Lies I Never Told

Chapter 2

S s S s S

Sam stood in a small clearing, surrounded by thick forest, the trees so tall that only a small circle of starlit sky was visible. The ground at his feet was littered with brown curled leaves, and rotten slivers of wood. Spindly bare branches shook in the wind, dipping down and catching in his hair. Low moaning whispers rustled in the air, the treetops swaying silhouettes against the muted sheen of the night sky, muttering their hushed secrets to each other.

Nothing was still, shadows danced, leaves shimmered, their fallen comrades scattering along the forest floor, chased by the cool breeze that ruffled Sam's hair and tugged gently at his clothes. His eyes darted around the clearing, but it was too dark and there was too much movement to distinguish anything other than vague outlines.

Something was watching him; he could feel weight of some unseen gaze resting heavily on his back. He turned, his feet sinking into the soft, wet earth, the dank smell of decaying vegetation filling his nostrils. There, just at the edge of the clearing, flickering in and out of the shadows, was a tall cloaked figure.

Sam wanted to move, to run, but he stood rooted to the stop, his limbs heavy. The wind was picking up, rattling the branches above him, they whipped down, across his face, scratching his skin. The figure stepped forward, raising its arms to pull back the cloak.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. It was Jessica. Her face, white and perfect, her long hair shining with an inner luminescence, unmoving despite the wind. She trod softly toward him, her expression empty.

She stopped an arm's length if front of him, meeting his eyes with a dull unblinking stare.

Her mouth dropped open. "You lie, Sam. Always. Lies hurt, Sam. Lies kill." Her voice was rough and broken; her words cutting into him like so many jagged splinters.

Sam was spinning, his body twisting through the air, pulled into the black of the forest.

S s S s S

It was the sound of Dean singing in the shower that woke him. A strangled chorus of 'We are the Champions' accompanied by the low screech of ancient motel water pipes, reverberated from behind the bathroom door. Sam groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, the uneasy aftermath of his dream still fresh in his mind. His stomach gurgled threateningly and he ached in places that had no place doing so. Perhaps it had been the dubious diner special that he had the previous evening. He was fairly certain that meatloaf wasn't supposed to be that color.

The bathroom door open, billowing steam into the room and Dean bounded in, way too vigorously for Sam's liking.

"Still in beddybyes, Sammy?" A wet towel suddenly appeared and was whipped across the sheets, hitting Sam's backside with irritating accuracy.

"Fuck off." Sam mumbled into the mattress.

"Well, I suppose I should be glad you're finally getting some shut-eye, instead of moping into the early hours. Where's my coffee?" Dean's overbearing cheerfulness was starting to give Sam a headache.

Sam groaned and rolled over, squinting up at his brother. Dean was fully dressed, clean-shaven and scrubbed to a fetching pink.

"What crawled up your ass and made you Mary Poppins?" Sam tugged the covers back up to his chin, spending the day in bed was rapidly becoming the most attractive option.

"Oh, I don't know, a bit of paranormal butt-kicking always puts me in a good mood. Banish a demon, save the world. You know the routine. I'm thinking we should head east. I've heard there's an all-girl's catholic school a few counties over, that's experiencing some unexplained phenomena." Dean bent down and leered at him.

"Pervert." Sam covered his eyes with his arm. He was definitely starting to feel nauseous. He could feel his gag reflex starting to twitch; pushing off the covers, he swung his legs over the bed and sat up.

"You look like shit." Dean supplied helpfully. "Maybe it was that green meatloaf you ate last night."

Sam pushed him out of the way and stomped into the bathroom.

After deciding that throwing up was not essential to his morning routine, Sam found himself taking a lukewarm shower, which did nothing for his aching muscles. Stepping out of the bath, he looked around for towel. There were plenty slung about the bathroom, none of them dry. Sam gritted his teeth and patted himself dry with a couple of facecloths that his brother had generously overlooked.

He pulled on his sweat pants and padded back out to the bedroom, absently rubbing at his backside, Dean's skill with a wet towel still stinging. The room was empty and Sam hoped that Dean had gone in search of breakfast and a large dose of caffeine.

Sam emptied his bag on the bed, wrinkling his nose at the less than fresh scent that wafted up; the laundry standoff was reaching a critical level. He grabbed his last pair of clean underwear and was pulling them on, just as Dean kicked the room door open, precariously balancing two large coffees and a Styrofoam take-out container under his chin.

A blast of cold air hit his bare skin.

"Hey." Sam complained, hastily covering himself.

"Jeez, there's nothing I haven't seen a million times before. Unless you've gone ahead with that re-assignment surgery you've always dreamt of." Dean unloaded breakfast onto the small round table and sat down, popping off the lid of his cup.

"What happened to your butt, slip in the shower, Grandma?" Dean sipped contentedly at his coffee.

Sam froze. Unsure at what precisely Dean's comment was aimed at, his palm hovering over the offending buttock. Now he thought about it, it was throbbing painfully, heat rising through the thin cotton.

Sam craned his neck, pulling at his waistband. Three angry red scratches burned across his flesh. They hadn't been there yesterday, in fact, Sam realized unhappily, they hadn't been there for about just about four years. Long since fading into fine, pale scars, which even Jessica, had failed to notice.

It was starting out to be an inauspiciously crappy morning, Sam thought sourly, glancing across at his brother, who was attacking a huge stack of take-out pancakes with a gusto rarely seen outside of professional eating competitions.

He finished dressing and grabbed for his coffee. Dean shoved the scant remains of the pancakes at him, noisily sucking syrup of his fingers and belching in a self-satisfied manner.

"Very nice." Sam was terse.

"Sorry, Miss Manners." Dean grinned. "Someone's got to get that stick outta your ass." He was interrupted by the chirping of somebody's cell phone.

Even the stupid phone sounded cheery, Sam stabbed at his cold breakfast, immediately snapping a prong of the already sticky plastic fork. Life sucked. He was only vaguely aware of Dean answering the phone, behind him.

"Mr. Samuel Winchester, you say." Dean had Sam's cell phone. "He's currently unavailable; perhaps I could be of assistance. I'm his brother Mr. Dean Winchester."

Dean was never that polite, alarm bells clanged loudly and Sam swung round reaching for his phone. Dean hopped away, going so far as to stand on his bed and keeping a wary eye on Sam.

"The family business, yes, I'm very much involved, a senior partner you might say." Dean cocked his head, listening intently.

"Oh, Samuel has an excellent reputation, not just among your friends, I can assure you, Mrs. Hawksworth."

Fuckdamnshit.

Sam made another grab for the phone, but Dean stuck out a booted foot and pushed Sam firmly in the chest.

"Another occurrence in the acreage, hmm, we're rather busy at the moment. I should discuss this with my brother and I'll call you back shortly." Dean paused. "Of course, I'll pass the message on, nice talking to ya." Dean's voice dropped as he snapped the phone shut. He stayed on the bed, crossing his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Sam.

Sam shuffled nervously. Dean really didn't look like he was in a good mood anymore.