Let me start this off by saying this chapter title has more reflection on the chapter than any other title. It just seemed to fit the theme of this one. Also, I do have one more thing to say, but I'll let you know at the end.
One thing I will have to point out, SPN Mum, is that our boys are NEVER out of the woods! I am way to happy about that, I know. I could always throw Castiel back into this, but Dean never really opens up to him, either. And isn't a cracked!Dean something we all wanna see? He heh. I'll have to check out that fic, by the way. My issue is that I rarely read other fics. xD I'm such a hypocrite, I know. And, OMG...Jared's expressions are what make the character Sam...Sam! Few times can a series go to RPF. This is one of them! A sequel? There might actually be one. I'm considering. Nothing set in stone, though.
Hey. Don't give me any ideas, JenniCDS. ;D -imagines- O-O ...if I were a guy, I'd ::fap-fap-fap-fap-fap-fap:: OMG...some else who has read Orwell's 1984. Ice Dragon3, you are my new best friend. A crucial moment? Why else? Just to f-k with'em! xD Okay, okay. There's more to it than that. I'm just not gonna tell ya. -sees points- I'm a Slytherin. ::POKER FACE:: FatalFramer, you know Wincest is best! :D To be honest, this isn't ending as fast as I thought it was. Heh heh. Originally, there were only going to be ten chapters, but I realized it would have to be longer to get all the information in without have you all read for an hour per-chapter. And welcome to the club, aoirei! Glad to see you're enjoying it thus far! I love when new people comment and show that it's interesting enough to read from the very beginning!
Twinchester Angel, I have a feeling that, had I have asked you what you wanted to happen earlier, you would have been upset because I went a completely different direction! I am pretty twisted, but this brain comes with setbacks. -nervous laughter- Let's face it! It'd eat Dean up either way! Seeing Sam inflicted with wounds, some of which he caused. Poor Dean. -tears- I love how everyone wants Cas to step in and do something! Then again, he is blatant because of his lack of understanding of humans. -ponders- That might give me an idea for future chapters. Like Chuck said! "Endings are a pain in the ass!" xD To be honest, I don't think I can promise the closure that everyone wants...maybe a bit, but not all. Now...Dean definitely feels horrible. I mean, he didn't want the last witness to be called...then lied to Sam about who it was when he knew. Dean's doing the same thing that he was pissed off at Sam for doing: Lying and not coming clean. Is it strange to say that their swapping dialogue was actually more difficult than I thought? I keep trying to think what the characters would do/say in this situation, but, since this isn't exactly something the show's covered... -snickers- Now. Is Sammy leaving out information? Pure speculation, my dear Watson! I can't reveal anything to you, yet! But, if this is interfering with your sleep...I've done my job. Heh. Think of them like Humpty Dumpty. Once he was broken...was he able to be put back together? THINK ABOUT IT AND GET BACK TO ME! -dies laughing- Good news is that chapter thirteen is well underway. Here. I'll actually let you in on a little hint of the next chapter's title: Heaven's Night. I'll let you think about that one. ;D
Disclaimer: I own the plot, nothing else. Well...I do own JYJ's The Beginning album, which is what I'm listening to, right now.
12
4 Pattern
Dean found himself sitting on a swinging beach in a nearby park, elbows on his knees as the wind blew, picking up dead leaves and having them dance through the playground equipment. His mind raced, going back over the actions that had occurred a short while ago. He had become so wrapped up in the fantasy in his mind that reality became confusion, which lead him to—
A loud groan escaped his throat and he ran his hands through his hair, allowing them to rest on the back of his neck as he rocked back-and-forth on the swing.
How did he allow that to happen?
To his brother of all people….
It had to have been a figment of his imagination, or so he found himself wishing that it was.
"He's mine!"
As though they did not have enough to concern themselves with, this had to be thrown into the mix.
But Sam?
It was his younger brother – he was supposed to protect him, not…this.
This.
What was 'this'?
He could still feel Sam's lips pressed against his own.
Goddamn that fucking demon!
Dean brought his hands to wipe his face, his eyes slightly damp from frustration. A nagging thought in the back of his mind taunted him, reminding him that Castiel blocked the demon from getting in and effecting his and Sam's thoughts and dreams, so everything was on him.
No.
He could not admit that; but then what was that back in the motel room? The image of Sam came back and he released a yell.
"Get the hell out of my head!"
The wind picked up right as he finished the sentence and the few lamps in the park began flickering. He stood up, the wind blowing hard enough to move the swings and the merry-go-round – the latter creaked as he slowly spun. His eyes darted around as he looked for something, the air seeming strangely thick. Concern filling him, he began walking back to the motel, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, fingers clasping around the weapon in his pocket as he stayed on alert, ready to defend if necessary. As he left the park through the gate, he made sure it was clear before jogging across the street, the streetlights casting shadows on everything around him. He passed the main building of the motel, the curtains to the windows shut and a little light slipping through the cracks, and walked around the corner to the rows of motel room doors. The dim lights in the parking lot were hardly useful.
He stopped short, his brow furrowing.
What looked like the shadowed outline of a person was standing under the streetlight outside of their room. He felt his fingers grip the weapon tighter.
"Hey!" he called out, trying to get their attention to see if it was someone or just the was a shadow was cast. The shadow moved suddenly, almost appearing to glide as they passed through the closed door to their room. "HEY!" Dean took off running to the door, the door already unlocked from how he had left it earlier. He pushed it open, his pistol drawn.
The only thing he was introduced to was the room how it had been when he left, with only one light on his side of the room, its dim glow the only light available. Sam was already asleep, the covers tossed over him, facing the wall, his back towards Dean. The covers rose and fell with his breathing and Dean's eyes shot around the room. He walked to the bathroom and flipped the light on.
There was nothing there.
Turning back to face the room, he exhaled as he scanned it over again; other than himself and Sam, the room was bare. He could have sword he had seen something enter the room, but, at the same time, he was exhausted and it could have been his mind playing tricks on him. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. His paranoia got the best of him and he ended up rummaging through the bag on the table for the EMF meter. He frowned when he turned it on and nothing happened. He walked around the room, scanning anything and everything, including Sam, without results.
He moved to sit on his bed against the headboard, deciding to monitor the room for a bit longer before calling it a night. The clock was reflecting half-past two and he relaxed his shoulders, occasionally glancing to Sam; each time, his chest pained, recalling what happened merely an hour ago. What would Sam think in the morning? Was this just going to be another thing they were stuck ignoring, like they were ignoring things that happened in the house?
Sam was still staying tight-lipped about what happened and what Belial had done, which had Dean growing more and more concerned. For all of his wounds, Dean refused to believe nothing had happened, but if he continued to press Sam for answers, Sam was bound to do the same; and there were some things that he did not want him to find out. Either way, after the episode earlier, he knew his brother was going to hound him until he said something, but perhaps there was a chance that he would not – that Sam would ignore it had even occurred.
His mind shot back to earlier, his body leaned down as he forced his mouth on his brother's. He could see it, as though he was watching a film in third-person; Sam's shocked expression, too stunned to react; Dean coming to the realization of what was happening and jerking away….
He hit the back of his head on the headboard.
Tomorrow was going to wind up being an awkward morning.
o-o-o-o-o
Sam sat on the couch in a dingy motel suite, the television turned on to a movie he bought through the service provided by the motel and a bag of pretzels sitting next to him with an opened IBC bottle in his hand. His feet were propped on the couch, one leg bent up while he sat on the opposite foot. The girl in the movie screamed as she ran from a masked kill wielding a butcher knife. Sam laughed when she tripped and only watched as the killer approached her. The moment of laugher was gone as he took a drink from the bottle, glancing to the door. He heard a key insert into the outside keyhole, along with laugher as the lock clicked and the handle turned.
A nineteen-year-old Dean came stumbling through the door with a woman behind him, looking at least three years older than he was; both were laughing, obviously intoxicated. Dean held up his hand, making a shushing noise. The woman tried to stifle her laughs by covering her mouth with her hand. Dean gave her the sign to wait and he moved across the room to Sam. When he set his hand on Sam's shoulder, Sam merely shot him a sideways glance.
"Hey, Sammy."
Sam frowned at his brother's slurred speech, his mouth tensing as annoyance traced his features.
"What?"
"Look, buddy. Can you"—he glanced over his shoulder at the woman, then turned back to Sam—"give me an hour…roughly?"
The look of irritation was replaced with vivid aggravation. "Seriously?" Dean gave him a nervous smile, to which Sam only scoffed. "Where do you expect me to go? Just so you can get laid?"
"Awe." Dean stepped in front of his brother, trying to keep his voice down so the woman could not hear them. "Come on, Sammy. Help me out here." When Sam's look stayed stern, Dean became serious. "Damn it, Sam. Don't be like this."
Sam knocked Dean's hand off of his shoulder and uncrossed his legs. "Don't be like what, Dean? What? Don't be pissed that you go out and get hammered while Dad's gone, then expect me to up and do whatever you want? You don't own me."
Dean grabbed Sam's arm when his brother stood up, pulling him close. "And when Dad's not here, I'm in charge."
Sam jerked his arm away, fury fluttering across his face as he stared into Dean's eyes. Without another word, he shoved past Dean, making sure to weave around the woman as he left through the opened door, slamming it shut as hard as he could behind him.
Shoulders tensed and hand formed to fists in his pockets, Sam stormed down the concrete pathway, shoes slamming against pavement as he went down the stairs, nearly missing the last stair as he reach the bottom. He hardly remembered leaving the motel's property, but he ended up on a street filled with nothing but bars; more than likely, it was the same area Dean had picked the woman up from. Straight across the alleyway appeared to be a Redlight District, or so the appearance of scantily clad women and amount of people seemed to suggest so.
Sam began searching his person: The dagger in his inside jacket pocket safe, he dug around until he pulled out his small, flat wall harboring fake identification cards. The ages on all of them were either eighteen or nineteen, not being able to pass for any older than that; Dean had made the point of joking about it on more than one occasion. Eighteen was old enough to get into a bar, but only to sit there or play a few rounds of pool – it was the latter reason why he usually wound up in bars, anyway. He pulled out the ID card for the state they were in and kept it in his front pocket, walking into a bar: Heaven's Night was what the purple neon sign read.
The bar was busy and loud, most people yelling to have to be heard over the loud rock music and other people yelling to do the same. He squeezed his way through the crowded bar, trying to avoid bumping into people. He ended up running into one guy, who appeared to be a frat boy, and gave a nervous smile as he apologized; the guy cursed from his drink being spilled, but waved Sam off as his friends laughed and cried "party foul" over and over. He made his way to the pool tables.
There were a few groups shooting, taking up each of the tables, so, for a few minutes, Sam only watched as the groups bet against each other. That lasted only as long as he went unnoticed, which was not very long, whereas one of the players looked at him when he saw Sam watching. He nudged his partner in the side and motioned to Sam as the people they were playing against left the area to claim a table.
"Hey, ya gonna watch or play?" they asked, their husky voice calling over the noise around them.
Sam shrugged. "Ah, I'm just a spectator." He watched one of the other groups rack up the pool balls. "I've tried to play; my brother and I always practice, but I always end up losing."
The two guys exchanged looks and the larger of the two, bald-headed and tricked out with tattoos up his arms and neck, walked around the table to move closer to Sam, so as to be heard without having to yell. "Look, how about this, kid – first off, how old are ya?"
"Eighteen," he responded without any hesitation.
"All right." Sam exhaled inwardly. "You put twenty bucks forward and I'll show ya a few things."
Sam thought about it for a moment before pursing his lips together. "What's the catch?" he asked, lifting his head up to stare at the man bearing over him. "I'm not gonna just put out twenty bucks for nothing."
The man, again, exchanged looks with his partner. "Okay. Here's the deal: If ya can mimic my shots, the money's yours. But, if ya miss one, it's mine."
Sam's eyes glanced down, contemplating before lifting his head back up. "Yeah. Okay."
The man looked at his partner, who took out a twenty and set it on the rim of the table. Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled up bills, sorting through them for a twenty, to which he placed on top of the other's twenty. He walked around the table to grab a cue stick, chalking it as the man's partner began racking up the balls.
Once they were set, the bald-headed man broke them, sinking the six in the middle left pocket. "All right," he started, "here's where this starts. I'll go and we just switch off until you either miss one or they're all in. Doesn't matter solids or stripes." Sam only nodded as the man walked around the table. He lined up his shot with the cue ball, banking it off of the rim and slamming it into the seven, which rolled and glided into the right corner pocket. He motioned for Sam to go. Sam stared at the setup for a moment before following the cue ball, trying to line up a shot. A little less than perfect, he managed to bank it and sink the two. The man raised his eyebrows. "Not bad." Meeting the white ball, he pointed his cue stick at an angle, ready to bounce it over the eight to hit the seven behind it. When he made the shot, Sam crooked his mouth. He traded places with the man, seeming to try and line up the shot. He swallowed, keeping his face stern as he concentrated on making it. However, when he hit the cue ball, it bounced up…right over the table.
Sam instantly stood straight, mouth pursed. "Oops."
The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Awe. That's too bad, kid." He looked at his partner, who reached his hand to set it on top of the forty dollars near him.
Sam shook his head. "Wait!" He bent down and picked up the cue ball. "Let me try again!" he nearly pleaded. "Double or nothing!" He set the ball on the table and reached into his pocket, pulling out another twenty and slapping it down on the rim.
The man raised his eyebrows. "Look, kid. You're gonna make me feel back to take your money."
Sam shook his head. "Come on. You nervous I'll actually do it?"
At this, the man seemed oddly amused. "Now, I know you're not trying to call me out on that." Sam crossed his arms, left eyebrow raised, vanishing under his bangs. The man shrugged. "All right. But no crying when you're out." He, again, acknowledged his partner, who set another twenty on the rim, as well.
Again, they racked the balls up and, again, the man broke them. He lined up his next shot, this time, not only banking the cue ball off of the left corner to hit the eight, but bumping the eight into the two and five, sinking both of them. He took a step back, an arrogant look on his face as he saw Sam's nervous expression as he walked around the table, trying to line up a similar shot. His look became curious when Sam was successful in making it. He traded places with the teenager and lined up the cue ball with the edge of the four. Hitting it with enough force, it knocked into the four, forcing it to spin and curve its way to the upper right pocket. Sam chewed the inside of his lip, trying to figure out how to do the same. Thinking he had a good angle, he lined up; only, instead of doing the same, when he knocked the cue ball into the ten, he hit it with too much force and, again, the cue ball flew off the table.
"Damn it."
"Kid, this is just not your game." Sam frowned when the man's partner picked up the eighty dollars. "Ya ever think maybe there's a reason why your brother always wins?"
Becoming frustrated, Sam pulled out what was left in his pocket, tossing four crinkled twenties on the pool table. "One more time, straight game, all or nothing."
The man and his partner exchanged amused glances. Finally speaking for himself, the partner spoke up. "We're not gonna take anymore of your money."
Sam's face became harsh. "Play me, damn it."
The partner shrugged, looking at the other man who released a sigh. "Fine. Last time, got it?"
Sam just nodded his head once. "Whatever. Just rack'em up." The man waved his hand as his partner began doing just that.
"Manage to keep the cue ball on the table this time." Sam frowned as the man chuckled.
The man lined up to break them and take the first shot. He made three shots before finally missing and Sam stepped in. He only made the thirteen, missing the next shot, to which the man and his partner laughed – it should have been an easy shot. Ten minutes later and they had onlookers, either because what looked like a newbie was playing against the house player or because Sam was managing to hold his own. The tattooed man could be seen becoming slightly agitated, but when he missed his final shot for the eight, he stepped back, snickering. The three and the eight were against the left end rail, touching, the cue ball near the right end of the table. He nudged his partner in the side and said something, laughing as they watched Sam walk around the table, contemplating. His last chance and he had to sink the three or he would end up being out a hundred and twenty dollars.
He leaned on the edge of the table, lining up the shot.
"Good luck with that one."
Sam rolled his eyes at the snarky comment from the man's partner. He hit the cue ball hard enough to go straight on a spin. It knocked into the two balls at the end, forcing the three to roll along the edge into the pocket as the cue ball bounced off of the edge into the slowly moving eight-ball, giving it enough force to roll into the left middle pocket. He stepped back, only half of his mouth formed into a smile, obviously content.
"I believe I won," Sam said, turning to the man.
His partner had his eyebrows up in amusement while the man looked aggravated. Sam only stared at him, finally turning his back with a shrug as he walked to where the two-hundred and forty sat on the edge of the table. His hand had just touched it when the man walked up to Sam, towering over him and slamming his hand down on Sam's. "There ain't no way in hell." Sam only stared up at him. "Nine out of ten people couldn't make that shot."
Sam only shrugged. "Looks like I'm in the ten percent, then," he said, pushing the man's off with the cash in his own.
"You fuckin' hustlin' me?" His expression was furious and Sam took a step backwards, a nervous smile on his face.
"'Hustling' is such a strong word, don't you think?"
He took another step backwards, but the man grabbed his jacket, jerking Sam and shoving him over the table. "What? You think this is fuckin' funny, you piece of shit?"
Sam only had his mouth opened to respond before he felt something hard and heavy make contact with the side of his face. It stunned him for a moment, trying to register what happened as he heard someone yell, "Take it outside!" He brought his hand up to wipe his face as he felt himself being pushed, or maybe pulled, through the bar and to the door. Next thing Sam realized was that his back was against the outside brick wall of the building.
"Hey, now. Can't we settle this in a sophisticated manner?" Sam asked, smiling awkwardly.
The man growled, him and two other people following him out; apparently, this man was more well-known around the bar than Sam originally thought. "Ya wanna fuckin' embarrass me and think you're gonna get off?"
"Well," Sam said, laughing nervously as his eyes darted to the other two men behind this one. "When you word it that way, it seems so bad." He gauged them. One was rather tall and lanky, so he would probably be able to take him without much effort if he needed to, but it was this man and the man's other partner from inside that had him concerned. One-on-one, he would not have a problem. They were strong, but that probably meant they were slow, too. As the man gritted his teeth, Sam brought up his leg and kicked the man in the stomach, forcing him to gasp for air as he dropped Sam and pulled back. Taking advantage of the others' stunned reactions, he ran at the lankier man, shouldering him in the chest and causing him to fall. He went to dart off, but he felt one of them grab his upper arm. He spun back around, bringing up his fist to catch them in the throat, but they ended up grabbing his fist, their entire hand managing to fit over Sam's as they twisted his wrist, followed by his arm, pinning it to his back. When the man's partner grabbed his other arm to pin them both back, his initial reaction was to kick his foot back to kick the other's knee; however, they appeared to be expecting it, whereas, the way they had their foot and leg positioned between Sam's, it made the move impossible to do.
When the man approached him, despite Sam's heart beating hard in his chest, the nervous, and now somewhat fearful, smile was still on his face. "Can't we talk this out?" The response was another hit across the face, making his head snap sideways. His head swam as he groaned. "I guess not." The one holding Sam shoved him forward, allowing the man to grab Sam again and shove him back against the wall, his fist connecting with the young hunter's stomach.
"You do not fuckin' mess with me, kid!"
There was the cry of pain before a thud was heard behind the tattooed man's back.
"And you do not fuckin' mess with my brother."
The man dropped Sam, who groaned while holding his stomach as his hand was set on the wall for support, and turned to see his partner on the ground while being death-glared by green eyes.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Dean stepped over the unconscious man on the ground to get closer to the man Sam was still recovering from. "I'm the guy who's gonna bust your teeth all over this sidewalk if you don't leave him alone. Now, back off."
The man relaxed, shaking his head and chuckling, most like because Dean's stature was much smaller than his own. In an instant, he brought up his fist in a roundhouse, which Dean dodged, grabbing the man's forearm and pulling him forward into his brought-up knee, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backwards as Dean let him go; however, he failed to see the other man recovering and was surprised when he felt contact on his spine in the middle of his back. He fell forward with a groan and was met with the tattooed man's fist in his face. He brought back his elbow to keep the other man back, but, instead, his arms were looped, putting him in a reverse keylock. Recovered, the man came up and punched Dean in the stomach. Not giving him a chance to get loose, he did it again hitting him over and over in the abdomen until Dean was coughing and wheezing.
His forehead was held up by the other's palm, his eyes half-opened and face twisted in pain. "I'm gonna kick your ass, then I'm gonna kick your brother's ass. Ya don't mess with me." He brought back his other fist, ready to punch the hunter across the face, but was caught off-guard as he was tackled sideways to the ground. Sam wrestled him on the ground, catching him a few times in the jaw, but the man quickly turned the tables and had Sam pinned underneath him, hitting him repeatedly in the face.
Dean took advantage of the partner's slacked hold and freed himself, bringing up his palm and catching him underneath his jaw, making his head snap backwards and fall to the ground. He kicked him hard in the stomach when he tried to get up, making sure he would stay down before going to aid his brother. He grabbed the man on top of Sam around the next and shoulders, pulling him up and off, tossing his backwards. When the man went to attack him again, Dean reached behind him underneath his jacket, pulling out a polished handgun. Instantly, the man's hands went up in a defensive stance.
"Back off," Dean said with threatening eyes. He stepped backwards and crouched down to help pull Sam to his feet; his aim at the other did not waver. "You touch my brother again and I won't hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes." His voice was even and the man dropped his arms as he glanced to see his partner climb back to his feet before moving away and ditching the scene. The man sneered. "Leave."
The man's nostrils flared, but he took a step back, wiping his jaw before turning around. Before he vanished back within the bar, Dean heard him mutter, "Fuckin' faggots."
Once he was out of sight, Dean put the weapon back, and then turned to Sam; the left side of his face was cut and swollen, and he flinched back when Dean went to touch the bruise forming underneath his eye. "Damn, Sammy…."
"Don't patronize me, Dean," Sam said, pulling back from Dean's hand.
Dean frowned and dropped his hand, grabbing Sam's shoulder and turning him to face the direction of the motel. "You know not to do anything unless I'm with you," he said as they started walking. Sam stayed silent and Dean sighed. "Sam—"
"So how was she?" Sam snapped, keeping his eyes forward, refusing to look at his brother.
Dean stared at him minor shock. He shook his head. "I – I didn't." Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Dean released a nervous exhale. "Sam…you're a bigger concern to me than some chick." When Sam scoffed, Dean stopped walking and grabbed Sam's wrist, turning him around so they were standing facing each other. He put his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy…look at me." Avoiding his eyes for a moment, Sam brought his gaze up to meet his brother's. "You're my brother and the last thing I want is to drive a wedge between us. With Dad gone most of the time, we're the only ones we can count on. And I'll be damned if I let something come between that." Sam's eyes seemed to shimmer as he peered into his older brother's eyes. "So!" Dean said, grinning. "How much did you make off'em?"
Okay! That other thing I was going to say was that this is turning out to be longer than I anticipated, so it looks like there are a few more chapters to go. Ah...you can either kill me now or later.
I know this chapter probably seemed random, but it ties into what one of our characters are thinking of, so it's not a completely loss. Actually, the flashback's gonna be edited a bit and posted up as a one-shot in the next week...with an M rating. -grins-
Anywho. Lemme know what you thought!
