A/N! Hey there! I am finally done with my exams and I am so happy with myself! I have done very well on most of them! So, we have reached the end of this looooong journey... My God, more than a year has gone by, since I posted the first chapter... I know that the story is far from a good one, as it has many mistakes. But I so happy that I made it, that I completed it!
About the final chapter, which was huge, so I posted it in two parts:
1)All the names of the characters at the police station ARE FICTIONAL. I came up with them. Any possible similarity with a real-life person is just a coincidence!
2) I know nothing about America's laws, so everything you're about to read are made up!
3) I have never been to the US, so when it comes to locations and driving time from one place to another, I use the internet to find it out. Please forgive any mistakes!
4) you're about to read explicit sexual content. I mean really graphic sexual content. Be warned.
5) About the Title: Ithaca, is an island in Greece. Myth has it that Odysseus spent 20 years after the Trojan war, trying to return to his homeland, to the island of Ithaca. Thus, finding Ithaca, means that one finds what he has been looking for, for a long time. Ithaca symbolizes the end of a long road, the end of a journey.
So, I think I have said enough!
Off we go!
THEN...
Friday, August 22, 2001
In a motel room in Illinois
2:12 PM
Dean took his wallet and his gun and opened the door, waving his hand for Sam to follow him. Sam halted for a second, and turned around to grab that camera Dean had mentioned. He did find it in Dean's duffle and then followed his brother out the door. The sun was once again right above them, burning, traveling the endless skies from one side to the other... And underneath it, two brothers walking hand in hand, fooling around, taking pictures of themselves and of the scenery, at random. Living each and every moment at its fullest.
NOW...
Tuesday, 8th of January, 2002
Police station, Fremont, California
11:40 pm...
"You better talk, you hear me?" The man in the uniform rasped, voice edgy, threatening, filled with anger. "Yeah, I hear you, in fact, I have been listening to you for the past half an hour." Dean replied as he leaned further into the uncomfortable chair he had been placed on. "I'll ask one last time, why were you digging Laura's grave?" The man spat, his words poisonous and sharp. "I told you..." Dean mumbled as he darted his head to the side to get a glimpse of the man's name tag. "I am a federal agent, officer Stive, I was sent to the cemetery-" "Cut the crap boy, because my patience has its limits, and believe me when I say, you don't want to be on the receiving end when I snap, do you understand?" The officer questioned, in a promising voice.
"Yeah, I bet you have quite a temper..." Dean replied, letting his lips form a small smile, all the while he hid his cuffed hands under the desk so as to hide their shaking. "You bet I do, now, for the last time, what were you doing-" "I told you-" The thumping of the officer's fist as it clashed on the wooden desk made Dean pause and raise his green eyes to look at the older man who was bent over the desk. "You are no cop, kid. Your name isn't Dreak Macwood, as you state, and the grave you dared to dig, was my wife's grave." The officer-Stive- hissed as his eyes narrowed, becoming two slits on his face. Two slits, which could only see a man who had assaulted what was left of an once, mesmerizing woman.
Dean sighed and looked around the small office. There was one more cop, sitting by the door and two more, which Dean could hear talking in the next office. The windows were all barred and the cop who was questioning him, was holding a teaser in his left hand. There was no way Dean could take out all of the men and leave the police station. "So, you won't tell me..." The officer said, bringing Dean out of his thoughts. "Fine, then I will-" "Sir, we found no vehicle anywhere near the cemetery. As it seems, the man was on foot." Dean turned his face towards the door and saw a tall man leaning on the door frame.
Dean blew out a sigh of relief, at the sound of those words. He had decided to walk to the cemetery and had left the Impala parked at the nameless motel he was staying. Yes, he needed the cold winter's air to blow on his face, needed it to enter his system and freeze it, so that he wouldn't end up coming to blows with his father. "A gun, those two pieces of paper, a cell phone and some money, were the only things we found in his pockets, Sir." The other officer stated, continuing his report. He walked into the office and laid the items he had just listed on the far side of the table and as far away from Dean's reach as possible.
"Very well Nick, you can go now." "Yes, sir." The man who was apparently named Nick replied and he walked away from the desk, reclaiming his spot by the threshold. "No, leave us alone Nick, and shut the door behind you." Stive ordered, and the other man carried out the order wordlessly. As soon as the door was shut, Stive grabbed the first piece of paper and unfolded it with steady hands. "Look, Stive-" "It's 'officer Stive' to you, kid. And those here, are the coordinates to the city's Cemetery, in which we caught you." Stive announced, voice sharp. "Why do you have them?" The man asked, bringing the small piece of paper, before emerald green eyes.
"I told you, they sent me here to-" "Let's see what this other thing says." The officer said, cutting Dean off. "Hey, that is personal, you don't have the right to read it-" But Dean's protests fell on deaf ears as the man took the other piece of paper in his hands and unfolded it with much more roughness than it was necessary. "I warn you officer, that is mine, keep your hands off it-" Dean tried again, but those words were the ones which made the officer erupt. "My wife's grave was something you should have kept your hands off of as well, but no, you had to get there, dig it and try to put it on fire!" Stive yelled, his voice bitter.
"I was just doing my job, officer." Dean replied, voice low, for he was aware of the man's pain. "Yeah, because my wife is a ghost which came back to haunt me." Stive mocked, raising an eyebrow. "If I was to say 'yes' to this, would you let me go?" Dean questioned, voice slightly hopeful. The man held Dean's gaze for a long moment, but then his face twitched with pain and he returned his eyes to the second piece of paper, which he was still holding in his hand. "Don't play with me, kid." He muttered in a gravely tone. "I am not playing with you. Your wife's grave must be burned-" But Dean's answer was cut short, for the man started reading what was on that paper.
My dear Dean...
I know you will be pissed at me for leaving without waking you up to say goodbye, but, well, you made the rules. 'No chick-flick moments, right? God, this is harder than I thought it would be... So hard, Dean... You always said that I knew my way around words, but, as it turns out, I can barely put my thoughts in order.
"What is this, a love letter?" Stive asked, and Dean battled the panic which was building inside him. "It's mine, please, just... Just give it to me, sir, please." Dean muttered, eyeing the older man beseechingly. "So, you're Dean." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Sir, just-" But the man kept talking and Dean felt the world caving out from under his feet. He couldn't let this man read the letter, for those words were meant for Dean and Dean alone. So, in a blink of an eye, the green eyed man pushed the chair on which he had been sitting backwards, all the while bending forwards, so as to grab the officer's wrist.
Stive was caught off guard by this act and took several steps backwards, letting go of the letter, which landed on the desk. Before Dean could reach out and grab it however, he heard the man who had just left the room, knocking on the closed door. "You bastard!" Stive rasped as he regained his composure. In two large steps he got around the desk and next to Dean, his fingers clenched into fists. "I'm sorry, but you can't read that letter officer." Dean repeated as he felt the other man grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.
"Nick, get in here, now!" Stive ordered and no sooner had the words left his lips than the door opened, relieving the younger man who had brought the letter to Stive a few minutes earlier. Dean felt Nick grabbing both his hands, pinning them behind his back. "Throw him in the cell and lock him up. Maybe he needs some 'alone-time' to think and clear his mind." Stive instructed, glancing out of the window of the office and across the hall, where a small cell was lying. "Listen to me, you're in danger, your wife is-" "Lock him up!" The officer repeated angrily, all the while he grabbed the letter with his right hand, making it a ball in his grasp.
"Mike, Lukas, come in here now!" Stive shouted, his voice rough and hard. Not a minute later, two officers, which were the ones Dean had heard talking from the next office, came bursting into the room. One of them grabbed Dean's right hand, while the other one took a hold of Dean's left one, and without saying a word they moved in sync, half-dragging Dean away from Stive's office, away from that folded piece of paper he was still holding...
Dean's green eyes fell on the man's iron grip around that so fragile piece of paper and then watered as he was taken away and across the hall by the two officers who had heard the argument and had come to help Stive out. The men dropped Dean to the small cell, locking the door before turning around to leave. A minute later, Nick was walking towards the bars, his face grim and serious. "Listen to me, that Stive guy, he is in trouble, you have to let me out-" But Dean's words were cut off by Nick's low voice.
"You shouldn't have done what you did, kid. It was his wife's grave. And today, it used to be her birthday." Nick muttered, voice bitter. He glanced over his shoulder to Dean, who had grabbed the bars with both hands, and for a mere moment, it seemed to the hunter that Nick would listen to him. "You don't understand, I am trying to help-" "Yeah, you have a weird way of doing that." Nick said, sighing in defeat. "I shouldn't be doing this, but..." The next second, Dean saw the letter Stive had taken from him in Nick's hand. The man passed it through the bars and let it fall on the floor before turning away from Dean.
"He didn't read it. He wouldn't." Nick muttered, more to himself, rather than Dean, and started walking away, back to the office from which he had come from. So, Dean was left alone, locked in a small cell, knowing that there was a ghost lurking around the area. The ghost of Stive's dead wife. But Dean could do nothing about that anymore. John had instructed him to take the case and work it alone, for he had other things to worry about. He had stayed in Sioux Falls, while Dean had come to California, to deal with this supernatural threat.
To John, it was one more hunt, it didn't matter that it was merely one day before Dean's birthday, which meant that, even if he managed to solve the case in time, he would still spend his birthday on the road, driving back to Sioux Falls. Nor did it matter that Dean would have to battle his heart's desire, which was a simple, yet forbidden one. Dean would be so close to Palo Alto, so close to Sam... Yet he wasn't allowed to see him, for the hunt came first.
Yes, the hunt, always the hunt, never anything, or anyone else. Because, the only thing that mattered were the cases, the training, the guns... Dean sighed wearily, as he sat down on the small bed the cell provided. Rubbing a hand on his frowned face, the hunter glanced across the hall and caught a glimpse of Stive sitting on his chair, his eyes fixed on Dean, waiting for answers.
But the green eyed man had no more answers to give, no more strength to keep lying either. So he lay down, with his back on the scratchy mattress and his eyes on the ceiling and waited. For what, he wasn't sure, but he waited. One part of him was waiting for Laura's ghost to storm in and cause havoc on its path, while another part of him, had simply surrendered to numbness. Yes, he had partly given up, for who was left to care about him?
All of a sudden, music surrounded the cold, dark office, as well as Dean's cell. Darting his head upwards, Dean saw that Stive had turned on a small radio and was leaning on his chair, with an old picture in his rough hand. Dean leaned back on the bed, holding the, still folded letter, in his right hand, close to his heart, while with his other, he rubbed his eyes, before letting them flutter closed.
Yes, Dean let his eyes flutter closed, for there was nothing for them to witness and allowed his mind to travel backwards, and linger on the last happy memories it could find. Memories of the last day he and Sam had spent together, back there, in Illinois...
Friday, the 22th of August, 2001
Somewhere in Illinois...
The sun was once again right above Sam and Dean, burning, traveling the endless skies from one side to the other... And underneath it, the two brothers were walking hand in hand, fooling around, taking pictures of themselves and of the scenery, at random. Living each and every moment at its fullest. After all, it was the last day they would spend together. Tomorrow with the break of dawn, Sam was planning to sneak out of the room silently, and catch the first bus to California. But until then, he was planning on enjoying every second of the day.
"So..." Dean said after a while, during which the brothers had withdrawn themselves in yet another diner. "Will you stop taking pictures?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow as he spoke, all the while he pushed aside his, now empty plate. "Come on, Dean, this is why Bobby gave us the camera, to use it." Sam answered, idly dragging his gaze along the side of the road, which he could see from the window of the diner they were in. He heard Dean sighing. Was it a sigh of defeat, or annoyance Sam didn't know, but frankly, he didn't care either. He wanted this day to never end, he wanted to get stuck in an endless loop and relive every moment forever.
But nothing lasts forever, unless you find a way to trap those moments, a way to freeze time. And for all Sam knew, time could get trapped in a photograph, and in that photograph it could stay frozen, until the passing of time would make the bright colors fade away and the beautiful surrounding scenery blur. But Sam refused to think of that and just kept taking pictures...
Pictures of Dean with his mouth full as he was eating his burger, pictures of Dean leaning backwards in his chair while taking a sip of his beer, pictures of Dean... "Dude, come on, stop acting as a five-year-old who gets a Christmas present. You've been hovering over me holding that thing the entire time we have been in the diner." Dean said, annoyance now filling his voice. Sam blushed slightly, and hid the old camera from Dean's line of sight, but made sure to keep it at arms length as the boys left the diner and got inside their beloved Impala.
"So, where are we going?" Sam questioned, smiling widely. "Wherever the road will lead us, Sammy." The older man replied, voice now smooth and gentle. They got in the car, taking their usual seats in it, Dean behind the wheel, Sam right next to him, in the passenger's seat. The doors were closed at the same time and Sam couldn't help, but smile at the way he and Dean moved at the same time. The engine roared to life and Dean patted the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers. "Well baby, you won't fail us now, will you?" Dean asked, making Sam's smile widen.
As a way of answering, the all too familiar 'purr' of the engine was heard and Dean muttered "that's my girl" under his breath. Pressing his foot on the gas pedal, the green eyed man rolled down the windows, letting the dry summer breeze swirl in the car, which roared again and began tearing the asphalt in half. Soon, Dean pressed down the gas pedal even more, entering the main road and following it for a long time. Sam felt himself relaxing in those all too familiar leather seats and let his gaze wander out the window.
The sun was once again heading to the west and the heat was finally bearable, as a dry, but nonetheless existing breeze, kept blowing from the south. The boys remained quiet for a long time, each one of them savoring the intimacy which they could feel all around them, a feeling they had been robbed of, for so long. The road was going on and on, until at some point, a long line of tall trees appeared on the right side of the road, shading Sam's figure, blogging the, almost blinding, yellow-orange light of the afternoon sun. Sam let out a sigh of relief, extending his hand, the tips of his fingers brushing the branches of the trees. And so, they kept going, a long desired silence hanging in the air.
Soon, however, Sam broke the silence, speaking lowly, with long pauses in between his words. "Dean, could you, maybe, pull over?" He asked as soon as his eyes saw that they were getting closer to the last bunch of trees."You need to take a leak?" Dean asked, his eyes flicking between his brother and the road. "No, just, pull over, please." "Okay, alright princess..." Dean complied and got off the road, killing the engine. Sam got his head out of the open window and inhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on the naked branches of the trees, which were spreading above the car, blocking most of the light. As a result, dancing shadows were created and reflected on the ground.
The whistling of the wind made the few leaves which had remained on the trees, or were idly lying on the ground rustle, as they swirled around with the wind. "This is where I will always end up, Dean." Sam whispered, his voice almost inaudible. Dean eyed his brother, but remained silent, giving him time to think and then speak. "This is where I want to come back to. Back to this car, back to you. Always back to you, Dean." Sam promised, and the muttered words were carried by the wind and surrounded the older man, who then understood what his brother had just said.
I will always come back to you. 'Then, why are you leaving?' Dean wanted to ask, but didn't. He couldn't ask Sam to stay with him, no matter how much he may have wanted to. Just like Sam couldn't ask Dean to drop everything and follow him to California. They had to go down separate ways. But they were like magnets, like flowers which rotated along with the sun. Try as they might, they could never stay far away from one another. So they knew that at the end of their road, their paths would blend together again, and they would be reunited...
"Always Dean..." Sam repeated, leaning forwards, letting his hazel eyes post the very same question they had, the very first time Sam had kissed Dean. The older man held Sam's gaze for a mere second, allured by the mesmerizing color of his brother's eyes, as the evening light was getting trapped in them. Like a kaleidoscope they were shining, thin lines of green and blue were floating in an ocean of sweet hazel. "Always, Sammy..." He replied, voice but a caress. His trained hands moved, cupping both sides of Sam's face, before the green eyed man leaned forwards, covering the few millimeters which were separating his lips from Sam's.
He was met with the taste of oil, beer and something he could label as pure Sam, and Dean let his lips brush over the ones of his brother's slowly, gently, like the water rocks a boat which is anchored. He got lost in that kiss, he was sure it had lasted hours, as he let his tongue idly play with Sam's, in a slow, grateful dance. When the brothers finally broke apart, Dean took a second to let his fingers rank through brown locks before returning to his side of the seat, in order to kick start the engine again. Sam remained close to Dean, refusing to move over, until they had finally returned to the motel room.
Sweet music got Dean out of his thoughts and back to the sad, lonely present, back, to that small pathetic prison cell. He gazed across the hall and saw Stive turning up the volume of the small radio, all the while muttering "I love you" to that old photograph he was still holding in his hand. It was then, that the clock started stroking twelve, which meant that... "Happy birthday, Dean..." Dean muttered to himself, all the while, the sweet sound of piano keys been elegantly played, filled the air.
The green eyed man let his mind return to that summer night, when he and Sam had finally, returned to the motel room, after the long ride with the Impala. The boys went straight to the shower, not bothering to take turns in it. They just entered together and Dean let the music of the present fill in the memories of the past, as he once again found himself, not in a cell, but in the shower, with Sam's, naked, lean body pressed on his own. And as the past and the present were blended together, Dean let the memory unfold.
The water was running down Dean's body, taking away all the sweat and relaxing the taut muscles in the same time. Sam's long hands were doing their part too, as the younger man let them roam over the broad plain of Dean's back. "Dean..." Sam whispered, voice low, thick, promising, anticipating... "Dean..." Sam muttered again, but his words died as his soft lips met the wet flesh of his brother's shoulder. "Sammy..." Dean uttered in return, letting his own hands touch Sam's cheek, his nose, his lips.
With the softness and grace of a pianist did Sam's fingers dance over the length of Dean's spine, tipping at each vertebrae as if it was but a white piano key. Dean moaned, low and soft, feeling his blood running hot in his veins, all the while his member was starting to harden, responding to Sam's velvet-like touches, the kitten licks of his tongue, as well as, the soft nipping of his lips on his skin. "Let yourself go, Dean." Sam instructed, his words spoken in a thick voice. The older man felt his eyes widening, but he was doomed, Sam had asked him and he could never deny him anything. He never had, he never would.
So, he just relaxed, letting long fingers caress his body, from the top of his head, and all the way down, following the path of the dripping water. Dean felt Sam's hands, on his shoulders, in between his shoulder blades, and down and down they went, to the middle of his back, to his waist... And so elegant were their movements, so well thought, that Dean gasped when those hands slide downwards and shifted so that they could take hold of Dean's hipbones. "Sammy, I-" "I've got you, Dean." Was all Sam said as his eyes caught the sight of his brother's member, which was now hard and throbbing in between his legs.
Sam however, chose to ignore it for a little while longer. There was something else he wanted to do first. Tightening his hold on Dean's hips, Sam kneelled down, following the droplets of water, letting gravity guide his body down, until his knees were leaning on the old shower' floor. Taking a moment to cast a glimpse upwards, Sam saw Dean. Saw him standing above him, saw him through the foam and the heat, through the spray and the shining water. His eyes were glassy, but there was more than lust dwelling in them. "I've missed you, Sammy..." Dean uttered, his voice small, scared even.
Sam's face softened at the sound of those words and his eyes filled with love and pride. Bending forwards, Sam opened his mouth, concealing Dean's now, fully erect member, careful not to touch it with his teeth. "Shit, Sammy..." Dean muttered, as his hands grabbed fistfuls of brown locks, feeling long, soft, wet curls getting tangled in between his fingers. His breath hitched as he waited for Sam to move his head, but the younger man just stayed there, breathing through his nose. "Sam, what are you doing?" Dean heard himself asking, as he moved the head of the shower to the left, so that the water wouldn't run down Sam's face.
As a way of answering, Sam moved, hollowing his cheeks so that he could take Dean almost all the way in, without gagging in the meantime. And when the head of Dean's pulsing cock reached the back of Sam's throat, the younger man took in a deep breath through his nose and held it in, while staying completely still. The spit which was gathering in his mouth coated the back of Dean's member, and the older man hissed at the heat which was surrounding him. His insides were on fire, as blood overran every corner of his body, and then it all gathered up in his cock, hardening it even more.
Dean's mind was hazed, of that he was sure. But maybe it wasn't haze, it was something else. It was this feeling of safety one can feel, when he knows he is loved, a feeling which, made an invisible weight inside Dean's chest dissolve into nothing. It was as if a vice had been clenching around his heart, around his lungs, around his very mind. He was always cautious, aware of his surroundings. He was always distant from his feelings, always a soldier, a protector. But he was never really safe and free of cares. Not even when he and Sam were in bed together. Now, however...
This was the feeling of utter and complete surrender, of utter and complete safety. Sam took in yet another breath, both his nostrils opening widely as hot, moist air entered his lungs. His inhale was followed by a deep moan as he felt the skin of Dean's cock hardening even more inside his mouth, all the while, the veins on both sides of his member pumped as they transferred more blood downwards. The deep sound Sam made, acted like a vibrator and Dean gasped as he felt drops of pre come coming out of the slit, falling right in Sam's throat. "Shit, Sam, move..." Dean pleaded in a voice which sounded strange to his own ears.
His tone was eerie deep, caring, yet urgent. And much like Dean, Sam was unable to deny his brother. He moved even closer, rubbing his own pulsing erection on Dean's upper leg in an attempt to find some friction for his screaming cock. Bumping his head in slow circling motions, Sam let the head of Dean's member hit the back of his throat before drawing his mouth backwards, only to repeat the motion with more speed and force. Spit was now running down his chin, mixing with pre-come and water. Dean moaned, this time loud and dirty, like a porn star, all the while his hands kept messing with brown locks.
Sam drove his mouth even further along the length of Dean's member, feeling heavy balls meeting his chin. He didn't mind that his lips were almost numb, he kept his pace at the same level, sucking Dean in earnest, all the while moaning, lost in his own piece of heaven, as his member was rubbing off on Dean's leg. The older man felt his stomach becoming nothing but a knot and he closed his eyes, clenching his fingers around Sam's hair so hard, that the younger man yelped in pain. But, God, oh God, was it good...
The pain traveled like electric current through Sam's nerves, was then deflected as a punch in his stomach, and then his cock started spasming, shooting rope after rope of come on Dean's leg as well as, on the tiles behind the older man. Suddenly, Sam was drawn out his happy place, only to be overwhelmed by an even bigger rush of ecstasy, as he felt Dean's salty cum hitting the back of his throat. His eyes rolled back in his head falling closed, as his cock spurred one more rope of come, and Sam wasn't sure how he managed to swallow the first shot of sticky cum which ran down his throat.
His body went numb from the pleasure, and so Sam didn't understand when Dean withdrew his member from his mouth. The world was a big ball of water, and Sam was feeling as if he was gently rocked by it. His nostrils picked up the scent of sweat, sex and cheep shampoo, but his eyes, try as they might, couldn't open up, only flicker under closed eyelids. A blow of cold air then met his face, and Sam felt his senses kicking in again. The younger man winced at the burn his knees were feeling and thus, he leaned forwards in an attempt to take the pressure off.
Cold water was gently poured down his face, followed by a soft touch of calloused fingers on his cheekbones and lips. Sam leaned into the touch and smiled, nipping at those fingertips as they moved along the length of his lips. The young hunter leaned to the side, unconsciously aware of the fact that he would be whisked in a loving embrace and that he wouldn't be met with the old semi- broken tiles of the bathroom. And his subconscious was right, for what waited for him, was Dean's muscled chest, and his strong hands, which towered over him in a blink of an eye.
Dean smiled, kissing the top of Sam's wet head. "That was a good one..." Sam mumbled, as he opened his eyes to meet shiny emerald orbs, filled with love. "Yeah, tell me about it." Dean agreed, and only then did Sam became aware of the fact, that his brother was sitting on his heels with his back on the old tiles for support. Sam was whisked in his arms, head in between his shoulder and his neck. Their position was awkward, but intimate as well, the two of them, so close, concealed by the spray which was starting to disappear, as there was no more hot water to create it, because Dean had shut the shower off.
"You think you're okay to get back up without cracking your skull open?" The older man asked, a flick of worry passing over his face as he spoke. "Yeah, I'm good Dean." Sam reassured, careful to mask the disappointment which was pouring out of him with every word. Once they were back on their feet, the brothers got cleaned up of all the remaining cum and dried themselves thoroughly, before exiting the bathroom. "Sammy, I meant what I said when we took off earlier today." Dean said, voice serious, eyes fixed on shiny hazel ones.
"I want us to make love, I want you to ride me, and I even want to try something we haven't done before." Here, Dean paused, moving closer to his brother, letting his hands raise Sam's chin up, revealing the adorable redness which was spreading on his cheeks. The silence that followed was heavy, the unasked question hanging in the air. "Dean, you know I want this too, I need this, I..." But Sam's words died in his throat as hot lips sealed his, in a passionate kiss. "You what, Sammy?" Dean asked, eyes still on his brother's face.
"Tell me what you want, baby boy..." "I want you to wake up..." Sam said all of a sudden, in a deep, raspy voice. "What?" Dean spat, quirking an eyebrow. "I said..." Sam growled, moving away from Dean's embrace, "Wake the hell up, kid!" The sharpness of those words made Dean blink and when he reopened his eyes, the room was gone, replaced with the small prison cell he had been locked in. Bolting upright on the small bed, Dean abruptly turned his head to the side, meeting, not Sam's kind face, but Stive's twisted one instead.
"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Did you sleep well?" Stive questioned, voice filled with irony. He was standing by the door of the cell, playing with a ring of keys, their jingling too loud in the overall quiet room. "No, not really, the mattress is kind of scratchy." Dean replied, casting Stive one angry glance. "Nice one, kid. Now, you mind telling me the real reason why I caught you in the act of digging my wife's grave in the middle of the night?" The man asked, voice eerie low.
"I told you, the grave and more importantly, its remains, needed to be burned. My superior told you about the dangerous bacterium which the health department found there, so they sent me-" "See, I'll have to stop you right there, kid." Stive said, as he moved closer to Dean with small, steady steps. In his eyes, Dean saw a predator, moving towards its prey. A chill ran down his spine and the green eyed hunter carefully slid the folded latter behind his back. "The old man you called earlier, when I first brought you here-" "He is an FBI agent-" Dean tried to speak, but Stive wouldn't let him.
"No he isn't an agent, kid, so stop playing games. We brought you here around 11:15 and you called your so called 'superior', ten minutes later. Now, I knew there was something going on with that old man from the moment I heard him speak. And guess what. I was right." Dean stared at Stive's darkened face all the while swallowing hard. The man Dean had called was no other than Bobby, who was back in Sioux Falls. "My colleagues managed to decrepit and find the location of the landline. Turns out, your superior answered the phone from a house in Sioux Falls." Stive announced triumphantly.
"So, what's the problem?" "The problem, kid, lies in the fact that, I know every single cop who lives there and no one bears the name your friend called himself with. He's a fake you brought up to get out of this mess and nothing more." The officer paused then, only to extend his hand, grabbing Dean by the collar of his long sleeved shirt. "So, now that you have used your one phone call and it has proven to be useless, I suggest you start talking." Stive growled through gritted teeth. Dean however, bowed his head, fixing his eyes on the floor. This was bad, he was in big trouble and there was no one to get him out.
"You wouldn't believe me, sir." Dean muttered under his breath. "Try me, kid." Stive answered, voice calmer than before. "The stories you hear from time to time, about ghosts, vampires and all those supernatural crap... They aren't the work of fiction. They are real. And your wife, she's a ghost." Dean explained, eyeing Stive as the last word escaped his lips. The man was standing tall, in front of Dean, who was still sitting on the crappy bed. "Four deaths have occurred in the last three weeks, in the area around the cemetery your wife is buried." Dean continued.
"Each one of the people who were murdered by the ghost, had someone in their family, whom they had lost. So, at some point, they all visited the cemetery, to visit the graves of their loved ones. But their grief was enormous, and it soon transformed into anger. Anger, towards those people who had died, living back a broken family. Many spirits feed of that anger. I am assuming that's why your wife's ghost is so strong." Dean murmured, his voice low, unsure.
"So, your explanation regarding the reason why you tried to burn my wife's remains is that she is a ghost that killed four people." Stive rasped, face unreadable. "Yes. She haunts the cemetery and the only way of stopping this is by burning her remains." Dean muttered, hoping that the man would believe him. "No, this is ridiculous-" Stive cut Dean off, but the middle Winchester kept talking.
"Look, I don't really know why you're wife is doing what she's doing, but you're next in line. And if you don't get me out of this freaking cell-" "How can you be sure that it's her?" "Because all other remains are, or have at some point, been cremated." Dean quickly explained, trying his best not to freak out.
"Cut the crap kid! This is the best you can come up with, as an excuse for your actions?" Stive's voice was sharp and was accompanied by the creaking of the metallic door of the cell, as the officer got out and locked Dean inside. "Hey, don't!" Dean yelled as he got up and in two large steps covered the distance, from where the bed was, until the bars of his cell. He managed to grab Stive's wrist, obliging him to turn around and face him.
"Listen to me-" "My wife would never harm a fly, let alone kill some innocent person, so, I'm done listening to all this bullshit! You will stay locked up in here and when you decide that the time has come for you to tell me the truth, then, we will talk again!" Stive yelled pulling his hand away from Dean's. They maintained eye contact for a few more moments, staring silently at one another. Dean was the one who made one last try to convince Stive, that they were all in grave danger.
"You said your wife would never harm a fly, but that's the point, she's no longer your wife, officer!" Dean offered, voice high pitched. Just as the officer started walking away, heading down the hall and back to his office, which was across Dean's cell, the lights started to flicker. Stive's eyes narrowed, whereas Dean's widened in horror. "What the hell..." The man muttered, his frame shivering violently, as the temperature of the room dropped drastically.
Stive took a hold of his gun, but it was useless. The lights flickered again, before going out completely, as the lamps exploded one by one, casting red sparkles as they were going out. "Get me out of here Stive, or else-" But Dean's plea was short lived, as an invisible entity threw Dean on the wall of his cell with such force, that the hunter growled in pain. Freezing air swirled around the room and Dean saw his precious letter flying all around the small cell, floating elegantly, as if it was dancing. Before he could do anything however, Dean was once again thrown to the opposite side and this time, his back was met with the cold bars of the door of the cell, which cracked open under the pressure.
Dean moaned anew, shutting his eyes tightly at the feeling of intense pain on his back. A few feet away, Stive was standing awestruck, as he was met with a heartbreaking sight. A figure, white as the walls, wearing the remains of a red dress, with long black hair was standing in front of him. Stive's body shuddered, his eyes widened and all breath left his lungs as his eyes met the lifeless, cold eyes of the figure. "Laura..." Stive whispered, dreading the sound of his own voice.
"Don't touch it!" Dean yelled, warning Stive, who had extended his hand towards his dead wife, all the while he was fighting to get back on his feet. At the sound of his voice, the ghost of the woman turned its gaze on Dean and in less than a blink of an eye, it flew over him, throwing him out of the small cell, pinning with his back on the ground.
"Kid!" Stive yelled, but his call went unheard, as the ghost hovered over Dean. "You are like them, the people at the cemetery. You feel betrayed. You feel angry..." The woman said in a thin, yet low voice. "But you shouldn't! Why can't you see, you shouldn't! It's not fair that you feel betrayed It's not fair to be angry with us!" The woman continued.
Her long hand grabbed Dean's throat and the hunter tried to scream, but the hold was too strong, making Dean unable to take in a deeper breath. His vision blurred as his body began to spasm from the lack of oxygen. "It wasn't our choice to go away, it wasn't our choice!" The woman screamed, pinning Dean even harder on the floor, all the while with a wave of her other hand, she threw Stive across the room.
"It wasn't our choice!" The dead woman repeated, glancing at Stive, who was trying to regain his composure. "But they were all so angry... So, I send them away, to meet their dead loved ones. Maybe then, the anger would be gone..." The pale woman whispered as her free hand touched Dean's chest. "And you, you are so alone, aren't you?" She continued, gazing down at Dean, who was barely able to breathe. "You feel betrayed as well... Betrayed by someone who has left you for good..." The woman continued, as her ice-cold fingers traced a long path down Dean's chest.
"Well then, maybe I can help you as well." All of a sudden, Dean screamed from the top of his lungs as sharp, intense pain spread across his chest, making his heart stop for a second and causing his vision to blur even more. His eyes looked away from the dead woman, finding the latter, which had landed a few feet away, and was laying on the cold concrete floor. "Kid!" Stive yelled, aiming his gun at Laura's head. "Don't be afraid, honey. We will be together again soon, and then you won't feel angry, or betrayed anymore, because I will be there, with you..." Laura explained, her voice eerie low.
Laura then, pressed her hand on Dean's chest even more, making the hunter's blood, literally, freeze in his veins. Dean let out yet another animalistic scream, which echoed even louder in the small room. As he felt consciousness leaving him, Dean blinked, praying for that letter to fly in his hand, so that he could hold it one more time. So that he could hold the last thing Sam left for him in his grasp, so that he could feel Sam's elegant hand emerging from in between the words to grab his own trembling one.
Because that letter was Sam's goodbye, it was his promise to Dean, that Sam loved him, that he would never forget him, that he would be back... It wasn't enough, but it was all Dean had been left with. The only comfort he was getting by the letter's existence, was that, every time Dean held that letter, he knew that he was holding a small piece of Sam's heart in his grasp.
A small piece which was beating for him and him alone. 'Dean...' Sam's voice echoed in his ears, distant and raspy. No, no, he didn't want to listen to anything, he just wanted the pain to stop. 'Let yourself go, Dean...' Sam had told him when he was blowing him off in that motel's bathroom. So, he just let go. And by God, it was the easiest thing he had ever done...
As the last traces of consciousness were fading away, Dean felt himself floating in the air. He wanted to read the letter, just one more time, so that he could have a part of Sam close to him in those agonizing moments, but then again, it wasn't really necessary. He had read the letter countless times. He knew it all by heart. So, he let his eyes flutter close and Sam's sweet voice take over his blanking mind. Underneath his closed eyelids, Dean saw his brother's face, his bright smile, his puppy dog eyes... And like that, everything went black.
Suddenly, the door of the office was forcibly pushed open. The ghost's figure flickered above Dean, but his emerald eyes couldn't see it. A series of gunshots echoed in the small room, and a handful of silver calibers, hit the floor. But Dean couldn't hear them. A voice, a panicked, familiar voice was yelling Dean's name, as a lean, tall figure kneelled on the floor, by his seemingly lifeless body, dropping the gun it was holding.
The figure's breath was cold on Dean's face and it smelled like a mix of cheap toothpaste, beer and salad. But Dean couldn't oblige his nostrils to work, thus he couldn't smell that scent. Long, tender hands, with fingertips sleeked by the pages of old, thick books, were caressing his face, but Dean couldn't feel them. Nor could he feel the fiery tears which were dripping down his face, dripping from a pair of sad hazel eyes... And so it was, that in the dead of the night, in a cold police station in California, Dean lay still on the floor. Stive was still leaning on the wall the ghost of his wife had thrown him on, eyes wide, face ashen...
As for the mysterious figure, which was hovering over Dean, shaking like a leaf in the cold wind, well... It was the figure of a young man, who had dropped everything and had took his roommate's car, driving as fast as he could, all the way from Palo Alto to Fremont, not caring about the cold wind or the rain which was hammering down upon the windshield like a whip... It was a young man who, four months ago, on Saturday, August the 23, had took off on his own, and had left a part of him behind, wrapped up in a piece of paper for Dean to find and treasure... It was a young man by the name of...
"Sammy..."
End of chapter 29.
A/N! So... Next chapter is the last! Please tell me what you think! :-)
