As always, thanks to all those who reviewed! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any canon characters therein, and I am making no profit from this piece of fiction.
Chapter 3 – Back in Business
Dean Winchester's laugh was as deep and throaty as the Impala's growling engine as he jerked the key in the ignition and revelled in the power that surged through the car and seemed to fuse with his core. The car was so much a part of him it was almost as if he didn't truly know who he was without it.
He'd lost his first tooth in that car, had his first kiss, his first beer; he'd even lost his virginity in that car.
Now there was a fond memory.
Dean revved the accelerator loud enough to cause several passers-by to look over in annoyed surprise, and then slammed the pedal to the floor smiling his first genuine grin in days as the Impala flew forward, tires screeching on the wet asphalt.
He was home.
Even the deluge of rain that the Impala's wipers could barely sweep from the windscreen quickly enough couldn't dampen his new found good mood. Not even the fact that his clothes were sticking to him like an ice-cold wetsuit could dent his enthusiasm.
He reached forward to turn the radio on, and gave another maniacal laugh as AC/DC's Back in Black blared suddenly through the speakers. It seemed apt.
His eyes swept the shops and restaurants on either side of the street as he bashed his fists on the steering wheel in time to the beat of the music, searching for a place to grab some lunch.
He knew he could always just stop at the greasy diner he and Sam had grudgingly graced with their presence over the past few days, but he figured Sam would prefer something not coated in for once. If he was being honest with himself, he was still feeling a little guilty for his part in their argument earlier, and thought that maybe his little brother would appreciate a peace offering.
Jeez, when had he turned into the thoughtful one? He'd clearly been hanging around Sam too long.
Nevertheless, he tried to pick somewhere that looked as if they actually followed some sort of hygiene code, opting for a small restaurant boasting a 'Special' burger that was proclaimed as being the best sandwich in Sandwich! Dean snorted, thinking he could have come up with a better slogan in his sleep.
For Sam he ordered some kind of rabbit food that attempted – poorly in Dean's opinion - to disguise itself as a meal. He grimaced at the jumble of greenery in the plastic container, wondering not for the first time where he had gone wrong in Sam's education.
He smiled at the pretty strawberry-blonde waitress behind the counter, unleashing his best come hither expression before realising that she had a rock the size of his fist on her wedding finger. Oh well, he knew when he was beaten.
He paid for the order and left, inhaling the aroma given off by his burger like a dying man gasping for air. He was so ravenous, he wondered if he'd even be able to make it back to the motel before ripping off the wrapping and devouring it.
In the end he opted for what he felt was a reasonable compromise: he ate half.
He was in the process of cramming the other half into his mouth when he opened the motel room door, nearly spitting it straight back out again as he noticed his brother perched on the end of his bed, jacket on, bag packed, face pinched in agitation.
"Jeez Sammy, you got somewhere you need to be? I know Sandwich sucks ass but I think we can take a few minutes to eat somethin' before we go rushing off to nowhere. And I could really use a shower – that is if you actually left any hot water when you were busy making yourself all nice and pretty"
When Sam just gave him a withering look, he added. "I brought lunch" and tossed the container to Sam, who caught it distractedly and stared uncomprehendingly down at it.
"Okay, last time I buy you lunch" Dean muttered, growing slightly concerned at his brother's continued silence. "What's with you?"
Sam sighed, and then drew his back up straight, as if preparing to deliver a blow. In a way, he was.
"We have to go Dean, we have a case" His voice was monotone, and his eyes flew around the room, landing anywhere but on his brother's worried face.
"We do?" Dean's brow creased in confusion. "Last time I checked the whole country was supernaturally challenged"
"It's important" Sam was still avoiding his eyes, and Dean was damned if he was going to let his little brother use his own tactics against him. He sat down on his own bed and swatted Sam's knee with the back of his hand, forcing his gaze upwards.
"You want to tell me what this is about?" Dean was really starting to worry now. "You look like someone stole your last Rolo"
"Dean, I got a call from Jenna McKinley..." His brother sounded pained.
"What, Jessica's old room-mate? So?" Oh hell. This couldn't be good.
"One of her friends has been murdered. She asked for our help. I told her we'd be there by tomorrow night" Sam's expression became suddenly earnest, puppy-dog eyes unleashed like blinding headlights. It was a look Dean had always had trouble refusing, and he sensed that his brother knew this only too well.
But not this time. "What, back to Palo Alto? You've got to be kiddin' me!" There was no way he wanted Sam anywhere near that place.
He could never seem to shake the deep-seated dread that Sam was going to walk out on him without a backward glance, the Burkitsville incident having done little to help matters. He'd deny it to his dying day, but he was more than a little afraid that Sam would be reminded of everything he had given up to go on the road with his big brother. The thought of being alone nagged at him like a thumping headache, and deep down he knew Sam didn't really want to be with him, living this life.
More than that though, he worried for his little brother, about what returning to that place would do to him. He remembered the empty shell Sam had been in the days after Jessica's murder, the harrowing nothingness he'd seen in his eyes. It was a grief that he knew his brother wasn't even close to getting over, and the last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to have to face it before he was ready.
"Why?" Sam snapped, pushing himself angrily to his feet – the container of salad falling forgotten to the floor - and towering threateningly over Dean's seated form.
"Well where do I start Sam? St. Louis ringin' any bells? We don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves!" Dean refused to be intimidated by what appeared to be one of Sam's most popular new strategies, also rising from the bed so that they were standing toe-to-toe.
"She's my friend Dean! And she needs my help!" Dean didn't miss his brother's seemingly deliberate use of the singular pronoun.
"Wait, why does she need our help? How does she know what our kind of help even is?"
Sam scrunched his features and looked away again. "Rebecca told her" He grudgingly admitted.
"She what?" Dean's voice lowered lethally, and he could feel his hands balling into fists for the second time that day.
Sam's nostrils flared in frustration. "She meant well Dean. The guy's death was weird; our kind of weird. That's why she told her, she thought we could help"
"Terrific" Dean spat sarcastically with a disbelieving snort.
"What's your problem Dean? Is it because it's Stanford? Or is it because it's one of my friends, huh?" Sam goaded, chin lifted defiantly.
"Well the last time I went to help one of your friends I ended up being officially buried as a wanted serial killer, so excuse me for not jumping at the chance to do it again!" Dean threw his arms wide in frustration.
Sam clenched his jaw, not denying Dean's point, but clearly not wanting to agree with it either. Then he pulled out the big guns. "Okay, well, you don't have to come Dean. I can handle this one myself, but I am going"
Dean sighed and closed his eyes. The fight seemed to ebb from him like a receding tide and he sank back down again, head cradled in his hands, defeated. "You're not going alone"
There was a pause as Dean collected the thoughts that had scattered when Sam's news had blown in. "Sammy, it's just...are you sure you can handle going back there?"
Sam seemed to realise what he was trying to convey, and he softened his voice so that it contained something akin to grateful understanding. "I'll be fine Dean. I'm not saying it's not going to be hard, but I'll be fine"
Dean rubbed a miserable hand across haggard features. "Somehow I think I'm going to regret this, but okay"
Sam gave a small smile in return. Well, his brother wasn't often one for gloating over his victories. "Thanks. So, do you want to hear about the case?"
"I'm going to have a shower, you can tell me in the car"
For Sam, Dean's acquiescence came at a price. There was something disjointed about them now, like someone had changed the lock to their relationship and given them back the wrong keys.
Dean had made his feelings perfectly clear about going on this hunt, and Sam knew he had manipulated him into agreeing. Dean knew it too, he could tell, but had unwillingly accepted anyway.
He felt slightly grubby for the way he had gone about it too. He'd known that if he insisted on going back to Palo Alto himself, then Dean's protective instincts would kick in. And they had. You could set your watch by them.
The seemingly endless hours in the car had passed in tense silence, the frigid atmosphere bearing an almost tangible weight down on them. Even the blaring radio seemed dulled by it, as if they were listening to it through solid concrete. Dean didn't speak except to announce rest-stops.
Sam had mostly stared out of the window at the nondescript buildings and farmland that flashed by – a snapshot of Middle America; anything to avoid his brother's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. He'd tried once or twice to tell Dean about the case, but it had been like talking to a statue for all the attention the older man had paid him.
When Dean had come out of the shower back at the motel, it was as if the hot water had stiffened his resolve; he would go but he didn't have to like it, and indeed was going to make sure Sam knew all about it.
Sam knew he could have abandoned Dean and rushed alone to Jenna's aid in Palo Alto, but he also knew deep down that he'd need his brother's help. Dean might not have had the advantage and streamlining of a college education, but he saw patterns and connections with an insight that few others had. Sam could easily remember the way his brother had spotted the Daeva sigil in the blood spatters they'd found in Chicago.
To the younger man, they'd just seemed random and meaningless, but Dean had seen order amongst the chaos. He snorted softly, thinking there was something ironic about that, since Dean seemed to cause chaos more than anything else, but there was usually method driving it. His brother was rarely rash, unless his family's safety was under threat.
Sam swallowed another guilty thought, not willing to let it intrude upon his mission.
He needed to be in control. He needed to be the one to direct this hunt.
An insidious voice reminded him that Dean had stopped him from pursuing his ultimate path. Their father was off somewhere, tracking the demon, setting traps for it, coming within a whisker of ending it all.
And Sam was stuck chasing run of the mill monsters with Dean.
Well, if he had to be kept away from the front-line, he could at least call the shots for a while. He could be the one dragging Dean across the country for once.
With his manipulation becoming more justified by the second, Sam felt his resentment begin to ignite once more. Dean had no right to try and stop him from going back to Palo Alto. Sam knew he was worried about him, and he did appreciate it, but he also knew that there was more to his brother's reluctance.
The subject of Stanford had always been like holding a red rag to Dean's bull; a powder keg just waiting to explode. Dean could never seem to get over the fact that Sam had wanted to be in Palo Alto more than he had wanted to be with his family. It was one of the gaping divides between them that Sam didn't think would ever truly close. Both were so certain that they were right.
Most of the time they got by fine without it intruding, but sometimes – like just now – it could almost turn them into strangers; the strangers they'd been while Sam had been at college.
Sam had to admit that he felt more than a little apprehensive at the thought of going back to the place where he'd been so blissfully happy. He'd told Dean he'd be fine, but he wondered who exactly he'd been trying to reassure, himself or his brother. The memories he had of his time at Stanford were bitter-sweet at best, and downright agonising at worst.
He knew that seeing the places and people his memories had managed to dull through time and distance would bring all the pain back multiplied one million fold. The week he and Dean had spent in Palo Alto after Jessica's death was hazy - with only snatches of clarity here and there - and he wasn't in a hurry to fill in the blanks.
How was he going to cope with seeing Jessica's face everywhere? How could he walk past the jewellery store where he'd been planning to buy her engagement ring? How could he look up at the apartment they'd shared?
He was only now really realising how much he'd asked of Dean when he'd dragged him back to their old family home.
Nevertheless, he felt responsible for his friends. They'd been his family at Stanford while his father and Dean were off hunting monsters. They'd looked after him, seen him through the highs and lows. They'd accepted him.
But not for who he really was. And he had to remember that.
The Sam they'd known was just a sham, a mirage he'd carefully constructed to hide any hint of the life he'd used to lead. And now the two worlds he'd tried so hard to keep separate were about to collide with sensational force. St. Louis had been bad enough.
He remembered being so afraid that Rebecca would find out the truth about he and Dean that he'd made up some ridiculous story about his brother being a cop, and it had backfired spectacularly. Eventually Rebecca had discovered the secret life he'd been trying to hide with all the sophistication of a chocolate covered child trying to disguise an empty cookie jar.
Well, that part hadn't really been his fault. Poor Rebecca had been tortured by the shapeshifter who'd stolen Dean's appearance, before being kidnapped by it later and forced to watch as it took on her appearance. As far as revelations went, it was pretty impressive.
He couldn't help but brood about how many other people she might have told. He could have called her, but at this point he was starting to irrationally feel that what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. He preferred to believe that no one else had been told, but then, given the reason he and Dean were going to Palo Alto, it was inevitable that they'd find out.
He felt like a quivering mass of fear as he worried about how his friends might react. Would they think he was crazy? Would they want to know him afterwards? And what would happen if they placed their hopes in him and he couldn't help?
And then there was Dean.
He'd kept a fairly low profile during that awful week. Sam had left him to sniff around after the demon while he dealt with all the agonising hoops to be jumped through following a death: the simpering platitudes from people he barely knew; the raw horror of coming face to face with Jessica's parents; choosing music for the funeral; trying to find the words – any words - to say; the unreality of standing at the graveside while the coffin was lowered into the ground.
He'd kept Dean away from his friends, not being able to handle anything other than dealing with his grief.
Now he wondered what they'd make of him. He loved his brother dearly, but Dean could be stomach-churningly embarrassing sometimes. On some level he had to acknowledge that others would consider this perfectly normal, that it was a big brother's prerogative to torment their younger sibling, but then they didn't know Dean.
And they didn't know Sam.
Dean rarely followed conventions, and he could be more than a little antisocial. He'd basically had to make his own way in the world, and he'd never really had anyone to show him the social ropes. He'd made it up as he went along, and while in their world that could be an advantage, in the real world it wouldn't get him far.
He prayed Dean wouldn't do anything stupid.
They'd driven straight through the night, and Sam had mercifully slept for most of it – though his slumber had been marred by the return of his old nightmares, as if his subconscious was reacting like an EMF meter to their proximity to Palo Alto.
A small part of him felt that he should give Dean a break by offering to drive, but it was out-voted by the majority shareholders of frustration and resentment.
The morning had dawned fresh and clear, the skies seemingly becoming more azure the closer they came to the Golden State, and the Impala's windows had been down for the past few hours as the spring temperatures started to rise.
The Nevada scrub land that had dominated Sam's view out of the side window flew by as the Impala gobbled up the road in front of it. The sun was now beating mercilessly down upon the sparse landscape, making the huddling shrubs look parched and defeated at the onslaught.
Sam knew the feeling. He glanced over at Dean's stiff form. He didn't think he'd seen him so much as blink in the past two hours.
Sam returned his gaze to the view outside just as they whipped past a road sign indicating that they would soon be approaching Winnemucca, meaning that they were now only a few hours away from Palo Alto.
"We'll stop there. Get some food." Sam nearly jumped out his seat at the unexpected announcement.
Dean had apparently come out of hibernation. One hand was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to ease the knotted muscles. Sam bit back a comment about how Dean shouldn't have been sitting hunched for so long, knowing that he'd probably get his head chewed off for his trouble.
"Yeah" Sam murmured. He was eager to get to their destination, but he couldn't deny Dean some sustenance, considering the fact that thus far they'd only stopped briefly for fuel and packaged food. Besides, Sam's own stomach had been making its presence felt for a while now, and he figured a hot lunch would do him good.
They pulled in at a truck-stop just outside of the city with the usual unremarkable diner and gas station. It looked like a million other places they had been before, and Sam had the sudden disorientating sensation that he could have been anywhere in the country.
Dean pulled the Impala to a stop and then eased the door open with a creak, stiffly pulling himself to his feet. Sam followed suit, pausing as he watched his brother stretch out his limbs like a cat after a long snooze.
"You okay?" He found himself asking, almost like a reflex he had no control over.
Dean glanced across the roof of the car, looking as if he was trying to gauge the sincerity of the question.
"Yeah" he replied with a huff of breath, apparently deciding that Sam was being genuine. "You coming?"
Sam followed his brother into the diner, glancing around at the retro interior with surprised interest. It was classic American diner, down to the squeaky red vinyl seats, black and white linoleum floor and chrome edged counter. Maybe this place wasn't so bland after all.
It certainly seemed to have cheered Dean up anyway, if his brother's hungry grin was anything to go by.
Finding a booth wasn't difficult. The place didn't appear to be well populated despite the time of day, with a few loners scattered haphazardly around the room, nobody sitting too close to anyone else. Some were pouring over newspapers, others just stared into their coffee as if it would reveal to them the meaning of life.
They sat at the window, Dean facing the door as he usually did, and in perfect synchronicity the brothers reached forward, picked up their menus and began to peruse the contents.
Sam established very quickly that they had little to offer as far as he was concerned. For Dean, it was as if the menu had been designed for him. Sam smirked fondly as he watched his brother's eyes light up.
"Okay boys, my name's Darla, what can I get ya?" Sam looked up at their waitress, recoiling slightly at her garish appearance. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Dean doing the same.
With middle-aged skin slathered in make-up that might have blended in at a circus, and peroxide hair permed to within an inch of it's life, she looked as if she hadn't seen a mirror since the eighties.
She stood, one hip jutting out, gum snapping in her mouth as she chewed.
Dean was watching her bright red lips squirm sickeningly as she worked the gum around her mouth with an almost morbid fascination. "Uh..." he began.
"Coffee" Sam jumped in with a fleeting smile, giving his brother a kick under the table to jolt him awake.
Dean cleared his throat and dragged his gaze upwards to meet eyes that looked as if they were straining to peek out from under eyelids groaning with bright blue eye-shadow and clotted black mascara.
"Black" He qualified.
Darla blew a bubble with her gum as she wrote on her note pad. "Anything to eat?"
Dean seemed to have recovered himself by this point. "I'll take a cheeseburger and fries, sweetheart"
"Oh we're all out of burgers, honey" Darla replied, shrugging her shoulders in a what are you gonna do? Gesture.
Dean frowned, put out. "You're out of...burgers?"
Darla continued to chew noisily while Sam tried not snigger at his brother's horrified expression.
"Okay...uh, in that case I'll take the all-day breakfast" Dean tried to recover some aplomb with a forced grin.
"Actually we're fresh out of bacon and eggs too" Darla replied with unapologetic indifference.
Sam couldn't help the smirk that flashed across his face at that.
"You're...? Fine, a hot dog then!" Dean was starting to get frustrated now, Sam could see his brother's fuse getting shorter and shorter as the seconds ticked by.
"Oh I should've said, we ain't got sausages either"
Sam actually had to stick his fist in his mouth to stop a gurgle of laughter from escaping this time. He knew Dean had noticed, and the older man's eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to retort.
Sam realised he'd have to act before Dean said something that would probably get them both thrown out. "Maybe it would be easier if you told us what you actually do have" He said tentatively, still struggling to keep his amusement under control.
Dean's face was now so pink that Sam half expected to see steam shooting from his ears.
"Oh well why didn't you say so?" Darla smiled, the bubble gum sticking wetly out between her teeth. "We've got waffles, and I think there's still some fried chicken, and I'm sure I saw Phil putting some fries in"
Dean appeared to have been rendered temporarily speechless.
"Uh, I'll take the waffles and..." Sam gestured at his mute brother. "He'll take the chicken and fries"
"Okey dokey!" Darla gave another snap of gum before whirling around and trotting away.
Sam finally felt safe to let out a squeal of laughter as Dean managed to locate his misplaced voice.
"What kind of place is this?" he grumbled under his breath. "Don't even have burgers!"
Sam continued to laugh, enjoying the feeling as it spread a pleasant warmth through his body and thawed the air between the brothers.
"Shut up!" Dean groused, but without any real bite to his tone. "You must be the first girl they've served in a while. I mean...waffles?"
By the time Darla returned with their coffee Sam had managed to get himself under control, and Dean seemed to cheer up at the scent of fresh brew.
The elder Winchester took a sip and let out a slow breath as he closed his eyes in ecstasy. "Man that's good!"
Sam busied himself by adding several sugars to his own mug. "Okay, you two want to get a room?"
"Bite me" came Dean's swift response.
"I would, but you're not my type" Sam rebounded, glad to see a grudging smile tugging at his brother's lips as he acknowledged the hit.
Dean cleared his throat, banishing the smile as he got down to business. "Okay. So. Wanna tell me about what we're walkin' into here?"
"Well, Jenna used to go out with this guy called Jake Moretti. I met him once or twice, he was a decent guy. They didn't last long as a couple, but they stayed pretty good friends" Sam began after a deep, steadying breath.
"Sam I don't need to know the guy's life story. Just tell me how he ganked it" Sam frowned at his brother's slightly callous dismissal of the victim's relation to him, of the details that made him a human being and not just a body in a morgue. He couldn't work out if Dean genuinely didn't care, or whether he just didn't like being reminded of Sam's normal life.
Sam opened his mouth to deliver an admonishment, but was prevented by the arrival of their food.
Dean didn't seem too bothered by his meal in the end, although Sam thought the shrivelled chicken looked as if it had all the nutritional value of a wet paper bag, and the fries looked wilted and half-hearted. Though, compared to some of the dubious meals Sam had seen Dean consume with gusto in the past, it was relatively innocuous. His brother really would eat anything, and enjoy it.
His own waffles were better than expected, and he happily drowned them in maple syrup before scooping up a large mouthful.
"Okay, so Jenna didn't say much on the phone, but apparently Jake went missing about two days before his body got pulled out of the river. He had some kind of sigil carved onto his chest"
"So? Could just be some psycho murderer who bought Sigils for Dummies at the book store" Dean argued, several fries sticking out of his full mouth as he spoke.
"Yeah. Except his body was completely drained of blood" Sam countered. "I think your average, run of the mill psycho would have a little bit of trouble with that"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so that is a little weird" he admitted, letting his fork rest against his plate as he pondered this new detail.
"What do we know that could do something like that?" Sam murmured, beginning to feel a slight tingle thrum through his body at the scent of a hunt. There were many things he hated about the life they led, but he had to admit that solving mysteries held a compulsion for his mind that school never had.
"Well, vampires don't exist, and it doesn't fit with anything else I can think of. Sounds like it could be some kind of ritual. Blood sacrifice maybe? But we don't know enough yet"
Sam nodded, agreeing in theory.
"It still might not be supernatural" Dean pointed out tentatively. "But...I think it's worth checking out. By the way, why didn't any of this come up in any of your searches?"
Sam ignored the suggestion of there being nothing supernatural involved, because if that was the case then there wasn't much he and Dean could do. And he wasn't about to let his friend down. "Well, Jenna said the police hadn't released the details of the murder"
"How'd she know about it then?"
"She was the one who did the initial ID" Sam murmured sadly, thinking of his friend going through the harrowing experience of standing in a frigid morgue staring down at the bloated and distorted body of a loved one.
"Oh" Dean looked sober too. They'd both seen enough bodies in morgues for the immediacy of the horror to have lost some of it's potency, it was more of a slow burn that lingered for days afterwards, with images that haunted their nightmares.
"Yeah, she's pretty upset"
Both brothers became subdued as they contemplated the case they were about to become embroiled in. They quickly finished their meals in silence and then by tacit agreement got up and headed on their way, with Dean tossing a sarcastic goodbye to Darla as he went. They didn't leave a tip.
Any thoughts? Please review and let me know! :) Next stop, Palo Alto...