Disclaimer: Decidedly not.
Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, sensitive themes. Oh, and some really, really bad deus ex Scottie.
A/N: OVER 200 REVIEWS! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
And thanks to all those who offered to help with the beta-ing. You're awesome. Oh, and thanks to my friend Isaac for the, uh, 'inspiration.' Say hello to Isaac, guys. I made him watch his first episode of SPN last night (BDABR, my personal favorite). He's a goner.
Chapter Fourteen: Long-distance and Long-lost
The next day...
"Hey, how's your shoulder doing?" Rex asked suddenly. He was studiously ignoring the pulse of pain running through his veins, seeping through him like venom. He'd adjusted his morphine drip without the nurses' or Dean's knowledge. It gave him the awareness he was looking for but -- he gritted his teeth -- sometimes it seemed like it would be really, really nice to sink under the haze of painkillers.
Dean seemed taken aback by his question. "What?"
"You're shoulder. You know, where the giant tiger took a bite out of it?" It's usually hard to forget something like that. Rex knew that, right now, he could remember every single one of his injuries.
"Oh. It's fine." Dean shifted.
"Okay. You've been changing the bandages?" He wondered.
"Yeah." That was good. The wound had been surprisingly neat, and Rex knew he had done a good job stitching, but it was still liable to get infected what with all the running around they'd been doing.
"Those stitches should probably come out soon," he suggested.
"Sam," Dean said incredulously, "You got hit by a semi-truck."
"Yes, Dean, I know. However, me getting hit by a truck has no bearing on how fast your shoulder heals." Rex said patiently. And it still feels like I'm getting hit by a truck. Over and over and over and over...
Dean stared. "Right."
"So, it's okay though? You could probably have one of the nurses look at it. That Alice seems rather fond of you."
"It's fine."
Rex shrugged, then winced at the movement. Fuck. "Alright, if you're sure."
Whatever. Rex got the whole macho thing. Seriously, though, this guy was his brother. Shouldn't Rex be asking after his welfare? Was that weird?
He fidgeted uncomfortably in a way that had nothing to do with the pain. He couldn't seem to say the right thing.
Dammit, he was bad at this brother-thing.
There was an awkward pause.
"Can I borrow your cell-phone?" Rex asked, apropos of nothing.
Dean shrugged, handing it over. "Sure. Why?"
"I have a feeling some people have been trying to call me."
Dean raised his eyebrows. What? Was it that surprising that people would willingly talk to him?
"Okay. Whatever." Rex stared at him. "Oh, what, you want me to leave? Alright, fine, fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted. Personal phone calls, are they?"
Dean waggled his eyebrows.
Rex shrugged, "Well, they're about you."
The eyebrows abruptly stopped waggling.
"Wha-- who the hell is calling you about me?"
"Dean, you randomly showed up in my life claiming to be my long-lost brother. Obviously, I had some people check you out."
"Seriously?"
"Well, yeah. For all I knew you were just some nut-job, or somebody I'd pissed off in recent years trying to get back at me. Trust me, there's a lot of those."
Dean gaped. "A nut-job?"
"Well, you did act a little crazy when we first met. Re-met. Whatever. At the time, I assumed it was the head injury. Nowadays, I'm not so sure." Rex smirked.
"You little..." Dean glared.
"So, I take it you're sticking around for this?"
"Hell yes. I'm not going to miss you guys talking about me."
"I figured as much." Rex nodded with a slight smile. He dialed Scottie.
"Hey, Scott, How-- you're in the middle of something? Don't you have a pause button?... Hacking into government servers, right... Okay, I'll wait... Call me back... Uh-huh..."
Rex clicked the phone shut. Dean shot him a questioning look.
A minute passed. Dean and Rex stared at each other in silence.
Another minute. Rex could hear the clock ticking. Dean's face was unreadable.
The landline next to the bed-- one Rex hadn't even realized was there-- began to ring. Dean stared.
Casually, Rex picked it up. Cupping a hand over the receiver, he said to Dean, "He probably just didn't want to use up all my minutes."
Dean fumbled, "But...how...?"
Rex shrugged (Fuck, he had to stop doing that), "I try not to question it, really."
"Hello, Scottie. You free now?... Okay, good... So, which government was it this time?... Huh... Two minutes, I was beginning to think you were losing your touch... Right, right.... Sorry... Okay, so, did you get that info on the Winchesters?... Yeah... I'm beginning to think that, too... Actually, I'm with him right now... What's that?.... Oh, okay..."
He turned to Dean, "Scottie says hi."
Dean nodded weakly, "Right."
"He says hi back... No! No, I am not going to tell him that... Seriously, Scott... So, thing's are going well? How's your grandmother?... Tell her I say hi... Uh-huh... Um, I don't really have a place for her to send baked goods, Scott... Right.... Well, I'll just have to avoid her next time I'm in the country, won't I?... Uh-huh... Hey, listen, Scott, I was in a bit of an accident.... No, I'm fine... Fine... I'm okay... It was a lorry... No! Scott! Calm down!... Are you hacking into my medical files? You are, aren't you?... Scott! That's not why I called.... Listen, all of my stuff is gone. Destroyed. Ixnay. Okay?... Yes, I need replacements... think you can hook me up? Of course you can... Right, new ids, weapons, everything... No, no, I don't need a car, tell Jacobi that's okay... Alright, thanks, Scottie... Usual deal? Right. How are my investments, by the way? Oh, really?... Good. Okay. Scottie, I'm fine. Seriously... You have the file in front of you... Okay... No, I will not pass that along... Alright. Thanks, Scott... Send Nana my best. Right... Really, I'll be okay... Bye, Scott."
Rex hung up the phone and turned slowly to Dean. Winchester was giving him a pointed look.
"Scottie can be a little... dramatic." He explained.
Dean nodded slowly. "So, do I check out?"
"Looks like it."
"Right... What was that stuff about him replacing all of your shit? How does that work?"
"Scottie has... connections." Rex explained. "He'll contact people who'll contact people who'll do stuff, and, eventually, I'll get an address or six where I'll be able to pick up everything I wanted, bought and paid for."
"Bought and paid for by who?" Dean queried.
"Whom. And me, technically."
Dean gawked. "You have that kind of cash sitting around?"
"Well..." Rex shifted awkwardly. "Kinda. Not really."
"Explain." Dean demanded. Rex decided to let that slide.
"Okay, so, I get paid for doing hunting jobs, right? Not all of them, obviously, but sometimes. Or sometimes people will just give me what they can. Say, a home-cooked meal, which I never pass up. Or some sort of craftwork, which I can later sell. One family in the middle of nowhere once tried to give me a cow... Anyways, I can get a little revenue from that. Plus, I can make decent cash playing pool. And credit cards stretch surprisingly far when you're not actually paying. And Scottie handles most of my finances. He likes to make investments, and I let him do pretty much whatever he wants. So, Scott handles the purchases of anything I need using my money, and does all the legwork free of charge. In exchange, I pretty much help him with anything whenever he needs it." Rex started to shrug and then remembered, and stilled. "It's worked good so far."
Dean looked contemplative. "Right. Okay. I can deal with that." He finally said. "So, what did Scottie say that you refused to tell me?"
Rex blushed. "Like I said, Scottie can be a little dramatic."
Dean waited. "And...?"
Rex sighed. "And, he wanted me to let you know that he'll 'destroy you' if this whole thing," He waved a hand between himself and Dean. "goes pear-shaped."
Dean snorted. "Destroy me?"
"Yep," he nodded.
"Who does this guy think he is, Mike Tyson?"
"Ah, no. Scott's a geek. Like, the geekiest of geeks."
"What's he going to do, chuck his mouse at me?"
Rex shrugged. "A few clicks and he could have the FBI, CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, Interpol, the Russian mob, the Italian mob, the Serbian mob, the Irish mob, any other mob he can think of, the Columbian cartel, the Bolivian cartel, all the other cartels, Hell's Angels, the IRS, the EPA, PETA, and Nigeria after you and all of your aliases, cancel all of your credit cards, and have your face plastered over every news station in the world."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Okay then. So, who's next on the list?"
They were in for a long night.
Many, many hours later, and Rex had finally managed to call all of his contacts. All of them had given their reports on the Winchester family, confirming what Rex already knew.
Looks like he was Sam Winchester.
Hoo boy.
He was tired, now. Besides the final confirmation that he was somebody else, his injuries were still getting to him. Not to mention, wading through the craziness that was his contacts was exhausting. He'd had to deal with all of their frantic concern once they'd learned about his accident (A small part of his mind, the part he rarely listened to, pointed out that it was perfectly reasonable for his friends to be worried that he'd been hit by a semi-truck, but he shut it up. Bloody little optimist.). And, they were rather vocal on the whole Winchester thing. Dean had been a little surprised at the volume and creativity of the threats he was getting.
Now, Dean had gone off to get some sleep at Rex's insistence. Rex was tired himself. The throb of pain had increased as the day wore on, spreading under his skin relentlessly. But he still had one more phone-call to make.
"Hey, Jess... It's me... Yeah, how are you?... I'm-- I'm okay... Listen, babe, I was in a bit of an accident. I'm going to be okay, but, I'm in the hospital now... Yeah... No, I'm going to be just fine... I'll tell you all about it in a bit, okay?... Okay... I will... Hey, I've got a surprise for you... Yes... No, a good surprise... Jessie, I'm in California... No, seriously... Yes... To see you, of course... Yeah... I'm not that far away... Listen, I should be down there in a couple days, okay? Yeah... And, well, I've got another surprise... I found my brother... Or, really, he found me... Yeah... Well, you see..."
And that conversation went on late into the night. Rex fell asleep with the line still open, phone clenched in his hand, Jessica singing softly to him.
Dean clicked his cell-phone shut angrily. Goddammit.
He really, really needed to talk to his dad.
Not that John would pick up, or anything. Dean really, really shouldn't have been surprised.
He had left more messages than he cared to think about on his Dad's voicemail this past week. Still no word from John Winchester.
Dean was pissed. And scared and hurt and lonely.
...But really, mostly just pissed.
The next morning...
Dean was humming.
"You know what's not really stealthy?" Rex snapped. "Humming the Mission Impossible theme while trying to sneak out of a hospital."
"Somebody's grouchy," Dean said. "Good thing somebody else remembered to fill those prescriptions, hmmm?"
Rex harumphed. It was hard to glare at someone when they were pushing your wheelchair.
Covert operation or not, Dean had insisted that he ride out on wheels.
Finally, they managed to make it out the hospital doors. Luckily for them, the nurses were helpless beneath the combined power of their charm.
Dean was just wheeling him around to the passenger side of the Impala when Rex forced the chair to a halt. Dean yelped as he ran into the back of the wheelchair.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"I'm driving." Rex declared.
"Uh, no. Sorry, but no, Mr. I-Just-Got-Hit-By-A-Semi-Truck. No."
"I. Am. Driving." Rex restated.
"No way in hell, Mr. I'm-Going-To-Be-Drugged-To-The-Gills."
"I'm driving!"
"No, no, no, Mr. I--"
"Dean! I am going to be driving this damn car whether you like it or not!"
"Sam--"
"Listen! I'm fine, okay? Alright, maybe I'm not one-hundred percent, but I am more than capable for driving for at least part of this trip, alright? I've dealt with worse. Much worse. This is nothing."
"I know you've had worse, Sam," Dean said quietly. "But that's not the point. The point is... the point is, now you don't have to."
Rex grew quiet. Oh. Okay. He got that. Sort of. But still... "Dean. I've been in that hospital for almost a week, okay? I've just been lying there, doing nothing... I don't like doing nothing. But now, now I'm going to see my girlfriend. I'm going to see Jess. And I want to do something."
"Sam, I'm sure there will be plenty of time to 'do something' once you see Jess."
"Dean."
"But, Sam, this is my car..."
"I thought," Rex said softly, "I thought, from what you said, that she was my car, too."
And then he turned, and gave Dean a full-blast of the puppy-dog eyes.
Dean's feelings on that was, quite clearly, oh shit.
"Alright, alright, I get it." Dean said with a huff. He probably also got that they shouldn't be standing in the parking lot of the hospital they just snuck out of. "You can drive. But, not the whole way, and you do need to sleep for at least some of this trip, okay?"
"Okay!" Rex said eagerly. He made a grab for the keys. Dean yanked them out of reach, before reluctantly handing them over.
Soon, they were pulling out of the driveway, Rex happy to be at the wheel. The car rode perfectly.
Dean sat hesitantly beside him, and Rex had the odd feeling he had won an argument that, in another time and place, he would have always lost.
Sam's journal was hidden beneath Dean's socks and porn at the bottom of his duffle. His few attempts to open it had been futile, and had left the skin on his hands itchy and uncomfortable. No more than he expected, really. He'd have to use some proper tools, consult some experts, if he wanted to get the damn thing open. And he did. Oh, he did. The longer it stayed hidden in his possession the more and more eager he was to find out what it said.
There was something about the way that Sam looked at him now, something about the measure of trust he could see in his eyes, that made something twisted and hot squirm in his stomach. He ignored it.
Sam still wasn't telling him things. Important things. Things he still didn't know.
But he would.
On the other hand, maybe Sam did deserve something of his own to hang on to. The black leather jacket that had protected Sam as he tumbled across the tarmac had been pretty damaged. But Dean had managed to find a leather goods company in town and had given it to them to do the best they could. With any luck they would manage to salvage something out of it. Hell, it had protected his brother -- he was all for restoring the thing. The company had instructions to mail whatever the came up with to Jessica Moore's address in Stanford.
Maybe when Sam got it, it would quiet that squirming thing in Dean's stomach.
John flicked his phone shut with a snap. He sat down on the musty motel bed hard, knees creaking a bit beneath him. Maybe he was getting too old for this.
He looked out the window, the crumpled Venetian blinds half-closed, a white line of salt barring entrance. A room with a view -- the crumbling parking lot and power lines lay out beneath him. His old truck looked lonely in the corner spot, half-disappearing in the blackness of the asphalt and twilight.
Sammy...
Dean had found Sam. John hadn't even known he was missing.
Amnesia... skin-walkers... semi-trucks...
His boys were bad off.
And Sam, oh God, Sam...
His sons needed him. Needed him bad, from the sound of it. He hadn't heard that note of panic in Dean's voice in a long time. Not since he was eighteen, maybe, and that hunt down in Mississippi had gone south.
He stared out the window a little longer. He was so close to Mary's killer. So close.
His boys needed him.
If he left now, he might lose the trail. He might never get this close to the thing that had killed his wife again.
Sammy was hurt. Dean sounded...bad.
Shit.