It was a dark and stormy night.
Sam glanced over his shoulder as he slipped his key into the lock. Dark clouds swirled upon the western horizon – dark on dark as night approached. Demons could be hiding among them, their black ethereal forms the perfect camouflage. He stood paused upon the doorstep, head raised, as the wind tugged at his clothing, his hair. Sam could smell the rain, but he could not sense any malevolence. The clouds were only clouds.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sam opened the door and went inside. He shut and locked the door behind him. His bags went down on the nearest bed. Before he did anything else he paused to pour salt down across the windowsill and at the bottom of the door. With a piece of chalk he drew a sigil on the worn carpet in front of the door. A determined demon might use the plumbing to gain access. Sam poured salt down the drains and into the toilet bowl. Other Hunters might have laughed at him, but he wasn't taking any chances.
Things had been quiet lately – too quiet. It made Sam nervous, and it also deprived him of work when he needed it most. Work kept him busy. It kept him from thinking. It kept him from remembering. He could interact with people instead of being alone, and sometimes Ruby would show up to lend him a hand. Now – there were no cases for him to investigate, no demons to hunt, and Ruby had gone to wherever she went when she wasn't bugging him.
Sam stood at the foot of one of the twin beds occupying the room. He was tired. He'd rented the room without thinking. Running on autopilot he'd asked for a double out of habit. Maybe it was fitting though.
He'd put off going through Dean's things for months. The car, and the contents of her trunk were one thing. Their arsenal was universal, as much Sam's as Dean's. Dean's personal belongings were a different story. Dean's duffel had remained unopened, stuffed into the back seat out of Sam's sight. Sam hadn't touched it. He probably should have burned it along with his brother's body, but it hadn't occurred to him.
Tonight, forced to go hole up for a while due to the storm, bereft of work and company, Sam decided it was time.
He sat down on the bed and pulled Dean's duffel close to him. As he did he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The sight gave him pause not only because of the look of weary resignation written upon his face, but because of the pendant around his neck.
Before he died, Dean had wordlessly handed over the pendant and the keys to the Impala. They had officially become Sam's. Not so the rest of Dean's belongings. Going through them would be difficult. It would bring the horrible sense of loss, and feelings of grief Sam felt back to the forefront. It would be like he was committing a crime. Those things still hidden within the battered bag were not his.
Sam opened it, and upturned it, spilling its contents out onto the bedspread. Pockets and compartments were all opened and searched, items removed. Within a few short minutes all of Dean's worldly possessions were revealed. They lay scattered across the bed – a pitifully meager testimony.
Most of the duffel's contents was clothing. It was clean, but well worn; nothing new among the shirts, socks, jeans and underwear. Dean had only a few changes of clothes, maybe five different outfits. Sam knew them all, and knew the one that was missing. Dean's favorite jeans, a comfortable t-shirt and plaid button-down, the leather jacket that once had been their father's – that ensemble had gone up in flames. Dean had only one pair of boots in the end.
Sam could wear the shirts and socks. He'd keep them. An extra shaving kit would be handy too.
He flipped open his brother's wallet. No cash – not surprising. Fake I.D., stolen credit cards, a slip of paper with a phone number and the name "Jill" written on it. Tucked into one pocket was a creased and faded picture of the three of them – John, Dean and Sammy – taken when Sam was ten. He couldn't remember the time or place nor who had been behind the camera. Hidden in another of the wallet's folds was a picture Sam had never seen before.
It was a small photograph of a pretty blond woman sitting in a rocking chair with a baby in her arms. On the back, written in Dean's handwriting, was a note:
October 1983
Mom and Sammy
Sam sighed deeply, and put both of the pictures aside. He sat staring at the things laid out before him. Sadness threatened to overwhelm him as he thought about just these few items being the whole of Dean's belongings. His brother had only the most tenuous ties to existence – a car, some clothes, a wallet whose contents provided him no true identity. If it hadn't been for his family, Dean would have had nothing at all.
Finally, Sam was able to understood the desperation that had led to Dean's final decision. The pain was agonizing. It brought tears to his eyes.
"I'm sorry..."
He had to set his task aside, unable to go any further. He took a shower, got ready for bed. His mood had killed his appetite. Dinner was a package of crackers and a flat soda from the machine down the hall. Sam sat up in bed watching late night television, fell asleep for a couple of hours. The storm woke him.
It was dark save for the lightning flashes flickering outside. Sam could see it through a gap in the curtains. Restless, he went to the window and looked out briefly. When he turned to go back to his bed he paused at the pile of things he'd left on the other bed. He'd gone through everything but Dean's cell phone. He picked it up, and took it with him
Lying there in the dark, listening to thunder rumble in the distance, Sam thumbed through the numbers Dean had saved. There were only a few of substance: Sam, Bobby, Bela, Ellen. There had once been more, before people close to them started dying. Sam was startled to see Ruby's name listed there too.
The rest of the names were most likely those of conquests or potential conquests. All but a couple were non-gender specific (Pat, Micky, TJ) and the others most recognizably female. Sam had to smile as he set to work trying to crack Dean's password. It took him only a moment. It was their mother's birthday.
There were four voice-mails. One was old- Bobby's response to a question they'd had on a case. Another – a curse and a hang-up from Bela.
The third and fourth gave Sam pause. "TJ" was apparently not one of Dean's conquests. The voice belonged to a guy, young from the sound of it.
"Hey D, it's Teej. I got a gig in Atlantic City. If you're this way, come see me."
It was light hearted, inviting, dated around the time they had been in Atlantic City a few months before Dean died.
The second message, however, came on the eve of Dean's death, and the tone was vastly changed. It was reserved, and the concern was unmistakable.
"It's TJ. Call me, let me know you're okay." There was a long pause. "If I don't hear from you I guess...God. Call me Dean, please."
Dean had never returned the call, at least not from this phone.
Sam wasn't sure what bothered him most: the fact Dean apparently had a friend, that he had a friend he had not mentioned to his brother, or that said friend had been left hanging by Dean's death. In any case, and without a case, Sam decided to look the guy up and talk to him.
Maybe it was just because Sam missed Dean.
A lot.
Any Hunter worth his salt (no pun intended) could track just about anyone, anywhere. Sam was worth his salt and then some, tracing the cell phone back to a Theodore Jackson Burton – which explained the TJ. It wasn't hard to find him. He was in Cleveland of all places, working in a bar near the lake shore.
The weather was warm by the time Sam arrived and the place was packed with twenty-somethings in summer gear. Sam's nod to summer was simply taking off his coat. A t-shirt and jeans were the extent of his summer wardrobe, and he certainly felt older than twenty-something. Even when he was back at Stanford and his group of friends went out drinking, Sam was always more reserved than the others. He didn't dance to the watered down techno/pop/alternative music, didn't play the drinking games...
He made his way through the crowd toward the bar itself. The bartender was busy. The waitresses bustled back and forth carrying beer, wine and finger food on trays held over their heads. Sam barely avoided a nasty collision. The only way he could get the bartender to talk to him was to order something first, and he had to shout to be heard.
"I'm looking for TJ Burton."
The bartender glared at him. "What for?"
"I have news about a friend of his."
With a snort, the man turned to hand a drink to an impatient waitress. "Yeah? That's a line if I ever heard one. TJ doesn't have friends."
"I heard different," Sam said. "Look, do you know where I can find him or not?"
The bartender shot him a nasty glare. "Hey Wendy!" he bellowed. "Tell TJ someone is here to see him."
The impatient waitress rolled her eyes and disappeared through a door. A moment later she returned and jerked her head back toward the direction she'd came. "He's in his office."
"May I?" Sam asked.
The bartender gave him a derisive look. "Be my guest."
At the door the waitress stood aside to let him pass, but not without giving Sam a rather uncomfortably close observation first. He paused to call her on it, just to be an ass. He wasn't in a particularly jocular, nor tolerant, mood.
"What?"
The girl hastily scurried away, leaving Sam alone in a short, narrow hallway. There were two doors. One obviously led into the kitchen. Sam took the other, knocking only once before entering.
It wasn't much of an office, not much more than a closet really, just big enough for a desk and two chairs – one in front and one behind said desk – a bookshelf, and a small floor safe. The desk was littered with papers, the bookshelf crammed with old newspapers, magazines and expanding file folders. The whole room smelled strongly of stale beer and the scene was, for lack of a better word, ugly.
Incongruously, sitting behind the desk was a really good lookin' guy. He was about Sam's age, maybe a bit older, with dark, black hair slightly longer than Sam's, and a faintly Asian look to his features. His eyes were almond shaped, but instead of the dark brown Sam might have expected, they were a bright and rather startling shade of blue. They narrowed in annoyance as he looked up at Sam.
"If you're here for about the job, I filled the position last week."
"That's not why I'm here."
"Then why don't you tell me why the Hell you are here?"
Sam snorted. Nice attitude. No wonder Dean liked the guy. "You are Theodore J. Burton, aren't you?"
"Theodore was a scrawny kid with a cowlick. Yeah, I'm TJ. And you are?"
"Sam Winchester."
It all changed right there and then. Sam observed it in everything from TJ's expression, to his body language, to the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice. The confident, snide bar manager took a back seat. He looked suddenly much younger and definitely more vulnerable. Hearing Sam's name had punched through a number of walls and Sam had become king of the mountain. The ball was in his court.
TJ stared up at him and his voice grew soft. His words were painfully blunt. "He's dead. You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Sam swallowed heavily. His own voice was rough. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I thought you should know."
"You could have called."
"Would you have wanted to hear it over the phone?"
There was no reply but the answer was obvious. TJ stood up, revealing his height to be right around Dean's. He made his way around his desk and stood leaning against the other chair, facing Sam. "It's a little cramped in here for this conversation. My apartment is upstairs." He brushed past into the hallway.
Sam followed him out into the bar where the bartender and the waitress, Wendy, gave them both cool looks. TJ didn't bother to tell them where he was going. They didn't bother to ask.
"Nice attitudes."
"Yeah, they're barrels of fun." For the first time Sam noticed a very faint accent to TJ's voice. Only later did he recognize it as Cajun. "They think oh-so-highly of me."
"Yeah?"
Although the bar was air-conditioned, the crowd had made it warm inside. It was almost a relief to walk out into the fresh air even though the heat of the day had not yet faded completely. TJ led the way to a steel stair at the side of the building. The two of them went up to the door at the top.
"Gary thought he should have gotten the manager's position, hence his angst," TJ remarked, opening the door to reveal his small, but tidy apartment. "Not to mention the fact he's an over muscled moron who thinks every gay man is just itching to tie him up and rape him. As if I'd have anything to do with that homophobic prick."
Sam put on the brakes on the threshold, stopping cold in his tracks as that bit of information played pinball inside his head. "Yah-what? You're..."
TJ glanced over his shoulder. "Gay? Yes, and despite what Wendy and Gary think, I didn't bring you up here to seduce you, so get your ass inside. I'm not paying to cool the whole of Cleveland."
After a moment of hesitation, Sam went inside and shut the door behind him. It was nicely air conditioned inside. A small window unit hummed quietly, cooling the entire apartment. TJ went to the tiny kitchen and procured two beers. The music from the bar below vibrated the floor beneath Sam's feet.
"You got a problem with me being gay?"
Sam blinked. "Uh...no. I was just surprised. I mean...I got the impression..." He stopped, shoulders sagging as he twisted off the cap to the beer in his hand. "Hell," he said softly. "I don't know what I thought. I guess I could have called..."
"I'm glad you didn't." Sitting down, and gesturing for Sam to do the same, TJ sipped his drink with a small smile. "Dean wasn't keen on my preferences either, but he wasn't stupid. He knew friend from foe."
"He didn't have many," Sam replied, taking a chair opposite the sofa where TJ sat. "Friends, that is. Plenty of foes, not so many friends." He hesitated, wondering how much he should say, how much Dean had told TJ. "Our job kinda gets in the way. I guess that's why I'm here. To be honest, I was curious."
"About me?"
"About who Dean called friend."
TJ shook his head, still smiling. "Threw you, didn't I? He didn't call me lover if that's what you're wondering."
"I wasn't."
"Don't lie, Sam." The smile faded. "How?"
"Pardon?"
"How did he die?"
Sam lowered his eyes. It bought him time to come up with something, anything besides the truth. "I...it was an accident. The car..."
"You're lying again. Dean always said you were a shitty liar. Was it the Hounds?"
The Hounds. Hell Hounds. Sam raised his head sharply, eyes narrowing. TJ obviously knew more than Sam thought he did. "You know..."
"About the deal? Yeah, I know. You want to know the truth? I was probably the only person Dean ever confided in besides you, and I'll bet I know things you don't." TJ leaned back in his seat, his hands neatly folded around the bottle he held in his lap. He had, Sam noted, very elegant hands, almost feminine, save for the size. "And that is why you're here, isn't it?"
There could be no more lies, Sam realized. "I miss him," he whispered. He worried his lip with his teeth, fighting back the grief that never seemed to go away, always boiling just beneath the surface like magma within a volcano, just waiting to erupt. "The Hounds," he continued, answering the question. "They came that night. We tried to hold them off – used up every bullet we had for the Colt, every protection we knew of, but they were going to get through. They were going to tear him apart, drag his soul back to Hell with them." Sam hesitated, gathering himself, and was grateful for TJ's silent patience. "So I...took the 44, and I...I shot him. I killed him myself."
"Sam..."
The tears couldn't be held back this time. "I killed him. I couldn't stand there and watch..."
Sam could remember the look on Dean's face like it was yesterday. He'd passed beyond fear, beyond anger. His attitude had been one of resignation, his expression serene. He knew what Sam was thinking of doing. They'd looked each other in the eye, and Dean had known.
"It's okay, Sammy."
The gunshot silenced the howls of the demon dogs. In the quiet that followed all Sam heard was the wild beating of his own heart and the soft thump of his brother's body falling to the floor.
"If you hadn't," TJ said softly. "He would have done it himself."
Nodding, Sam found center again, hardening himself against the memories. "Yeah," he said. "I know." He raised a hand to wipe his eyes. "So," he cleared his throat. "We're here. Why don't you tell me about my brother, and you."
Most of the time Hunters weren't welcome in New Orleans. Ghosts and spirits, vampires and demons were commonplace and often revered by those who lived with and among them. They gave New Orleans a certain ambiance that couldn't be found elsewhere. They also brought in thousands of dollars in tourist revenue. Some would say Katrina was God's way of purging the evil from the city, but in the aftermath of the hurricane, evil came right back home.
Long before Katrina nearly wiped New Orleans off the map, John Winchester answered a call from a man who owned a cabaret down in the French Quarter. The theater, the man claimed, was haunted and the spirit had begun to cause him trouble with his performers. They were a suspicious bunch who had threatened to call a halt to their performances unless the ghost was purged from the place. Two people had already died. The owner wanted the ghost gone and admitted quite frankly to not trusting anyone local to do the job – if he could even find an honest practitioner.
John went, and took Dean with him.
It was a bad time for the Winchesters. Sam had just left, which put John in a foul mood. Dean tip-toed around his father speaking only when spoken to, keeping his nose to the grindstone and his back from under the lash. Anything went wrong and John was on his ass, ripping him a new one. Dean took it in typical Dean fashion, without one word of complaint.
"Like I said. He wasn't stupid. Dean knew displaced aggression when he saw it. John wasn't mad at him, not really. He was mad at you, Sam."
TJ understood Sam's decision to leave, however. His parents had been one of many generations of circus performers, gypsies, people lingering on the outskirts of society. He'd been raised on the road, taught to be suspicious of outsiders, loyal to his family and their clan. He hated it. When he turned sixteen he'd left them and settled in New Orleans.
"I needed a job. Met a guy, who knew a guy, and that's how I ended up in drag. God, how I despised it. Nothing like perpetuating a stereotype to help boost your self esteem, but it paid well, and kept a safe roof over my head. If it hadn't been the cabaret it might have been the street corner."
It was their upbringing that formed the basis of their friendship. Dean could relate to life on the road, and TJ's longing to escape it was achingly reminiscent of Sam's. TJ struggling to make ends meet by dancing in a drag show chorus line, and Sam slogging through law school on his own, made them rather kindred spirits. Dean was drawn to TJ because he was lonely. Sam's absence had left a major hole in his life he was having difficulty filling, and John wasn't making it any easier. Dean needed Sam, and in TJ he found a passable substitute.
While John interviewed the theater owner, Dean nervously interrogated the "girls" backstage. He was young, and cute, and they were merciless. They were less interested in discussing the ghost than they were exchanging sexual innuendo with Dean, who was ultimately backed into a corner and fondled quite thoroughly by one of the more aggressive performers.
TJ had pushed his way through and put himself between his co-worker and Dean. "Back off."
"Oooh. Look girls, Baby is gonna fight Ms. Martinique for the pretty boy toy."
"Shut up, Brad. He's here to help your skanky ass, so why don't you go slap some more plaster on those wrinkles and let him do his job."
"Watch your mouth, Baby."
"Screw you."
Ms. Martinique, a.k.a. Brad, turned away in a huff, leaving them alone. TJ grabbed Dean by the arm and led him back out into the bar. It was after hours, all the shows were over and the patrons had gone home. Across the room John still spoke with the cabaret owner. TJ and Dean sidled up to the bar. TJ poured them both a shot of whiskey. Dean had appeared a little rattled by the experience.
"Thought you might need it."
Dean nodded. "Not every day I get felt up by a drag queen."
"Brad's just an ass, likes to mess with people. You're not even his type."
"Uh...I'm not?"
TJ rolled his eyes. "Homosexual does not mean indiscriminate. He likes them older and hairier."
"I'm not sure I'm relieved or insulted." Dean frowned, and cocked his head. "No. Relieved, definitely relieved."
"Now him on the other hand..." TJ nodded toward John.
"Oh God, don't even go there, that's my father."
TJ chuckled and poured him another shot. "Are you even old enough to be drinking this?"
"Twenty-two, almost twenty-three."
"Same here. TJ. TJ Burton."
"Dean Winchester." They clinked glasses. "Bottoms up...uh...I mean..."
TJ shook his head and laughed. "Relax, dude. You want to hear about this poltergeist or not?"
They didn't just talk about the poltergeist that night and the nights that followed, but everything else too, falling into a surprisingly easy camaraderie. TJ liked Dean immediately. He saw through the masks from the beginning. He saw what many people didn't - the kind heart hidden away beneath the tough-guy exterior. He could never say how he came to that conclusion, but he had, and he'd been spot on with it.
In turn, TJ believed Dean appreciated not having to be "on" with him like he had to be with his father and brother. With TJ, Dean was just Dean. He wasn't his little brother's protector/provider, he wasn't his father's soldier; he was quiet, somewhat insecure, often introspective, and always longing for the simple life he might have otherwise been leading.
TJ was there in the background throughout Sam's absence, and it was to TJ Dean went first when John disappeared. His "job" in New Orleans, the one he'd told Sam about, had not been a job at all. He'd gone down there for a little company and some advice. John had left him hanging without even a word of explanation.
Dean paced back and forth, his boots thumping on the wooden floor of the studio apartment TJ shared with a roommate. He'd been seeing someone at the time, a fact which he tended to brush under the rug during conversations with Dean. It always bothered Dean to be friends with a gay man, despite the thoroughly platonic nature of their relationship. When Dean called and said he was coming, TJ asked his lover to be elsewhere during the visit. It resulted in a bitter argument and ultimately, a breakup. TJ kept that from Dean too.
"What the Hell, Teej? He said he'd meet me in Memphis, never showed. I get a voice mail telling me he'd wrapped up his last job and asked me to check out something in Kansas City – which turned out to be totally bogus..."
"He's just picked up the scent of another case, Dean. He's done this before."
"No," Dean stopped pacing abruptly. "No. Not like this. Never like this...this...vanishing act." He shook his head. "No. Something's up. I can feel it."
TJ shrugged and toyed with the long, dark braid that hung more than halfway down his back. He'd grown his hair long and frequently found it in his way, but he'd grown weary of the wigs he had to wear in the show. It took him more time to get ready because he had to style it, but at least he was no longer burdened with the heavy wigs. By that time he was a headliner. He could do whatever he pleased, and he pleased not to wear a wig.
"Why don't you call Sam?"
Dean flinched. "Sam? Why?"
"If you're that worried about your father, don't you think your brother should know what's going on?"
"I haven't talked to Sam in two years, and you know how crappy that last visit went. He's got a life, TJ. I'm not gonna screw it up for him."
There was a long silence. TJ watched as Dean pulled out his phone and fiddled with it, as if he were on the edge of a precipice trying to decide whether or not he wanted to throw himself off of it. He wanted to call Sam. He needed Sam, but just didn't want to admit it.
"Come with me," Dean raised his head and slipped his phone back in his pocket. "Dump this drag queen shtick. It's not you."
TJ laughed. "Dozens of patrons disagree."
"You hate it, Teej."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm not a Hunter, Dean. Far from it."
"Oh, come on..."
Beer was in order. TJ got up and brought them some. Alcohol always made things less painful. A spoonful of sugar...or in this case, hops.
"Dean," he said softly. He twisted the caps off the bottles and handed one to Dean. "You hate Hunting as much as I hate strapping on falsies."
Dean turned away and went to the window. There was no view but the side of another building, but some enterprising person had jokingly painted a landscape across the bricks. From TJ's sofa it looked like a flowering meadow lay outside all year round. He stared at it for a while, quietly drinking, not saying a word.
"You're the only person I've ever told that," he said finally.
"I don't know why you don't quit."
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?" TJ shot back angrily. "It's killing you – or it will eventually. You don't owe your father any damn thing. You raised your brother for him for God's sake. It's over. It's your time now!"
"I can't, TJ."
"Dean..."
Turning around, Dean came back with his own angry retort. "Can you stop being gay?"
TJ blinked, confused. "What?"
"It's what I am. I'm a Hunter. It's the only thing I've ever known, it's all I've ever learned. Even if I stopped, if I got myself a wife and a house and a kid, it would always come back to haunt me!" His voice softened. "I can't, Teej. No more than you can stop being gay."
There wasn't an argument TJ could come up with to counter that, knowing it was the truth. He'd dated women before, almost got engaged once, and it never worked out. He was what he was, and there was no changing it.
"Come with me," Dean repeated. "Just for a while. Call it a vacation."
"You're cute when you beg."
"Knock it off."
TJ chuckled. "Yeah, and driving around with the likes of you in that smelly land yacht – some vacation. No thanks, I'll pass." He stopped, and regarded Dean soberly. "Besides," he said softly. "It's not me you want riding shotgun. Call your brother."
It was then that the phone beeped, and upon investigation Dean discovered the voicemail from John. There was EVP on the recording. It was frightening enough, but so was John's message.
"Something's come up, something big..."
"I'm not calling Sammy," Dean said later, shoving the phone into his pocket and checking the gun he had tucked into his belt. "I'm going to go get his ass."
In the competition for tourist dollars after Katrina, the cabaret went under. TJ found himself out of work. He had picked up a few more skills therefore giving himself more options, but still found himself bounced around from place to place. It was, perhaps, like Dean had said. TJ couldn't stop being gay, and ultimately he couldn't escape from the nomadic life he'd been born into either. He was finally able to change his professions, becoming first a bartender, and then a bar manager. His first gig was in Chicago. Dean emailed him from time to time, keeping him abreast of what was going on with the brothers Winchester.
"I don't like it, Teej. I'm scared shitless. I don't even like psychics! Now Sam's gone all DeadZone. What the Hell do I do now?"
"Have you talked to him about it?"
"No! Of course not. You think I want him to know I'm scared? Get a clue, dude."
"He's probably more frightened than you are."
"I know, and that's why he can't know I am. He'd wig out on me knowing we're both scared shitless about it. I can't let him down like that. I'm all he's got."
TJ could read between the lines.
He's all I've got.
"Have you called your father?"
"Repeatedly. I've memorized his freaking voice mail greeting, hearing it in my sleep. He's gone under big-time. Whatever he's after, whatever's after him, it's a bad mother fucker and he's trying to keep it off of us."
"Because of Sam."
"Probably."
"Damn, Dean. I don't know what to tell you. Just hang tight, okay, and talk to Sam."
"Talking isn't my thing, you know that, and Sammy is so...sharing. He's like a freakin' woman sometimes I swear. "
"LOL. Are you sure your brother isn't gay?"
"No, actually, I'm not, and let's not even go there."
"You're such a 'phobe. So Sam talks too much and you don't talk enough. Hmm. There's a recipe for good communication – not."
There had not been a reply to that last email. It didn't worry TJ any. Dean was busy, and although the job was dangerous, Dean was also good at it. Rarely did TJ attribute Dean's long silences to anything worrisome, even though in retrospect he probably should have. Odds were Dean simply hadn't been able to snag Sam's laptop away from him again.
It was only a few months later that TJ's phone rang. He didn't have caller I.D. At first he thought it was as crank call, for all he could hear was someone breathing, but just before he hung up he heard someone speak his name.
"TJ."
The voice was soft, rough, filled with emotion and barely recognizable.
"Dean? Is that you?"
"He's gone, TJ. He's gone...and it's my fault. I should have died..."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Dad..." Dean barely got it out, choking on the word as if he were struggling to keep himself from breaking down. "I died. Teej, I...I died, he made a deal and...Sammy. He told me I might have to kill Sammy, TJ. I can't..."
"Dean. Where are you?"
There was no immediate answer, only the sound of a muffled sob.
"Dean!"
"Bobby's," Dean replied finally, clearing his throat, attempting to pull himself together. "Place in South Dakota. We're okay. Car's trashed, but we're okay."
"Jesus. Maybe you better start at the beginning."
"I...shit, I can't. Sam's coming. You still in Chicago? Can you get away, meet me somewhere?"
"St. Louis?"
"What? No. I'm wanted in St. Louis, you know that."
"It was a joke but...never mind. Name the place, dude and I'll be there."
The place was Minnesota.
"He snuck out. I had no idea where he went. Scared the shit out of me when I found out he was gone," Sam said. "Pissed me off that he wouldn't explain himself when he came back, but I didn't push him."
"You should have. He might have actually responded. He was pretty wrecked that night."
They met at a crossroads out in the middle of nowhere, not far from Minneapolis. TJ drove a rental, a white Honda. He thought Dean was on foot until he saw the motorcycle propped up in the "shade" of a nearby grove of trees. It took him a moment to recall what Dean had said about the Chevy.
Dean nodded toward the bike. "Borrowed it from Bobby. Thought it'd be quicker. If I'm not back by morning Sam'll be a prick about it. Come to think of it, he probably will be anyway."
He looked rough. His forehead bore the lingering signs of an awful crash – bruises just fading and a nasty cut in the later stages of healing. He looked tired too, and pale.
"You look like Hell."
"Should have seen me a couple weeks ago," Dean smiled, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Doctors said...I was pretty much dead, Teej. It killed me."
TJ frowned. "What?"
"The demon, Hunting, dealing with Dad's crap - take your pick. You told me it would and it did." His voice wavered. "I was dead. People don't come back from the dead TJ. Oh sometimes they do, but those things, those things aren't people. I'm talking about coming back, to being what you were before..." Dean looked away, swallowing heavily. "It just doesn't happen – not without paying a price."
"Your father."
Dean nodded.
"He loved you."
"No he didn't!" Turning, Dean walked away a few paces, his mood swinging from sorrow to anger. "I'm just part of the plan. It's Sam. It's always Sam. Take care of Sam. Save Sam." TJ saw his shoulders slump. "And if you can't...kill Sam."
"Who the fuck says that to their kid? The man was deranged."
"Maybe not." Dean shook his head. "I was there. The demon has something it wants from Sam. It's done something to him. I don't know what, I don't know how." He threw up a hand in frustration. "He's my brother, TJ. I'd rather die than let anything happen to him, but why me? Why couldn't he have let me go? I've put in my time. Why does it always fall on me?"
TJ sat down on the hood of the Honda, folding his arms across his chest. "Because your father was a coward, Dean. He was never there for Sam because Sam reminded him of your mother, and therefore a constant reminder of his failures. He couldn't save her, and he couldn't bear the idea that he might not be able to save Sam either. So what did he do? He hid behind you, making you take point while he ran away from what should have been his responsibility. But..." TJ paused, his voice softening. "Given the choice Dean, would you have let one son die to save the other, or would have you done everything in your power to save them both?"
"Save what?" Dean asked bitterly. "I'm not worth much. Not worth someone else's life for sure."
His pain was palpable, cutting. TJ felt at a loss. He knew how Dean felt, he'd felt the same way himself on many occasions, but the last thing he could do at that moment was let his grieving friend know this truth.
"You can't give up on life, Dean, especially when yours isn't even halfway through. Nobody knows what's ahead of you, it could all change for the better tomorrow."
There was a long pause before Dean answered. "I look ahead and all I see is darkness, TJ. What if Sam...I mean...what if I fail...
"Since when have you been afraid of failure? Not only that, but Sam isn't a little kid anymore, Dean, and from what you've told me, he's a smart guy. If he knows what's at stake he's not going to go quietly. You've got to remember, you're not in this alone." TJ's voice turned pleading. "Talk to him, Dean!"
"I can't, not yet." With a sigh, Dean cast his gaze over the crossroads, letting another long silence pass. "They make deals here, Teej, he said finally, softly. "I could bring Dad back if I wanted to bad enough."
TJ frowned. "You're talking about selling your soul, Dean."
"What would it matter? I'm already in Hell."
It was certainly desolate enough. A shiver ran through TJ's body as he looked around at the empty corn fields stretching out all around them. There was a full moon overhead, making night look almost like day. The landscape looked rather Hellish, and the shroud of grief hanging over them both cast a long, dark shadow. TJ felt smothered. His concern for his friend made his chest hurt.
"Don't talk like that. Come on. Let's go have a drink. When do I ever get to see you in person anymore?"
"Rarely to never."
"Exactly. Let's go find a bar and forget all about this shit for a while, okay?" TJ slid off the hood of the car. "And I promise not to hit on anyone while we're there, particularly you."
Dean rolled his shoulders and raised his chin, pulling his walls back into place around him. Not for the first time TJ wondered why, of all people, Dean had picked him to be his most trusted confidant. Why not his brother, his father, another Hunter?
Maybe, TJ thought, it was because he wasn't family, he wasn't a Hunter, and that allowed him a different perspective. He was far removed from their world, but yet understood many aspects of it – the loneliness and isolation in particular. The way he was raised, his inherent distrust of people, his homosexuality, it all made him as different from the rest of society as the Winchesters were. He spoke their language, and therefore could provide Dean with the support he so desperately needed, without passing passing judgment.
Slowly, a wry grin crossed Dean's face. His eyes brightened with good humor. "What if Matt Damon walked in the front door of this bar?"
"Oh, then all bets are off."
Dean's grin vanished. In mock disgust he turned away. "Perv."
"Jerk."
"You're buying."
"You're driving."
Startled, Dean gave him a hard stare. "It's a motorcycle, Teej."
TJ grinned at him. "I know."
Dean rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Knock it off and give me the car keys."
"The next time I saw your brother was in Atlantic City about six months ago."
"I was there."
"He left you at the hotel, probably under the impression he was off wining and dining some bimbo he'd met at the casinos."
"He did wine and dine a few bimbos that weekend."
"He wouldn't have been Dean if he hadn't."
"Hey."
TJ blinked, startled. "Dean."
His latest gig was as a bartender in one of the upscale casinos. He made a lot of money in tips, and had a hotel suite to call home. The last person he'd expected to show up on his doorstep in the wee hours of morning was Dean Winchester. This despite the fact TJ had called him. Dean almost always dropped him a line before showing up, lest he catch TJ in what Dean would call a compromising position. He still liked to pretend he didn't know TJ was gay.
"We were heading this way to do a little gambling."
"Sam's with you?" TJ closed the door as Dean entered.
"Yeah, I left him back at our hotel. His poker face sucks."
The room was deluxe accommodations, with a bedroom, a lounge area, and a fully stocked mini bar. A balcony with a view was just off the bedroom. The bathroom sported a huge jacuzzi tub more than big enough for two, and the television was an HD flat screen – also huge.
Dean whistled. "Nice place."
"Part of the job perks." Shrugging, TJ went to the bar. "Plus the boss thinks I might do him a few favors so I got the swanky digs."
"I did not need to know that."
"I'm not going to, and if he presses the issue I'll sue him for harassment and this whole hotel will be mine."
"There's a plan."
"The guy is gross, Dean."
"Guys are gross, Teej."
TJ laughed. "Not all of them. Beer? It's the good stuff."
"Uh...no thanks."
This brought TJ up short. Alarm bells started going off in his head. If Dean Winchester turned down a beer – a really good beer too – then something was wrong. TJ hastily abandoned the beverages and returned to the lounge where Dean was sitting on the sofa. Another tip-off to something being amiss was the way he was sitting. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together, looking out the French doors at the view. TJ would have expected him to be "lounging" in the lounge, making a thorough inspection of the big television and its multifunction remote control.
"You're here gambling?" TJ asked.
"Yeah. We got some money, thought it would be fun."
"Stolen?"
Dean chuckled wryly. "If it is, we didn't do it. Chick we got it from though - real possibility."
"Ah, figured there was a woman involved."
"Harpy is more like it," Dean snorted. "But yeah."
TJ leaned against a decorative pillar. He was still wearing the white dress shirt and gray pin-striped slacks that were part of his work "uniform." He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and put his hands in his pockets.
"So let me get this straight. You have money, you've ditched the baby brother for the evening, there is booze, beautiful women and gambling everywhere you turn downstairs, and yet you're up here sitting on my sofa twiddling your thumbs and refusing some of the best imported lager to be had. What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Not to mention I haven't heard from you in a long time." TJ added quietly. "I was starting to get the impression you've been avoiding me."
"Nah. Just busy. You know - popping ghosts, exorcising demons..."
"Speaking of which, if I didn't know better, I would have thought I've been seeing things. There have been a lot of shady characters sneaking around here lately, and I've noticed more than a few with some freaky black eyes. You want to tell me what that's all about?"
Dean nodded slightly. "Yeah, that. A bunch of demons escaped from a Hell gate a few months ago. Real bad scene. Ol' yellow eyes was there. He's dead by the way."
TJ started. "What?"
"Killed him myself."
"That's big, Dean."
"Yeah."
"And you didn't tell me."
"Aw, come on, Teej. The less you know about this stuff the better." Rising, Dean walked over to the mini bar himself to check it out. He did not, TJ noted, take anything out of it. "You know stuff, they find you. They find you, they hurt you. I don't want you to get hurt."
"You've been hunting that bastard since you were four, Dean."
"Yep, and now he's dead. End of story."
"But the demons..."
"We're taking care of it."
"Dean..."
Dean whipped his head around, eyes, voice and body language broadcasting annoyance. "I said we're taking care of it!"
There was something wrong. Dean had never, in the years they'd known each other, reacted with such venom, toward anything TJ ever said or did.
They had a lot in common. One thing they had in common was a temper. Slowly, TJ pushed himself of the pillar to stand upright.
"Two choices. One. You get the Hell out of my room. Two. You apologize and tell me what the fuck is wrong with you."
Dean stared at him for a beat, and then turned toward the door without saying a word. He left, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the glasses on the bar rattle. TJ stood there for a ten count before following.
When he opened the door, Dean was standing on the threshold looking contrite.
"Idiot," TJ said softly.
What Dean said in reply was completely unexpected.
"I'm dying."
"Uh...what?"
"Not dying dying. I mean, I'm perfectly fine but in a few more months I'll be dead. I didn't want to tell you. I've gotten enough shit from everyone else about it."
TJ held open the door a little wider. "Dean," he said, as Dean entered a second time. "You have got to stop skipping to the end of the book. What the Hell are you talking about?"
"I did it."
"Did what?"
"I sold my soul...at the crossroads. I had to Teej. Now I'm dying and Sammy's pissed and there's no way out of the contract without losing him again."
"Wait, what? Again?"
"He died." Dean inhaled, still talking quickly, as if he were pulling off a bandaid - faster was less painful. "In my arms. I couldn't stop it, but I couldn't let him go, Teej. I couldn't. All that stuff Dad drilled into my head about taking care of him, keeping him safe. How safe is dead? How screwed up was that? I had to make it right."
TJ stared at him, trying not to let the anguish he felt show. "So you sold your soul?"
"It's all I had, besides the car, and what would a demon want with a muscle car?"
"Don't joke," TJ said hoarsely. "Dean..."
"TJ, I'm scared. It's gonna be bad. It's gonna be real bad." Dean chewed his lip, his expression betraying just how frightened he was despite his attempts at careless bravado. "My time's nearly up."
The look tore TJ up inside. Dean wasn't supposed to crack, not like this. Dean wasn't supposed to go away, ever. TJ started pacing, running his hands through his hair, frantically trying to think of some sort of solution, some advice he could give that would make a difference.
"You'll just have to...find a way out of it."
"There is no way out of it. We go mucking around with the terms and Sam drops dead."
"Let him."
"TJ!"
It was TJ's turn for the angry outburst. "If it saves you, let him die!"
"You don't mean that."
"I'm not in love with your brother!"
They stared at each other in shocked silence. Dean's mouth closed with a snap.
"I knew this would happen," he said quietly.
"Dean, I'm sorry," TJ said hastily, appalled that he'd said anything. He'd always known such an admission would throw Dean into a tailspin. He'd kept his feelings to himself, planned on always keeping those feelings to himself, but the idea of Dean dying...
Dean shook his head and backed slowly toward the door. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have told you."
"Dean. Wait. Come on...just...tell me to knock it off. I will. I swear..."
At the door, Dean paused. Before he left he said something TJ would have never expected to hear from him. Dean wasn't known for his poignant philosophy in general.
"You can't turn love off, TJ. If you could, I wouldn't be going to Hell."
"Dean said that?"
"Dean said that."
"Ah, God..."
"Real kick in the nads, isn't it, but why are you surprised, Sam? You don't go around telling family you love them, it should be a given. You're his brother. He raised you from a baby. Of course he loved you."
When Dean ignored his calls, TJ tracked him down, finding the brothers in a shabby roadside motel in New Mexico. He checked into the motel himself, bribing the clerk for the room number.
"Two guys, driving that black car there..."
TJ could hear the phone ring through the wall. If Sam answered he planned on hanging up. As luck would have it, Sam didn't, Dean did. TJ had him cornered.
"I'm in the room next door," he said.
Dean didn't miss a beat. "Hey, yeah. Nice to hear from you."
"We need to talk. Feed the bro a line and come over here."
"Uh-huh," Dean said loudly. "I remember. Becky, right?"
"Tone it down Brando, you're overacting."
"Yeah. Oh yeah, that sounds awe...whoa. Absolutely. I'll be there. See ya soon."
"Idiot."
Fifteen minutes later, Dean knocked on the door.
"He's asleep. Are you stalking me? How the hell did you find us?"
"Bobby Singer."
Dean groaned. "You went to Bobby?"
TJ chuckled. "He thinks I'm an old girlfriend."
"You went to see Bobby in drag? TJ, Jesus!"
"He never knew."
"You don't know Bobby. He probably saw right through you."
"I'm better than that."
"So is he, and he likes a good joke." Dean muttered. "This better be good because you've seriously put my reputation on the line."
"What do you care, you'll be dead in a month."
The light-hearted repartee came to a screeching halt. TJ turned away. Dean sat down on the bed. Neither one of them spoke for some time. TJ's chest hurt. He was fighting off a bout of hysterical crying Dean would find appalling.
"Yeah, about that," Dean said finally. "We tried. Everything. Sam. Bobby. Ruby..."
"Ruby?"
"Sam's little demon buddy."
"I don't want to know," TJ muttered.
"Probably not." Dean toyed with his hands, the corner of his shirt, in a very un-Dean-like manner. He was nervous, uneasy. It wasn't like him. "You know where demons come from, Teej?"
"Hell?"
The joke had the desired effect. Dean smiled slightly. "Yeah. They come from Hell." He paused again, obviously choosing his words carefully. "They're the souls of the damned. People, TJ. A lot of them people like me who sold their souls to demons. That...that's what'll happen to me, and I won't be able to stop it."
TJ soaked all this in before nodding. "Yeah. I'd kinda figured that out myself," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
"It sure puts things in perspective."
Turning around, TJ faced him once more. "You're not getting out of the contract are you?"
"No."
"That's why I'm here." TJ sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean. About what I said back in Atlantic City. I just...I was upset. I don't want to lose you. Our friendship means too much to me."
Dean gave him an appraising look. "Is that why you still haven't hooked up with anyone? I mean come on. You're smart, good-looking – for a dude – I guess. I don't know much about that." He paused and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable treading those waters. "If you've been thinking that maybe I might...
TJ lowered his eyes. "No," he said. "It's not you. I just haven't met the right one."
"Teej, you can have a life. You don't have to be alone, and the last thing I want is for you to sit around moping after me when I'm gone." Dean snorted. He rose from the bed, walking over to the door where he took a moment to peer out the peep hole. "Sam's already a freakin' monk."
"You can't turn off grief any more than you can turn off love, Dean," TJ said quietly. "Never mind me. How can you have such a low opinion of yourself when so many people care so much about you? I've never understood that."
Shaking his head slowly, Dean gave him a small, wry smile. "I don't know."
"It would take years of therapy to straighten out your head, Dean Winchester."
"Probably," Dean replied with a sigh.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Dean shifted his weight, looked back over his shoulder. There was a lot to be said, but neither one of them knew how to say it and Dean in particular could probably never find the words.
TJ broke the impasse. "So. I'm never going to see you again after tonight."
"Probably not."
"Dean." TJ took a step forward, cutting the distance between them in half, looking into his friend's eyes without hiding anything. Anyone else might not have seen what was there, but Dean knew him too well."It's our last time together."
"TJ don't," Dean breathed. "Don't ask me to...I'm not...I can't." His expression was sad, pleading. "And it doesn't mean I don't...care...about you. I just can't..."
Taking another step toward him, TJ placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "All I want is for you to spend some time with me. We'll get some beer, watch television, talk. That's. All."
Dean took his wrist and moved his hand. His relief was obvious. "Beer I can do."
"But you can't do me?" TJ teased.
"Teej," Dean said, not masking the affection. "Knock it off."
A row of empty beer bottles sat lined up from one end of the coffee table to the other. Through the faded curtains hanging over the apartment's sole window a pale yellow light could be seen peeping through. Downstairs the music had ceased hours earlier.
Sam was buzzed. TJ was hoarse from hours of talking and probably slightly buzzed himself. His almond shaped eyes had grown vague, distant, the eyelids drooping. He lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm flung over his forehead. Sam lounged in the chair he'd occupied throughout the night, his legs stretched out before him. The last beer was in his hand, half of it gone. He sat staring at the remaining gold liquid swirling around inside the glass.
"So, did he do it?" Sam asked.
TJ lifted his arm and turned his head. "Did he do what?"
"Sleep with you."
"Yes."
Sam raised an eyebrow. He stopped twirling the beer bottle in his hand. "He did?" he croaked.
"He slept with me." TJ threw his legs off the edge of the sofa and sat up slowly. "Fully clothed. We drank ourselves stupid and passed out in the bed. In the morning, when we woke up, he punched me in the arm, said good-bye, and left."
"Nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened. I left the door open to be sure, but he stayed outside standing on the doormat, and I could have never asked anything more of him."
Sam turned his head, jaw tightening, eyes burning. "I never asked him to die for me. He didn't deserve all the crap he got."
"In the end I think he was starting to realize that."
"Too little, too late." Sam murmured. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Just like..."
He didn't go on. He didn't want to think about it, but feared he would have no such luck.
"Just like what, Sam?" TJ prompted, confirming that fear.
Sam sighed again, raising a hand to rub his face. He was on the verge of passing out, and hoped TJ didn't mind him crashing at his apartment for a while. "Ruby found a way to save him, two weeks after he was dead and gone."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Yes. It's a summoning spell coupled with a binding ritual. We can call him back from Hell, bind him to a corporeal body."
"Will you then? Bring him back?"
"No." Sam's voice fell to a whisper. "His body is gone. Burned to ashes. There's nothing to bring him back to, and a disembodied spirit...no." He shook his head. "We can't. Not now. It's too late."
TJ frowned. "But...if there were another body..."
"No."
TJ didn't understand, Sam thought. For a spirit to inhabit a living body it would have to be a possession. Neither Sam nor Dean could do that with a clear conscience. Dean would never survive sharing his body with another. Choosing some random vegetable lying in a hospital bed was out of the question too. The physical body would be too far gone and they would bring back a monster. Like in Sam's own case the body could only have been dead for a short time, the spirit gone, the mind an empty shell. Only then could they bring back Dean's spirit.
"Morally it's wrong," Sam said. "And setting up just the right circumstances – nearly impossible. I told Ruby to forget it."
Even though he was having a hard time forgetting himself.
I miss him.
"I'm drunk," he concluded. "Can I crash here for a while?"
TJ nodded and rose slightly unsteadily to his feet. "Sure, I'll make up the sofa."
Sam finished the last of the beer. "TJ," he called, as his host began to rummage through a nearby closet for a blanket.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks," Sam struggled to find the right words. It hurt him that Dean had not confided more in him, but at the same time he understood why he hadn't. Sam was just grateful there had been someone there for his brother when times got tough. "Thanks for...being Dean's friend."
TJ tipped his head, and resumed the task at hand. "Sure," he said softly. "It was my pleasure." He paused again, looking back at Sam. "Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah."
"If the circumstances were right, and the morality questions were resolved, would you bring Dean back?"
Sam felt his chest tighten with longing. In the months that Dean had been gone the loneliness had become suffocating. It was killing him, and he was afraid of his growing relationship with Ruby. He'd become more ruthless, more angry, and less worried about keeping his moral integrity. He was what he was, what the demon Azazel had made him. He could lead the demon army if he wanted to, enslave the human race and replace loneliness with power and domination. Nothing stood in his way anymore.
There was no one there anymore to protect him from himself.
"Yes," he replied. "In a heart beat."
It was late afternoon. Upstairs, lying in a ungainly sprawl on the sofa, Sam Winchester still slept off a long night of drink and sorrow. TJ had quietly gone through his pockets and made off with his cell phone. Turnabout, he thought, was fair play.
Downstairs in the bar things were quiet. Cool, dark and very quiet. It was closed on Sundays. TJ normally did inventory. While he waited he carried on with this chore out of habit, taking count of the booze, making note of how much remained in each bottle. Were they out of chips? He'd have to make a run for limes...
Maybe.
He wondered if she would come in daylight, wondered if she would come on a Sunday. Both questions were answered when, sensing another presence, TJ turned to find her sitting at the bar watching him. Had he not known the Winchesters he might have been surprised at her benign appearance. Demons, he had learned, tended to possess the fit and attractive. Ruby was both.
"Dean told me you're a witch," TJ said quietly, putting down the clipboard he held.
"Was a witch."
"A witch is always a witch."
"Except when she's a demon," Ruby said succinctly. "You wanna give me drink?"
"Preferences?"
"A lite beer will do."
TJ reached under the bar to the cooler and found something he thought would be acceptable. "And Sam told me you found a way to save Dean."
Ruby took a long pull from her beer. "After the fact," she said. "Body's gone." Her eyes grew dark. Her voice faded to a whisper. "Ashes to ashes."
"Is he really in Hell?"
"Yes."
"Is he...suffering?"
"Yes."
TJ inhaled a trembling breath. "So," he said. "All you need is a body."
"More or less. A body without a spirit. One lets go, the other moves in. It's a matter of timing."
"You need a living sacrifice then."
"Yes, something which Sam nor Dean would never tolerate." She sneered a little. "Being Hunters, they're a little prudish when it comes to things like sacrificial murder."
"But not suicide?"
Ruby paused in the middle of taking another drink. Instead of finishing the motion she put her hand back down. "You're volunteering?"
TJ closed his eyes. He'd moved between three cities in the last six months. This job sucked ass – he'd been thinking about leaving again but he really had no where to go that was any better. He had only a few meager possessions – his apartment came furnished. His family was long gone and his only friend was currently rotting in Hell.
He sighed deeply. "Yes." Opening his eyes again, he met her gaze unwaveringly. "Yes. I am."
"You know," Ruby said. "Overlooking the suicide part, most religions consider homosexuality a sin."
"I'm not afraid of Hell."
"You should be," she said quickly. "I'm not saying you'll go there, but I can't say you won't either. Not for sure."
TJ shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see, won't I."
A small smile tugged at her mouth. "Honestly though, I think you'll be fine, TJ."
He nodded. "Thanks for that."
Ruby rose from the bar stool. TJ watched the way she moved as she came around to his side of the bar. It was slow, and sensual, cat-like and utterly feminine. Ironically he'd moved like that once himself, on stage, a long time ago in another life. He could recall with perfectly clarity looking out into the crowd and seeing Dean Winchester standing at the back of the room, EMF meter in hand, a sawed off shotgun hidden under his coat. They'd gone out after the show. TJ spent the night sitting on a headstone, drinking and watching Dean dig up a grave beneath an old tree dripping with Spanish moss. After that night the theater poltergeist had never returned.
But Dean had.
"You know why I'm helping the Winchesters? You know why I'm going to take you up on your offer?"
"No," TJ whispered hoarsely. "I don't."
"Because," Ruby replied, pressing her body close to his so she could whisper in his ear. "I know what it's like to love someone so much you're willing to die for them."
It was raining again. Sam could hear it pelting against the window glass in a sharp, staccato rhythm. The sound changed when a gust of wind interrupted the score, like the crashing sound of cymbals. He lay there listening for a while before he came more fully awake. His head was throbbing. He felt like he needed to throw up.
"Drank too much." he mumbled, and opened his eyes.
She looked like a small, blond gargoyle, perched on the arm of a chair with her booted feet resting on the seat cushion and her elbows on her knees. Her chin was in her hands. How long she'd been there Sam had no way of telling. Obviously she'd been watching him sleep. Not for the first time Sam wondered why she'd stuck around after Dean died, and why he allowed it.
No. He knew. He just didn't want to admit it.
"It's about time you woke up," she said quietly. "I was beginning to get bored."
Sam groaned as he swung his legs off the sofa and sat up. "A bored demon on the loose is the last thing we need."
"Cute."
With a frown, Sam realized he was still in TJ's apartment. "What are you doing here?" A peculiar, yet very familiar scent caught his attention – herbs, and burning hair. "Ruby, what did you do?"
Ruby unfolded herself and plopped down into the chair properly, lounging back in it with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Question number one – TJ called me. Question number two – I brought your brother back."
"You WHAT??!?!" Sam froze. "TJ...called...oh, God. Ruby you killed him?"
"No, Sam. I didn't."
She said no more, allowing Sam to draw his own conclusions, which he did with a groan. "He did it himself."
"Yes."
Sam stood up, pacing a bit, running his hands through his hair. "I should have never come here."
"You couldn't have known."
"This is all my fault."
"Sam," Ruby said sternly. "The guy was lonely, grieving. You think you being here made that much difference? At least now his death had purpose." She shrugged. "I could always go in there and send Dean back to Hell..."
"What? No. I...he's alive?"
Nodding her head toward the bedroom, Ruby laced her hands over her stomach. "Go see for yourself."
Sam went, with a quick sidebar to the bathroom first. He relieved himself, washed his hands, washed his face, before continuing into the bedroom. The scent of herbs and burnt hair grew stronger as he approached the door. The smell assaulted his senses big time when the door was opened. Inside, on the rug he could see the smudged and faded chalk lines of what had once been a pentagram and various sigils. This hadn't been a simple magic. Ruby had to be exhausted from working such a spell.
So too, was her subject.
TJ was lying in the bed, his dark head resting upon the plain white pillows, his eyes closed. One hand lay upon his chest atop the quilt that covered him. Had it not been for the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath said hand, Sam might have thought him dead.
But TJ was dead, he amended. This was simply his abandoned shell, now occupied by another spirit.
He approached the bed slowly. At the foot of it he sat down, trying not to jostle the mattress too much with his weight. It didn't matter. What little he did move the bed woke the sleeper within it. Bright blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes, opened and focused upon Sam.
"Hey," Sam said softly.
TJ's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Hey, Sammy."
"How...how do you feel?"
"Run over." After he cleared his throat he added, "Tired."
Sam fretted quietly for a moment, almost afraid to ask the question he knew he had to ask. "Dean," he said finally. "Is it really you?"
Dark brows dipped in a frown. "No. It's the freakin' Easter Bunny - of course it's me."
The surge of joy Sam felt had never been equaled. Although the voice was TJ's the faint New Orleans patois it had once held was gone, and the inflection was utterly familiar. Tears filled his eyes. "Dean..."
"Ah, God. He's gone all girly." With a groan, Dean pushed himself up, waving Sam off when he got up to help put a pillow behind his back. "Get offa me." He placed the pillow himself, moving slowly, awkwardly. "I'm fine."
Sam obeyed, backing up a step. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm just wearin' pants that don't fit right, you know? I'll get used to it."
There followed a long, and awkward silence. Dean plucked nervously at the quilt with TJ's delicate hands. After a moment he realized what he was doing, and cracked his knuckles instead. At Dean's command, those hands would not stay pretty for much longer.
"Did...did Ruby tell you what happened?" Sam asked hesitantly.
"She didn't have to. I knew, I'd known. Word travels fast in the pit. Demons are a gossipy bunch. The news got back to me the same day Ruby discovered the spell.
Sam frowned. "So you...you remember?"
"Unfortunately." Dean muttered. "Met an old friend of yours down there by the way. Ava. God what a nasty bitch." He raised a hand to rub his chest, wincing as if recalling the pain. "What I'd give to have her in the Colt's sights."
"She didn't start out that way," Sam said sadly. "You didn't know her...before."
"Sam."
Raising his head, Sam met TJ's sharp blue-eyed gaze. "Yeah?"
"Ava. She's why I came back."
Frowning, Sam cocked his head to the side."Huh? I'm not following."
Dean sighed. "The spell – Ruby couldn't force me back, it doesn't work that way. The final decision to come back or not was mine. Not hers, not TJ's, but mine. His blood is on my hands – well, figuratively anyway."
An obvious look of anguished grief crossed TJ's features. It wouldn't be long though, Sam suspected, before Dean would be able to keep TJ's face from betraying him. He would probably never mention his friend by name again either. Dean would keep his feelings to himself, and as before, Sam would not be allowed into the places TJ had been admitted. He wondered if anyone ever would, ever again.
"Dean..."
"Let me finish."
Sam bowed his head in acquiescence.
"Azazel, ol' yellow eyes, he knew what he was doing when he made you, Sam."
"Made me?" Sam's voice wavered, so did his confidence in his ability to hide what he himself already knew.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
The aggrieved look spoke volumes. Dean knew. He knew everything now. Sam's lies had been exposed by the burning flames of Hell. Nothing could remain hidden there. Dean had learned the truth...and had still come back.
"I'm the only one who can save your ass." His eyes lowered. Sam swore there were tears gathering on the lashes. "And," he whispered. "I'm the only one who can stop you – if it comes down to that." Meeting Sam's eye once again, confirming the presence of tears, Dean nodded. "Dad knew. He just didn't have time to make me understand."
Sam let go of the pretense. "You should have never brought me back."
"I know that now," Dean said roughly. "But," he added. "I'm glad I did."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We'll beat it, Sammy. We can fight this war and win it, if we stick together. You hear me?"
"Yeah. I hear you." Sam replied softly, and paused for a deep breath. "So...what next?"
Dean narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "We go hunt down some effin' demons."
"After you get your strength back."
"Fine. You can start by feeding me. I'm starving."
"Yeah, it's you in there all right, " Sam laughed. "I'll see what I can find." He started to turn away, but Dean stopped him.
"Sam, one more thing."
"What?"
"You tell Ruby that if I start hitting on dudes because she put me in the body of a gay guy, I'm going to kick her ass all the way back to Hell!"
"Hmm. I think I'd kinda like to see that."
Dean gave him a familiar look using an unfamiliar face. "Shut up ya dork, and bring me a sandwich."
Sam was gone.
Dean swung out of bed and made his way a bit unsteadily to the bathroom. TJ had his height, but not his breadth, and although this body was fit, it was not "hard" like his own had been. TJ had never had any sort of martial arts training either. This body had to be taught how to move, how to fight. He'd definitely have to let Sammy take point until he got back in shape.
He stood leaning on the vanity for a moment before getting up the courage to look in the mirror. TJ stood there staring back at him. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, the high cheekbones of a man with a good bit of both Asian and Native American blood in him. His had been a far cry from Dean's All-American boy-next-door look. A haircut was definitely in order. Maybe he'd grow a mustache. There was a reason why TJ had made a good drag queen. He was freakin' pretty.
Dean sobered. No matter what he did, he could not see himself standing there. It was TJ, silent and sad, trapped inside the mirror, his blue eyes filled with loneliness and pain.
"You shouldn't have done it, Teej," he whispered. "But...God. You always knew me better than I knew myself."
Reaching out a hand, he brushed his fingertips over the reflection's cheek.
"Thank you."