Keep the Faith
Summary: Dean discovers that physical separation isn't the only way you can lose a loved one. Set between HotH and BUABS. Co-written with Sendintheclowns for Gidgetgal9's birthday.
A/N - sendintheclowns: Floralia and I did it...we actually finished a story together. It's not exactly the plot line you requested but I think you'll enjoy it. I have to thank Floralia for agreeing to write with me; she had to put up with my obsessive-compulsive disorder this time and, miracle of miracles, she's still talking to me. And a huge thank you to BlueEyedDemonLiz for providing beta services on this one. She came up with some really good ideas and was a joy to work with. Happy Birthday Gidget! You're such a great friend, plot master and confidante. This one's for you...
A/N – Floralia: My first joint writing project! Huge thanks to Sendintheclowns for agreeing to tackle this with me, and for having to work around the fact what I say I'm going to write is usually quite different to what I actually produce. Thanks to BlueEyedDemonLiz for the beta, it was appreciated. And Happy Birthday Gidgetgal9! We took some edited highlights from your suggestion, but hopefully it's close enough. Thanks for the help and encouragement, the stories, and being a great friend. We hope you enjoy…
Chapter 1
The highway running through Nebraska was flat and boring, much like the ride out from Rhode Island.
Sam had been depressingly quiet, refusing to rise to Dean's big brother baiting. The whole 'wanting to believe in angels' thing had really shaken Sam to the core and his little brother preferred to stew in his own thoughts rather than talk to Dean.
Not that Dean had anything earth shattering to say. He'd come away from the gig in Rhode Island thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a higher power. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Because really, what were the odds that a metal pipe would just happen to slide off a truck and impale the man who had tried raping a woman only moments before? Not good. Talk about a cosmic gotcha. And it had happened right in front of Dean.
The brothers had talked a little in Providence about what Dean had seen but he was shocked that his little brother had left it at that. So much for emo-Sam. Dean knew he should be grateful Sam didn't want to put his feelings under a microscope. It's just that he got a little lonely without his brother getting all over his case.
When Sam had deigned to speak to his older brother after much badgering, Dean had almost wished he'd remained silent; Sam had shared that Nebraska got its name from a Chiwere word meaning "flat water." Well, they definitely had the flat part right. Although the corn didn't seem to mind. Dean had never seen so much freaking corn in one place in all his life. Mile after mile. The Cornhusker state. Yeah, someone got that one right.
This wasn't Dean's first trip to this state. The last visit had left a mark on Dean but when Bobby had asked them to do a favor for him, he hadn't argued. Of course the favor was in Nebraska, the place Dean had almost lost his heart. Literally. And where Layla Rourke had most likely lost her life. But Dean refused to dwell on that at the moment. It was bad enough having one melancholy Winchester in the car. There was definitely no room for two.
Mind numbing small talk aside, Dean had gotten sick of his own thoughts and had rummaged through his cassette collection. Sometimes playing music at ear splitting levels really was the cure for whatever ailed a person. He'd popped in Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy a while ago and at the moment the reggae-based "D'yer Mak'er" spilled out of the speakers, and Dean was relieved to see Sam's stiff posture loosening, his fingers keeping time on his knee.
Driving straight through would have taken twenty-three hours but they'd stopped for meals and gas so it had taken longer. And being cooped up in the Impala with someone who was giving you the silent treatment, intentionally or not, made for a looong journey. The prospect of being stuck with Sam for the drive to South Dakota for five more hours in his current state, after they retrieved the book for Bobby, had struck terror into Dean's heart.
But if Sam was finally mellowing out, this might not be so bad. Time to put it to the test. "Hey, what's the address of that book store?"
This time Sam didn't grunt. Or roll his eyes. Or sigh. He actually answered. In a full sentence. "Esoterica is off of Main Street at 3204 Wells Street. Bobby said it's a little hole in the wall store but it's around the corner from Taco Bell. Can't miss it."
"What? There's a Taco Hell here? We have got to make a run for the border."
"Don't you mean a run for the bathroom? No way, Dean. I'm not subjecting my stomach to that place."
This is what Dean had missed. Teasing and bantering. His brother acting, well, like his brother. Not all broody and boring. Sure, Sam had his moods but he wasn't really capable of holding onto them for long when he was around Dean.
And if Sam perked up, then Dean would have less time to obsess about Layla.
-0-
Sam hadn't meant to shut the whole world out for the majority of the ride. In fact he hated when he did that. It was all fine and dandy to worry about something until he made sense of it, but it wasn't cool to leave Dean high and dry while they crossed over most of the states on their way to Nebraska. His brother hated being ignored.
He'd been rattled by what had happened in Providence. There was no way around it. He'd really let himself believe that angels existed. Hell, he'd been sure he'd seen one. That redemption was in his grasp. And then poof. Nothing. Just a huge, empty hole where his faith used to be.
And now they were going back to Nebraska. Where the faith healer, Roy Le Grange, had singled Dean out when his heart failed him. Only it was Sue-Ann, Roy's wife, who had manipulated a reaper into taking other lives in exchange for the ones Roy "healed." Marshall Hall had given his life, innocently jogging along, so that Dean could live. And Layla Rourke had been next in line for healing when the racket had been exposed.
Sam had been saddened and felt his share of guilt, but ultimately Dean was alive and that was all that mattered to him.
Coming back to Nebraska stirred all sorts of uncomfortable memories. Sam was a little afraid that being back here would trigger Dean's depression; he still couldn't believe his brother had contemplated giving up his life to the Crossroads Demon to bring their dad back. And now Dean was saddled with a total misfit for a brother. Someone who could go darkside at any moment.
Sam's thoughts kept going round and round and he needed to stop. Before he lost his mind.
The Jamaican beat of "D'yer Mak'er" caught his attention. He forced himself to look around and was amazed to see a sign proclaiming they were already in Nebraska and fast approaching their destination. The whole ride was a blur to him.
Sam needed to get his act together, and fast.
Dean startled him out of his thoughts. "Hey, what's the address of that book store?"
He had to work to pull it out of his memory but he finally recited the information Bobby had given them over the phone. "Esoterica is off of Main Street at 3204 Wells Street. Bobby said it's a little hole in the wall store but it's around the corner from Taco Bell. Can't miss it."
Dean snorted and Sam turned to find a huge smile gracing his brother's face. "What? There's a Taco Hell here? We have got to make a run for the border."
Ugh. Sam hated that fast food chain. "Don't you mean a run for the bathroom? No way, Dean. I'm not subjecting my stomach to that place."
But even as he said those words, he knew he'd give in. It was crappy how he'd mentally checked out on his brother, leaving Dean to amuse himself. They'd get the grimoire Bobby needed so desperately for some project he was working on, hit the Taco Bell and then head back out. Hopefully his stomach would cooperate with the plan.
He spotted the Taco Bell on Main Street. Wow, he'd really lost a chunk of time while he'd tried to make heads or tails out of what had happened with Father Gregory. Hell, more like everything that had happened since Dean had showed up in his and Jess's apartment.
"Hang a right. Looks like we're here."
Dean complied with his navigational instructions and soon they were pulling into an underground parking structure a couple of blocks down. There was no street parking to be had in the downtown area.
His brother grumbled as he took the parking slip. Knowing Dean, he'd find a way to get out of the garage without validating the slip and paying.
They made their way out into the bright sunshine, shading their eyes as they left the dark parking structure.
"Why is that you, Dean?"
Both of them were surprised as a small woman approached them on the sidewalk. They really didn't know anyone in Nebraska.
And then Sam got a good look at her face. "Mrs. Rourke."
"Yes, and you're the brother. Sam, isn't it?"
Up close, Sam could see that Mrs. Rourke had dark grooves under her listless eyes. Her mouth was twisted in a perpetual frown. He instantly recognized what the woman was experiencing. Grief.
Nodding his head, yes, Sam indicated she had the right person. "We're very sorry about Layla."
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes but she fought to control them. "Yes, I bet you're sorry. Layla was a wonderful daughter. She died much too young."
There was no polite response to that comment; Mrs. Rouke was right, Layla had died too young.
The older woman's attention swung away from Sam and fixed on Dean. "And how are you feeling, young man?"
His normally charming brother seemed at a loss for words as he stared at Mrs. Rourke. As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Sam jumped in to fill the void. "Dean has his good days and his bad. Thanks for asking."
Mrs. Rourke tucked a graying strand of hair behind her ear as she switched her attention back to Sam. She clutched his hand between her own and squeezed. Hard. "You take care now. You think you have all the time in the world, and then one day you wake up and it's gone."
The woman made a sound that could have been a sob or a cough, or even a laugh, before she bolted down the sidewalk, head down, striding as fast as her legs could carry her in the other direction.
"Poor lady," Sam murmured.
Sam's words galvanized Dean, who had been standing on the sidewalk, staring at Mrs. Rourke's retreating back. "Poor lady?! Did you hear her? She just threatened you and all's you can say is poor lady? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Replaying the conversation over in his head, Sam still agreed with his initial call — Mrs. Rourke was grieving for her daughter, not issuing threats. But lately Dean saw everything as a risk, not that Sam could blame him after everything that had happened in the last year, and Sam didn't have the heart to argue.
Lightly grabbing Dean by the elbow, Sam propelled his brother up the sidewalk in the opposite direction from the upset woman who had just left their company. "Come on, Dean. She's gone. Let's get the book, stop at Taco Bell, and get back on the road."
Sam couldn't suppress the shiver that crawled down his spine when he mentioned Taco Bell. Of course Taco Bell was the phrase Dean glommed onto, crowing with delight. "Yes! Let's get this over with so we can eat. I'm starving. Man, lunch is going to be so good. I can't wait."
He couldn't ignore the look of delight on Dean's face. And the mention of a stop at Taco Bell was all it took to put that 'boy in a candy shop' look on his brother's face. Go figure.
For Dean he could do this. He'd practically ignored his brother on the trip out here. The least he could do is let Dean choose their lunch destination. Maybe he still had some Rolaids soft chews left in the glove-box. Sam could feel his stomach burning and his arteries hardening already.
The brothers paused at the crosswalk while waiting for the light to turn. Suddenly Dean's right fist shot out, thumping a hard blow to Sam's left biceps. "There it is!"
Unprepared for the assault, Sam reeled into the traffic light, catching himself so he wouldn't stumble in front of the oncoming traffic. Something sharp scraped his hands and Sam flinched. "What the hell, Dean? There what is?"
Dean looked crestfallen, reaching out to grab Sam's arms and pull him back on to the sidewalk. "Sorry, I noticed the Taco Bell and realized how hungry I am. But you sure are a light weight. I shouldn't be able to push you around that easily. We're going to have to step up your training."
Scowling at his brother, Sam tried not to make a big deal out of the shove. He could hear Dean's stomach growling and his brother was right — Sam should always be on the defensive. Even when he was with his brother.
God, he hated training.
Reining in a sigh, Sam glanced down at the palms of his hands which were still stinging. Something on the metal pole had scraped a raw strip down the center of both palms. It was a good thing Sam was up to date with his tetanus booster.
Not wanting to be accused of being a drama queen, Sam let his hands drop. He'd wash the abrasions out good when they stopped at Taco Bell. Assuming there was soap in the bathroom.
The walk sign finally flashed and the brothers weaved through the pedestrian traffic. Up ahead Sam could make out a small vertical sign that advertized Esoterica. If he hadn't been looking for it, he surely would have missed it. From the outside the book store looked to be in disrepair with maroon paint peeling off the face of the building and the ill fitting blue door standing ajar. But the inside...it was okay. Better than okay. Sam could lose himself in a bookstore like this for hours.
The bookcases were constructed of a deep cherry wood which matched the ceiling beams and crown moldings. The lighting by the cash register was dim but there was recessed lighting over the bookcases which showcased the old tomes to perfection.
A dark haired, effeminate clerk hustled out of a back room and asked if he could be of help. Sam let Dean talk to the man as he wandered down the nearest aisle. He let his eyes roam high and low, stopping at a leather bound book of spells and enchantments at eye level. He pulled it off the shelf with reverence. Fingering the pages, he noticed the copyright dated back to 1904 and if Sam wasn't mistaken, the author was a popular one, using a different nom de plume. Not many people knew that the renowned author had dabbled in the black arts. Acquiring a book like this would be quite a coup.
"Sammy, I got the book for Bobby. Let's go."
Once again Dean had taken Sam by surprise and he yelped, turning awkwardly. His elbow collided forcibly with the bookshelf and several books tilted to the side before tumbling from their perch. Sam scrambled to catch the books and managed only to drop the one in his hands for his efforts.
'My God, you are a spazz."
Sam had always felt uncoordinated in comparison to his lithe, sure footed brother. His face flamed a bright red as he scrambled to scoop up the books and get them back on the shelf.
Dean captured his right hand after he placed the last book on the shelf. "Dude, you're bleeding."
Reaching into his back pocket, Dean withdrew a blue bandana and wrapped it around Sam's hand, treating him like a helpless kid. "Can't take you anywhere."
The words were said without heat and Sam flashed a quick smile at his brother in thanks. He'd forgotten that he'd scraped his hands on the traffic light. He hoped he hadn't spilled blood on any of the books. That was just gross.
He reached forward to tip a book out and check it but Dean grabbed his right hand again and didn't let go. "No touching, Sammy. Let's get you the hell out of here before you bring a whole bookcase down on our heads."
Rolling his eyes, Sam allowed Dean to tug him to the front of the store. The clerk raised an eyebrow and then winked at Sam as his older brother towed him by. A blush stained Sam's cheeks again and he yanked his hand out of Dean's.
He couldn't wait to get this show back on the road again.
-0-
Dean had been amused as Sam crinkled his nose while surveying his lunch options while they waited their turn in line. He didn't have to think twice about lunch – two Big Bell Box meals ought to do the trick; fajita steak melt, double decker taco, large drink and cinnamon twists. Times two.
After careful contemplation, Sam decided on a Zesty Chicken bowl. How lame. Sometimes he despaired of his brother.
The grimoire was kept on the table, under Dean's elbow, away from his blundering brother. He couldn't get over Sam's bad luck at the bookstore. His usually graceful sibling had just about wiped out a whole bookcase. Maybe the scene with Mrs. Rourke had affected Sam more than he let on. After all, the creepy old broad had sure done a number on Dean.
What were the chances of bumping into Layla's mother out on the street like that? About the same as the guy getting impaled by a metal pole in Providence, in Dean's opinion. Maybe seeing Mrs. Rourke had just been a coincidence. Then again, Dean didn't believe in those.
Pushing aside his worries, Dean consumed his lunch with relish while he waited for Sam to return from the restroom. His brother was probably even now ruthlessly scrubbing his hands. He felt a pang of guilt for pushing Sam into the traffic light; but it had been an accident and his brother didn't appear to be holding it against him.
Dean had already consumed one of his lunch meals when Sam finally returned. Marching on to his next meal, he silently watched as Sam poked and stabbed his salad with little enthusiasm. "You're supposed to eat it, not play with it."
A gleam of amusement brightened Sam's face. "Well you're supposed to chew first, not just swallow."
Touche'. This, right here, was the partner in crime Dean had missed on the journey to Nebraska.
Shoveling the last bite of cinnamon twist into his mouth, Dean dabbed a napkin across his mouth. "Come on, time's a-wasting."
Sam looked relieved to be parting company with his lunch and Dean smirked. For such a big guy, Sam sure could be a girl sometimes.
The brothers made it back to the Impala without incident, stowing the grimoire in the trunk. Dean even paid the parking attendant for their stay at the underground parking structure. When Sam raised an eyebrow at him, Dean protested. "What? I can be a law abiding citizen."
His little brother cocked an eyebrow in question. "Well, okay. Not very often, but it can happen. I wouldn't want to get the reputation of a scofflaw."
His little brother busted out in laughter, his dimples making a rare appearance. They had watched the episode of Seinfeld where Newman is accused of being a scofflaw recently, and it was still fresh in their minds.
The laughter subsided as Sam helped Dean get out of the city and back on to the interstate. A short while later the Impala was wheeling through Iowa.
Sam twisted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Dean saw him pawing around in the glove-box and his curiosity got the best of him. "Looking for your lipstick?"
His little brother completely ignored him while he dug relentlessly through the contents before him. "It's not here."
Dean wanted to smack the back of Sam's head, see if that jarred a more lucid answer loose, but kept his hands to himself. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."
Rubbing a fist near the top of his rib cage, Sam grimaced. "I thought I had some Rolaids."
Rolaids. That meant only one thing. Heartburn. He stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Sam had the most delicate stomach.
Dean reached into the cassette box and snagged a random tape. Heaven Tonight by Cheap Trick. Up went the volume as Robin Zander began singing "Surrender."
He was able to filter out Sam's squirming for about thirty-five minutes. When the band started "How Are You?" his brother turned an interesting shade of green. Dean lowered the volume and took the first exit he saw.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to stop and get a room. I can't concentrate on driving when you're wigging out in the passenger seat."
Normally at this point, Sam would whine that he was perfectly fine. It was a testament to how crappy he was feeling when he didn't argue. "Thanks."
And his little brother had that zoned out expression again. The one Dean hated with a passion. This better just be revenge of the border, and not the flu.
TBC