Wayward Children
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Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.
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#4
Haunted
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"So we're just here to visit someone?" Sam sounded extremely dubious. "Dean, it's a small, picture perfect town."
"So?"
"You hate 'em. You make a frequent joke about the fact that the only thing that would liven them up would be having a dead creature inhabit it," Sam pointed out. "Who do you even know who lives here?"
"Someone you won't remember because it was years ago, and I think you only got a glimpse of her anyway," Dean replied, pulling the Impala outside the house he'd grown to know as well as the back of his hand. "You played with her kid brother – Jeremy, I think his name was."
Unfortunately, being what he was, it meant faces and names just jumbled together, with only a few sticking in his mind. The people he saved usually weren't memorable, just grateful souls who were eager to get back to some sort of normality after he rolled out of town, so it was easy for their faces to slip through the cracks of his mind. Occasionally some would stick, but usually for the wrong reasons. There was a guy he and his dad had once exorcised, and for some reason it still remained conditioned in brain to attack them, even after the demon had been expelled from his body, to which John had made a quick note in his journal to make sure to keep an eye on the people they saved from possession until the danger was truly gone.
"I remember lots of kids, Dean." Sam gave him a pointed look. "Even when I was a teenager, and Dad insisted on dragging us with him to visit people, I was made to hang around the kids of folks we were investigating. It sucked."
"C'mon, Sammy. It gave you a taste of normal life. You know? That thing you keep wishing your little heart for?" Dean gave him a teasing smile. "Didn't you at least enjoy pretending to be the older brother figure on at least one occasion?"
"You're an ass," Sam grumbled, and simultaneously they stepped out of the car, examining the house with varying degrees of wariness on both their faces.
"That's why you love me," Dean said, his voice trailing off at the aura the house gave off; before, it had been bursting with life and colour, but now it seemed like it was a shell of what it had been before.
There was no aesthetic difference, of course, that brought him to that conclusion, but he knew traumatic events could change the atmosphere around a home, making it so that even strangers knew there was a perceptible coldness to it which hadn't existed before.
He walked up to the porch, hesitating for half a second before climbing up the stairs, approaching the door with a degree of wariness, his breathing pattern hitching at how familiar this all looked. Nothing really had changed, except a few things had been repainted, with a few additions to the flower beds he hadn't immediately noticed.
With a trembling fist, he knocked on the door twice, startled when a young woman with red hair answered, his first thought being that Elena and her family had moved from the address he'd always known (sometimes scribbling down on the back of an old newspaper just to keep it embedded in his brain), but there was something so Miranda in her eyes, a spark of curiosity and combined fierceness that told him maybe she was a relative, and he remembered vaguely Elena once mentioning an aunt when they were comparing notes on who had the weirder family.
"Hello?"
"Hi, my name is Dean," he said, extending a hand which she warily took. "I'm an old friend of the family."
"I don't remember Miranda mentioning a Dean," the woman replied, her voice low and laced with caution.
Smart woman.
"Maybe she might've mentioned my father? A John Winchester?"
Vague recognition flashed across her face, the distrust slowly ebbing away.
"Now that name I remember," she said, nodding. "I met the guy once. Didn't trust him."
He'd become an expert at reading between the lines, picking up on the fact that this woman was trying to determine whether there was any truth to what he said which, let's face it, was a move you only tended to make if your world had been clouded by the supernatural, or, perhaps more likely, if you'd been surrounded by people who'd broken your heart claiming to be something they weren't.
"Not many people who meet my father do at first, but he's a good guy," Dean said loyally. "Just not the kind of man you wanna meet in the dark."
He chucked inwardly at his own private joke.
"And are you a good guy, Dean?" Jenna crossed her arms, her gaze intense.
"I try to be," he replied honestly.
Her lips twisted into a half smile.
"So, how can I help you? I'm assuming you heard about what happened to my sister and her husband? The funeral was a month ago." Was he imagining the accusatory quality to her tone? "Probably too late to send flowers."
"I'm here to pay my respects, albeit I might be a month too late." It was a good excuse as any. "This is my brother, Sam."
Sam stood stiffly beside him, smiling politely but otherwise perfectly aware this wasn't their usual errand at all. For once they were not clad in suits, and they weren't sporting fake ID badges, but were simply themselves, here both to probe for information about their father's whereabouts (he might've passed through here, it was worth a shot) and to pay their respects to the deceased Gilberts. Mostly the latter though, if he was being strictly honest with himself.
"Jenna, who's at the door?" came a familiar face, and he couldn't help but stare at the girl who came to stand by her aunt at the door, her hair now past her shoulders, and yet the same rich oak brown colour he remembered from all those years ago.
"Dean," she breathed, and he wondered how she still recognised him seeing how he'd made himself a stranger to her.
"You know him?" Jenna sounded surprised. "He's a little old to be your – "
"He's not, before you even say it," Elena cut across her aunt. "He is – was – an old family friend."
There was a raw emotion to her voice he couldn't quite place, but he looked at her, and the innocence to her had disappeared without him even realising. Her eyes looked sunken, glazed over with this permanent sadness even time wouldn't be able to erase. She seemed skinnier than he remembered, but not enough to merit concern, and she had this habit of folding her arms every so often, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them. She looked seventeen, and that was the age he was sticking to in his mind, and yet it was still not okay that even after all this time, even after their brief history, he still couldn't help admiring how she'd blossomed after all this time.
"Well, do you two want to – " Jenna began, but Elena cut her off before she could finish her sentence.
"I expect they're both too busy to stay," she said, and there was a meaning to her tone that Dean picked up on instantly, sensing she wasn't entirely happy that he'd made this unexpected visit.
"Not at all," he interrupted smoothly. "We would love to come in, if you're offering."
He aimed this at Jenna, who looked confused by her niece's behaviour.
"Come in then, and I'll make you both a drink," she said, her tone warmer than it had been when they'd initially made contact with her.
Dean gave Sam a loaded look, and the two of them walked inside the house, both looking around for different reasons. The interior had changed a little, with new photos hanging from the walls, newish wallpaper plastering the walls, but otherwise it was just as he remembered. He watched as Elena disappeared upstairs, and giving Sam a meaningful look, made to follow.
He slipped in through her door before she could close it, noticing with some consternation that her room had changed from pink paradise to this cream themed decor that showed a progression of maturity he'd missed.
"I see you've not exactly lost your habit of invading people's privacy," she said snippily when she'd realised what he'd done. "It's been, what, four years since the last visit?"
"Possibly. I don't really keep track of time," he confessed. He eyed her scowl with some surprise. "Why the hostility, Gilbert? You used to love me once upon a time."
"Back when you were my punching bag, and you and your dad kept to a schedule, and when I actually meant something to you," she replied coolly. "A lot's changed since then, Dean. I'm technically an orphan now. My brother barely acknowledges me. My aunt lives with us." She gave a disheartened sigh. "Everything that was constant about my life has changed completely, and I'm still dealing with it, so please excuse me for not jumping in delight that you're here."
The way she carried her words struck a chord with him, because she spoke like someone who'd seen too much tragedy to believe in the best of life. He'd seen far more than she could ever imagine, but she'd lost both parents, and, from what he'd heard, nearly lost her life herself, so perhaps in terms of tragedy she had the edge over him.
He perused her room with interest, noting the newer items with the kind of interest a best friend might observe. He didn't know why it fascinated him to see her world again, but it did. It was a taste of the normal his life had once had before everything had changed for good, and as much as he wanted to tell Elena that life got easier, it just didn't. He didn't want to attempt to seal their broken friendship by heaping more lies on top of the ones he'd already told her.
He turned back towards her, noticing she eyed him warily, her stance tense, and he recognised he probably hurt her by not even dropping a message to let her know he was still alive and still thinking of her, but life had just simply gotten in the way, and his father had been convinced the yellow eyed demon was somewhere in the region of Kansas, only to discover a spate of disturbing demons and other supernatural horrors along the way. But how could he explain all that to a girl whose only encounter with death had been down to an accident, something that hadn't been propelled by the supernatural, or been part of some grander scheme, but simply down to fate and fate alone?
"You look good," she spoke, her voice devoid of all emotion.
"So I've been told," he remarked jovially, winking at her, before the smile slipped off his face. "Elena... I'm so sorry about your parents."
"I get that a lot." She bit her lip, clearly on the edge of saying what she really wanted to say. "Nobody knows anything else to say to me."
"Your mom and dad were good people..."
"I get that a lot too," she said, laughing humourlessly. "I wish that they'd say what they really mean, that they're glad it wasn't them who suffered such a tremendous loss." She turned away, sitting down on her windowsill, glancing away from him. "I didn't just lose my parents that night, you know. I lost Jeremy too, a part of him anyway. We were always close, and now he's just... He doesn't talk to me." Her voice started to shake a little. "I just... I need my little brother right now, because no one else gets it. Jenna is going through her own thing, but my brother acts like a ghost, and it breaks my heart a little, you know?"
He strode across to her, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her into a gruff hug.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured against her hair, which seemed to be perfumed with a scent unlike any other he'd come across, a cacophony of sweet flowered fragrances that tickled his nose.
"I'm not gonna ask where you were all these years, because I realise you don't owe me an explanation," she replied, her arms wrapping around his back, squeezing him tightly as if afraid he would slip through her fingers. "You're always gonna be a drop-off-the-face-of-the-planet-from-time-to-time kind of guy, but I just... I missed you so much."
"Of course you did," he replied cockily, breaking the hug so he could look at her. "I'm the dorky older brother you never had and never wanted."
"No, if you were my dorky older brother, you'd at least call or write from time to time," she said pointedly, finally smiling. "You never told me what it is you actually do when you're off on these road trips."
The smile slid from his face.
He'd promised himself to tell her everything, yet now the moment had presented itself, he found he was chickening out of telling her. Why torture her with the knowledge of what was really out there in the world?
"I'm a traveler. I go where the wind takes me." It wasn't too far from the truth. "I don't particularly have a job, I just find work where and when I can."
"Fine. Be vague," she grumbled. "I'll find out one day."
He smiled humourlessly at that.
No, you won't, he thought. I'll make sure of it.
"Don't worry about your brother. He's going through his own thing right now. It won't last forever."
"And how do you know that?"
"Because me and Sam didn't talk for a long time," Dean told her openly. "And it sucked, but it didn't mean we didn't still... you know..."
"Love each other?"
"I wasn't gonna put it like a pansy, but yeah," Dean joked. "We just know whatever personal crap we're dealing with, it doesn't change the fact we're brothers, and it's the same with you and Jeremy. Nothing will ever change the fact you're brother and sister, and one day he's gonna get his head out of his ass and realise that."
Elena shook her head, looking amazed.
"How is it you always know what to say? Seriously. It's annoying. You swan in here like you own the place, and still your advice just kicks ass."
She suddenly pressed a hand to her lips, evidently remembering something triggered by what she'd said.
"My mom hated me swearing," she said weakly. "I know ass is kind of a mild swear word, but she would always have a frown on whenever I said it, that kind of frown that says she's mad at me for using it, but also knows I'm old enough to use that language." She peered up at him with eyes tinted with the glimmer of tears. "I miss her." Then, a sob, followed by, "I hate feeling this way."
He folded her into his arms, almost willing for the hurt to go away because, when he was old enough to realise what had happened to their mother, that hurt had spread slowly over his body like poison, settling in like some parasitic emotion which festered on and under the skin. Grief wasn't something you got over in a day, a month, or even a year; it settled in your heart, always plaguing on your mind, and no amount of time healed that particular wound. You just had to stick a misshapen band-aid over the wound and hoped it would be enough to stem the tide of suppressed grief.
"Dean – " Sam's voice interrupted them, his head sticking awkwardly around Elena's door, his eyes widening slightly at where he'd ended up. "Er – I'm sorry. I'll just – "
"Come in." Elena's voice was soft like velvet as she appraised his brother. "You're Sam, right? I think I remember seeing you once when you were younger."
"That's right," Sam said, greeting her warmly. "I'm so sorry about your parents, Elena. I recently lost my girlfriend in a fire, so I can understand what you're going through."
"Oh God, a fire? I'm really sorry."
"Yeah." Sam stuck his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable now he was getting sympathy from the very person who had been herself only moments ago complaining about the fake sympathy everyone seemed to hand out to those who'd suffered a tremendous loss. "It kind of sucks everyone telling you the same words over and over again, but there don't really seem to be many other words you can say."
"I know."
"I get this little pity party here is for the bereaved only," Dean cracked, attempting to insert some humour into the conversation, "but how about we go somewhere and catch up? Know anywhere good, Gil-brat?"
She hesitated for half a beat at the familiarity of the nickname, and then a smile dawned on her face, lighting up her features. It wasn't quite genuine, but the fringes of it bordered on complete sincerity, and he would take it in a heartbeat.
"I know your affinity for pie, Dean, so actually I know a perfect place that caters to that very need," she replied.
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Don't tell him that, or he'll never leave."
"I'm offended at the insinuation that my entire life revolves around pie," Dean fired at him. "But pie sounds reeeeallly good right now."
He slung a loose arm around her shoulder.
"Yo, Elena, have you seen my – " a half awake Jeremy (or maybe stoned, judging by his appearance) called, walking into her room, without so much as knocking, before eyeing the two grown men who stood around her, his eyes widening a fraction, his features scrunching up like he was trying to figure out a difficult sum. "Um..."
"They're old friends," Elena explained, catching the confused stare her brother threw her away. "They're here to pay their respects to Mom and Dad."
"Whatever," Jeremy muttered, slinking away, instantly clamming up at the mention of their parents.
Dean watched Elena as a shadow crossed her face, before she fixed a semi-happy expression on her face ready to present to her two guests. How had she gone from a spunky little minx with hardly a care in the world, to a girl who had to plaster a fake smile on – presumably every morning – to convince the world (and herself) that she was okay? She looked haunted – living, but not really alive. Having been so young when his mother had died, he couldn't really remember if he'd ever really mourned before. Sure, there were times when he thought about her, but it was in a nostalgic way, a kind of fond remembrance for the life he'd once lead, and that in itself was pretty disconcerting. Here you had a girl who had no clue how to deal with all these emotions, and he was pretty much the worst person to have swept back into her life because, let's face it, he was not the kind of guy who expressed his emotions unless pressed to do so.
"I want to get through to him, but I can't," she murmured, pressing her lips together in a sad line. "Does this being an older sibling thing ever get any easier?"
"Not really." Dean exchanged a look with Sam, as if almost daring him to argue. "I guess all you can really do from this point on is just be there when he needs to talk. God knows little brothers can be the absolute worst sometimes." He almost smirked at the look Sam gave him after that remark; mock contempt wasn't one of the better expressions Sam had ever adopted. "Jeremy will come round."
"When?" Elena's eyes were round, haunted, her skin a mere shade away from white. "He's spiralling and if I can't pull him out of it...who can? It's not like he's ever had many friends who could talk him out of it."
Dean rested his hands on her shoulders, peering down at her, almost as if trying to will the hope back into her body.
"He'll come round," he reiterated firmly. "Just – just give him time. And space." Another glance was exchanged with his own brother. "Sometimes that's all you need to give 'em." There was a brief pause, before he clapped his hands together, eager to break the awkward tension. "So... about that pie..."
Elena and Sam burst out laughing, and he was startled by the realisation that laughter made them look both so... young, so carefree, and he was overtaken by a rush of affection for them both.
Yes...coming back here had been a good call after all.
A/n: Apologies for the delay in getting this next chapter up. I'd written it last week but just hadn't the time to post it. Hope you enjoy