Thanks so much Ktoon for beta'ing for me and Themegalosaurus for doing the final edits, and thank you Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading. You ladies really came through for me and I appreciate it xxx
Chapter Three
Neither Dean nor Sam were cruel, but when they got back to the motel and Sam suggested pizza, Dean agreed readily, the depression lifting and being replaced by the act of normality. What had happened to Melinda was awful, and he wished he could have helped somehow, but he had learned he had to compartmentalize the guilt and pain of what had happened and push it down to be revisited in an alcohol fueled haze later. It was the only way for them both to cope. It had taken Sam a long time to learn that lesson. He had felt everything so strongly and for so long at first. Dean had been pleased when he saw the change in him as he accepted that closing it off was the only way to deal.
Dean ordered the pizza, going extra-large even though he knew Sam was going to give him crap about it. He was hungry. He'd had road food the day before and a vending machine breakfast. He needed some real food.
He was informed that the pizza would be there within thirty minutes. Dean asked whether it would be free if it came late, and was told, rather snippily, that they didn't honor that rule anymore. Dean gave the clerk a saccharine sweet goodbye and tossed the phone onto the bed.
"Bitch," he grunted.
"What's up?" Sam asked, looking up from the laptop he was staring at.
"They don't send Papa John employees to charm school anymore. All I asked was…"
"You wanted free pizza?" Sam said.
"Well, yeah."
Sam shrugged. "That was a pretty poor deal from a profit angle for them."
"Thank you for that lesson in business, Donald. I'll take notes next time."
"Donald?" Sam asked.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Trump, dumbass. You know about Etruscan gods but not famous businessmen."
His attention turned back to the laptop, Sam said, "Of course I know about him. I just didn't… never mind. I know about Etruscan gods from something I read after Elysian Fields, when I was soulless. I wanted to know which gods we could cross off the list."
"There were a few," Dean acknowledged.
He threw himself down in the seat opposite him and asked. "What are you looking at there anyway? Porn again?"
Sam grimaced. "Gross. No. I am looking for a bronze knife. We're a day's round trip from the bunker and one of us would have to stay here in case Charun came back—not that we'll be a lot of use if he did. I thought I'd try to find one online. There's this computer game that I think has them as a weapon…" He trailed off as he clicked something on the laptop again.
"You do know we need an actual weapon, not an imaginary one, right?"
"Yeah," Sam said vaguely. "But the people that play these games really get into it. I'm sure at least some of them will have a prop blade. Got it! Guild Wars II. They use it—"
Dean cut him off with a pointed yawn. "I really don't care. Do any of them have one?"
"I don't know yet. I need to create an account so I can post in the forums. Give me a minute." He tapped at the keys for a moment and then leaned back in his chair. "I've put a message in. We've just got to wait for a reply."
"You sure you need to create an account?" Dean asked, smiling widely. "You knew about the blade. Are you secretly a player?"
"Sure, Dean," Sam said sarcastically. "I am with you pretty much every minute of every day, but I like to use time apart to play computer games instead of snatching the few hours of sleep we manage to get every night. It's a good time."
"Wow, someone's feeling defensive. You sure you're overcompensating because you're embarrassed?" Dean's wide smile faded at the withering look Sam gave him. He looked away and tapped his fingers on the table for a second, then sighed. "It's taking a while."
Sam shook his head, smiling again. "Since they're probably busy actually playing the game, it might take some time. One of them will need a bathroom break eventually, and maybe they'll check."
"What an exciting life they have," Dean said flippantly.
Before Sam could reply, his laptop pinged twice, and he leaned forward. "Yep. Got it. There are two so far." It pinged again in rapid succession and he grinned. "And we've got one here in Illinois."
Dean got to his feet and walked around to read over Sam's shoulder. "Dear TyrianTemptress…" He raised an eyebrow as Sam ducked his head and quickly minimized the window. "Temptress, Sammy?"
"I thought they'd be more likely to reply if they thought I was a woman. And they were. There's one an hour away in Springfield. They gave me their address."
Dean leaned over and opened the window again. "That's some impressive cyber-safety. I'm surprised they didn't give you their bank details, too." He read the message and grinned. "You also got an offer for dinner along with the address. It's your day for the ladies, isn't it? First the swooning senior at the hospital, now Sylvari-Stephen12. What did you tell them you looked like?"
"I didn't," Sam said, trying to push his hands away.
Dean slapped his hands and clicked Sam's avatar to enlarge it. He cackled. "They think that's you! Sammy, it's Mia Malkova. Also known as Mia Bliss. She's one of the best porn stars out there. How did you not recognize her? What did you even search for?"
Sam shoved back his chair, knocking Dean out of the way, and said, "I haven't stayed up to date with the world of porn lately, obviously. We've had other stuff going on."
"What did you search for?" Dean asked, leering at his brother.
"Hot blondes," Sam muttered.
Dean laughed. "I'm surprised none of them recognized her. They must be really into their game." He considered. "Or they think it's really her. What are they going to say when you arrive on their doorstep?"
"I don't plan to see them," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going in at night. I've got the address and it will be cleaner than knocking them out to rob them. They're in a neighborhood called Leland Grove."
Dean checked the address. "Unit B. If that doesn't mean basement, you can drive the Impala for a year."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big bet, Dean."
"I'm confident. If I'm right, you're doing the laundry for a year."
Sam shook his head. "There's no way I'm taking that bet. I'm not dumb."
"And you know I'm right."
Sam considered a moment. "You probably are."
"I usually am."
Sam laughed. "Apart from that time you thought you could get a date with Carla Bennett."
"I had a chance," Dean said defensively. "You were the one that spoiled it for me, puking all night."
"I was ten, she was eighteen, and our babysitter. The only chance you had with her was for a bedtime story. Besides, it wasn't my fault I had stomach flu."
"You did it on purpose," Dean grumbled.
"Sure I did," Sam said patiently. "Most people can projectile vomit on command."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe you can. How would I know?"
Before Sam could come back at him, there was a sharp knock on the door and he grabbed Dean's wallet from his jacket. "Pizza is here. You're paying."
Dean considered arguing, but he was hungry, and it wasn't like he couldn't just steal the money back when Sam was sleeping. He closed Sam's laptop, pushed it aside and prepared himself for some decent food.
They came to a stop outside the address Sam had been given on the forum and Dean looked up at the house. It was a neat two story with white painted trim and flowers leading to the front door. There was a sign beside the door with an arrow pointing right that said Unit B.
"Basement," Dean said with satisfaction. "I called it."
"You did," Sam said, opening the door and climbing out.
Dean followed him and said, "So you owe me a year of laundry."
"No, I don't," Sam said. "I didn't take your bet. I'm not scrubbing the ghoul brains out of your shirts. You can save that pleasure for yourself."
Dean shrugged. He'd thought it was a long shot and, ghoul brains aside, it wasn't so bad doing laundry now that they had the antique twin tub in the bunker. At least you didn't have to sit around in a laundromat watching your clothes go around the machine, hoping no one stole your shorts from the dryer.
Sam looked up and down the street, then walked around the side of the house to the basement entrance. Dean followed, keeping an eye out for anyone watching while Sam pulled the lock pick from his pocket and got to work.
"What do we do if he's awake and playing Guild Crap II?" Dean asked.
"I guess one of us knocks him out while the other grabs the dagger."
"Seriously?" Dean asked, surprised by Sam's unusually violent plan for a human.
"No, not seriously. We try to buy if off him, and if he won't sell, we tie him up and leave the money by the computer. He can buy himself another one."
"How about you distract him with your feminine charms while I grab the dagger, TyrianTemptress," Dean suggested.
"How about you don't call me that again," Sam said.
"Sure, if it really bothers you," Dean said innocently, knowing it would needle Sam. "But I didn't bring my wallet."
"That's okay, I did."
"You got enough money?" Dean asked.
"I don't know. I didn't bring my wallet. I brought yours."
Dean punched him lightly in the side as Sam curled away from him and pushed open the unlocked door.
He eased it open and the sound of deep snores reached them. "He's not going to be a problem," Sam whispered. "Stay quiet though."
"Because my instinct was to be loud," Dean joked.
Sam ignored him, walking down the steps and into the blue-tinted light below. Dean went after him and saw that most of the light was coming from a lava lamp, though the computer screen was illuminated.
The screensaver was a picture from Busty Asian Beauties. "Figures he didn't recognize you," Dean said quietly, pointing at the computer. "He's got a type."
"Like you, you mean?" Sam asked.
"Nothing to be ashamed of."
Sam looked away and scouted the room as Dean did the same. There were comic books spread around the surfaces of the room, and two framed on the wall that were emblazoned with a bearded man with unlikely bulging muscles donning a red suit and smiling with bright, white teeth under the name Super Steve. Dean smirked when he saw two posters on either side of the comics. One was for World of Warcraft and the other was an old Journey one with Ross Valory looking vaguely sinister with a moustache.
Dean nudged Sam and gestured at the posters. "No taste."
Sam pointed to a poster on the opposite wall. "There's Def Leppard, too."
"Some taste," Dean acknowledged, thinking that the two positives of Busty Asian Beauties and Def Leppard didn't outweigh the rest of the man pit. It smelled like body odor, and the crumbs spread over the keyboard and half-empty chip packets on the desk were just asking for rats. This man had no pride in his home or self.
"Got it," Sam said with relief, moving toward a shelf with a dagger displayed on a wooden stand. He hesitated before picking it up, as if he was worried that the crap-hole had some form of security protecting its toys.
"Just grab it, Sam," Dean hissed.
Sam grabbed it but at the same moment the snores behind them died. Sam froze comically, and Dean turned to see the man had rolled over. He was still sleeping, smacking his lips and making his long beard twitch. He wasn't remotely groomed, but Dean figured time spent on personal hygiene took you away from the computer, something this man surely didn't want. He looked to be around Sam's age, and Dean had to wonder at the difference in them. Sam was saving lives, sometimes the world, and this man was living in his subterranean cave, playing games and trying to pick up woman online that were so far out of his league they might as well be from different planets.
"He's really living his best possible life," Dean said dryly.
Sam shushed him and grabbed the dagger, exchanging it for a fold of bills, then indicated to Dean to get up the stairs. Having no regrets about leaving, Dean crept quickly up them and out into the fresh air.
"That was just sad," he muttered.
"He's probably happy," Sam said, sounding unconcerned.
"How?" Dean asked, getting to the car and climbing in behind the wheel.
Sam slid in the other side and said, "He'd probably ask the same about us." He checked the point of the blade with his thumb as Dean turned the key, bringing the engine to life, and winced as it cut through the skin, drawing blood that dripped down his thumb to his wrist.
Dean laughed as he drove away from the sidewalk and out onto the main road. "Haven't you learned how to handle a blade yet, Sammy?"
"At least we know it's sharp," Sam said, avoiding the question.
"Remind me to give you lessons on handling weapons sometime."
"Shut up," Sam said. "You've got no room to mock after I just saw your civilian life."
Dean frowned. "What?"
Sam grinned now. "If you didn't have real monsters to kill, you'd be killing them through a computer. You have the same taste in music. And I know that was a Busty Asian Beauties picture. Face it, that would be you."
"I am nothing like him," Dean said defensively. "Besides, what he had looked more fun than what you would have. You'd be a bleeding ulcer waiting to happen with a stick up your ass, defending the guilty and counting the money in your bulging wallet."
"I always wanted to defend the innocent," Sam said conversationally, as if he'd not heard the rest of Dean's accusation.
Dean considered the question that had occurred to him for a moment, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. He decided to ask. "Do you still want that, Sam?"
"A bulging wallet?" Sam asked. "Sure. Wouldn't you?"
"That's not what I meant," Dean said. And Sam knew it.
Sam sighed. "I think I still defend the innocent, just in a different way. If you're asking if I want the apple pie life, the answer is no. I don't. It was never really an option for me anyway. I would have ended up hunting one way or another. I promised myself I'd stopped, but I would have been dragged back one day. I'd have seen something on the news about people dying, you or Dad would have gotten in trouble and needed me; it would have happened. Don't get me wrong, I would give almost anything for Jess to be alive, but I wouldn't have had the life I wanted with her. It was never really an option for me. It was a stupid dream. Besides, I like my life now. Impending apocalypse aside, it's a good one."
Dean nodded. It was good. They had each other, and that was something that they never could have had if Sam had settled with Jessica and become a lawyer. The gulf of a difference between their lives would have kept them apart.
"I've got you," Sam said, mirroring Dean's thoughts.
Dean smiled inwardly but said, "Okay, that's' enough of the chick flick moment, I know I'm awesome and you're lucky to have me, but we're stopping now before you start gushing."
"Jerk," Sam said good-naturedly.
"Bitch," Dean replied with relish.
"Seriously though," Sam said. "Are you happy with your life? Would you want something different?"
Dean knew what he was asking: did Dean want the civilian life he'd had once. Sam had stayed true to Dean's edict to never talk about Lisa and Ben again, but not talking about them didn't stop Dean from thinking about them sometimes. They'd been good to him, letting him slip into their lives, and they had saved him in the truest sense after Sam was gone, especially when it was only a promise that stopped Dean swallowing a bullet. But even then, their life had never really been his. It would never have happened with Sam's instruction of him to go there. Perhaps it never should have happened. He had hurt them, though they didn't remember it, and he would always feel guilty for that. He wasn't getting into that with Sam though.
He nodded. "Sure, it's not so bad. There are things that I wish I had, like Cas back and Amara stopped, but I think we do good, and I wouldn't want to give that up for something else. I'm happy."
"With me?" Sam teased.
Dean snapped out a fist and punched Sam's arm, his eyes still on the road. "You're not the worst thing in my life."
"I know," Sam said happily. "You're not the worst thing in mine either."
Dean grinned. They may not get into feelings with each other and tell each other how they felt, but he knew what they were really saying to each other. It didn't need to be put into words for each other to know it.
Dean turned on the radio and cranked it up loud.
Sam reached to turn it down, but Dean slapped his hand away. "House rules, Sammy…"
"I know, I know," Sam said tiredly. "I shut my cake hole."
"Damn right," Dean said, tapping the beat on the steering wheel. "We've got an hour to drive and I plan to rock the whole way."
Sam groaned. "Awesome."
Dean grinned. He knew Sam wasn't really bothered. This was what they did. It was the things that they didn't say that bonded them more than the things they did. This teasing was how they really talked. Sam was just as happy as he was.
So… That was a fun one to write. I like these lighter moments between Sam and Dean. We don't get nearly enough of them in canon. We're not getting nearly enough of them in this story either, to be honest. Consider yourselves warned ;-)
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx