A/N: I SO love a good bar brawl! (Although Sam and Dean technically are not in a bar) No bar fights are created equal (the last time I wrote a story with a bar fight, the character blew out the entire back wall) This chapter may be hard for the queezy to read; it describes torture in hell and there's a few 'choice words'.
Otium
Dean slowly set his cue stick on the pool table and lifted his hands but waist-high. Middle Man and Dillon took aim at Sam. Dean stepped back to optically communicate with his brother. But Sam's eyes fell closed. He swallowed hard as a tear marked his face.
"Please don't," he whispered. "Please."
Dean breathed out, in. Sam slowly faced their would-be killers and changed his expression, fitting a blank look over his features. His eyes opened, clear and completely black.
Sam took small delight in the trio's shocked faces. One of them uttered a protection spell. "Kill me if you have to," Sam said with a leveled voice, "but don't endanger Dean's life and don't shoot me in front of him; it's not his fault.
True to the arrogance of his nature, Middle Man moved his rifle from Sam to Dean. Sam's brother hissed another swear word. The boys counted time by the beating of their hearts as Dillon and Middle Man squeezed their triggers. Dean and Sam dropped as the gunfire boomed through the restaurant. Their hands caught the ledge of the pool table and they slid under.
Something large and heavy battered against the restaurant's front door. An unearthly half-bark, half-howl roared from outside. The three startled hunters searched the wooden door with their eyes.
Dillon spotted it through the window slits; the shape of nightmares of which, by rights, he should not be able to see. Marco's red eyes glowed through the frosted glass before she clawed the door again. Dillon caught his breath, "Shit!"
Dean used the diversion and snatched Sam's abandoned cue stick. He swaked Dillon's knees hard. The hunter crumbled with a yelp of pain. His fallen gun fired and shattered a light. Middle Man-'Baldy'-clumsily aimed at Dean and missed when the restaurant's door cracked under the beast's persistence. He aimed his rifle and shot a hole through the door.
Dean charged after Middle Man but Dillon grappled his back and Dean fell on top of him. They wrestled for control as Baldy attempted to kick Dean but missed when Dillon rolled.
Guy on the Right watched the action and failed to see Sam before falling flat on his face. Sam jumped to his feet as Guy snapped out a wicked knife and grazed Sam's right leg.
No pain.
Guy on the Right hauled his ass off the ground but stayed hunched over like an old woman. He sliced the air with hand and blade. He missed Sam three more times before Sam caught his wrist and twisted. The hunter's whole body spun and flopped on the floor. Sam heard Baldy's shot gun click for another target when Marco re-attempted to crash the fight.
Sam yanked Guy close to his chest and KA-BAAAM! The shotgun cracked the air. Guy slumped in Sam's arms.
Marco scraped a small weak spot in the door and Baldy's eyes shot wide. He saw nothing, but knew too well what that thing was. He panned his aim from Sam to Dean and Dillon. Dean's solid right cross, sent Dillon staggering. Having forgotten Sam, Baldy targeted the men. Two ear-splitting shots pounded the air; Sam tackled from behind. The rifle spun away and Baldy swiveled to Sam with a heavy blow.
Dean lost his footing to Dillon and the two wrestled until Dillon pinned him under. One horrific punch followed a second then a third before Dean freed his arms. Marco gnawed and snarled at the door, desperately lacerating with her huge metal claws.
In spite of the dog's unnerving noises, Dean bunched Dillon's shirt and with all his strength, toppled the man to the side. Dean hit the man's jaw with an elbow and rolled out of reach. He scrambled to stand first and kicked Dillon's chin the half second the hunter rose. With strength born of anger and adrenaline, Dean grabbed his opponent by the shirt once again, literally dragged him up and slammed Dillon against the nearest wall.
"WHO ARE YOU?" he hotly demanded.
Dillon glanced nervously to the door where Marco's claws weakened the wood. The hunter's face projected an indignant mess of rage, bruises, sweat and blood. He snorted like a trapped bull. "Staussan. From Texas. Spotted you on sight. Didn't know that was yer brother. Just after you."
"Why?"
Dillon mirthlessly and soundlessly chuckled. "You opened the fucking gates, Winchester. Word is you been messing with unholy powers and forces. And if that's Sam... oh, brother. You're in some deep shit. They gotta price on yer heads."
"Who?"
Sam rolled with the nasty punch. He used the same force and came back with a left uppercut before sinking his foot into Baldy's middle. Baldy bounced off the wall and speared head and shoulders into Sam. They hit the floor. Sam lost his wind and Baldy abandoned Sam for Dillon's fallen rifle. He checked it when Dean slammed Dillon into the wall. Dillon blubbered. Dean demanded names and Baldy planted a bullet in Dillon's brain. He inched right, aimed at Dean and the front door splintered. A rabid, invisible beast punctured the carpet as it hightailed straight for Baldy.
Baldy lost his right arm to Marco's teeth. The rifle dropped and added another hole to Dillon's head. Baldy shrieked and jolted across the room. The pool table sagged under Marco's weight.
Baldy's body came priceless inches to spattering against the pinball machine. But he hung in mid-air, kept alive by invisible hands.
The hunter screamed and squirmed. His wounded arm stopped bleeding as his body met the empty wall to his right. He grunted, squirmed and growled as Sam approached, wiping blood from the corner of his lip. He did not acknowledge the bloody gash in his cheek from Baldy's rings.
In spite of his helpless predicament, Baldy grinned, bluffing his way through fear. "Well, well, well. Sam Winchester. You were dead, boy. What are ya' now? A Demon, maybe? Nephalim? A zombie bitch? Maybe some sorta new monster?" Baldy's face scrunched once with agony. "Brought something back with you, didn'tcha? What is that, a consolation prize for being dead for several years?"
"Dead is a relative term," Sam answered flatly.
"Whatever. So how much a' you is really you, Sammy-boy? Hu? What mojo did you use on Duane? Did you suck out his soul before using him as a shield?"
Marco snarled and the pool table clanked with her invisible claws. Dean joined the little party and scrutinized Sam with a cautious eye. He snarked at Baldy, his expression lightened.
"Well, well, well," Dean mimicked. "Lookit this! Sammy bagged us an ugly one! Sammy, isn't there a law or something against keeping ugly ones?"
"Only if they're real little, Dean."
Dean raised his brows and nodded, lips lined. "Well, I guess that leaves you out, Sam."
Baldy's nose flared, "you're FREAKS! Both of you! The second I get outta here, I'm gonna spread the news. Every hunter and tracker from coast to coast will be hunting your heads. Don't think I won't do it, boys. I'll make your lives a LIVING HELL!"
Marco barked sharp and loud. All three men winced. Dean shushed her down as Sam held out his hand, fingers splayed. With a twist of his wrist, Baldy's body turned upside down against the wall. Fear expanded the hunter's pupils and he panted, his face paled. He tried not to look into Sam's deep black eyes.
Said Winchester crouched before him. He did not see Dean withdraw a hypo from his pocket. He moved his face close to Baldy and kept his voice soft and quiet. "You know nothing of Hell, little man. It's imprudent to speak of things you've never personally experienced."
Sam sighed and wiped blood from Baldy's bottom lip. "See," he continued, "there's levels in Hell. In fact, Hell is an incorrect word. But I'll spare the small print. What I will tell you about is a torture device called the web. See, the rack is the third level down." Sam shook his head. "Horrible describes only the first day. But the web..." again he drew a deep breath. "That's where all the big bad boys go. They hang you upside down-exactly as you are right now." Sam's eyes drifted off and he scrunched his nose. "Not all the time. They do have a sense of humor. But usually they put you upside down. They start with your spinal cord."
Dean lipped his brother's name; his voice refused to work. He trembled, not wanting to hear this, yet he wanted to know what his little brother suffered. Dean couldn't decide what to do.
Oblivious to everything but his own horrid memories, Sam simply went on. "They cut into the spinal cord and drain all the fluids. Very painful. You lose no sensation. All you feel is pain. And then they cut your arteries." Sam looked as though he fell into catatonia or a trance. "All the fluid drains. All that's left is pain. Your body shrivels, your muscles contract and spasm. There's no saliva. You can't speak. You can't see because they stole fluids from your eyes. And you're still alive."
Sam's lips curve upward, but it's not a smile. His eyes freeze, looking so far inward, he no longer saw the room or his brother beside him. "And then the cutting begins. They'll use anything-even their own teeth, claws and nails. They have... instruments... saws, axes..." Sam blinked and brought his gaze back to the frightened man. "And yes, you're still alive when they're cutting you up like a wooden doll. And you're alive when your body is a pile of dried skin, powdered blood, innards and bone. And you're still alive when they grind you to powder. And you're still alive when they sprinkle you in vats of acid and you're still alive when they set you on fire and you remember all that unbelievable agony when your body comes back and you're stuck on the web again and again and again. And you always hear the screams from the condemned and the shrieks from the insane. But you are completely alone."
Sam choked in a sob. "It's more difficult to remain rational when something is eating you; always difficult to watch-" he shuddered with tears as someone grabbed and held him. The smell of leather, aftershave and warm sunshine brought Sam back to the present, back from the memory of darkness, fire, agony and solitude. Dean gripped tightly him as though to save Sam from his own memories.
"Hey," Dean growled quietly, "let's get you the hell outta here. Okay?" Sam trembled in his arms and Dean hauled him to his feet.
"Hey!" Baldy called. "You're just gonna leave me here?"
"Yeah," Dean snapped back. "We'll call the cops to come and break you free." he stood in front of his brother, staring into a face worn with phantom pain. "Sam? Sam, take Marco. Put her and Roxi in the car. You hearin' me, Sam? Huh? Put Roxi and Marco in the car. I'll be there in a moment."
"Dean, you shouldn't be around me. You could endanger yourself."
Dean remained firm but gentle. "The dogs, Sam. I'll be there in a moment." he waited for his brother to release him and exit the silent and bloodied restaurant. Dean turned his attention to Baldy and clenched his teeth with a not-so-friendly smile.
Sam released Roxi and sadly petted her as Marco followed out. She returned to her usual rottie form and polished off the water bowl. Sam loaded Roxi into the jeep then returned for Marco who panted and wagged her rear. She kissed Sam's hands and face.
"You saved Dean's life, Marco. I don't know-I don't understand how you knew." Sam dropped to his knees and hugged the hellhound when she whimpered for him. After a moment, Marco started toward the car, nearly dragging Sam with her. He staggered and caught his balance against her. Marco remained stable and muzzled her boy's hips to keep him steady. They made it to the car and Sam closed his door as the last of his energy drained, leaving him despondent.
Sam lost the feel for time. He thought he slept for hours before Dean came to the car. Sam's brother handed him a laptop, several books and a stuffed binder. Sam slowly studied the pile on his lap but did not move anything. He lifted weary eyes as Dean drove off the parking lot and headed into heavy traffic.
"It's all their stuff, Sam," Dean answered the unspoken question. "I'd like to know what they were up to, maybe find what they knew about us." he glanced at his brother. "Hey, I know you're tired, Sammy. But I don't want to be anywhere in this town. Sooner or later someone will call the cops and we need to be free and clear."
"Our DNA is everywhere in there, Dean."
"Nah. I took care of it. It's all clean. The place we sat, the pool table and accessories and the bathrooms. And yes, I got the glasses, too."
Sam almost drifted until he remembered one more thing: "did you get the juke box, Dean?"
"What? Sonofabitch!"
"It's okay. It's just my prints."
"Sam, that's enough to convict you."
"Only if they have my prints on record." Sam fell silent as Dean wove his way through traffic and off the main road. Disturbed played continually as Dean pushed them through the night. He kept saying no as each town they encountered promised a peaceful night's sleep. He just wanted to get to Indiana, to home and safety. The little 'play' at the restaurant hit him harder than he wanted to admit even to himself. He wanted answers. He wanted to find a way to protect his family-all of his family-at all costs.
Sam gradually succumbed to the car's soft vibrations and fell asleep somewhere in Gridley. Dean kept an eye on his brother, reminiscing the number of times Sam slept in the Impala as they cris-crossed the continent from job to job. Just having his brother there, taking space and presence was enough to keep Dean going that extra mile. He found no words to describe how much he missed it.
Upon approaching Darlington, Indiana, Sam woke with a start and shoved the laptop and files off his lap. Roxi barked the warning just before Sam opened his door to get out.
"Whoa! Sam!" Dean applied the break, caught his brother by the collar and managed a smooth transition off the empty highway. Sam couldn't get his safety belt off fast enough. "Sam!" Dean called. His brother fell out, scampered to his feet and ran heedless into the night. "Marco, find Sam!" Dean ordered.
The Rottweiler obeyed and slipped out the car as Dean undid his own belt, grabbed a flashlight, his handgun, checked for his emergency hypo and followed the dog.
"SAM!" the night swallowed his voice like a subtle black hole. "SAM!" he ran through untamed weeds. His foot slipped on a rock, but Dean kept his balance. Marco barked twice to indicate location. Dean changed direction to one o'clock. He halted long enough to use the flashlight. Long grasses and one tree reflected his light. Neither house nor farm promised refuge for a runaway brother.
Movement at one-fifteen. Dean swore and raced on. Sam was always fast on his feet, those damned long legs of his; too much an advantage. But adrenaline surged through Dean's veins like a super drug and in three more yards, he caught up and tackled.
Sam snapped his body around and kicked Dean in the shoulder, screaming. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE?" he scrambled backward. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SLICE MY LEGS OFF BEFORE YOU TRANSPORT ME! YOU THINK I'M THAT TASTELESS?"
Dean stood and heaved for air. "Sam," he kept his voice down, "you're in a dream. You're sleep-walking."
"Oh, you're just freaking hilarious," Sam snarled. "Trying to sound like Dean? That's low. Even for you."
"Who do you think I am?" Dean waited but Sam never answered. Big brother rubbed his face. "Okaaay. Dealing with Sam, Rule Number Four: Never let him sleep in a moving vehicle."
"Mason," Sam whispered.
"What?"
"Mason."
"Yeah. That's what you called yourself. Remember?"
"Mason," Sam repeated. "I have to remember Mason."
"Why?" Dean watched as Sam's form bowed over. Marco whined beside him and nibbled her left side. "Sam?"
"What's wrong with me?" Sam's voice turned to despair. "I'm such a mess. Someone help. Help me!"
Dean summoned patience. He reminded himself that he wanted to bring Sam out, whether or not Castiel said to do so. He knelt before his brother and laid hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, I don't know where you think you are, Dude. But you are not there. You're sitting in some off-road field in Indiana with Marco and your tired, half-beat but awesome brother."
"I have an awesome brother?" Sam stared at Dean as though looking at a stranger. Dean ignored the look until Sam smiled generously. "I do! I have an awesome brother!"
Dean wasn't sure how to take that. "Yeah, okay. Come on, Sasquatch, let's hit the road." he stood to leave but Sam did not move. Through the flashlight's ambience, Dean watched his brother's eyes turn to suspicion. "Sam," Dean's voice turned firm. "C'mon, let's go."
"Marco, protect," Sam ordered. The hellhound whined and licked Dean's left hand. Exasperated, Sam wrapped his arms around her and held tight. She whined again and stood. When Sam still did not move, the rottie pressed two steps forward.
Dean crouched again. "Sam, I know it's confusing. But I swear I'm not here to hurt you." Dean's words did not register at first but Sam finally made the connection. He held his hand out, his brother clamped on and hauled him up. Dean trained the flashlight on Marco as they tracked back to the jeep. He guided Sam into his seat and secured the belt.
After Marco hopped in, Dean started the engine and turned the music off. He drew a breath and returned to the highway. "Sam, are you awake?"
"I am now," but he could not face Dean.
"Sam, it's not your fault. It's not something you can control."
"It put you in danger. I put you in danger."
"No you didn't. We have Marco. And she kicks ass, don'tchya, pup?" Dean tried to find her in the dark. Sam's head dipped in shame. "Listen, Sam, if it'll make you feel any better, I'm worried, okay? I don't know how to deal with you in that state. I mean, last time you took off, you almost made yourself a Sammy pizza. I'm guessing that Abby and Mike have already taken you to a specialist or two, haven't they?"
"Yes. But...I-I can't exactly tell them-"
"Right," Dean nodded. "Right. I get that. Hell's not exactly on the map. And you'd end up on the goofy juice for the rest of your life, wearing white clothes and watching other wannabe psychos."
Sam's voice came light and sleepy. "Dean I am one of those wannabe psychos." he paused a moment and wrapped his arms about himself. "I don't even know why you were so amped up to dragging my ass out this way."
"Two reasons, Bro: I want you to stay with us a while. I mentioned that before, remember? And secondly, Cas said I needed to get you outta Wisconsin. It's not safe there." Sam sunk, sullen, and covered his face. Dean laid a hand on his neck and gently rubbed with his thumb. "We'll get through this, Sammy. I promise. You came back to me." Dean trained his sight on the road as darkness lifted with pre-dawn light. He swallowed his emotion. "And we can do anything."
The sun aged eight thirty-six AM by the time Dean parked Camila's jeep in front of Lisa's house. Sam did not move; his eyes pasted dull and grey out the windshield. Dean undid their seat belts then patted his brother's knee. "Lemme talk with Lisa first, okay?" he glanced at the dogs. "Marco, stay," he said. Dean hoped if Marco obeyed a command, Roxi was an automatic follow-up.
He gave Sam a final once-over and left for the house. Sam simply sat there, his mind a blank from the present. Flashes of foul memories skipped along those blank spaces. Screams uttered by the damned reminded him of unspeakable, nameless things.
They tore off his arms and ate them in front of him. They had no name; just globs of unearthly life forms. They didn't know his name either.
Mason.
Because there was no Sam.
No. Mason.
Yes. Because for a very long time, there was no Sam. Sam was a worn pair of jeans tossed in the corner of the basement. His ragged body lay forgotten, left to rot. Michael cut off his hands. Lucifer ate his feet. Sam could not walk. Little things ate holes into his thighs and borrowed into his bones while the two archangels fought madly in the dark. The dark filtered into Sam's soul. The air rained acid, melting his skin, withering his muscles. Something else ate his eyes.
Then came the Loathsome Shapes. They moved like sheets in the wind and a putrid stench followed their path. They pasted the archangels to the web. Michael remained silent, but Lucifer shrieked like a mad animal. His words shook the Cage. The landscape bubbled with festering mounds of molten sulfur. Creatures of lower classification died by the millions. The devil's voice sliced Sam's soul like verbal razors. Sam died many times listening to Lucifer's Dark Speak.
Everything in the cage reeked of death. Even despair and depression tainted the air with decay.
Sam longed to cease to exist.
Mason.
It was important.
Sam lost himself. No hours or days counted. Lucifer played with his body. It hurt. It hurt like nothing, the rapes hurt like everything. Lucifer spoke softly to Sam; words filled with poison and hatred so deep Sam had no vocabulary for it.
"Sam, Lisa... love to eat you."
One fallen tear cooled his cheek. Sam prayed for Dean's life then prayed for his brother's soul.
"Sam?"
Sam longed for redemption but gave it up to end the apocalypse. The angels despised him anyway. They knew he was damned the moment of his birth.
"Sammy..."
He loved hearing his brother's voice. He always found strength there. Lucifer hated Dean. He hated Dean as much as the angels hated Sam. But Lucifer hated Sam too because Sam refused his gifts and Sam refused to help him conquer the world and Sam refused to take leadership of Hell.
Mason.
Stop saying that! Dean said he was Sam! Sam Winchester! He wanted to be Sam Winchester. He wanted to be Dean's little brother. Another tear escaped and dried along his cheek.
Some hideous, rabid hellhound tugged at his shoulder. Sam lay at the bottom, a mangled mass of flesh and hopelessness. Massive jaws crunched through his bones and tugged his ligaments apart. Something other insidious creature happened along, gathered his remains off the floor. Wasn't he supposed to be on the web today?
Sam batted his eyes. He failed to mention to that Baldy about the gang rapes. Not so important, was it? Some creature carried him away and laid him on a table. This was where the Creepers dissect their vicitims. Vessels get 'special treatment'.
"Catatonic... I don't know what happened-well, there was a fight..."
Yes there was. The Creepers always fought over him. Lucifer thought it was funny. And while they bickered over Sam, Luci climbed the table.
"Um, I can get it... what's it called again? George Winston?"
Music. Hell's music echoed with the melody of agonized wailing, the harmony of curses and the pitch and tones of eternal torment.
Wait a minute.
Wait. Something hopped onto the table. It licked him and-and something cool and soothing lay over his brow.
"Sammy?"
He hated it when Azazel called him Sammy-boy. Dean NEVER called him Sammy-boy. Never. And this voice? Soft, sweet.
"Sammy?"
No. That wasn't Dean. It wasn't a demon. Locked in darkness, Sam saw nothing.
I danced with the devil and shoved him into Hell.
I danced with death until the final bell.
I danced a final time and it ended not so well.
Sam fell unresponsive. Dean returned and found his brother brain-locked. No amount of shouting fazed him. Dean kicked himself repeatedly for failure to pay attention. He did, however, luck out. Their neighbor, Pavel Schwantzerg, a night club bouncer, was home. Pavel, who lifted four hundred pound weights, gladly loaned his assistance. Besides, he owed Dean a favor for fixing his wife's car. And for someone of his size and stature, Pavel amazed Dean when he handled Sam like a giant cradling a frail kitten. The sight reminded Sam's brother of the dream he had a few weeks ago; of Thor carrying Sam out of hell.
They laid Sam in Lisa's meditation room and heartedly thanked Pavel for his help.
"Dean, it's not your fault," Abby kindly reminded when he called her. "Mas...Sam is unstable. The reason we've not had him committed is because he's never been a threat to us. As long as we keep an eye on him, he's not been a threat to himself, either."
"Abby, he was just sitting in the car," Dean reiterated. He stood in the bedroom corner as Lisa laid a cool cloth over Sam's eyes. Bobby and Camila just arrived. Camila attached Sam's MP3 player to Lisa's stereo system and scrolled for the perfect selection.
"How often am I supposed to give him his medicine?" Dean finally asked. Abby rattled off times between medication and sleep aids but the information leaked out the phone and onto the floor. Dean saw tears fall into Sam's hair and he choked up.
"Dean? Dean?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. It's just..."
"I know it's hard. It's not your fault, hon. You boys have been through something awful, I know. Just stay calm. Sam needs your strength. And remember, I'm just a phone call away. And talk to him, Dean. He can hear you, he just can't respond."
"Okay."
"Get some rest. Camila's there, isn't she?"
"Yeah. She and Bobby-"
"Put her on. You get some rest." her reassurance soothed Dean's fears. He did not want to sleep, but certainly needed it. He handed Camila the phone and followed Bobby out the room when his surrogate father nodded toward the door.
"You boys 've stirred up a hornet's nest there in Illinois."
"We didn't kill-"
"I know," Bobby answered dismissively. "But there's a trail now."
"Bobby, Sam's eyes changed."
"Huh?"
"Remember when he was recovering from the demon blood in your drunk tank?" Dean didn't wait for an answer. "Yeah, his eyes changed. I don't know if it's an emo side effect or something else, but..." Dean couldn't finish. He looked elsewhere for some visual distraction as Bobby processed the information.
"It's still Sam, Dean. When ya think about it, your trip to the basement didn't include the devil as a passenger. It's possible that all that power within Sam has changed him slightly. How could it not change or affect him somehow? In fact, we still don't know the long-term effects your trip will have on you. Nobody's ever been or done what you boys had gone through."
Dean swallowed his reaction and shivered. "Um, I relieved our assailants of their computer and files. They recognized me on sight, but were surprised to find out about Sam." Dean sent his gaze elsewhere again when Bobby glued his eyes, reading Dean's subtle signals.
"Git yerself some sleep, ya brainless idgit," Bobby reprimanded. "I'm gonna find a place nearby to crash myself."
"I am too," Camila announced from nowhere. "I found a job here. So I'm going to hang for a few more days."
Dean expressed gratitude with a smile.
Sam drank those demons dry. Blood dripped from his face. His black eyes contained the madness of hell. Clearly he wanted more. It infuriated Dean that Sam went behind his back and committed such heinous sins. Dean went to hell and Sam threw his life and freedom away. Their fight shredded the motel room until Dean managed the upper hand. He slammed his brother's head into the old plaster. He did it again and again, drawing blood; determined to knock sense into the idiot who deserved nothing.
"What is the MATTER with you?" Dean screamed. "Is this what you want? Cuz Lucifer is just waiting for an opportunity! What is the MATTER with you?"
Sam broke and covered his bloodied face. Dean didn't know whether to be sorry or disgusted. Either way, Sam quickly regained his composure. But his eyes betrayed him. "I want you hate me so that when you kill me, it won't break your heart."
Dean broke.
And Dean woke to a tear-soaked pillow. His arms and legs enveloped Lisa's smaller form, his chin on her head. What were they going to do from this point? Dean did not think Lisa wanted Sam to stay with them. Dean would love that; he'd have everything under one place. Of course, Sam's home was only two states away, not that long a drive. But... but he wasn't here. And no way on this planet (or in hell) was Dean going to allow Sam to take the bus to and from locations. Maybe he could talk Lisa into relocating.
"Somebody's awake." Lisa's muffled tones hinted mischief. Her wandering hands confirmed it.
Dean grinned as her lips climbed between his breasts one kiss at a time. She lingered at the base of his neck, tenderly avoiding a bruise Dillon delivered during the fight. Lisa gently lured Dean on his back. She rose slightly to meet his eyes, her light body moved soft against his. "You have been missed."
"Really?" Dean grinned. "How much was I missed?"
Sam woke with an empty heart. Framed photographs of forest, valley and ocean lined the room around him. Shorter posters plastered the wall closest to the stereo. A wind chime dangled by the window. The lingering scent of sandalwood lightly perfumed the bed sheets. But for Sam, everything seemed trite and meaningless. Roxi yawned next to him and bathed his right hand. He petted her and forced himself to smile. Marco, who slept on the floor, sneezed and rolled over. Her feet hung in the air a moment before she 'talked' and squirmed, rubbing her back into the carpet.
Taking a better scan of his surroundings, Sam found his bags, laptop and bowls of food and water for his companions. "Looks like you two got room service without asking if it cost extra." he forced himself out of bed, wincing over sore muscles, bruises and the cut along his right leg. While the cut wasn't deep, its red line ran from the middle of his thigh to four inches below the knee.
Marco danced excitedly as Sam changed his clothes and applied booboo medicine to his leg and shoulder. "I'm coming, Marco, just hold on. Sam opened the door as he pulled a long-sleeved tee over his aching chest. He knew he was at Lisa's and Dean's but he knew nothing of the layout. Sam waited for Marco to tug Roxi out the little room; the two panted in anticipation.
"Well, you two will have to show me the door, ladies. I was brain dead earlier, remember?" Marco pranced and half-jumped. "Marco," Sam softly warned. "Door." he followed the rottie down the hall into a spacious kitchen complete with smooth hardwood flooring. A sliding glass door barred the way between them and the back yard. Sam inspected the door for a line of salt, a protection sigil or even a house alarm system. But found nothing and opened the door. Marco bounded out and Roxi trotted after. Sam shunned the sunlight and closed the glass door. He suppressed the urge to shudder; insecurity crept from the back of his mind. He was safe here, even if there were no visible signs of protection. He believed in Dean, that his brother would let nothing happen. And of course, Marco was right outside.
"Hey, you're Sam, huh?"
He swallowed hard and faced a boy with bright inquisitive eyes. Sam hesitantly nodded.
"That's cool. Saw your dogs. What're their names?"
"M-Marco and Roxi."
Ben winced. "Marco? What kind of name is that?"
"An inside joke."
"Ffp. 'Kay. Hey, you play Grand Theft Auto or Nazerbeeg's Revenge?"
Sam meekly nodded. "Yeah, actually. I have a buddy in New Mexico who just cracked level four in Nazerbeeg Two."
"No way."
"Yeah. You actually have to get married-"
Ben held his hand out like a pause button. "Dude, no spoilers."
Sam's face lifted with amusement. "Okay. Um, is your yard fenced in?"
Ben rolled his eyes. "Of course. Mom and Dean fought two weeks before he agreed not to write stuff all over our walls if she'd let him build a fence."
Sam's amusement turned to a real smile. "Hey, is there, um, any way of getting coffee-without waking your mom or Dean?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll make you some-" Ben started then paused. "Gotta promise to play me a game or two, though."
"What if I suck?"
Ben shrugged. "Then I'll call it a day and you a bitch."
Sam wasn't sure he heard that right but went with it. "Um, okay. Sounds fair. Wait. You can make coffee?"
"Are you kidding?" Ben's eyes rounded. "After Dean ditched the Jack he's been all about coffee!"
Ben hauled the coffee from the refrigerator when Roxi pawed the glass door. Sam let her in and helped himself to a seat at the kitchen table. Roxi hovered, inducing Sam to pet her thick mottled coat. Sam already missed Wisconsin and Abby's voice late at night. What the hell was he doing in Indiana, anyway?
"So do you like your coffee wimpy or strong enough for your spoon to stand in?"
Sam met the boy's eyes and tried to determine the child's intellect verses a good front. "How about if the coffee smells good, I'll drink it?"
Ben slightly protruded his lips with a quick shrug and nod. He scooped coffee, watered the maker and set it for dark. "Dean says you live in Wisconsin. You a Packers fan?"
"Football?"
"Yeah. It's a sport?"
Sam massaged Roxi's soft ears. "I watch it with Mike. But he and I are more into wrestling." Sam lifted his eyes and noticed the disapproval on Ben's face.
"You watch that girly crap? All brawn, no brain and no talent?"
Sam's smile came tired, "I knew you were going to say that and the answer is no, Ben. I'm jerking your chain. We watch the History Channel. The Greatest Warrior. Ice Road Truckers. Boring stuff, you know."
Ben bounced his head once in half a nod. "Coffee: black or creamed?"
"Creamed."
Sam and Ben fought their way to level three when Lisa emerged, dressed in casual, her hair shower-damp. "Well, this is good to see. Ben, you've minded your manners, haven't you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Sam, have you eaten?"
Sam caught her eyes and shook his head. "No. Um, Ben made coffee for me."
"Dude!" Ben declared. "You TOTALLY SMOKED that mother! Whaddo I owe you for that?"
"Let's call it, since you let me use the bridge earlier," Sam's voice came quiet. Roxi pushed her muzzle under his arm and yawned. "Hold on here, Ben," he excused himself. "I need to take care of something."
"Oh, yeah. Bathroom is the second door on the right."
Sam slowly found his footing. He ached and sorrow gathered just under his sternum. He needed to take his medicine now before underlying distress caught up with his self-control. Dean met him in the hallway and automatically handed him a glass of water and a time-release capsule.
Sam bowed his head with a mixture of shame and gratitude. He took the pill and leaned against the wall. Dean retrieved the glass and affectionately squeezed Sam's shoulder.
"Hungry? And you'd better say yes, Sam cuz I'm starving." he watched Sam mutely nod and eyed Roxi when she whined from her place on the floor. Dean softened his voice, "did you want to talk about it?" Lisa already warned Ben to keep his harassment tendencies in his pockets. Dean knew the boy was quick to find buttons to push; and he made it clear that Sam was off limits. He didn't think Ben would do anything stupid, but Dean's protective impulses regarding Sam outweighed everything else.
"I need aspirin, Dean. And um, I'd like to call Abby, if that's okay."
Dean didn't even hesitate. He flipped out his cell phone, handed it to his brother, "Just come to the kitchen when you're ready."
Lisa met her lover's masked eyes as she whipped a large bowl of pancake mix. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded, optimistic. "Adjustment sucks."
"Mom," Ben called from the livingroom. "Can we get a dog?"
"No," both Dean and Lisa chorused.
"Sam's got two of them. Names are retarded, but the dogs 'r cool." the boy waited a beat as Lisa poured batter on the griddle and Dean rinsed off and sliced up a nectarine for Sam. "Mom?"
"Hmm?"
"Is Sam moving in?"
Dean paused in his work and lifted his eyes toward Ben who voiced his own hopes. He dried his hands and waited for Lisa's answer.
"No, Ben. Sam lives in Wisconsin. He's just visiting for a few days."
Ben carefully tucked away his disappointment and stared out the glass door, watching Marco lie in the sun, happily panting.
"Abby, those shitheads knew me."
"Mason-Sam, sweetheart, you are part of a much larger world than what lies on the surface; a darker, more powerful world than the one in which I teach. I am surprised that we've not had trouble sooner than this."
Sam did everything he could to keep tears from his voice. "Dean does not need to be dragged into my problems, Abby. He deserves more than this. I don't know... what to do."
"He loves you, Sam. But it's going to take time. I know you're worried things won't work out. I know you're scared. You've lost your memories, you've had a rough two years and suddenly you find out you have a brother. It's a lot to process in a short amount of time. And had things gone differently here, I would not have consented for you going to Indiana. But I feel better knowing you're safe. And you know that you can call me, Hon. Just hang in there, Sam. Things will get easier. Alright? And Camila is going to stay there for a few days, too."
"Camila's here?"
Abby paused. "Sam, Hon, did you just get out of bed?"
"Bout an hour ago, yeah."
"You get in there and get some breakfast, young man. I've told Dean to call me if you don't behave."
That brought an honest smile to Sam. "Yes, Ma'am." he clicked the phone off and returned to the kitchen, feeling lighter. Dean set another cup of coffee and a plate of nectarines and one pancake in front of Sam.
Sam smiled his thank you and just as wordlessly, Dean blinked, his eyes reflected the kind of joy he did not have for years.
Ben sat at the end to Sam's right, his face in hand, elbow on table. He glanced at Sam then sat up.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Ben." she replied patiently.
"Can I have a brother?"
Lisa eyed him like a predator. "Do you want nine months of misery? Cuz if you want a brother, you'll be the one to have it."
Ben rolled his eyes. "Mom!"
"Don't you 'Mom' me, Benjamin Braden. And don't you have a paper you're supposed to work on this weekend?"
Ben pursed his lips and shook his head. "It's just about the Mason-Dixon Line. Not that big a deal."
Sam choked on his coffee and stood so fast, he knocked his chair over. "What did you say?"
Ben shrugged. "What?"
"My God," Sam rushed out the kitchen and into his appointed room. He whipped out his laptop, turned it on and waited, breath held. Roxi hung at the door, ears perked.
Dean joined her a moment later. He leaned against the doorpost, arms crossed, expression calm. "Sam, you gotta quit scaring me like that."
"I'm-I'm sorry," Sam did not meet his brother's eyes. "Mason, Mason, Mason," he whispered. "Supposed to remember Mason." Sam's fingers hacked at the keypad like miniature axes. His eyes roved wildly as he read one page then another, searching as though someone's life depended on it.
Dean didn't like this; what went up always came down. Abby warned him of his brother's instability. Dean brushed it off as not more than a few mood swings. Now he realized what she meant.
"Mason. Mason," Sam repeated. "Crown stone. There. I knew it." his breath came quick and shallow, eyes frozen on the laptop.
Dean moved from the front of the bed to Sam's side and looked at the photograph of a block of stone with a single M carved into its face. The stone, weathered and old, nestled amid a trio of trees a few yards from an abandoned red house.
"Sam?" Neither movement nor response indicated Sam's thought processes. Dean left the room and returned with a pad and pen. He set the pen in Sam's hand and held the pad himself. "Sam, just write it down, bro. Write it out. Write it out."
Sam rewarded Dean's patience with an initial scribble, starting with his name Sam Winchester maSoN. maSoN. A long line of words and a formula followed. Just before Sam lost hold of the pen he scrawled Westville MASDIX Line mi 43, 1765. Delaware.
He bowed over and spoke softly but clearly. "They filled my veins with acid, roasted and ate me alive." His mind crumbled and Sam wept. Dean dropped the pad, pushed the computer aside and gripped his brother tightly.
Sorry about the length; had to get Dean and Sam to Indiana. ^-^