Where the Soul Resides
Black-Angel-001: so here's the other multi-chapter fic i promised you guys. it took me a while to find what i needed research wise, even longer to decide the season setting. on that note, it's early season 2 (because as much as i'd like to write a fic for season 6, i have to get the head space of the characters a bit more before i can) so the boys are in their little seperate space...you know what i'm talking about. anywhos hows! hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, its characters, or anything related to it. This is for fun and enjoyment, not profit.
Where the Soul Resides
"So, I think I found a gig for us," Sam said with a little apprehension.
The fairly small and uncozy hotel room was like any other they'd stayed in over the years and was unremarkable in every way; it had no redeeming quality that Sam could see, not that he was looking. The brothers took up most of the space that wasn't occupied by beds or chairs, their bags the rest, and it didn't help the dark mood that seemed to cling to Dean like a second skin now and days. Sam didn't look at his older brother while he spoke, instead choosing to tap pointlessly on the keyboard of his laptop. He realized that the tiny sound might aggrivate Dean and started to chew the tip of his pen. He stopped that when he realized that might aggrivate Dean, too. Sam had to resist the urge to sigh and made himself sit still and not fidgit. It was like anything Sam did aggrivated Dean, including breathing. He wasn't even sure if Dean would snap his head off for the mere mention of a job and Sam hadn't even gotten to the part that would really set his brother off.
Dean grunted from the bathroom, shoving shaving kit and other toiletries ruthlessly into the small bag. When he came out to put it away he didn't look at Sam, and plopped onto Sam's neatly made bed to watch tv. Dean kind of hoped it would annoy the kid into saying something, since Sam was almost OCD about the bed being relatively neat after it was made. If Sam said something provoking, Dean could explode at him and get a release for the anger and energy he had. He heard Sam shift a little in his chair and waited for it but was disappointed when Sam didn't take the bait.
Somehow, it made him angrier.
"It's in a coastal town in Maine, not really small town but close enough. There's been about ten deaths this year at a Victorian bed and breakfast type of thing." He risked a glance over to Dean, finding him absorbed in channel flipping and went on after clearing his throat. "The M.E. can't find any apparant cause for the deaths, it's like they all just-" He cut himself off, biting his lip.
Dean visibly tensed, thumb poised over the remote button. He knew what Sam had almost said, could hear it as plainly as if it had been said out loud.
Like they all just dropped dead.
The memory of his father on the floor, then on the hospital gurney slammed into Dean's mind like a tidal wave and he flinched briefly at it before locking it back up again. Four months, give or take, and it still hurt, still cut deep. Dean turned his hurt and pain into anger and began to turn it to the one person he had easy access to: Sam.
Four months, give or take, and Sam was still unfairly taking the punishment.
Dean locked that thought back up again too.
For a few minutes, neither said anything. Sam, because he was too afraid that Dean really would go off, Dean because he knew very well Sam was almost anticipating a beat down, verbal or physical, and Dean didn't really want to suffer through anymore emo broody silence in the car. In the end, Dean rolled over, back to Sam, and closed his eyes. He heard Sam sigh and tap something on the laptop before leaning back and going quiet; Dean could hardly hear him breath. Satisfied that Sam was aware of the 'Don't freakin' talk to me' sign all but written in bold letters on his back, Dean pretended to sleep, Sam pretended to not be there, and they both pretended that everything was okay.
It was an hour later before Dean asked about the rest of the information on the job in Maine. Sam didn't have much, just that all the victim's had stayed at that bed and breakfast for one night, and was found dead the next morning. None of them had anything in common that he could find besides the obvious and he doubted he'd find anything until they got there. Dean grumbled about it mostly because it would require research and interviews, but said they would leave in ten minutes then slammed into the bathroom.
Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He knew Dean wasn't completely happy with the job; he never had liked the 'look it up first, then shoot later' jobs, and now tried to avoid them whenever he could. But Sam needed the escape research brought him, the complete lack of thought beyond what he was doing. It was only fair, he rationalized as he moved to get their bags together and out to the Impala. They'd done plenty of jobs that were straightforward because Dean needed it, or thought he did anyway. Well, Sam needed a job like this so he could try to get his head in a space to deal with his brothe again.
Black-Angel-001: and there's the setup. doesn't seem like much right now, but hopefully it will turn out alright. please review and let me know if it sucked badly or not.
