CHAPTER 3 : Quiet Days & Stormy Nights
Summary : The boys struggle to deal with the aftermath of their encounter with the Shapeshifter.
PART I – Bottled up truths
Sam kept his eyes closed. He could tell Dean was looking at him, and he wondered what his brother was thinking about. His cheeks burned at the thought that his drunken little stunt was still a fresh memory in Dean's mind. Sam exhaled tiredly and let his mind drift back to that day.
It was the last few months before graduation. Dad had been gone for a while. Twenty seven days to be exact. Sam did not check his calendar off. He didn't need to; since he and Dean reached the age to fend for themselves in the absence their father, he considered every day spent without John a blessing.
When John went away, the endless arguments, the nightmarish hunts, and the constant threat of having to move to some unknown place in the middle of the night to catch up with the supernatural, went with him. Sam had some peace. He also had Dean all to himself. It was their time; and during that time, Dean did everything he could to make life fun and normal.
Dad checked in with them once in a while to make sure they had enough money left and working credit cards. Confident his sons were now capable "soldiers", he had decided he could leave them alone for another month to pursue whatever job popped up on his radar.
Sam had every reason to be happy. He would stay in town long enough to graduate without switching high schools; and when he wasn't in class or finishing homework at the library, he got to spend all his time with Dean.
In the morning, Dean made him breakfast before dropping him off at school. And all day, Sam was looking forward to the moment he would walk outside and see his brother waiting for him, leaning against the Impala. He didn't care about the envious stares that followed him as he left, chauffeured by the hot guy with the cool ride. It was about their time: Sam sharing the highlights of his day, Dean teasing his "favorite geek", and all the things they got to do after.
Because he always produced an immaculate report card, Dean never saw the point in hassling him over homework. So after school was all about fun. They went to the movies, and went to eat at that cheap "New Age-y, Feng Shui-y, weirdo restaurant" Sam liked and Dean just loved to bitch about. They went to the town's cultural center for that art exhibit Sam just had to see. They turned every card, dart and pool game into some epic tournament they just had to win, in order to avoid being stuck with cleaning and laundry duty for a whole week, or worse, losing something essential. Sam fought to keep Dean's knives away from his bangs, and Dean fought to rescue the tired tapes Sam threatened to salt and burn if he had to listen to them one more time in the car.
On the weekends, they would lock themselves in with food and a bunch of dollar-a-day movies. They talked about anything but hunting. They laughed easy, especially when pranks were involved. And if the victim frowned under the assault, retaliation never failed to restore their good mood.
When Dad wasn't there, Sam had Dean's undivided attention. If Dean met up with some girls, it was always when his little brother was at school, so they wouldn't interfere with his 'Sammy time'.
That one day, Sam's classes finished an hour earlier. His first instinct was to call his brother but he decided against it. If Dean was home, he would surprise him. If he wasn't, he would work on fixing him that decadent eight-layer burger he loved, to make up for a week's worth of "this ain't food Sammy, this is what food eats, dammit" cuisine.
It took Sam twenty minutes to walk home. When he arrived at the small two-bedroom house their Dad was renting, he heard Zeppelin playing. It seemed Dean was having a party all by himself and Sam was looking forward to crashing it. He didn't find his brother in the tiny kitchen or in the adjacent living room, so he headed to the bedroom they shared. The door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stopped dead in his tracks.
His brother was with a guy. More like, on top of a guy. Some guy he had never seen before, and who was wailing as Dean pounded into him with a vengeance. Fortunately, both had their backs turned, so they never saw him standing in the doorway. Sam took a step backward and all but ran out of the house. His mind on temporary leave, he only remembered to lock the door out of habit.
His heart ached in his chest when he stumbled outside. He felt oddly betrayed. Anyone who knew Dean knew he had a way with the ladies; or that many of them simply couldn't keep their thongs on when he was around, depending on who you asked. But this was different. Sam had never had to compete with men for Dean's affection.
Dean was his, and the idea that he would turn to any guy other than Sam to fulfill any kind of need, filled Sam with a burning feeling he wasn't coherent enough to identify. His mind broke through the fog and told him that he was overreacting, but Sam couldn't help the way he felt. And at that moment, it was anger at the little son of a bitch who had usurped a right that was his only: being close to Dean.
Sam ran shaking fingers through his hair, wondering what to do next. One thing for sure, he wasn't interested in going back home any time soon. Still, he had to inform Dean that he had already left school.
Even though the prospect of disrupting his big brother's 'activities' was appealing, Sam did not want to call him. One word out of his mouth, and Dean would know something was wrong and start asking questions. There was also the fact that Sam didn't trust himself to keep bitter words from rolling off his tongue if he talked to Dean in his agitated state.
So he walked to a phone booth nearby, gathered a few coins and called one of his school mates. Andrew was always borrowing his notes and he was more than happy to return the favor. He promised he would call Dean right away to give him the message.
After that Sam wandered around town for hours, frustrated that every place he went reminded him of Dean, Dean, stupid Dean. He ended up seeking refuge at the movies. He 'watched' two of whatever feature movies were playing back to back, seated in the last row because he was in no mood to deal with people complaining about his height. He wasn't really paying attention, just passing time, stalling because he didn't want to go home. But after three hours of deafening explosions and enough flashing lights to induce a seizure, he still wasn't ready to face Dean.
It was nine thirty and he still didn't know what to do. So he walked some more, hands in his pockets, oblivious to what was going on around him until the music blaring out from some unknown sleazy bar made him realize he had strayed far from the center of town.
After a quick look around, he concluded he must have landed in the questionable part of town. It didn't bother him. With his military-style training, he was confident he could handle whatever trouble was thrown his way. Still, being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be reminded him that he never stayed out this late without letting Dean know where he was.
He knew by now his brother must be conjuring up all sorts of scenarios, and he tried telling himself he didn't care. But he did, and he suddenly felt guilty for being vindictive. In their family, you didn't just disappeared in the night because you were upset. With everything that threatened them in the shadows, keeping tabs on each other was a basic rule of safety. And even if he just wanted to make a statement, what did Dean ever do that was so wrong?
He spotted a greasy looking phone booth he could just tell would reek of rancid pee. Then he eyed the bar again and decided a little liquor would provide some much needed courage. The smell of burnt cigarettes that permeated the room filled his nostrils as soon as he stepped inside. They weren't many patrons yet, probably because it was still early. He settled himself on the empty stool in the dark corner next to the wall. The bartender, a friendly looking guy who clearly knew when to strike up conversation and when to shut the hell up, took his order and quietly fetched him a cold one.
An hour later, Sam had to aim carefully at the counter in order to put his bottle down without spilling it. He smiled, remembering his brother telling whoever wanted to hear, that Sam was always three beers away from singing karaoke. He snorted, "That'll show him."
Four beers and he still had things under control, kinda… Well at least he wasn't singing. Sam squinted and wondered how the hell he had gotten up to four beers. He guessed that's what happened when he swore each beer he ordered would be the last, but ended every one of them with the promise that he'd call Dean after he had "just one more".
"This seat taken?"
Sam didn't bother to look. He just grabbed his bottle and swallowed the last drops. "Suit yourself."
"I'm Josh."
"Sam."
"Can I offer you a drink, Sam?"
"No thanks, I'm…"
Sam stopped midsentence. Now that he bothered to look, he was surprised by the stranger's intense gaze. He wasn't drunk enough that he would mistake the man's intentions. And he had to admit: even if he didn't usually pay attention to men, this one was rather handsome. Sure, the lips were lacking in fullness, the eyes couldn't pass for green; and the lashes… But really, how many guys had lashes like Dean's anyway. Sam sighed. He had to stop doing this to himself.
Taking Sam's prolonged examination as an invitation, Josh got closer and teased in a low voice, "Come on, Beautiful, just one drink."
Sam had his fair share of giggling and blushing admirers at school; but this bold and aggressive approach wasn't anything he was really prepared for. But what the hell, he thought. It felt good to feel wanted. And Dean wasn't the only one who could have casual encounters with whomever he liked. He winced when he caught himself thinking about his brother, again.
Another drink. That sounded like a brilliant idea right about now. He was still too sober, too aware, of the disappointment and hopelessness that lingered in his heart. So he nodded.
"So who is he?" the guy asked when the bartender pushed his fifth beer of the night in front of Sam.
"What?"
"You said, that'll show him. Who were you talking about? Boyfriend?"
Sam snorted with derision, "No."
"Just checking. Although I kinda knew that already."
"Is that right?" Sam was annoyed by the comment and it showed.
A seductive grin stretching his lips, Josh ran a finger down Sam's cheek. "Yes. If I was your boyfriend, I certainly wouldn't let you wander alone in a place like this."
"You'd keep me under lock and key?" Sam sneered.
"No. I'd keep you under me."
Sam opened his mouth and closed it soon after. At a loss for words, he decided to take the safer route and communicate with the neck of his bottle. Soon he was forgetting everything as the booze kept flowing: his initial reserve, his inhibitions, and the fact that he was supposed to let Dean know that he was still alive. The attention was intoxicating, Josh's hands increasingly adventurous, and Sam officially too drunk to mind. He was startled when his stool wobbled perilously under him as someone yanked him by the arm.
Josh reacted immediately, pulling Sam closer to him. He got up and yelled at the intruder. "Hey, get your hands off him!"
"What the hell do you think you're doing? I've been looking all over for you! Get your ass up, we're going home!"
Sam looked up, "Dean?"
"What, you know this guy?"
"I think I'm gonna stay, Dean."
"I think I didn't hear you right. Let's go!"
Dean jerked Sam's arm.
Unwilling to stand passively as his potential hookup was getting manhandled, Josh judged it opportune to intervene. He got in Dean's face and said, "You heard him. He doesn't want to go with you, so get lost."
Dean's nostrils flared, his jaw twitched, but he put his hands up, refusing to touch the man. He was pissed, and itching to use his fists, but not enough to lose sight of his priority, which was getting Sam the hell out of here.
"Stay outta this, man…"
"Or wha…?"
Dean had no time to sit there and chat, so Josh never got the chance to elaborate further. He tumbled down to the dirty floor, his palm pressed against the left half of his face. Sam tried to help but Dean stopped him.
"Sam, this is the last time I say this. If you want to leave here on your own two feet, start walking. Or so help me God I will drag your ass out by your fucking hair if I have to."
Sam glowered defiantly at Dean for a couple of seconds; then he brushed past him and headed for the door. His balance was precarious, so it wasn't the dramatic exit he had in mind; but he managed not to fall flat on his face, which was a victory in and of itself.
Outside, Dean caught up to Sam and tugged at his sleeve, forcing him to turn around and look at him.
"What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
"Leave me alone."
Sam staggered toward the car but Dean was far from finished. He stood in front of his brother and shouted, "Leave you alone? That all you have to say? I've been looking all over for you, going out of my freakin' mind. And I find you in some dive, getting wasted, letting some douchebag paw you like a you're some kind of slut…"
Sam shoved Dean, hard. He felt like a ticking time bomb, with the jumble of contradictory emotions that were swirling inside of him. He was turned on by Dean's territorial behavior, happy that his brother had combed the town in search of him, and still angry at Dean for giving too much of himself to some random guy. To top it all off, he was inebriated, and the alcohol had eroded the filters that usually restricted his actions and guided his behavior. There was nothing to contain his inner chaos anymore and it all came crashing down.
He shoved his brother again and Dean's back banged violently against the car. Ignoring Dean's pained gasp, Sam crushed him with his body and asked, "Where do you get off calling me a slut, when you were the one who was screwing some guy in our bedroom?"
Dean's eyes widened. He opened his mouth but Sam kept talking, "You think you're the only one who has needs? Well, you're wrong. And if you don't want me to hook up with random guys, maybe you should give me what I want".
Sam covered those sinfully plump lips with his, but Dean struggled and managed to squirm away.
Sam simply crushed his brother harder, pinning him to the side of the car. He wrapped his arms around him and forced his legs open with one knee. In his drunken state, he was using his strength and extra inches against his brother in a way he would never dare to if he was sober. He knew Dean would be forced to fight if he wanted to escape. He could tell his big brother didn't want to get rough and at this point, he was not above taking advantage of it.
"Sam, don't…"
Dean tried to plead to whatever was left of his brother's conscience. Sam replied with a bruising kiss.
"What's the matter, Dean? Am I not your type?" He ran a hand across his brother's forehead, searching his eyes as he forced Dean's head back. "You give it to everyone! Why not me?"
He squeezed Dean in his arms again, possessive, desperate, and licked the shell of his ear.
"Hmph. Sammy, please, come on…"
Sam pulled on Dean's shirt and slid his hands on the warm skin of his brother's back. He slurred, "He's not the one I want, you know…"
"Dammit, Sam, stop! Don't make me hurt you…"
"I need this, Dean, I, I need y…"
Sam suddenly felt his legs give out and he was so uncoordinated he would have surely dropped to the ground if the arms that were pushing him away didn't reach out to catch his crumbling frame in time.
"Sam!"
In a blur, he felt that Dean was pushing him in the back seat. Then the car was moving, and so was his stomach. Later, he didn't remember how he got inside the house. He did, however remember the wonderful feel of a mattress dipping under his weight when Dean positioned him on his side, and the feeling that his brother was watching over him while he slept like the dead.
In the morning, a tired looking Dean had let him skip school. He had made a joke about greasy pork sandwiches and dirty ashtrays, and shot Sam a look that meant that it was all that needed to be said about the incident. Sam had felt terrible but he had kept his mouth shut, and most importantly, his hands to himself.
"Sam? Wake up."
Sam opened his eyes. He wished he had been sleeping instead of revisiting the time he had thrown himself at his brother. That ego-bruising experience was the last thing he should have been thinking about when he was already at his lowest.
He got out of the car and followed Dean to the motel room. He fought the urge to flee at the sight of the walls he would be trapped in with his brother and wished for the day to be over.
Part II: The Wreckage Inside
