Ounce Of Patience
Chapter 1 - No Rest for the Weary
Dean sat staring out the dingy window, feet propped on the old motel air conditioning unit that was momentarily silent. The fading light glistened across the waves as the sun slowly slipped below the watery horizon. Sam had finally talked him into a vacation that wasn't Vegas. Despite the verbal sparring, Dean knew that Sam was tired, they both were, and needed the break, but Dean had not wanted anywhere quiet. He had kept them busy with an endless string of hunts for over six months. He wanted the noise, endless noise. He didn't want to face the silence.
Now he sat. He sat in the silence. To an innocent bystander he looks like a man in deep contemplation, maybe solving the great mysteries of the universe. To Sam he looks as if the weight of the world sits on his shoulders from the endless loss and turmoil that plagues their lives. But inside him there is a struggle. A struggle to continue the pursuit of his mission and purposefully reject his own desires. He looks down at the phone in his hand again. Even he isn't sure why he continues to look at the pale blue screen with the digital clock that only shows the moments of his life ticking away.
He placed the phone on the table with a sigh and retrieved the plastic cup with a dash of whiskey still in the bottom. He tossed it back and moved to stand.
Sam closed the book in his hands and placed it on the nightstand. With a stretch he looked out the window and then at Dean, "Ready to find some dinner?"
"Sure."
Before Sam could make a suggestion about the seafood place down the road, Dean's phone lit up and the sounds of AC/DC echoed through the sparsely furnished room. He had been a man of few words over recent months and when he had spoken it was typically curt, harsh, or sarcastic. His phone greeting reflected just that, "Yeah. … When? … Okay. … Any idea what it could be? … Fine. … Be there tomorrow."
"What's going on?" Sam queried as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Not sure. That was Jared Thompson. He's got a situation in Chadron, Nebraska. Strange crap, people missing, et cetera."
With a sigh Sam stood and reached for his duffle, "Well, two days at the beach a vacation makes."
Dean rolled his eyes, set the empty cup down and grabbed his worn blue carhartt jacket.
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The lights flickered down the corridor causing the hunter instincts to peak. The stocky figure walked lithely into the adjoining room with a silver knife and a revolver both at the ready. His shoes squeaked on the slick white tiles temporarily distracting him from the drip, drip, drip of water. To the left were rows of glass cases and to the right was a wall covered in brown furs protruding and dangling at odd angles. Lights crackled as he took another tentative step and stopped to listen more intently. He looked right then he looked left. He raised the gun a bit higher as the hairs on his neck stood on end at the energy in the room. Cautiously he moved to take another step. An arm encircled his neck and a sticky hand landed on the side of his face. Before he could raise the blade or the revolver to do damage to his assailant, his head made a sharp turn to the right and he heard a loud crack within his own head. His field of vision blasted white. He felt fire shoot through his neck, down his spine, into his arms and legs, then into each fingertip and each toe. The burn was followed by numbness that followed the same path as the fire. The world turned dark and eagerly he fell into the open arms of death.
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Dean tapped an impatient finger on the wrinkled black fabric of his pant leg. Sam had begun a conversation with the sheriff of Chadron, Nebraska nearly ten minutes before and at this moment they were no closer to solving the case than when they walked through the front door. The sheriff knew nothing, the deputy knew nothing, and they officially knew nothing. Sam's smooth professional voice cut through Dean's annoyed train of thought, "Please let us know if you hear anything else."
"I certainly will. We're glad you federal types are here. We can sure use the backup on this one. The city is trying to keep a lid on all these missing persons cases cause it'll kill tourism if it gets out...if you'll pardon the expression."
"Yes, sir. We understand." Sam replied with a nod.
Dean cut in with the first words he'd spoken since showing his badge, "And please let us know if you hear from the other agent. We were supposed to meet up with him last night and haven't heard from him."
"Will do. He probably just doesn't have any cell service. It's real sketchy around here."
Sam handed over a business card, "Thanks again."
They shook hands and parted company. Dean lead the way out of the building and down Main Street towards city hall where he had parked the Impala. "Well, that was pointless."
Sam ignored the anger in his brother's voice and dialed the number for Jared Thompson once more. Sam had edged around the subject of his older brother's anger and exceptionally bad attitude for months until recently when Dean chewed him out for something so minor that he didn't even remember doing it. "What the hell is with you, man!? I've kept my mouth shut because I know sometimes the shit of this job just catches up with us, but you've been a royal pain in the ass, Dean." That conversation had lead to an all out yelling match, but ultimately resulted in a much needed, albeit short, vacation.
"Nothing. Just keeps going to voicemail." Sam was losing hope for their fellow hunter.
Dean didn't say a word as they strode purposefully down the sidewalk. The sun was warming the morning sky, but the air was still cool with the fading of spring. Locals were opening their shops and a few tourists were meandering through the town. The smell of freshly brewed coffee from the nearby Daily Grind Shoppe had Dean's mind tripping back to moments of seven months ago and a beautiful brown curly headed woman with mesmerizing blue eyes and her obsession with coffee. He glanced around at the scenery and allowed himself to think of her and how much she would enjoy the small town. He had met her because of a cursed ring, and although the ring only tied their minds together for a week they had shared a lifetime of memories and thoughts. Breaking the bond that held them together had been one of the most difficult decisions he had ever made. Since he drove away seven months, six days, and three hours ago he hadn't seen nor spoken to her, but not a day and nearly an hour would pass without a thought of her.
"How about coffee?"
Dean couldn't help that Sam's request made him angry. Everything that reminded him of her made him angry. However, he intentionally stopped himself from barking out a smart remark in hopes of easing his younger brother's frustration with him and thereby making him stop asking the age old questions, "Do you wanna talk about it?" Or "What's up with you, Dean?". So, he nodded and the two black suit clad brothers altered their course and headed for the coffee shop.
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Faith adjusted the purple wire framed glasses perched on her nose and punched a few more keys on the laptop keyboard before sitting back to peruse her latest entry. She took a small sip of the classic mocha latte testing the temperature and then set the cup back down on the little table beside her as she continued to focus on the information on the screen. It was a chore to focus at all and Faith intentionally doubled down closer to the screen forcing herself to ignore the world around her. The smallest thing could be the biggest distraction whereas before he came along she could focus and conquer any task. Dean Winchester had tapped on her front door seven months, thirteen days, and about thirty minutes ago and turned her entire world on it's end. Not a day and hardly an hour passed without something reminding her of him, his smile, his voice, his eyes, his taste in music, his sense of humor... She knew it had been the right decision to let him go, but even now it physically hurt as she recalled one of his memories of looking over Sam's shoulder at a laptop. With a deep steadying breath Faith leaned back in her seat and pulled the glasses from her face. On occasion she would give in and allow herself a moment to think of him.
The dinging of the bell over the bright red front door was sufficient to pull her from staring blankly at her computer screen. She glanced over her shoulder to see who the new patrons might be and nearly dropped her laptop as two black suit clad figures strode through the door and toward the counter. Her heart thundered in her chest and her breath caught in her throat as she watched Dean's gaze sweep around the room and fall on her.
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Sam began to place their usual order and Dean, staying true to his hunter instincts, scanned the room for a second time to get a better look at the occupants. His gaze swept through the small shop assessing each individual until he came to the cluster of arm chairs in a corner closest to the counter. There she sat in denim and black tucked in a small floral print chair with her feet propped on a non matching bright orange footrest. Her curly locks hung loosely around her face highlighting those dusty blue eyes he saw nearly every night in his dreams. His voice left him and his motor functions refused to respond. He couldn't hear Sam questioning him about his order over the pounding of his heart.
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Sam was the first to move. He had tracked Dean's gaze and spotted Faith in the corner of the room. Without a moment of hesitation he took long strides covering the distance quickly. Faith popped up from her chair and dropped the laptop on the seat behind her just as he reached her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed her eyes shut listening to the steady voice echoing in his chest.
"Faith, it's so good to see you. We've missed you!" Pulling her away he looked down into her face. "How have you been?"
She heaved a sigh and released her hold, "Fine. Busy. How about you guys?"
Dean's shoes echoed on the tile floor and became silent as he stopped on the carpet beside Sam. Faith ventured a look in his direction and found him staring with what she interpreted as a mix of unbridled shock and an attempt at playing it cool. A smile played at the corner of her lips and before she could filter each word she said, "Well, you better get yourself over here and give me a hug."
Dean registered her request with a small smile of his own and reached to meet her outstretched arms. Pulling her in close he took a deep breath and released it slowly as the fear, anxiety, and anger from the last seven months, six days, and three hours momentarily melted away.
Disclaimer & Writer's Notes: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. Faith, on the other hand, is all mine.
This is a sequel to "Measure of Trust". I've attempted to write it as a stand alone as much as possible, but there may be things that just don't make sense without reading the other.
Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!
xoxo, Jen