Genre: Non-Hunter Winchesters, Angst, Drama, Murder Mystery, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Brother Schmoop, TA!Sam, Pre-med!Dean, Detective!Castiel
Pairings: (Mostly Gen) but Sarah/Sam, Ellen & Bobby (kinda)
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Sarah Blake, Ellen, Bobby, Original Characters
Warnings: Suicide attempt, gore, anxiety attacks, mental illness, mild sexual situations, swearing
Acknowledgements:
There's a bunch of people we'd like to express our sincere thanks and gratitude to, without whom this fic probably wouldn't even exist.
Big thank you to our awesome, awesome artist – boykvngs – who is a freaking angel. We freaked out when we realized she'd claimed our fic and let's just say we had many late night squealing and fangirling over her amazing art. Thank you so much for giving us a chance, love!
Huge, huge thank you to our fellow musketeer, wifey and beta for this fic – Naila/remy-areyousrs: who was a ninja in betaing this and getting it to us in legit lightning speed. You are so freaking awesome, love! We loves you!
Finally, thank you to the amazing mods over at sammybigbang for conducting and working their asses off to make this big bang happen, and for letting us show our eternal love for Sammy. You guys are rock stars!
A/N: Hey all! New story! Co-authored again with SPNxBookworm. This one is rather brother-centric, with Sam/Sarah on the side, and it's also focussed on Sam, because we wrote it for the Sam Winchester Big Bang. :) It's a murder mystery and a Christmas story, so we hope you enjoy it! If you wanna squint that way, Destiel, I suppose, but they aren't any more affectionate than they are on the actual show. This is also a story about Sam's fabulous hair, and some gratuitous smatterings of hurt!Sam and big brother!Dean and Sammy looking pretty through some terrible situations haha
Hope you enjoy this fic! Please read the trigger warnings carefully. :)
1626, ELDRIDGE STREET
1. Five Days to Christmas
Creighton University
Omaha, Nebraska
The hustle and bustle on the college lawns is something that Sam will always love, he realises as he hurries along to Professor Evans's office. It's cold today, the sunlight weak and unsteady as it tries to breach the winter air. Sam shivers a little, folding his scarf tighter around his neck. He pushes up his glasses as the office building comes into view, and quickens his pace, boots crunching on frostbitten grass. It's getting colder and colder here. He was due to meet Evans five minutes ago but one of his students had stopped him, asking him about submission dates for their holiday assignments.
"Sam," Diane had called out while she ran to catch up with him, boots scuffing against the frost. "Can you tell me what the prof expects?" He'd looked back at her questioningly and she shrugged. "I got a B minus on the last assignment. I never understood what was wrong."
She's a bad painter but Sam doesn't have the heart to tell her that. "I, uh, I'm getting late," he had said. "How about I meet you in ten?"
"Cool, at the café down the road?"
"Okay," he had said in the hurry that he was in, and now as he huffs his breath out in little mists, he wonders if it's appropriate for a TA to be seen with a student like that, publicly. He doesn't normally care what people think, but this girl, Diane, has a history of trying to get Sam into coffee meetings here and there. Sam's always graciously managed to dodge each and every one of them, much to his brother's amusement.
Anyway. This is the last time...
He pushes those thoughts away as he enters the office building, wiping his damp boots on the doormat and hoisting his bag up on his shoulder as he carries on. He pauses outside the professor's office to fish for his hair tie and pull his long hair into a half-bun, shaking off the stray strands that fall into his eyes. Then he knocks at the door.
"Come in," Evans's tired voice says, and Sam lets himself in, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. He sits down on the chair before the professor, who smiles at him. "Going away for the holidays, Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam replies. "My brother and I are taking a road trip to Kansas. We grew up in Lawrence." Dean's driving in from Lincoln, stopping at their place to pick up Sam's stuff, and is due to arrive at the college at any moment now. They're going straight to Lawrence from here because they have to be there by evening for Ellen's fiftieth birthday party. Sam smiles as he recalls how excited and happy Ellen had sounded knowing they'd be there in a few hours.
"Sam! Good to hear from you. How are you doing, sweetie?" The joy in Ellen's voice is so evident, Sam can't help smiling himself.
"I'm fine. How about you?"
"I'm great, honey. Though it's always nice to see your name flash on my phone. Dean told me you two were coming down for the holidays."
"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah. We want to."
"Normally, I'd ask you both to get your asses here without any exceptions but…" her voice softens, "you sure you're up to this? I mean, if that big brother of yours is forcing you—"
"Dean didn't force me," Sam tells her. "Come on, Ellen! It's your fiftieth this year."
She hesitates. "Well, that's true."
"Aw, I'll be fine." Sam's heart is full at the knowledge that she cares so much. "You're being worse than Dean."
She sighs. "I just worry about you boys sometimes. All right, then, hurry over. And drive safe. I'll see you in a few days. Take care. And send my love to Dean as well, sweetie."
"Will do, Ellen. Love you, too," he says as he hangs up.
"That sounds nice." Evans's voice cuts into Sam's wandering thoughts. He blinks up at the professor, smiling and pushing back the memory of his talk with Ellen. Meanwhile, Evans pushes forward a stack of papers. "If it's not too much, would you mind grading the assignments for me over the holidays? I'll take a look at them too, but tell me what you think first."
Sam was sure he's going to have to grade all the critical analyses assignments even before he entered, but he doesn't care. He's done this a million times. Dean thinks he goes easy on the students but Sam thinks they deserve a break.
Diane is just a bad painter, though. Sam wonders if she'll ever realise that.
"You have enough brain matter up there to do that crazy course that got you a BA and a JD, dude, and you can't figure out how to tell this Diane girl that she's shit at painting?" Dean had asked him.
"She's a good girl, Dean, she'll get upset."
"Did she ask you out to coffee again?"
"No, she wanted to—"
"She wants to bang you."
"No."
"Against the wall, on her bed..."
"Shut up, asshole," Sam had replied, groaning.
Sam shakes himself out of his reverie again, amused, and listens to Evans explain about when he needs the grades in.
"Send it to me once you're back from holidays. If the students have questions—"
"They have my email address with them. I'll send them to you if it's something big."
"Good, that will do."
"Okay, sir," Sam says to him. "I'll have these graded then." Evans is a good man, but he's lazy, and Sam hates grading papers.
Last time, Sam, last time, he reminds himself. Hopefully.
"Thank you," Evans says as Sam shoulders the strap on his bag again, taking off his glasses and hanging them down the neck of his sweater vest. He pretty much needs them all the time, but he likes taking them off now and then, much to Dean's chagrin, who comes after him like a giant, curmudgeon old mom. "Sammy, just wear your fucking glasses. You want it to get worse?"
Sam chuckles to himself as he opens the door and walks out. His eyesight isn't really that bad. And the ends of the glasses sometimes hurt his ears if he wears them too long. Dean still won't leave him alone, though.
Just as Sam heads out into the open, Dean calls him. Oh, speak of the devil. Sam picks up the phone. "Hey, you here?"
"Outside your college," says Dean. "Where are you?"
"I was meeting with Evans. I'll be at the gates in five."
"Okay."
Sam disconnects the call and texts Diane.
Sam [3:19 PM]
Hey, got to rush. On a tight schedule. Email questions.
He's just about to pocket it, when his phone pings. It's a reply from Diane. Wow, that was fast. He can imagine her at the café, phone in hand and frowning at his text.
Diane T [3:19 PM]
Ok ill mail. Same id? :)
Sam [3:20 PM]
Yes
He takes a last look at the college building and heads towards the gates where he easily spots the familiar black Impala. He can feel a grin build on his face as he hurries. He gets the glasses back on before Dean can start complaining and lecturing him again just so they can pick up a fight over something stupid and ruin the next few hours of their journey.
Sam is excited and yet scared about this trip. He and Dean haven't been to Lawrence in ten years, ever since their father died in a hit and run. Sam doesn't remember much of it, and if he is being honest with himself he doesn't think he wants to. Dean had taken him to therapists and the words repressed memories and dissociative amnesia had been repeated time and again, as well as the allusion to the fact that Sam would eventually recollect it all, and that it was likely to cause him great distress when he did. Sam also carries another souvenir from that day, and he palms his wrists absently as he thinks of it.
Dean, however, wasn't taking chances with "Sam" and "distress" being in the same sentence. So he had got them both here, to Omaha, where Sam eventually felt better, isolated from the unknown darkness of bad memories. He finished high school and started going to college after, working part-time at the very cafeteria Diane was waiting for him at, while Dean took up a job as an assistant in an orthopaedic clinic. It did not take long for Sam, and Dean's boss, Dr Ryder, to realise that Dean was really taking to physical therapy.
At the insistence of Sam and Dr Ryder, Dean now attends college at Lincoln as a pre-med. And boy, is Sam proud of him. He remembers the disbelief that had been on Dean's face on realising he'd gotten accepted into college. He remembers how nervous Dean had been when applying to his chosen colleges, convinced that he was not going to make it. That Sam and his boss expected too much of him. Sam recalls going out to collect mail one day and seeing the envelope. When he'd handed it to Dean, his face had gone pale.
"Open it. Whatever happens, I know it's gonna be good."
"How can you be so sure?" Dean had asked, hands shaking as they'd held the envelope.
"Because I know you. And I know you're gonna do great things."
Dean been uncertain about being able to handle it but Sam knew he could do it. He was Dean, after all. The same Dean who was the fiercest, kindest, most hardworking, and most protective person that Sam knew. Dean read. He didn't show it off but he picked up on a whole world of things and he knew stuff no one would ever expect him to. Sam's big brother was capable of doing anything he set his mind to.
Dean had lost grip of the envelope as soon as he opened it, jaw dropping and staying that way as he stared wide-eyed at the letter. "What the fuck?"
Sam had looked at him in concern. Did he not make it? No, no. Of course there were other colleges and – and… but…
Sam wrung his hands, feeling as nervous as his brother looked up at him. "What? What does it say?"
"I made it. Sammy, I fucking made it."
In that moment, Sam didn't think he was ever going to forget the mixture of happiness and disbelief that had been etched onto Dean's face. In fact, it's always going to be one of Sam's treasured memories, and he still thinks of it when he feels down.
Burying the memory back into his happy place, Sam approaches the Impala, taps at the glass, and waves at his brother when Dean reaches to unlock it.
"Hey," Dean greets him, handing over a cup of Starbucks when Sam takes his place on the passenger seat. He glances at Sam pulling his scarf off and throwing it in the backseat. "You ready to go?"
Sam takes the coffee, no weepy greetings or hugs. They meet every fucking weekend, and Dean even comes over when his college is off early. A lot, basically. Not that this doesn't make Sam crave Dean's company again, though. He just will never say it out loud.
They were living together until Dean left for college last fall and Sam liked having his brother around. Dean's always been his source of everything that defines home. Sam didn't realise how much he'd look forward to his brother being around until after Dean left. Usually, Sam would come back from college, and Dean would be there either bustling around in the kitchen or lounging across the couch watching some random show that Sam doesn't really care about.
Now, it was all the weekends, but also, well, only usually weekends.
He'd gotten used to listening to Dean's loud snoring from the other room. Had gotten used to dirty laundry and dirty dishes and leftover takeout spoiling his mood. He didn't think he'd ever actually wish for the usual teasing or arguments they'd have just because they're brothers.
Even though Dean does come over a lot while still teasing Sam over the phone or texts, it's different with them living their own separate lives. It feels weirdly lonely around the apartment without his brother now.
And no. Again, Sam will never admit that to Dean. Although, yes, he does wish that everything could return to what it was like before Dean left. He has a solution to that, now, and he wonders what Dean will think.
"What ya ponderin' on about?" Dean asks him at that moment. Sam's been wandering away with his thoughts a lot today, it seems.
He turns to Dean. "Nothing."
His brother doesn't question it; just gives him a shrug, and Sam drinks the coffee as Dean jams the key into the ignition. The car purrs alive and Dean pats the steering once. "Off to Lawrence then!" he announces. Sam rolls his eyes.
He knows the enthusiasm is Dean's way of dealing with going back to Lawrence. He kind of appreciates it because right now, apart from the excitement of seeing his extended family again, he feels this weird sense of foreboding. He hates it.
He doesn't tell Dean about the strange fear, however. It's probably irrational anyway. "Off to Lawrence."
~o~
They pull away into the street and Sam watches Creighton's gates in the rear view mirror until they disappear from view, wondering if this is goodbye after all.
Lawrence is a little more than three hours away from Omaha. Sam gets his gloves and sweater off and folds his glasses into their case somewhere along the way, ignoring Dean staring at him the whole time. It's pleasantly warm inside the car with the heater on. Dean and AC/DC make
it even better, and Sam feels himself relax, despite the not-good feeling brewing in his chest as they get closer and closer to Lawrence.
"So, fingerless gloves," Dean remarks with a whistle. "Is it just me or are you incapable of being cool without having me around?"
"Fingerless gloves aren't uncool. Just drive," Sam scoffs at him.
"If you say so." Dean cracks a shit-eating grin, seemingly at the windshield. "And why aren't you wearing your glasses now?"
"Don't wanna."
"Sammy, they're for your own good."
"I know."
"Then wear them."
Sam wants to retort and rebel. Old, curmudgeon mom, he thinks, and tries not to snigger as he puts the glasses back on and rests against his seat. He is, however, annoyed at Dean's teasing and mother-henning already, and it's only been a couple of hours.
Dean turns and looks again at the fingerless gloves, makes an indecipherable sound, and sets his eyes back on the road. There is a smirk on his face.
"Dean." Sam feels like a five-year-old, cranky and irritated at his big brother. "Stop."
"What, I'm not doing anything!"
"You're smiling."
"So I can't be happy now? Jeez, princess, okay."
Sam crosses his arms over his chest and chooses to stare out of the window. He usually doesn't care about Dean ribbing him, but he can't take it right now and he doesn't know why. As Lawrence gets closer, something about having to be back there is really riling Sam up, flushing away most of the excitement he had been feeling.
He ignores it. Ellen and Bobby are always visiting him and Dean at Nebraska, and the only reason they're going back is that it's Ellen's fiftieth. Bobby has a party for her and all. Although, how someone as ornery as Bobby fits in the same sentence as "party", Sam will never figure out. He probably did it at Jo's insistence. She studies in Minnesota and she must have got time off college too.
Point being, Ellen is like a surrogate Mom. Bobby was their dad's friend, as a good as an uncle to Sam and Dean, and this is the least they can do for them, even if Ellen mentioned that they didn't have to. Sam would also be very happy to see them again, anyway, so he reckons this situation can't really go sideways by all that much.
"What's up with you?" Dean asks Sam suddenly, narrowing his eyes at the winding roads ahead of them. The sun is still pretty weak, melting snow lining the sides of the roads as they drive on.
Sam squints his brother. "Nothing. I'm good."
"Sure you are."
The conversation stops there. Dean always knows, but Sam's not about to ruin it all by talking about his apprehensions this time. He's always ruined Dean's fun enough in the last ten years.
He thinks of one of his Christmas gifts for Dean and wonders if his brother will like it, because Dean hates Christmas. But maybe he won't be so unkind about it this time, now that they're going back to where they grew up. Doesn't change the fact that their dad, John, died on Christmas Eve, though.
It's why they stopped celebrating. It's too painful for Dean, knowing their dad was killed during that time, and again, Sam can't remember that. Sam thinks they should move on, but what would he know? His mind and his repressed memories proved to everyone that Sam's a pro at forgetting the bad stuff and getting ahead with life.
At least, that's what Sam perceives it as. Dean still thinks Sam is capable of breaking at the drop of a hat.
And Sam looks at the two long, vertical scars on his wrists, and absently rubs them again thinking that maybe he is that weak.
Sam doesn't know he's fallen asleep until the sound of laughter wakes him up. He startles awake and then yawns as he looks around, immediately leaning forward when he notices their surroundings. They're in Lawrence.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean calls out from his side and Sam yawns again, blinking at his brother.
"Dude," he says, "you could have woken me up. You didn't have to drive the whole way."
Dean shrugs. "You looked like you needed the sleep. Besides, it's just a three-hour drive and I'm fine."
Sam sighs as he decides to stare out the window, drinking the scenery in while Dean drives them. It's snowing. He watches, mesmerized, as the little flakes fall delicately to the ground, remembering how as a kid he used to run outside at the first sign of snow and stand in the cold with his mouth open, hoping to catch a snowflake on his tongue. Dean had thought he was being an idiot but Sam loved it. He doesn't have any such memories from Omaha, though, because he was already seventeen when they moved there. Out there, Sam looks at snow more like hindrance than actual fun, and he wonders how his brain can categorise the same thing into two different memories with completely different associated emotions.
"Wait for me, Amy!"
Sam turns towards the voice and sees a girl, looking no older than eight chasing another girl, hand extended. Behind them, a couple walks, looking fondly at the girls with the mother pushing a stroller with their third child in it. One of her arms is interlinked with the man's, and Sam smiles.
"Fucking snow," Dean grumbles as he turns on the wipers.
"And that surprises you because…?"
"Doesn't surprise me. Doesn't mean I have to like it either," Dean snaps back. Dean always associates snow with Christmas and hates it just as much anywhere in the world, so Sam doesn't push.
He looks out the window again, admiring the tinsel and lights donning the trees lining the street. He watches as a bunch of kids flock over to a burly man dressed in a Santa Claus outfit, handing out candy and cookies.
This is why he loves Christmas. It's the idea of giving. Of love. Of family and friends coming together and having a great time together. Of warmth and memories and safety.
But he hasn't celebrated Christmas in a decade, just like Dean hasn't either.
He sighs, hoping that somehow this year they might actually celebrate, and for this Christmas to be better than the ones before. Then he settles on just staring at nothing in particular, watching old memories fly by as they drive deeper and deeper into Lawrence.
Some of Sam's other earliest memories are invoked when they drive by a park filled with slides, swings, monkey bars. He smiles, recalling when John used to bring him and Dean there. It was also Dean that had taught Sam how to get across the monkey bars. Sam had fallen off and split his chin once, needing stitches on it.
God, he had cried so much on the way to the ER.
He grimaces at the memory and sits back, staring out through the front windshield now. They passed the park so Sam knows they're not far from Eldridge Street, where their home is located.
"1626, Eldridge Street."
The familiar voice and the very thought of the address brings back the foreboding sense of fear in Sam's gut, but he ignores it. He doesn't want to make this trip any more awkward or difficult than it already has the potential of being. They're here for Ellen and to have a lot of fun, and that's all he's going to think about.
"We're here," Dean says, voice low. Sam looks out at the houses lining Eldridge Street on both sides. A few of them already have lights hanging at the windows, tinsel decorated trees outside and large lights embedded into the ground which Sam knows will create different patterns and light up the life-sized reindeers and Santa Clauses decorating the yards.
He hopes it will look just as pretty as he imagines. Maybe, if Dean is up to it, they can go house watching on Christmas.
Dean pulls up into the driveway of their house and turns off the ignition. They look at each other and take a deep breath before getting out of the car. Sam doesn't turn back; he dares not look, and he knows Dean is ignoring their neighbouring house too.
1626, Eldridge Street.
~o~
Ellen and Bobby really meant it when they said they tried to make Sam and Dean's childhood home as livable as possible. The lawn is mown. The porch is clean and the windows have been washed. The flower bed that used to be there around the lamppost near the stoop is gone, though. Sam can remember watering it every morning and feels a forlorn sadness grip his stomach. He misses all that.
The inside of the house is musty but good, and Ellen and Bobby have clearly worked hard on it. There are supplies in the kitchen, the floors have been vacuumed and the bad heating in the living room is compensated with freshly cut wood near the fireplace.
The house is still pretty bare, though, with the minimal furniture they'd left behind.
Sam runs his hands over the walls, listening to Dean's laughter as they'd chased each other around as children. To covering the stairs in cardboard slabs and sliding down them. To their dad telling them not to get hurt. Of watching TV together on weekends and of movie nights. Of talking endlessly into the night in their shared room after their parents were asleep.
They eventually had their own rooms as they'd grown up but sharing rooms with Dean had been fun. Except when Dean decided to recite those God-awful ghost stories at fuck o'clock. They gave Sam nightmares. Not fun.
Sam enters his bedroom puts his shoulder bag on his bed which is neatly covered in fresh sheets, and thinks of Dean or Dad carrying him back when he was little and fell asleep on the couch. A few years later, Dean would haul Sam here and put him to sleep on the nights that Sam came back drunk. He thinks of Dean or John sleeping on this floor when he was sick, and his brother slinking in for late-night poker or in rare circumstances, a heart-to-heart. He opens the closet and shoves his stuff in, remembering staring at his clothes and wondering what to wear for the first time in his life when he'd gone on a date.
Sam remembers the first time he got a girl home. He'd been sixteen and Dad had been away for the weekend. Dean was at Cas's place with the rest of their friends.
Her name was Emily. Sam had kissed her in the living room and they'd come up here and it was the weirdest, most awkward experience in Sam's life, to lose his virginity. They'd dated four months after that, before Emily broke it off saying she liked someone else.
He's taken back to the time when he'd sulked in his room, teary-eyed and hurt. Emily had been special. And at that point, Sam didn't know what he did wrong for her to have left him like that. Dean had always been there for him when he needed it and he had come to Sam's rescue after this breakup too. They'd sat in this very room as Dean had consoled him.
"Sammy?" Dean calls out, entering Sam's room.
Sam ignores him, hugging his knees closer to his chest. Why would Emily do that? Did he hurt her? Say something wrong? Did he screw up?
The bed dips to one side as Dean sits down next to Sam, feet stretched out in front of him.
"You wanna talk?" Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head, sniffing. His mind is still trying to figure out what he messed up, but he honestly can't think of anything. He has been good to her, and she'd always been good too, and it had seemed like something that would last long. They didn't even fight much and things had always been happy and amicable. Until now, when she said he's boring her, and here he was, always trying to do things her way because that was exactly what he didn't want.
So what the fuck did he do wrong?
"You did nothing wrong, Sam."
Did he just say that out loud? Shit.
"Go away," he mumbles. He doesn't really want Dean to go away. But he doesn't want Dean to see him moping and crying over a girl either. He's never seen Dean cry over a break-up. Dean's probably just going to make fun of him and he's just not in the mood for that right now.
"Nope. I'm not leaving until you talk to me."
Sam glares at Dean who just stares right back. After about a minute, Sam lets out an exasperated sigh and faces Dean, sitting cross-legged.
"You really wanna know?"
Dean nods.
"I got dumped. Emily dumped me. You happy?"
Dean looks confused. "Why would I be happy?"
Sam gives Dean an equally puzzled look. "Don't you think I'm a baby? An idiot for crying or – or being sad over this? I mean, you've never..." Sam trails off, not understanding. He thought Dean would make fun of him.
Sam watches as Dean's face goes from a look of confusion to realization. He twists around to Sam and shakes his head.
"Dude, you're not a baby. I mean you are a little bit—"
"Deaaaan."
Dean ruffles his hair. "You liked this chick. And it's okay to be broken up about it. You don't have to feel ashamed for that."
"Really?" Sam asks, playing with a loose thread on his sweatpants.
"Yup. Really. Although this is a one-time pass. Next time I see ya crying over some chick, Sammy, you're not forgetting it."
"Shut up, jerk."
"Bitch," Dean scoffs. "Now tell me, why'd she dump you?"
Sam bites his bottom lip. "She said I'm boring her, and that she likes someone else," Sam mutters, his eyes stinging. He hastily wipes at them, not wanting Dean to see. He had always had this innate fear of falling for someone he wouldn't be good enough for. Just like Dean and Dad are too good for him, but he'd selfishly hoped he'd feel better about himself as he grew older. Apparently not.
Dean sighs. "Well, she's a bitch."
"Dean—"
"Okay, fine. Maybe she isn't. I don't know her as well as you do. But what I do know is, she is missing out on a good, giant dork like you and going after some jock instead? That's her problem. You're going to find better people, Sam. You'll find someone far better than this Emily girl. I mean it." Dean lays a hand on the back of Sam's neck and looks directly into his eyes.
Sam sees the honesty and he feels his lips tug into a smile. "You really think so?"
Dean nods. "Of course, dude. Look at you. You look almost as good as I do." He cuffs at Sam's neck.
"You're ugly."
"Then you're just uglier." Dean sniggers. "Seriously, though. You hearing me?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "Thanks."
They sit shoulder to shoulder after that for a few minutes until Dean breaks the silence.
"I had something like this back when I was in high school," he says.
Sam looks up at him in curiosity. "What?"
"Her name was Janet. She was pretty cool. Dated her for about five months, I think. I really liked her. Well, until I found out she was cheating on me with this guy from the basketball team. I talked to her about it and well, I got dumped."
"I'm sorry," Sam says, shocked. He didn't know Dean had been through something like this too. And, sure, Sam remembers Dean pissed and in bad moods after break-ups but he always reckoned it wasn't a big deal.
"Nah, it's in the past," says Dean. "Either way, just letting you know that you're not the only one."
Now as he thinks of that conversation, Sam smiles wryly to himself. Compared to her, Emily was a fucking saint and he reckons he was a better person to Emily too, because his last relationship was just as much his mistake.
God.
He shudders.
He sits on the bed, moving his hands over the sheets, looking at the bare walls and thinking of the mixture of posters and paintings that had decorated them. The paintings are back at Omaha now and Sam pretty much grew out of the posters. Dean still has his, though. Dean is different that way. He grew up quicker but he likes to cling to the good days more than Sam does.
He also doesn't forget easy.
"Sam." Dean's voice issues from the doorway and Sam looks there to see his brother adjust his jacket. "Ready to go? And wear your glasses okay?"
Sam nods as Dean exits the room and gets his glasses out to wear them, before putting a jacket on himself. He removes his hair tie and shakes his hair back, running a hand through it to smooth it out. "Come on." He feels the dread-excitement wash through him again, and takes one last look at his room before following his brother to the car.
~o~
Sam and Dean hug Ellen and Bobby and Jo tightly when they reach Ellen's place. They haven't been here a while, seeing Ellen and Jo usually come to spend Thanksgiving at Omaha every year while Bobby makes his trip every Easter. Dean's always been determined not to get Sam back here.
It's because of their neighbour, Nick. From what Sam remembers, he knows Nick was a murderer and a kidnapper, and then there's that thing that Sam can't remember and he knows it's associated with Nick too. Nick had lived at 1626, the house across theirs, and this was why Sam couldn't stop a shiver from rolling down his spine earlier today when they'd pulled up to their place. He felt an onslaught of dread and discomfort just at the memory of that address. However, later, Sam did peek a glance at the house and it seems unoccupied now.
It looks like no one bought it in a decade. The yard is overgrown, the house quiet, and Sam's emotions must have been conveyed to his face, as Dean hadn't let Sam look at it too long before pulling him into the car.
"What happened to Nick?" Sam had asked Dean today, finally breaching that subject after ten years. It's been a pact between them at Omaha. Sam isn't supposed to remember, so they don't talk about it. However, seeing the house again had brought Sam's curiosity back, much to Dean's annoyance. "How do they know Nick was a murderer if no one ever found the bodies?"
"He left, and they found a body."
"Whose—?"
Dean had swallowed. "You know who it was."
"You never told me there was a body."
"So I'm telling you now. There was one. And we don't need to discuss this."
"Who—?" And Sam had stopped short, the answer coming to him with a bang and crash. "Andy? Was that… Andy?"
His best friend had died a decade ago too, something else Sam can't remember because it was during that particular… well, time, but he couldn't believe his ears. "Dean, did Nick kill Andy?" He had been told that Andy was in an accident. A skiing accident, to be specific, and Andy did take a lot of skiing trips with his parents back in their childhood so this was not so farfetched, although very sad.
Dean had nodded. "Yeah."
"H-how? Why didn't you tell me that's how he died?" Sam can remember being at Andy's funeral, lost, as Andy's parents hugged him tight. It's a vague, vague thing, tucked somewhere in his head.
"It was ten years ago, Sam," says Dean, "and I told you that we don't talk about this. Can we drop it now?"
And Sam had dropped it. He knows that it's probably not a good idea to try and remember anyway, even though he wishes he could. His heart pains for Andy, though. Another loss that he can't get himself to forget, even if he doesn't remember it happening, just like dad's case.
At that time, things were so different. They have all come up in life. Moved ahead. Ellen used to be Sergeant, and she is the Captain at the police department now. Bobby is Sergeant. And…
Sam searches around for another familiar figure.
Cas.
Sure, his back is turned to Sam, but Sam can recognize that trenchcoat anywhere. Cas never leaves it behind.
The man is a detective, and Sam hasn't spoken to him in ten years. Before they left, Dean and Cas had a falling out (Cas had been a cop then). Sam doesn't know why but they stopped talking, and he'd wanted to stay in touch with Cas, but had nothing to contact him with. Now, standing near the dining table… Cas adjusts the trench coat as he nurses a beer. He's alone, and Sam hesitates, before starting to make his way to his old friend.
Just as Sam's approaching him, Cas picks up his phone and Sam stops, backing away a little. Cas doesn't turn around, and has no clue that Sam's right behind him. He's deep in conversation, and Sam can catch some of it as he looks for Dean.
"Yes," Cas is saying, "all young boys. All teenagers of high school age. Except for one, that is. Yes. Carl."
Sam spots Dean and is about to wave him over, when Cas sighs. "No, Melvin, it's in my drawer. Disappearances. I have a big label on the binder."
Sam freezes.
"In what looks like a case of kidnapping, two boys have been reported missing in Lawrence, Kansas. Both teenagers, they were found missing from school and home two days ago. The search is ongoing but police is unsuccessful in tracing anything of their whereabouts so far. Information on their clothing and looks will be displayed briefly…"
"Man, this news anchor is hot."
"Dean, keep quiet, this is serious. Sam, you know these boys?"
"I - I know one of them."
"There was a similar case ten years ago," Cas mutters, and Sam backs away, his forehead suddenly damp with sweat and heart pounding against his chest. The case. Cas is discussing the one from…
Why?
He keeps moving, hoping Cas doesn't turn now. He doesn't want Cas to see him like this. No way. He needs a drink. And… oh god.
He's still backing off, when someone suddenly bumps into him from the back. "Ouch!"
Shit. Crap.
"S-Sorry!" Sam apologises as he whirls about, only to come face-to-face with a woman. She smiles at him, teeth perfectly white and bordered by painted lips.
"That's all right, I'm fine," she says, adjusting herself. "Although," she frowns as she looks at him, "I haven't seen you around Ellen's before. Are you new?" Her light brown eyes sparkle with her smile and Sam blinks.
"Uh. I used to live here. We moved to Omaha."
"You and?" She flips her hair back and bites her lip, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."
"It's all right. Me and my brother." Sam jabs a thumb towards Dean's corner.
She looks at him a long moment, and holds her hand out. "Sarah Blake."
"Sam Winchester," he replies, shaking hands with her. "So how long have you been here?"
"A few weeks," she says. She then turns towards the painting before her, which hangs above the mantelpiece. "This is a good replica, don't you think?"
Sam nods. He'd gifted it to Ellen long ago. "Sunflowers, by Van Gogh." He folds his arms over his chest. "Most people wouldn't know, though."
"The brush strokes are different around here." She points out to the turquoise backdrop. "There's something off about the texture."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "So you don't think a painter should have his own style?"
"Or hers," she mutters, leaning further to scrutinize it. "Although I never said this wasn't good."
"Oh, it was a he," Sam tells her.
She looks at the painting another moment and then turns to him. "You know this guy?"
"Yup," Sam says, smiling.
She is befuddled a whole minute, and then her eyes widen. "That's you?"
Sam chuckles. "You're right."
"I—" she shakes her head as her hands fly into her hair, pushing it back. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think it was you! This is brilliant!"
Sam's cheeks colour as he bows his head a little. "You're just saying that because now you know it's me."
"No, really."
"It's all right," Sam waves his hand casually. He wasn't fishing for compliments about the painting anyway.
"You're good!" she insists. "Honestly, okay?"
They gawk at each other a whole moment and then simultaneously burst into laughter. Sarah takes a step back, hand on top of the mantelpiece, head thrown back as she laughs and Sam watches her; her streaming eyes and her hair and her blue dress rippling around her thighs as she shakes, and he turns away before he can think of it anymore.
I love you, Sam.
Sam swallows and shakes her memories away as he hears Dean calling out to him. Sarah stops laughing a little, her voice high and clear, and Sam smiles apologetically. "My brother's looking for me. I'll catch you later, okay?"
"All right," she agrees. She pauses, and then rummages her bag for something. "I have to leave now," she says, producing a pen and a piece of paper. "Catch up with me anyway?" She winks at him briefly, handing him the paper, and leaves, the scent of apples trailing behind her.
Sam watches her leave, and numbly opens the paper to see her phone number on it. He crumples it and stuffs it into his pocket before going to find Dean.
He can't do this right now. She seems like a good girl, but Sam can't. He hopes she won't think he's a dick for it.
He waves at Dean to catch his attention and then walks over to him, rolling his eyes at the look Dean throws at him.
"Who was she? She's cute," Dean says, grinning and looking behind Sam as if trying to spot her.
"Sarah," Sam answers. "And yeah, she's cute. Gave me her number too. What's your point?"
Dean looks at him in disbelief. "Dude, you kidding me? What were you two talking about?"
"The painting I'd made for Ellen, back there," he says.
"See? She's totally your type. Geeking out over art and shit. Call her. Hell, I've never got a chick's number this early into my conversation with here and here you are. You lucky bastard."
Sam sighs. "Dean—"
"Sam, come on. She looks good, she was totally checking you out, and you actually had intelligent conversation with another human for a while there so it seems like you two would get along well. So if you asked her out, what's the problem?" Dean folds his hands over his chest.
"I'm…not ready," Sam mumbles, not meeting eyes with Dean. "You know what happened with… yeah."
Not receiving a reply from Dean forces Sam to look up, though, and he sees the softness and care in Dean's eyes.
"You don't have to think about the past, Sammy. You deserve better and you know that. Either way, you don't have to say anything to her if you don't wanna. I'm just suggesting that you get to know her. Maybe ask her out for like a coffee or dinner date. You could use some nice company while we're here, but hey, it's all up to you, okay?" Dean's voice is soft throughout.
Sam purses his lips, considering Dean's advice and then nods. "Okay." Just then he watches Cas approach them, having finished his phone call, and straightens up with a grin. "Hey, Cas."
Sam holds out his hand and Cas takes it, shaking it briefly, and Dean doesn't spare a glance at his former friend before clearing his throat. "I am in the other room, talking to Jo. Okay, Sammy?"
"Okay," says Sam, glancing at Cas, who smiles.
"Hello, Dean."
As Dean ignores that and walks away, Sam just feels the forlorn sadness twinge at him again.
~o~
Dinner is amazing. This one is only for Ellen's closest, and they're all gathered at the small table, Sam, Dean, Cas, Jo, Ellen and Bobby, a smaller, but better company which Sam enjoys. Dean and Cas haven't spoken again; Cas didn't even try to approach Dean again, and Sam wishes the awkwardness between them would just vanish for once because this is just one of the best evenings he's had in a long time and now that they're back here a while, he wants all the broken things to be fixed again. Like before.
"Ya idjits keeping your noses clean?" Bobby asks them as he polishes his steak off. "No issues up at Nebraska, right?"
"You tell us," Dean says, winking at him. "What's with the office romance, you two got going there, huh?"
Bobby looks unperturbed, while Ellen raises an eyebrow. Jo coughs into her wine. Cas seems confused, and Sam isn't surprised at that.
"You want me to whack yer bottoms?" Bobby threatens, and Dean just chuckles harder. It's a testament to how comfortable they are around him.
"You know the truth, Bobby. I ain't saying anything," Dean raises his hands in surrender, feigning innocence.
"You better not. It's none of yer business ya idjit," Bobby warns, yet Sam can see the fondness in his eyes.
"So, Bobby, how's work?" Sam asks, changing the topic as he pops a spoonful of salad into his mouth.
"Same old, same old. Have a couple cases in the works right now but we'll figure 'em out soon enough."
Sam nods, deciding not to mention what he overheard Cas saying on the phone. It wouldn't exactly be great to tell everyone he accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation like that. Plus, talking about it would make it real, and…
"There was a similar case ten years ago."
He swallows at the lump in his throat as few loose strands of hair slide down the sides of his face. Trying to divert his attention from the clusterfuck in his mind, Sam sets his fork aside and fishes out a hair tie out of his pocket. He'd rather not be eating his own hair. He gathers up the front and ties it onto a messy half bun just for the time being.
He then realizes how quiet the table has gotten owing to the fact that they were all staring at him.
Sam turns red. "What?"
Dean gives him an incredulous look. "Dude, five minutes with some clippers."
"Shut up, jerk. It's my hair. You don't get to tell me what to do with it."
"I think it looks great on you, sweetie," Ellen says, going ahead to glare warningly at Dean.
Sam blushes, mumbling a "thank you".
Dean starts chuckling at Sam's reaction and kicks him under the table, and Sam finally grins along as he eats peacefully. They crack jokes, swap stories and in Dean's case, rant about college.
"It's fucking annoying, ok?" Dean says as he gulps down the food in his mouth. "I mean, who the fuck needed to make the body so complicated?" Dean rants, stabbing his fork into his piece of steak.
"Jeez, Dean, you don't need to crush the poor meat," Sam teases.
Dean threateningly waves his fork at Sam but doesn't say anything. Instead he turns back to Bobby and Ellen. "Like, to be honest, the only things that remotely help me remember any kind of shit in anatomy is flashcards. Which again, are annoying because there are so many."
"Flashcards which I help make, you dumbass."
"Whatever. Point being, while I like what I'm doing, anatomy is fucking shit and can go dig itself a grave for all I care," Dean grumbles, munching rather forcefully on his bite of steak.
They continue eating. Sam almost chokes on his drink when Dean tries to flirt playfully with Jo only to be bluntly rejected. He's coughing, with Dean glaring at him when Ellen looks to him.
"How's the TA job going, Sam?"
Sam clears his throat and wipes at his watery eyes. "It's great. Grading papers isn't, though."
"Yeah, and you pass them all," Dean chips in. "So of course it's great 'cause they all probably love you."
"They deserve to pass!"
"No they don't." Dean looks around at the rest of the occupants. "He's way too nice to the kids."
"Am not!" Sam retorts, indignant.
"Dude, you still haven't told that girl, Diane, that she can't fucking paint. And she's always trying to go on dates with you. Or have you been stupid enough to not notice?"
"So you want me to break that girl's heart by telling her she's shit at art?" Sam challenges, throwing his brother as reproachful a look as he can muster.
"Well, you're rejecting her either way, Sammy. Whether you tell her or not, you're breaking her heart. Like your heart was broken by… who was that you cried about back at high school? Elsie?"
"Emily."
"Oh yeah." Dean snorts. "Man, you were an emo kid."
"Shut up, jerk."
"Eat your rabbit food, bitch."
"Boys," Bobby says, stern.
Sam mumbles out an apology, internally smiling to themselves, and brief silence envelopes the table. And it remains that way, comfortable and warm, until a voice breaks it.
"You both haven't changed at all."
It's Cas, and Sam looks across at him, watching the wilted smile on his face. And he glances at Dean who still isn't acknowledging their friend.
Sam shrugs. "We all have, man. We just revert to the basics sometimes."
"Revert to the basics," Cas repeats. "Yes, we should all do that from time to time; don't you think?"
Sam shrugs in agreement and kicks Dean under the table, but doesn't get a kick in reply. He tries to shrug apologetically at Cas, but his old friend is already slumping as he gets back to his food. Sam really, really hopes they will be friends again.
They talk for what feels like hours. Even after they're done eating, they sit amongst empty plates for a good thirty minutes, just chatting away, catching up on each other's lives. Cas, though, is quiet through it all except for that brief conversation and Sam catches his eyes trained on Dean throughout, and feels something sink into his stomach. Dean, however, continues to ignore him.
After dinner, Sam can't take it anymore. They're wearing their jackets and Dean is kissing Ellen goodbye when Sam approaches Cas. "Hey."
Cas smiles at him, the familiar, wide, smile Sam has seen after a long, long time, this time with crinkles around his eyes. "Hello, Sam."
"You wanna come home with us?" Sam asks him. "Catch up?"
"I would very much like to, but—" He looks at Dean and Sam can read the uncertainty and sadness on his face. "I don't know."
Sam nudges his shoulder. "He'll sulk but warm up. Come on."
"Revert to the basics?" Cas smiles.
"Yeah, he will. He just needs to realise that things have changed now."
Cas hesitates; then obliges as he follows Sam outside to the Impala. Dean notices him but doesn't say anything throughout the drive. But the fact that he didn't outright yell at Cas or tell him not to join them, gives Sam positive hope.
When they get back home, Sam looks across the street and feels his heartbeat quicken at Nick's place. He sways on his spot and Dean comes to put a hand on Sam's shoulder, just as Cas moves to offer his help too. Dean brushes Cas off, and nods at Sam. "Don't look there, Sammy. He's gone." And Sam takes his advice.
Dean doesn't talk much to Cas as they have beers and watch a movie either, and Sam thinks he's made a mistake. He manages to keep up a conversation; something about old, dead languages and the weird stuff Cas tends to like, and then turns in early, still a little shaken up about Nick as he shows Cas to the guest room, thinking this whole thing has been a trainwreck.
At night when Sam's comfortable under his covers, Dean comes up to his room. "Sam," he says, "You have no clue why Cas and I stopped talking. Leave it be, okay?" He pauses. "And ask that girl you were talking to, to coffee tomorrow."
His voice isn't raised. In fact, it's hardly over a whisper, but Sam senses the fury in it. He shivers a little as he turns. Dean rarely ever uses that tone of voice so Sam knows he's struck a nerve. He decides to make it up to him later. When Dean leaves, he thinks of his brother's suggestion to call Sarah and starts to look for her phone number.
He struggles a little but brings out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. When he's dialled her number and put the phone to his ear, his heart rate speeds up just at the ringing tone.
"Hello?"
Sam stays silent, wondering if he's doing the right thing.
"Hello? Who is this?"
Sam takes a deep breath. Dean's right. Some company wouldn't hurt. "Hey," he says and buries his face into his palm. His voice has never sounded so high pitched and alien to him before. He clears his throat. "It's me, Sam."
"Oh! Hey! I didn't think you'd call."
"Yeah, I didn't know if I would either, to be honest. But, what the heck."
What the heck? Sam wants to punch himself. Why is he so bad at this?
"So…" Sarah prompts. "Anything in particular you wanna talk about?"
Sam feels blood rush into his cheeks. He licks his lips and gulps. He's acting like a teenager asking his crush out. He steels himself for rejection as he says, "I was…just wondering. I mean, you seem like…I don't know. I just…wow, I'm sorry, I suck at this."
"No big deal," Sarah, says, chuckling. Her laugh makes Sam's heart flutter. He can just imagine how she looks, brushing her hair back, smiling, eyes sparkling. "Tell me."
"Okay, here goes. I was just wondering if you'd like to have coffee sometime. Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer."
Sam's heart is beating a mile a minute as he waits for her reply.
"Sure. How about The Fitzgerald? Tomorrow morning? I'll text you the timing soon. That okay?"
"Sounds perfect," Sam says, relieved.
"Okay then. See you soon. 'Night, Sam."
"'Night," Sam says as she hangs up.
Sam stares in wonder at his phone. He isn't surprised to find his hands shaking. For all he knows, this could either really good or really bad. But maybe Dean was right. He should give this a chance. What could be worse than… than her?
With the telephone conversation in his mind, Sam falls asleep dreaming of feathers and Sarah and screaming.
A/N: Reviews? :D