to crush her lungs. She's ready to strike him again but he catches her hand this time.
"Elena, stop." His fingers grip her wrist firmly, but not tightly. For an insane second her eyes drop to his lips and she considers leaning in and crushing her lips to his maddeningly closed ones. To tongue his mouth open and let all of his secrets flow into her.
She shakes her head, "You had the nerve to make me feel guilty for ignoring you when this whole time you've been lying. You let me think that he actually loved me. You let me think that Sam was a good person-"
"He was a good person," Dean says with force. "And he did love you."
"If he did, he should've just told me. I'm not some crotchless Barbie doll who doesn't know where babies come from and still thinks Ken is a virgin."
"What? What the hell are you talking about?" he asks, looking both defensive and bewildered. His hold on her arm loosens and she pulls her hand from his.
"I would have understood, Dean," she says through her teeth. "Fuck. That was always Sam's problem. He always wanted to protect me from things I don't need to be protected from."
At that, the corner of his mouth slips upward just a little. "Yeah, you definitely don't need protection."
Elena's eyes drop to the cheekbone she had struck where a red splotch is beginning to form. She thinks back to how they met several nights ago and blushes. "Maybe you just need to stop giving me reasons to hit you."
"Fine, but you have to admit that the bat was a bit much," he says, the smile hiding behind his words surfacing.
"Dean," she says, stopping this line of conversation before she can be caught by his charm. "How old is he?"
He sobers and meets her eyes gravely. He searches her face for any sign of hysteria before saying, "Jess got pregnant when they were in high school. He's probably eleven or twelve now."
Elena nods, letting that sink in. Twelve. More than a decade. Almost half her age. It's only now that the age difference between she and Sam feels heavy on her shoulders. She looks up at Dean, finding his expression cautious. "Do you . . . know his name?"
Dean sighs, "Look, Elena, it's not my place to say this kind of stuff. If you want to talk about him, you should talk to Jess-"
"You made it your place the minute you arrived here," she says forcefully. "And I know I'm not his mother. I know that. But please, I just want to know-" she coughs, the pressure in her chest building again. Pausing, she looks away from him to catch her breath. She can feel his eyes on her. Watching her struggle. As soon as the pain in her chest subsides, Elena hurries to say, " I just want to know if he's like Sam."
Dean doesn't reply but he continues watching her with a conflicted look on his face. By now the red had left his cheek but a natural flush replaces it. It's hard to say whether it's from nervousness or the embarrassment of having been caught in a lie. He looks at her with a strange heat - one that Sam's eyes had never so much as flashed fleetingly for her. Dean's eyes are direct and cutting. So much so that Elena nearly shies away from it.
"I'm sorry, Elena," he says, voice low. "I am so sorry about all of this."
She hadn't expected that, and it softens her. There, standing in front of her with misery written plain on his face, is a man who is doing everything he can to save everything his brother left behind. She lets out a short breath, wincing at the pressure still sitting in her chest.
"He was your brother," she says. It comes out awkwardly, almost sounding like an accusation.
But Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise, as if he hadn't expected anything less than another blow to the face. "Yeah. He really was."