Title: Divided We Stand
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A not-so-simple salt and burn reminds the Winchester brothers that they always work better when they watch each other's backs; something they've both been forgetting lately. Post 8x08 "Hunteri Heroici" hurt/comfort!Sam/Dean
Author's Note: This one started out as just mine and then I decided to work a prompt from Jennifer Lawson in while I was at it, who said, what a bitch it would be if the boys had to hunt down the pieces of a skeleton for a salt and burn through estate sales. LOL So here we are.
Sutro Baths is a real location. :D I'll likely take liberties with it. *snicker* But you can google it. It's another case of "I saw a pic of this awesome place!" and decided I needed to set a fic there. For some reason, this one started off as a bit of an angst-fest. Lol No idea why but you know me, sooner or later the bro-mo's will come and of course…the hurting. Heh heh heh
Beta'd by the Always Awesome JaniceC678 - Friend and Muse's co-conspirator
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
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Chapter 1
Sam watched his brother pace their motel room with the phone to his ear and sighed softly before turning back to his laptop. His big brother had seemed to be distancing himself from Benny lately, for which Sam was grateful, but now was equally as focused on Castiel. Sam couldn't help but feel like Dean had simply found someone else to substitute for him. He couldn't compete with what Dean and Benny had survived together in Purgatory and he sure as hell was no competition for the angel who had once rescued Dean from Hell itself. He dropped his head and let his long hair fall in front of his face. He didn't need Dean seeing whatever pitiful expression he couldn't hide just then and calling him on it. He felt useless and unwanted by the only person whose opinion he'd ever really cared about and…it was breaking him.
"Dammit." Dean flipped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. "Cas ain't answering again. Would have been a hell of a lot faster to finish this job if we could'a sent angel-boy up north to grab the hands while we go after the head."
Sam nodded. They had been tracking down the body of Magnus Dunlevy, a two hundred year old Irish dead man who'd somehow managed to have his bones cleaned, mounted and sold all across the county. Sam figured the spirit had started attacking people last year after his feet turned up at an estate sale, were bought by a Catholic priest who then gave them a proper burial for the 'poor soul'…and burned them. Half the time, Sam was tracking victims to find the remaining pieces of Magnus' skeleton.
"These are the only two left." Sam risked a glance up at Dean. "We got lucky last week that a medical school bought his ribs and spine and had them articulated."
Dean snorted. "Pretty sure that medical student wouldn't agree. What'd he drop her? Four stories?"
"Five into the therapy pool," Sam said seriously. "I don't think she gonna go swimming for a while. She's lucky there was someone there to pull her out before she drowned." He straightened and closed the laptop. "We should split up." He saw Dean's shoulders stiffen and plowed on. "You've already flirted with the museum curator." Sam smirked when Dean turned his head to look at him. "Shouldn't take you long to get your hands on the…hands." He smiled. "I can head over to this Sutro Baths place and find his head. Two birds with one stone, dude."
Dean looked at him for a moment. "Would like to be the hell done with this case." It bothered him daily now, the rift that had developed between them, and he couldn't figure out how to fix it. It was clear that it was there, and he knew, at least in some part, that it was his fault, but he just couldn't seem to let go of the anger. He turned away and shrugged. "You wanna get rid of me that bad, we can split up." He cringed even as he said it and rolled his eyes at himself. He just couldn't seem to stop taking shots at his little brother.
Sam stiffened and nodded. "Just…just for a day, two tops." He felt like they were dancing around this now every time they spoke, around Dean pushing him away for good because he didn't need him anymore…or want him…and didn't even trust him to have his back. He'd found someone…a vampire, no less…that he now considered a better brother than, according to Dean, Sam had ever been, despite all they had been through together and shared…and never mind that Sam would still willingly throw himself in the path of a speeding train if it meant saving Dean's life. Apparently, none of that meant anything to Dean anymore. Sam fought to keep is voice level. "We can meet up in San Francisco after. We'll save time this way and maybe someone's life."
"Right." Dean felt the old, gut-reaction that screamed 'no' and balked at leaving his little brother alone on a job, but it was distant still. Purgatory still held too much sway over his thoughts to allow it more than the faintest place in his head, although the instinct to protect, honed over a lifetime of "watch out for Sammy," was gradually becoming stronger the longer he was out. It was that same voice that snarled at him every time he put that pained, lost look on Sam's face on purpose, and, frankly, he was starting to hate himself a little. A break suddenly sounded like a great idea. "Sounds good. I'll try Cas again, see if I can lose him in the museum."
"He's an angel of the Lord, not a child." Sam rolled his eyes but smiled at the image because, for a divine being, in many ways, he really did seem more like a lost child much of the time, an odd mix of deep, age-old power combined with an innocent naivety and enduring wonder at the world around him.
"You say so." Dean shrugged. "Well come on then. Let's pack up and get movin'. You even know where you're going?"
"It's a five hour drive from here, Dean. I think I can find it," Sam gave his brother a bitch-face and packed his laptop in his bag. "You should be careful. Two people have almost died in that museum."
"'Cause they were stupid and didn't know what they were dealing with." Dean grinned. "I think I can handle it."
"Uh huh." Sam started shoving clothes into his duffel. "So last week when we found his right arm and you almost got speared in that guy's personal armory, that was you handling it?"
"Didn't get speared did I?" Dean flicked his fingers dismissively at him. "You think you can find this vault on your own, Indiana?"
"Bite me, Dean." Sam grabbed his bag and then stood awkwardly.
Dean had a brief moment where he almost offered Sam the Impala and then shook his head. "Where you gonna find a car?"
"There's a long-term lot down the road. I saw it when we came in." Sam put his bag over his shoulder, mirroring his brother. "Drop me off?"
"Yeah, sure. Come on."
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Sam drove down the Pacific Highway and, for once, didn't spend time staring out at the ocean. It dawned on him that he hadn't since college…since Jess. He hadn't been comfortable anywhere near Palo Alto in the years since, and he was very close now. The Golden Gate bridge did manage to pull his attention, as it always had, to marvel at the engineering, and it felt like a lifetime ago that he and Jess had walked its length just to appreciate it. Sam slowed as he drove into the ever-present bank of fog that hugged the bridge and blinked when he came back out the other side into the sunlight. He'd always meant to go have a look at Sutro Baths when he'd lived there during college, but somehow had never found the time between classes and Jess.
"Stop it, Sam," he muttered to himself and drove through the fringes of San Francisco toward the baths, following the signs to 'Land's End'. He wondered how the place had gotten that name and made a silent promise to look it up later, after he had the skull. The buildings gave way to rocky country and then ocean views as Sam wound down toward the ocean. Twenty minutes of lonely road later, Sam pulled into a large plateau area that looked to have been a parking lot once upon a time. There were a few signs here and there, warning visitors to be careful on the stairs, on the beach and one that Sam smirked at that said to not explore alone.
He walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down and gave a low whistle. A cove spread out below him, and though the buildings were long gone, destroyed in a fire in the sixties, the foundations were still there like the bones of some long-dead animal to show where they had once stood. What had once been the massive indoor pool looked like a man-made pond, and Sam knew from his research of the place, that the ocean tides came in each day, rising over the break wall to recycle the water in the pool. It had been designed that way on purpose as a money-saver and, at the time, a marvel of engineering.
Sam pulled his bag and the map he'd cobbled together out of the trunk of his stolen Dodge and went around the edge of the bluff until he found the stairs. He rolled his eyes as his phone rang and pulled it out. "I'm fine, Dean," Sam answered with a smirk.
"I know that!" Dean's irritated voice carried through the speaker and made Sam chuckle.
"I just got here. This place is…there's not a lot left above ground." Sam started down the wide stairs carved into the slope. "I'm gonna see if I can find the cave entrance down on the bottom and come up at the vault from underneath."
"Well, that sounded dirty." Dean quipped and snorted. "Anything hinkey happens, get the hell out of there and call me."
"I'll be fine. You at the museum yet?" Sam grabbed the metal railing on one side as a piece of a step crumbled under his foot.
"Sam?" Dean asked, hearing a soft gasp. "What's goin' on?" He suddenly hated himself a little for letting his brother go off on his own.
"Nothing. Just a badly maintained set of stairs." Sam stayed next to the rail as he continued down. "Museum?"
"Right, yeah. I'll be there in ten." Dean frowned, not liking the mental image of Sam descending a cliff on crumbling stairs. "You sure there's not another way down?"
"I could always jump," Sam said facetiously. "Might make a water landing from here."
"Not….funny," Dean growled.
Sam chuckled. "Go flirt with the hot museum curator. She obviously has no taste." He rolled his eyes at Dean's knowing chuckle.
"Chicks dig me, dude. Deal." Dean grinned at himself in the mirror. The curator hadn't looked twice at Sam once Dean had smiled at her.
Sam rolled his eyes again and ended the call, tucking his phone away and put all his attention on his descent. It really wasn't dangerous during daylight, but he wouldn't like to try and get down, or up, in one piece in the dark. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and hoped the ghost would leave him alone until after he'd located the skull.
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"Mr. Grant. Back again with more questions for your documentary?" Lisa Woodard smiled dreamily at the bright green eyes fixed on her.
Dean gave her his best grin and nodded. "I think it's just something about the way you talk about estate sales and exhibits. I can't get enough." He leaned over the tall desk on his elbows to poke at the badge hanging from her neck. "Madam Curator."
She giggled and blushed. "I already told you to call me Lisa."
"Then you can call me Dean." He chuckled and mentally patted himself on the back with a silent 'still got it' to himself as he followed her around the desk and toward the storerooms.
"Your partner not with you today?" Lisa asked, not really minding if he was alone. She much preferred him alone; alone made for fun possibilities.
Dean shook his head. "He's checking into another lead. Now, about these hands." He brushed his fingers over the backs of her knuckles and made her blush again. "I really like hands."
"So do I. I mean, I like…um…" She trailed off a little breathlessly and realized she sounded like a teenager.
Dean smiled knowingly and gave her a little space so she could start breathing again. "So, my partner said he didn't think the hands you have are, uh…articulated properly?" He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I told him he was full of crap."
"Oh, they are!" Lisa said, suddenly smiling broadly. "I'll show you."
Dean hummed happily to himself and followed her through the store room. It was more or less a warehouse inside the museum and as big as one with row upon row of shelving units, storage boxes, and a filing system that had actually defeated Sam. He smirked. That was one of the few times he'd actually seen Sam cuss and throw his hands up while doing research, and they needed to know where the hands were kept before he could sneak in and swipe them.
"Here we are." Lisa smiled and waved him after her down an aisle. "We took them off exhibit a few days ago when the climate controls in their case malfunctioned."
"Malfunctioned how?" Dean asked, suddenly interested in the job again.
"We climate control cases for human remains to keep them cool so the bones don't deteriorate, but the case we had the hands in kept running too cold." She shrugged. "It's odd, but it happens."
"Huh." Dean nodded and was now on alert for any ghostly intervention. The sudden cold spot in the case had to be because of the ghost. "Any problems since moving them back here?" He asked and smiled when she raised a brow at him. "Just curious."
"Not that I'm aware of. This whole store room is climate controlled. It's unlikely it would malfunction." Lisa stopped at a shelf stacked almost floor to ceiling with large, wooden boxes; like oversized humidors for cigars. She pulled out a gleaming, cherry-wood box and turned to set it on a narrow table in the aisle with them. "It really is quite rare nowadays to come across human remains like this. Federal law doesn't prohibit the sale of them, but as I'm sure you're aware, most states do."
Dean nodded. He actually did know that. Sam had made a point of explaining why tracking the dead guy's skeleton was such a pain in the ass. "Right. The government only cares if they're native American."
Lisa nodded and smiled happily at him. "It's part of the restoration act the federal government has with the various nations - repatriating any Native American remains that turn up where they shouldn't, probably looted from burial sites over the years. It's despicable, really, that people used to raid their burial sites for keepsakes." She frowned and opened the small lock on the front of the box. "These, however, we have a provenance for. They belonged to an Irishman, I believe, from the turn of the century. Huh." She ran a hand over the box and then looked up at the shelves behind them.
"What?"
"Oh, it's nothing. The box is cold. There must be a vent right near here." Lisa shrugged and opened the lid.
Dean leaned over to look and nodded. Inside were the skeletal remains of two human hands, right and left, connected with fine wire like he'd seen as part of whole skeletons in dozens of coroner's offices over the years. "That's every bone in both his hands? You're sure?"
"Uh huh." Lisa nodded and turned the box so he could have a better look. "We disassembled them on arrival and checked before rearticulating them for display. Standard procedure in case someone's tried to pull a fast one and use plastic molds instead of actual bones."
"Dude had big hands." Dean observed with a smirk as he looked down at them. He felt a sudden drop in the temperature around them and rolled his eyes. He needed to get her away before something bad happened. He closed the box and turned a mega-watt smile at Lisa. "So, anywhere to get a good cup of coffee around here?"
"A…oh, of course! Sure!" Lisa hastily slid the box back in its spot and blushed again as she looked at Dean. "I could tell you or…"
"I was kinda hopin' I could buy you a cup." Dean tilted his head and reeled her in, licking his bottom lip into his mouth and saw her eyes fix on it. "Unless you're busy."
"No. Nope. Not busy….at all." Lisa waved him ahead of her and fanned herself behind his back for a moment; the man was simply too attractive. She lost IQ points every time he licked those amazing lips of his.
Dean walked with a slight swagger, pleased that he still had all his skills when it came to women. He hadn't had any need of them for so long, it felt kind of nice to be using them again. Even so, he kept his eyes trained on the storeroom around them, ears attuned for any sound out of place, because there was no mistaking the ghost's presence even without his EMF turned on. He patted it in his suit pocket and stopped as he heard a new sound.
"What's that?" Lisa asked and turned curiously to look down another aisle at a peculiar rattling sound. "Do you hear that?"
"Probably nothing. We should get that cup of coffee now." Dean took her arm to try and lead her out, but she shook her head with a frown.
"Something's weird. Hello? Is someone else in here? Just give me a second." Lisa pulled her arm free and looked back in surprise when Dean took hold of her again.
"We really should go now. Just trust me," Dean pleaded and then startled when the muffled rattling became a clamor. He turned to look down the aisle and his jaw dropped. At the end of the row, hanging from the wall, was an assortment of medieval weaponry, all of which were shaking in their brackets. "Holy crap." The brackets popped loose as the weapons - swords, daggers and even a halberd taller than he was - broke free and swung up to point at them. "Time to go!" Dean grabbed Lisa as she gaped, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and threw them both to the side as the weapons collection whistled through the air toward them.
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To Be Continued…