THREE
Sealing That Way Too
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Dean knew he was awake, but what puzzled him was the fact that he was warm, comfortable, and had just had possibly the best night's sleep that he could remember since his return from The Pit.
He didn't dare open his eyes, wanting the fuzzy, long-sought after feeling to last as long as possible. Instead he tried to work out how and why it had finally come about.
He knew he was more or less on his left side, a favourite old grey t-shirt on, which, other than his black shorts was all he had bar his amulet. The side of his face was pressed into the most amazingly warm and comfortable pillow in the entire universe, and he stretched his legs out and decided he could go back to sleep very easily. Without conscious thought or direction he pulled in a deep, satisfied breath, catching a slight scent as he did so. It reminded him of something, but his will to hold onto what tiny sliver of comfortable peace he had found easily shoved it aside in favour of staying blissfully unaware.
A tiny part of his brain informed the rest of it that he was using one of Pamela's spare rooms and, sheerly by dint of belonging to a woman, was bound to smell clean and a little girlie.
Nice change from crappy motels that smell of mould, he smiled to himself. He judged it a good time to go back to sleep, and turned slightly more to his front. His face slid up a tiny way, rubbing itself into the softness more comfortably, and another satisfied wisp of a sigh escaped him. His right hand felt another warm pillow under its careless lean and he ran it up the edge, following the side to get to the top.
He did not expect the firm, warm curve as his hand went up. And as he slid it under and inwards curiously, he certainly did not expect to feel a warm, cottony shoulder blade under his fingers.
His hand froze. His right eye popped open. It looked around.
"Don't be mad," came a very timid voice.
He recognised it. He recognised the owner of the tone of voice, and most definitely recognised the feeling that came with it.
"Moon?" he dared.
"Yeah."
He lifted his head slightly, confirming what he suspected. Moon was lying on her back on the top of his blankets in her ripped jeans. It was her faded Rush t-shirt that was providing the warm cottony feel against his fingers. At some point during the night Dean had rolled over and taken the liberty of mistaking her chest for his other pillow, and it seemed as though that had been a good few hours ago.
He was about to start kicking himself when he realised her hand was in the back of his hair.
"Your bed not warm enough?" he managed, his mind racing, tasking itself to find a way out of this gracefully without hurting anyone's feelings.
"Sure," she said quietly. "But… I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to dream anything. I wanted a quiet place to think, where I'd be safe, and…" She paused and he hiked his free left elbow under him to at least distance himself from her front politely. "I just… You're the safest place I know," she admitted.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His right hand pulled away from her side and went to the edge of the mattress.
"I didn't listen to what you were dreaming, honest," she said quickly. "Pamela showed me some focusing tricks and I made sure I wasn't--"
"Moon… You could have just said you didn't want to be alone," he breathed, relieved on more than one level. "You're lucky Sam got the room next door."
"Sam," she muttered, and her face turned dark. It wiped the reassuring smile from Dean's face. "I can't look at him. I can't."
"Moon--"
"He loved her, Dean. He loved my sister. And now she's dead," she babbled, her eyes starting to fill with water. "How do I - how am I supposed to just say 'hey Sam, how's tricks?' like he should be totally unaffected by--"
"Moon," he interrupted sharply. She bit her lip quickly, using it to control her urge to cry. "Sam will get over it. Sounds harsh, but he will. I'm not sayin' it's gonna be easy for you to get over her, and to be honest I don't think you ever really will." He swallowed uncomfortably. "I can only imagine what it's like for you." He paused, as if weighing something up. "But you've got friends here. And you're not alone now. Right?"
"Right," she managed weakly. "I'm so glad you're here, Shupshe."
She pulled on the hand behind his head, moving down slightly and putting her other arm round him. He had no choice but to let her, his intimate position with the side of her neck telling him she was fighting to control her breathing and the will to cry. He slid his chin up over her shoulder to rest on it innocently. He leaned his weight on his hand to the mattress to keep from literally lying on her.
The door wanged open with alarming speed and Sam took a step into the room.
"C'mon then lazy-ass, rise and sh--"
He stopped dead at the sight that greeted him. Moon looked up and over quickly as Dean's head shot up.
"It's not what you think!" they called together.
Sam just blinked at the pair of them. "Coffee. Front room. In. The."
Then he stepped back one and hauled the door shut in front of his face quickly.
Moon sniffed at the door, then pulled her head back and looked at Dean from perhaps four inches away.
She tried very hard to stop herself, but his eyes were already wrinkling at the sides. It spread innocent amusement across his face and she couldn't help herself; she laughed too.
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Sam tapped the book and sat back. "Says here they were only ever a myth," he announced.
"Yeah? Well she's seen 'em too many times in too many dreams for them to be a figment of her imagination," Pamela said knowingly. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms thoughtfully. "What I don't get is why she didn't want me to know."
"You talked about her dreams?" Sam asked quietly.
"Yeah. Poor girl's having a regular Nightmare On Elm Street coupla months," she sighed. "She's got this latent connection to Dean - that she won't explain and I can't seem to see - and it seems she saw a lot of shit he went through when he was in the Pit. Can only imagine the horrors," she shivered.
"Yeah," Sam managed uneasily.
"Then… Then she starts seeing stuff about… what does the book call them again?"
"Spider monkey bats," Sam said, repressing a smile.
"Spider monkey bats. Of all the goddamn things to be dreaming about, it's flying spider monkey bats," Pamela sighed.
"Uh, Pamela?" he asked carefully. She tilted her head to look in his direction, blinking her white plastic orbs at him out of habit. "Uh… Did she mention… did she say why she couldn't look at me?"
Pamela considered something for a long moment. "No, she didn't," she replied vaguely. "It worries you?"
"Kinda," he allowed.
"She just said she couldn't look in your eyes. At your eyes. In your eyes," she amended.
Sam felt mortified fear spread up his spine in white hot streaks. "Oh, is that all," he muttered.
"Why? What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," he lied quietly. "Nothing."
There was a squeak and he looked up at the stairs gratefully. But he could feel Pamela's sightless gaze on the side of his face. He refused to look at her.
Instead he saw Dean walking down the stairs in his socks, looking around the room below him.
"Morning," Pamela called knowingly as he met the bottom. "What have you been doing to that poor girl?"
"How did you know it was me?" Dean smiled, approaching the table.
"Cos unless Moon put on a hundred pounds overnight, she ain't got your tread," she teased. Dean shrugged to himself, laying a hand on her shoulder as he passed her to the empty chair. "And you smell like a man who is glad of a clean shirt this morning. Not prepared for your little rescue mission in the wee hours?" she smiled.
"Who, me? I was born to run on a phonecall," he smiled as he sat down. He looked across at Sam. "Whatcha got there?" he asked innocently. Sam slid the book over to him and Dean leaned it up to see it, frowning in concern. "Spider monkey bats," he stated slowly, in a tone that could have been used to express ten years of doubt over every single X-File in one soundbite.
"Yup," Sam shrugged. "Apparently, Moon's seen these."
"Except she thinks I don't know," Pamela interrupted. "She's had some nasty dreams - about you, about monsters, about Sam, and finally, about these."
"Aw crap," Dean cursed vehemently.
Pamela's eyebrows went up quickly. "Mean something to you?"
"Never heard of 'em before in my life. Lives," he amended. "Does it say how to kill the freaky bastards?" he asked quickly.
"Why?" Sam frowned.
"Cos she saw me in the Pit - real. She saw Sam killing demons without me - real. She saw half the monsters we've dealt with since I came back - real. Now she's seeing--" He paused to read the name on the page again: "spider monkey bats? Then they're real somewhere."
Pamela's frown turned into a small smile that pulled at the side of her mouth.
Sam just stared at him. "Yeah, well, I've tried all my usual sources on the 'net and I even called Bobby. No-one's ever seen a real one," he pointed out.
"Angel! Right there!" Dean gasped abruptly, pointing past Sam's shoulder. He whipped round in his seat to see behind him. There was, of course, nothing and no-one else in the room. He tutted and turned back. "You get me?" Dean asked pointedly.
Sam huffed but Pamela put her right hand out, laying it on his forearm on the table. "Your brother's got a point," she admitted.
"See?" Dean smiled unctuously.
"But it doesn't explain how Moon has been able to see everything since he rose from the dead," she added.
"Se--. Whut?" Dean blurted, looking at her.
Pamela let go of Sam's arm. "She's only had these dreams since late September. Hmm, what do we know, concerning you boys, that happened around then?" she asked deliberately. She swung round to face Dean's direction. "How has she seen everything you've been doing? Why was it, when I went to check on her early this morning, she wasn't in her own bed? Something you want to tell us?" she asked politely.
"Hey, what is this? I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition," Dean protested.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" came a harsh voice from the stairs, making them all look up. "Our chief weapon is surprise - surprise and fear. Doh! Our two weapons are fear and surprise and ruthless efficiency! Doh! Our three weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency - and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. Doh!" Moon went on, making her way down the stairs.
Pamela was already in peels of laughter, but the two boys just watched her, lost.
"Don't tell me you've never seen The Search For The Holy Grail?" Moon gasped at them as she walked over to the table.
"It's on my To Do list," Sam offered.
"Is it better than Life Of Brian?" Dean smiled.
Moon shrugged, but Pamela was still laughing as the younger girl pulled out a chair and sat slowly. Dean closed the book in his hands slowly, sniffing and letting it drop to the table with a loud thud. Moon looked at it, then at him.
"What?" she asked warily, noticing his single pointed eyebrow and pursed lips that had begun to stick out slightly. He cleared his throat quietly, wiping at his nose. That's the worst attempt at detached contrition I've ever seen, she realised.
"Spider monkey bats?" he prompted gruffly.
"Oh," she managed, her smile dropping as she looked at her hands in her lap. "Yeah."
"You didn't tell us that part," he observed with an obvious dose of disapproval. Pamela leaned over and put her hand on his arm to stop him.
"I know," Moon said quietly, still watching her hands. She sniffed professionally, looking back at him. "It was… Well, it's crazy, right?"
"Crazy?" Dean challenged, ignoring Pamela's tightening hold on his forearm. "You said you saw nightmare Pit stuff, Sam Helsing, all the nasties we've been killing since I was brought back - how can these things be crazy?"
"I'm sorry, Shupshe, I couldn't," she managed.
"Couldn't what?"
"I couldn't tell you," she said forcefully.
"Why?" he pressed harshly. "Cos they're not supposed to be real? Neither are Angels of Death, Moon."
"No!" she snapped. "I couldn't tell you, that's all!"
Dean closed his mouth, pulling back with a puzzled frown.
Pamela sighed. "Moon, honey, you don't have to--"
"I couldn't tell you for the same reason I can't look poor Sam in the eye," she interrupted, her harsh dark brown gaze boring into Dean effortlessly. "Things have changed, Shupshe! Things have changed and I don't belong to you any more! I wish I - I wish I did."
She got up abruptly and hurried into the kitchen.
Dean turned and looked down at the book under his hand. Sam cleared his throat and pushed his chair back, about to get up. But his older brother looked at him and waved a hand at him quickly. Sam shrugged and instead Dean got up.
Pamela felt his arm disappear from under her palm and then she heard his socks across her wooden floor. The kitchen door closed and she turned round to face Sam's direction.
"Do you know what that was all about?" she asked cheerfully. "I feel like I've fallen in the deep end of a pool without any idea of which way is up."
"If it makes you feel any better," he sighed, "I'm down there too."
"Mmm," Pamela smiled wickedly. "Lucky me."
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"Moon?" he asked softly, finding her standing by the sink, looking out at the view beyond the window.
"Look, Shupshe, just…" Her voice tailed off and she went quiet.
He looked at the door behind him and closed it quietly, leaning back on it.
"Y'know, I kinda like it when you call me 'Shupshe'," he admitted quietly. "It's kinda… like I'm important. Like, I got a title and everything."
She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead and letting out a long sigh. She felt her control slipping, felt her ability to drag in thoughts and feelings from around her start to fight to have a try. She swallowed and forced herself to rein it in.
She turned and found him leaning against the counter, his arms folded, his gaze on the fridge opposite him idly.
"I have a horrible feeling you're more important than you know," she said on a sigh.
"Meaning?"
"I don't know. But… The last time I saw you, and you… you brought me back to life, you owned me after that. And then Sunny died. And then I didn't have anyone. I wanted to call you - you were the first thought I had when I got the news. But I didn't know what would happen when I dialled your number. And I thought, if it tells me the line's been disconnected, I really will be without a friend in the world."
"You could have tried Sam."
"Seriously?" she scoffed, and he looked at her.
"He would have been upset about Sunny, same as he is now. But he would still have tried to look out for you, Moon."
"He shouldn't have to," she hissed. "Why should I need someone to look out for me? Because I have no family in all the world? Cos I'm younger than you? Because I'm a girl?" she snapped.
He just blinked at her. "Because you're all by yourself in the world. And that's no way to be." His gaze swept around the kitchen slowly. "Look… I'm sorry I was on your case about the bat things."
"Spider monkey bats."
"Yeah, them," he allowed with a smile. "But if you seen 'em, we know they're somewhere right now, doing someone harm. Can you tell us anything else about them?"
"They're a bit like spider monkeys. But they have bat wings."
"And don't tell me, they fly," Dean smiled.
"And I never told you I have a phobia," she admitted nervously.
"Of bat wings?"
"Of monkeys."
"Like… real furry primate dudes? Or those friggin' evil little bat-shit creepy toys with the hats and jackets, banging those cymbals and just grinning those evil toothy creepy--"
"Real ones," she interrupted, eyeing his shiver of distaste. "Got any phobias you'd like to share?"
"Borderline pteromerhanophobia," he replied cheerfully.
"And what the hell is that?"
"Fear of people not calling when they need help," he lied pointedly.
"I couldn't," she asserted. "And I couldn't admit to you that I… that I have a phobia."
"Why?" he asked, confused. "As if it matters."
"It's stupid."
"It's no worse than being afraid of flying," he pointed out. "Or clowns," he added thoughtfully.
"So what happens now?" she dared.
Dean looked around the kitchen slowly, shrugging. "You stay here and learn the ways of the Force from Pamela, and me and Sam'll try and figure out where these evil little monkeys are. Then we find them and kill them."
"Sounds like a plan," she grinned. She blew out a quick chuckle, looking at her feet self-consciously.
"Whut?" he asked, bemused enough to watch her.
"It's just… it's just so good to have you around again."
"It's good to be had," he allowed.
"Cos… I saw things," she whispered.
He shifted his gaze to his socks. "Like?" he managed professionally.
"I saw… what they did to you. What they made you do to others."
He swallowed but said nothing.
"They opened the last wall, didn't they?" she dared. "I told you no-one should ever do that. I told you the world would be a better place if no-one ever dared touch it."
"Yeah well… they did," he muttered, refusing to look up. "And look where that went."
She walked over slowly, stopping an arm's length from him. "It wasn't you," she allowed quietly. She watched him study his feet as if nothing else existed. "It wasn't you. It was the Shupshe part of you. It just wouldn't let you allow others to hurt you any more. It resisted, and it fought back. It's what it does."
"Yeah?" he asked shakily. "Tell that to the souls I carved up."
"In the end," she said firmly, "the only thing wrong was that they didn't have one to fight back for them. You did nothing wrong by having it. It was a natural defence. It's the way things should be."
He stared at his feet in silence.
She put a hand to his arm warmly. "You don't understand that now. But one day you will. One day your Shupshe side will look out for you again, and you'll realise why you need it. It'll do the job you need it to do, and you'll let it. Because we all do what we have to, Dean."
She watched him but he didn't look up.
"Yeah," he managed eventually.
She squeezed his arm slightly, then let him go. She turned away and pushed the door open, disappearing silently. The door stole shut behind her and Dean turned his eyes to look at it.
"We all do what we have to," he breathed uncomfortably.
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