Forlorn Hope
Summary: Sam and Dean crash a wedding. Or it might just be the other way around…
So the necklace has gone missing which leaves the boys in a bit of a pickle…
Chapter Four
Sam and Dean sat side by side in the central courtyard of the hotel. The reception had quickly come to an end after the stage collapsed. The company that had planned the wedding had cleared away most of the detritus, although the courtyard still looked like a beribboned disaster area. The DJ had taken the remains of his equipment after loudly threatening to sue anyone and everyone for the damage done.
Mort and Hope had gone into their room and hadn't come out since, while Sam and Dean sat outside, trying to make sure nothing else happened. Sam glanced over at Dean who was moving restlessly in his chair.
"Shoulder bothering you?" Sam asked. The possessed FBI agent had shot Dean in the same shoulder that Sam had. Dean hadn't said anything, but Sam knew it was slower healing this time. Might never be what it had been.
"S'fine," Dean answered offhandedly. "Just don't like sitting out here."
"We're on bodyguard duty until we find the stuff." The necklace was missing, as was the sixpence. Apparently Hope had lost a shoe in her mad dash to get to Mort and the coin was now gone as well. "Can't be helped."
"I know." Dean grimaced. "Doesn't change the fact that we're sitting out here bored to tears so they can get their groove on. It's wrong on so many levels."
Sam shifted uncomfortably. Now that he put it like that... "So what do you think happened?"
"Hope handed over the necklace, I turned on the EMF and it all fell to crap," Dean stated flatly.
"The necklace knew we were trying to break the curse. Or if it's a spirit attached to the necklace, the dead woman knew we were trying to stop her," Sam observed.
"Plans to break the curse meant that Mort turned into a jerk ahead of schedule or whatever and now it's going to kill him ahead of schedule. Might not like us too much either since we're helping." Dean shook his head in annoyance. "So where does that leave us? We can't try the ritual since the necklace is missing, which can't be a coincidence."
"No," Sam agreed. He tugged at his lip in frustration. "We try to keep Mort alive, we salt and burn the first woman and we try to find the necklace. But even if it is a ghost, it might be attached to the necklace as much as to the bones. The salt and burn might not be enough." Dean seemed to deflate where he was sitting, sagging back into the chair. "What?"
Dean cast him a sidelong glance. "Nothing. Just... tired."
Dean wasn't alone. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was depression. Hopelessness. Helplessness. The fighting only meant they had to go on fighting and that they would go down fighting. Dean sooner than later. So soon.
Sam looked around him at the remains of the wedding reception. Dean was never going to meet a girl, never going to get married. He'd never have a chance to see his children, see grandchildren. See Sam's children. Dean wasn't even going to be there next Thanksgiving for their ceremonial roast turkey TV dinner.
"Breathe, Sammy." Sam inhaled deeply. He hadn't even realized he'd stopped. "We're not there yet," Dean added quietly.
Sam nodded, forcing air in and out through his constricted throat. They had time. Dean was sitting beside him and they still had time.
"You ever imagine getting married?" Sam asked. The question was out before he even knew he was going to ask it.
Dean looked at him for a second like he'd gone mental, but then he shrugged. "Doubt it. Doesn't really go with the job."
"No, I mean a wedding. You ever imagine one."
Dean looked at him again and this time there was a full smirk in place. "Yeah, my wedding planner is stashed in the trunk between the 12 gauge and the grenades."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a no?"
"It's sort of a Guns 'N Ammo meets Winter Bride theme." Dean nodded, all mock seriousness. "It what makes camo so cool. It goes with anything."
"Dean…"
"How do you feel about hyacinth?" He cocked his head to one side. "Too much for a bouquet? They get kinda big, but you could hide a Taser in with it. They're making 'em in colors now."
Sam held up his hands in defeat to stop him. "All right, all right, I get it. Wedded bliss and hunting don't mix." Though now that Dean had brought it up he could totally see Dean asking his bride to let Marigold be the Maid of Honor. Dean loved that sawed off shotgun almost as much as he did the Impala.
"You can say that again."
"Wedded bliss and hunting don't mix."
Dean actually laughed, a light little huff of amusement, though Sam could tell he was taking the conversation far more seriously than he was letting on. He'd seen his brother when they'd been under the effects of the dream root. The vision of Lisa sitting on the picnic blanket, telling him they'd have to go pick up Ben soon, that had come from somewhere.
Dean sank back into his chair, the amusement in his eyes fading. "I nearly got married once. She was a nice girl and I was pissed at Dad… pissed at a lot of things."
Sam hardly dared to glance at his brother for fear he would stop. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"While I was at Stanford?"
"Yup."
"Was she a stripper?"
Sam was shocked at the anger that spread across Dean's features before his brother viciously tamped it down, hiding it behind a blank mask. "I said she was a nice girl, Sammy. I meant it." He was watching the door to Hope's room, but Sam could see that Dean's eyes were a little unfocused, seeing something or someone long gone.
Now that he thought about it, Sam shouldn't have been surprised. Dean didn't make strong connections with the ditzy blondes at the bar. He'd loved Cassie, a smart, hard-working, responsible member of society. When Lisa was a bad girl, he'd left her behind. When she was a working, single mother with a nice home who would do anything for her child, Dean had been far more hard pressed to move on.
Sam cleared his throat uncertainly. "You never told me that."
"No need to."
"You almost got married and that didn't seem like an interesting tidbit to drop at some point?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.
Dean shrugged. "Didn't happen. Another job came up. I took a swing at Dad and we moved on."
Sam blinked slowly, complete disbelief making him nearly speechless. "You." He blinked again, trying to wrap his head around the idea. He turned sideways in his seat so he could actually look at Dean head-on. "You took a swing at Dad."
"Kinda surprised myself that day. He just…" Dean put his head down and rubbed at the back of his neck tiredly. Finally he looked back up and snorted. "I hadn't talked to him in over two months and I was so freakin' angry… Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo angry… And he deserved it," Dean added as if Sam might argue with him.
Sam wouldn't though, even if he had a clue what Dean was talking about. Sam had spent the better part of his teen years wanting to take a swing at their father. For Dean of all people to actually follow through on it, it must have been something of monumental proportions. And Dean had found a nice girl and nearly married her. He might as well have told him Gene Simmons had joined the Amish.
Dean straightened in his seat and crossed his arms, physically closing himself off. "So what about you, Mr. Apple Pie?"
"Huh?" Sam was still nearly mesmerized by the thought of Dean being angry enough to hit John Are-You-Talking-Back-To-Me-Boy Winchester.
"You been looking at china patterns? Figuring out where to register?"
Diversionary Tactics 101, but Sam allowed it, too easily caught up in memories of his own. "I caught Jess once with one of those bridal magazines." He could still see it. His Jess curled up on the sofa, thumbing through the pages, blushing when she realized he'd been standing in the doorway watching her. She'd been embarrassed and then she'd smiled. She'd smiled that knowing smile, full of promises, and he'd felt his heart swell with contentment unlike anything he'd ever felt. That smile had promised him love, comfort, joy, peace, family, stability.
Jess' smile had promised him his dreams. Before his dreams had turned to visions of fire.
Dean was looking at him warily, wordlessly assessing, and Sam realized he'd stopped talking, wasn't sure how long it had been. They'd just never really talked about Jess except in a roundabout way. At first it had been too painful and they'd just avoided the topic. Dean had let him deal with it, offering silent peripheral support as only Dean could. Later they'd been too preoccupied with other disasters. Nowadays, it had been so long ago it just didn't come up anymore. "It would've been a good day," Sam said, "a perfect day."
"Yeah," Dean nodded solemnly, "and then you two would've had a herd of freakishly tall children."
Sam choked out a laugh that was perilously close to a sob. "I'm sure there would've been a runt of the litter in there somewhere. And I'm sure you would've been there for him, teaching him how to overcompensate by being an a-"
"Hey!" Dean said indignantly. "Somebody'd have to teach the kid how to live surrounded by long-haired, brainy giants."
The door to the room flew open and Sam and Dean both immediately reached for the guns tucked at their backs. Hope was paying no attention, however. She stormed through the door and stalked toward the front desk, barefoot and wearing a silk robe she was holding closed with one hand.
Dean was already on his feet, following in her wake. He pointed for Sam to check on Mort. Sam nodded his agreement and headed toward the still open door. He stuck his head into the room and saw Mort, wearing only a pair of boxers, frantically picking up their belongings and lifting them onto the bed. "Problem?"
"The toilet exploded."
"I beg your pardon?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam caught the smell.
"I think every bit of sewage in the hotel is backing up into our room," Mort said furiously and Sam could see the rapidly expanding puddle moving out across the carpet into the room. "Kinda ruins the mood, don't you think?"
"You're ok, though?" Sam asked. He coughed in embarrassment. "You weren't... on it... or anything at the time?"
"Close enough," Mort answered, not seeing anything amusing in the question. "But I'm fine."
Hope reappeared along with the desk clerk and Dean, Hope looking halfway in between tears and screaming.
"Whoa." Dean stopped just inside the door as the stench hit him. "The curse trying for death by methane asphyxiation?"
"We have to have another room," Hope stated firmly. "Look at this!"
The desk clerk, a tired looking middle-aged woman, just stared at the room and sighed as if the entire world were against her. "There aren't any other rooms. We're fully booked."
"You have to have something," Hope pressed. "We can't stay here."
The woman walked toward the bathroom where water was still flowing through the doorway. "I'm sorry," she said as she passed Mort, "but there's just nothing I can do." She picked up the bottle of champagne that had been sitting on the dresser and turned, raising it high.
Sam was closest and threw himself forward to block the blow aimed at Mort's head. The bottle caught Sam across the shoulder blade and shattered. He felt more than saw movement behind him as Dean made a flying tackle to keep her from using the broken remains as a shiv.
The woman pushed Dean back, whatever was possessing her making her ferociously strong. "Out," Sam barked, holding his screaming shoulder and hesitating long enough to make sure Hope and Mort ran for the door.
As he was turning back, Sam heard Dean give a quickly stifled cry and knew the clerk had managed to do some damage with the bottle. Not to be outdone, Dean caught her on the chin with a swift right hook, knocking her flat. He then struggled to his feet, his hand pressed low on his side.
"What happened to not yelling at old ladies?" Sam asked, breathing hard, realizing he was soaked through on one side from the champagne. The smell mixing with the gentle scent of sewage was less than pleasant.
"Dude," Dean looked incensed, "once again with the evil. Besides," he leaned forward, grimacing and still holding his side, "I hit her. I didn't yell at her."
"Yeah, well, you didn't hit her hard enough," Sam said. The clerk was getting to her feet, reaching for another dagger-like piece of broken bottle. Sam and Dean quickly headed out of the room.
Hope and Mort were two doors down banging on a door. "Andy, open up!" Mort shouted.
The clerk was right behind them so Dean didn't even wait. He pushed Mort aside and kicked the door open. He then shoved Mort in ahead of him. Sam hurried Hope in, then he and Dean quickly slammed the door closed and leaned against it. Within seconds, they had to brace themselves as the woman rammed into the door again and again.
"Man, if we don't have to kill her, this chick is gonna be seriously sore tomorrow," Dean said.
Sam laughed, oddly euphoric at having to deal with something that didn't have the word demon attached to it. He looked up to see three sets of wide, horrified eyes staring at them, Hope, Mort and now Andy.
"Hey, Mort?" Dean cleared his throat. "You might wanna put some pants on if we're gonna try for an inconspicuous exit."
"Huh?" Mort jumped slightly as the woman rammed into the door yet again.
"Dude. Pants. Now."
"Andy, do you have something he can borrow?" Sam said. "We're gonna need to move fast."
The Best Man who was looking at them all like they'd lost their minds walked toward a bag sitting on a luggage rack. He pulled a pair of jeans from them and handed them mechanically to Mort. "Someone wanna tell me what the heck is going on?"
Dean grunted, re-planting his feet after another blow shuddered through the door. "Curse. Ghost. Mort's gonna die. But don't worry. We'll be outta your hair as soon as we figure out what to do about the employee of the month here."
Abruptly, the banging on the door stopped and Sam heard the distinct sound of a body falling to the ground. He and Dean looked at each other. Sam just shrugged. They cautiously stood back from the door and opened it to see the desk clerk unconscious on the ground outside the room.
They both turned back into the room just in time to see Andy pick up the clock radio, rip the cord out of the wall and use both hands to bring it down on Mort's head.
Maybe one day I'll write the story about John and Dean's little tiff, but at present I'm happy with it just in my head… Frankly, I've never done it because Sam's not in it, and a Supernatural story with Dean but no Sam is just incomplete. So feel free to imagine the reasons behind it however you would like. More soon…
