A/N: Vivi here! Trying to keep up the Monday posts. Had a midterm today. It's the third one I've taken in the three weeks since school started. Ug. Anyway, fair warning, this chapter is a little mushy, and maybe a teensy bit out of character, but I liked it so I kept it in there. Also, I'm bringing back a character from earlier in the story. Not sure how much I'll do with her, but she's spunky so she's back. Enjoy!
Previously on Family Practice:
A thin trickle of blood rolled lazily out of Sam's nose. He looked up from the doomed man on the floor and saw Dean; the look they exchanged was terrifying.
Sam was the next victim.
"We're leaving. Now." Dean growled, gripping Sam's arm tight and pulling him away from Matthias.
"Get out of here, you sorry excuse for a man!" The bartender yelled while pointing an accusing finger at Matthias. "Don't ever come back, prodoté!" The poor woman kept shouting at Matthias even as he rushed past us, ignoring us completely. I looked back and saw her pick up a clunky old phone from where it hung on the wall. She was speaking to the authorities within seconds; some people in the crowd were also on phones.
"Dean, she called the police." I hissed, jogging to keep up with them as we left the club.
"I know. Stay close." Dean let go of Sam as soon as we got out on the street. We walked about a block away and ducked into an unfamiliar alley before anything else was said.
"Sam, your lip-" I started to say, worrying about the slow leak of blood dribbling its way down the front of his shirt from both his nose and his lip.
"What the hell happened back there, Sam?" Dean asked, his expression and posture reminding me of a disappointed drill sergeant. His tone was harsh, but at the same time the practiced older brother was checking over his younger sibling for injuries, circling him slowly, watching how the kid moved as he spoke.
"I sat next to him, ordered a drink. He ignored me until the bartender brought the glass over and handed it to me. The creep was staring at me until I took a sip, and then he just snapped. Knocked me off of the stool and started strangling me. Didn't say a word." Sam winced as Dean probed a spot on his back. "Stop it, Dean. I'm fine."
"Your face is bleeding, Sam. And your back's gonna be bruised. Explain." Dean demanded, coming back around to face the injured man.
"The guy hit me square in the face, Dean. And there was a girl behind me with a glass in her hand. I knocked her over and she dropped it. I landed on the glass, I think. One of those ones with the thick bottom part. I don't think either of us got cut, but she screamed. She's probably fine." Sam said, shrugging as he wiped the blood from his split lip. "No big deal."
"No big deal? I don't think you understand what just happened in there. Matthias, the latest dude this- this- whatever is after, just attacked you and passed that shit on. Now you have the thing and we don't even know what that means yet." Dean nearly shouted towards the end, pacing the alley with his hands on his head, clinging weakly to tufts of his own hair. "What about that don't you understand?"
"Dean, calm down. The victims usually take a while to go nuts, right? So we have some time to figure something out." Sam said evenly. I could tell his composure was forced. Neither of us liked when Dean yelled. "Sure, we don't know what this is or how it's transferred between people. But maybe I didn't get it. I could be fine, right?"
"What happens if you lose it and attack one of us, Sam?" Dean asked suddenly. I was half certain that he didn't hear a word Sam said after 'calm down'. "What then? This piece of shit monster could take all of us down at once and keep going-"
"I know!" Sam shouted, letting out a shaky breath as his echo bounced back up the alleyway. Dean stilled and turned to watch Sam lower his head, effectively hiding his expression from both of us. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried and failed to breathe deeply and slowly. "I'm just- I'm trying to not freak out here. Could you shut up for a minute?"
We shut up for a minute. But then I heard sirens.
"Guys, we should leave. The police are coming." I said softly. When no one moved, I bit my lip. "I don't want to die in a prison." The words were just a horrified whisper, but Sam looked up and nodded.
"Right." Dean said flatly. "We should start walking. Car's a couple blocks out yet." He pushed past us and turned out of the alley. Sam and I followed, walking close together but a good few feet behind Dean. I had trouble keeping his pace, but Sam slowed down a bit for me.
We had gone maybe two blocks when a group of men, slightly intoxicated, cat called me from around a bench at a bus stop. "Got a cup a suga, suga?" One of them yelled. I didn't turn, but Sam rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Gary, that's the girl I was tellin' you 'bout. The one with the dress." Another voice said. I didn't want to look and see which one had spoken; we had already walked past and I didn't want to fuel their stupidity. All I wanted was to get back to the motel and figure out how to help Sam.
"From the other night? Twelfth Street?" A third man jumped in.
"Yeah."
"The one you tried to bring back for us?" The cat caller joined the conversation.
"Yeah, but I got distracted. She got away."
"That what the bruise on your chin is from?" One of them chuckled.
"You shoulda tried harder, man. She'd a made a killing off us."
"Nah, she was plastered. The good things in life are free."
"Damn shame she's with a meathead. I'd take the chance with any other dude."
"Sure you would, Gary."
I was shocked; I moved a little closer to Sam. So that's where this other bruise and the slap mark came from. I could have been gang raped… again. But no demon this time- just humans. Just scum of the earth humans.
Sam was tense beside me; I didn't want him to get involved. Five against one would not fare well for the one, and I didn't want Sam to get hurt anymore on my account. And, not that this was necessarily a bad thing, but he might spread whatever curse thing he might have to the five of them. Not a good idea. I snaked my arm through his and held tight, stopping him from turning around even as a look of frustration and fury painted his handsome features.
"Sam, you can't fight. It's not worth it and we don't know what will happen if you do."
"I can handle myself. Ali that's the guy-" He growled, trying to turn around.
"I know, but Sam, the case." I hissed, trying to convey the possibility of him infecting countless others by brawling with five already aggressive drunkards.
"Screw the case-" Sam was stopped short as Dean charged past us, bumping into Sam on the narrow sidewalk. I didn't even notice him stop and turn around.
It happened fast. Turns out five against one isn't so bad when the five are drunk and the one is a trained killer. The bus stop was splashed with blood and I had a feeling that none of those men would be walking on their own into the bus that night. Dean left the pile of groaning and whimpering men with just a few spots of blood on his shirt. He looked furious.
We never did mention that incident again.
Back at the motel, Dean turned his bloodied shirt inside out and tossed it into the laundry duffel, retrieving a few articles of clothing from various bags before putting a door between us. Sam and I started looking up transferable curses while the shower sent a steady puff of steam out from under the door. It was a good long time before Dean emerged, clad only in his boxers, his amulet, and a tank top. He didn't say a word before dropping heavily onto his bed, face down in the pillow.
I felt my face melt into confusion. Sure, it was late, but it wasn't even close to the time Dean usually tapped out. The man could outlast Sam and I taking shifts if he wanted to. It wasn't like we had done anything particularly strenuous today; he should have been good for a few more hours at least.
And another thing: Dean didn't usually wear tank tops. He was a tee shirt kind of guy; I knew he was self-conscious about the handprint on his shoulder, which had been very visible as he walked by us. In the first five months I knew him, he wore a tank top maybe twice. Both after very stressful hunts, or so Sam told me when I asked how the job went. I hadn't ever seen Dean buy tank tops, and the ones he wore seemed a little small for him. And they looked just like the ones Sam always wore.
"He okay?" I mouthed to Sam after nudging him with my foot under the table.
Sam looked up and glanced over at Dean, taking in the still form that was very much awake judging by his breathing patterns. "He's stressed out."
"I can see that, but so are we. Why isn't he helping us?" I asked, frustrated. "He was so concerned just a couple minutes ago."
Sam sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand down his face, working some pink into his otherwise pale cheeks. "Sometimes Dean just needs to rest."
"He's been sleeping every night. Isn't that enough rest? Now's not exactly the time to take it easy, Sam. In case you haven't noticed, your head is on the chopping block. He can rest all he wants when you're not gonna die in a couple days."
"This is different." Sam was speaking a bit louder now. I thought maybe, if Dean was listening hard, he could hear us. Then again, I didn't know what exactly Dean was doing face down in his pillow on top of the comforter. "Dean doesn't get… tired very often. Yeah, he needs to sleep, but that fatigue is something else entirely. That's physical. The stress of our job gets to us sometimes and… Well, I go for a walk, or work out, or read a book, but Dean doesn't. I don't think he's found a good way to deal with his stress. So it just builds and builds until he can't manage it anymore." Sam took another long glance at his brother. "I'm just glad he's not breaking things this time. After Dad died, it took him weeks to repair the damage he did to the car. We've been run out of more than a few motels, too."
"Oh." That was all I could think to say. I never imagined Dean would hit bottom like that. Hit hard enough to take out that much rage and frustration on one of his most prized possessions. "How can you tell this is… rest to him? And not just fatigue?"
"He's wearing my shirt." Sam said, looking back to his laptop. "That's when you know it's bad."
"That's your tank top?" I asked, bewildered at the sudden realization. "You let him wear your clothes?"
Sam looked at me like I was asking a neurosurgeon how a scalpel worked. "Yeah. Well, I mean we're a little different in size, but growing up we didn't have many clothes. I got his hand-me-downs and when we reached the same size, we swapped clothes all the time. Dean would buy a pair of nice jeans for a job interview when Dad was gone and he had to pay the bills, and then leave them for me to wear to school while he took the pairs I'd grown out of, or ripped." Sam shrugged. "We don't do it as often now that we have reliable means."
"My sister and I used to do the same thing." I said softly, glancing at Dean over my shoulder. "We never bickered over who owned it or who had whose dress." My heart suddenly ached for my sister, her face still full of life and promise in my head. "She didn't want me to go to college because I'd have to take half the clothes."
"I forgot you had a sister." Sam said, shutting his laptop down. "Did she ever wear your clothes when she didn't feel well? Washed or not?"
His question struck me as strange until I thought back to my time in high school, when I'd been so close to my sister. "Yeah, actually. When it was her time of the month, she'd wear my blue hoodie around even if it wasn't clean. Our cycles were synced, but hers were always much heavier than mine. I- I used to take her fuzzy socks and sweat pants, and we'd sit around eating ice cream. Mint chocolate chip." The corner of my mouth turned up at the innocent memory.
Sam smiled and sat back, running one hand through his hair. "Dean and I kind of do the same thing. Have ever since I can remember. We used to sleep in the same bed if one of us didn't feel well. Er, until I turned six and Dad said I had to grow up. After that we just started swapping clothes to feel close. And we always slept in the same room, no matter what. I know he still has trouble sleeping when I'm not around; it's not as bad for me as it is for him. It was better when I was away at school, for both of us, but we fell into our old ways again over the past few years, I guess."
I couldn't look at either of them. They had something that I desperately longed to regain but knew I never could; the bond with my sister had been lost when my own hands ended her life. Hands guided by the demon Francesca, but still. The memory of light leaving her eyes, her final breath, the screams in the background… I would never lose those. Just like the love we shared, that pain would go with me to my grave. "I miss her. I know what it's like to need reassurance from someone like that. What I wouldn't give to have my sister back for one more day." I whispered, pained tears stinging my eyes. Well there goes my concentration for the night. No way I'll be able to focus on anything but… that now. The sooner I fell into unconsciousness and the nightmare world that followed the better. Wakeful nightmares were so much worse than the dreaming ones. "I think I'm going to bed too." Standing, I escaped to the bathroom, wiping my face clean and brushing my teeth. All the while trying to forget the conversation we'd just had.
When I came back out the room was dark and Sam was already in bed, neatly tucked to one side. I sat next to him and jumped when a rough voice broke through the night.
"No way in hell that's happening tonight."
"Dean?" I hissed, not wanting to wake him up if he was talking in his sleep. He had been laying on his stomach and waited to prop himself up on his elbows until I spoke.
"What?" Sam went up on his elbows, too. It seemed like he had already been almost asleep.
"My bed. Now, Li." Dean said evenly. His face was too dark to see, so all I could take in was the outline of him against the dim glow that leaked through the blinds from the security light outside.
I couldn't breathe for a few seconds before I got a grip on myself. He's not a monster. There never was a monster chasing you through the streets. It was just Dean then, and he's just Dean now. He would never hurt you. Breathe…
Then his words finally registered in my brain, flipping me from terrified to pissed off in an instant. "Excuse me?" I snapped, mortified by his condescending demand. "I am not a dog. You can't just order me around with two word commands."
Dean sighed in what could only be described as frustration. "I don't want you sleeping next to Sam if there's even a chance he could hurt you."
"I think I can handle myself." I grouched, not wanting to move away from Sam. He made me feel… safe.
"Come on, Li. You know it's not safe. It's for your own good." Dean said. I did not respond, so he continued. "Please?"
"It's okay, Ali. Really." Sam said, nodding in sullen understanding. "No hard feelings."
"He's not going to hurt me, Dean. Neither of you would hurt me." I said. "Not on purpose."
"Exactly. 'Not on purpose' would include being under the influence of some mysterious curse while he beats you to death. But even though it's not on purpose, you'd still die. Or at least get pretty roughed up before I could stop him." Dean said, irritation growing in his voice. "It's not Sam's fault, and it's not your fault. We're just taking precautions."
I glanced back at Sam, who sent me a defeated smile that didn't reach his eyes as he shrugged. "Dean's right."
"Fine." I sighed, standing stiffly and walking the few feet over to the other bed, the side nearest Sam.
"Other side, Princess." Dean said as he rolled lazily to where I had intended to go and returned to his original position. Face in pillow, prone. I grumbled all the way around the bed and dropped into the sheets, curling up like a scolded, petulant child.
At least his bed was already warm.
The next day, Sam was fine. No weird marks on his skin, no strange behavior, nothing but typical Sam. Still, we tore both the room and the car apart looking for hex bags or anything unusual. There was nothing. We called Bobby and asked him what he thought about it. He told us he'd get back to us; it sounded familiar but he couldn't put his finger on why. Dean decided he wanted to skip town.
We stayed. All three of us. Well, kinda four. After a long bickering and bitching session, Dean resigned to continuing on with the investigation, in case this wasn't a tethered location thing and was more of a follow-you kind of thing.
There was no way we were getting Dean to return to the nightclub today, even in the daylight to interview the employees. He was still pretty sore about the whole 'we aren't leaving town immediately' thing. So instead of dragging him to the interviews with the employees, we dragged him to another interview. We went to where we'd first spoken to Matthias: his home.
No one was there.
"Think he even made it back last night?" Sam asked as we stood outside his apartment door. "He wasn't exactly smashed."
"Maybe he went to the hospital. I think his nose was broken after you…" I trailed off, not needing to continue.
"Maybe. If this is anything like the other cases, though, he'll be wandering around for a few days until he finally does the deed." Sam said.
"And the other victims have turned up in random places around the city, or in that forest. I don't think we stand a chance of finding him." I said, urging my brain to kick into high gear and figure this out before something irreversible happened.
"So what, we're just gonna wait until he turns up dead? Until the status of freaking 'crazy-ass adrenaline monkey' lands on Sam? Great plan, guys. Go team." Dean nearly yelled, clearly stressed. I wasn't sure how much of a mental break he usually took during episodes like last night, but it obviously hadn't been enough this time. It was like Sam and I had woken tiny Dean up from his nap too early, which had happened a few times with similar results. Except now he could fully articulate just how pissy and aggravated he was.
"Meatballs?" A clear, curious, feminine voice broke into our conversation from one door down the hall.
All three of us turned at the same time, taking in the woman with curly blond hair. I prepared for a fight, not knowing exactly what was going on.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Dean snapped his fingers and smiled. "Tish. From the sandwich shop."
I breathed a sigh of relief and saw Sam shake his head and smile. Not a threat.
"So it is you. You never came back like you said you would, Meatballs. Way to stand a girl up." Tish said, leaning against her door frame with her arms crossed over a low cut tank top. She didn't look terribly upset; in fact, she had a little mischievous grin on her face. The smile seemed to fit her persona well. One of her arms had a ring of triangles tattooed around it, and the other had a ring of circles. Little slash marks sat under the circles, but not the triangles. I could see parts of a few other pieces of artwork on her skin, but nothing I could readily identify.
Dean smiled and held his hands up in the 'I surrender' position. "You got me. Been kinda busy, though, so it's not on purpose."
"Busy how?" Tish asked, finally tearing her gaze from Dean to look Sam up and down. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything more.
"We're trying to find Greg. Got into an argument last night and wanted to make amends." Dean lied, smooth as glass.
"Well, I was here all night last night, alone." Tish looked pointedly at Dean. "Greg didn't come home. That's not unusual though. He really likes that nightclub you were asking about the other day. Practically lives there. Say, did you ever find that friend you were lookin' for?"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Turns out he didn't want anything to do with us anymore. That's why he let all communications die out."
That's just morbid, Dean. I shivered at the memory of that bloody tree out in the woods.
"How do you know Matthias didn't come home last night?" Sam asked, once again tearing the woman's gaze away.
"He's not exactly the lightest guy in the world. This floor is old; squeaks like crazy. And he drops his keys every other step when he's drunk. Wakes me up all the time." Tish said, tilting her head to the side as if deep in thought.
"Do you know of anywhere else he would go? Friends? Relatives? Maybe a local hang out?" I asked. Her gaze landed on me and she seemed to become even more confused.
"No, I'm just his neighbor. Hey, you guys look really familiar." Tish said suddenly.
"Uh, we met at the deli earlier this week." Sam said slowly, not seeing how the familiarity hadn't already been established.
"No, like… like we met before that. I mean you looked familiar even back then but I get so many folks in the deli that faces start to run together. I thought it was just in my head, but I'm pretty sure we've met before." Tish said, leaving the door frame to approach us.
"I'd remember those eyes if we had." Dean said with his best 'nice guy' smile.
Way to lay it on thick, dude. I rolled my eyes before returning them to the woman who was sauntering down the hall.
"Not you, Ballsy. Sorry, but you don't ring that kind of bell." Tish said, moving to stand in front of Sam. She was a tall woman, a few inches up from me, but she still had to look up at Sam. "Now you, on the other hand. You ring all sorts of bells. It's like a cathedral in here." She tapped the side of her head, narrowing her eyes.
I felt jealous blood rush to my cheeks as she looked him up and down. Sam was obviously uncomfortable, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets as he was scrutinized from head to toe. The woman shook her head and frowned before looking at me again. Slowly, she strolled to stand in front of me. I noticed Sam move a little closer to us as I came under examination.
"I don't think we've met-" Sam started, only to be cut short.
"Ali!" The woman exclaimed, pointing at me with a huge smile on her face.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. We'd been careful not to use our real names at any place in town, if we had to use names at all. The only people in Orem who should know my name were the guys I was sharing a motel room with.
Dean tensed beside us, looking from Tish to me and back again several times. "You know her?" He asked me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand move back to where he kept his gun, slowly and casually.
"I- I don't-" I stammered.
"Right thigh, remember? That crazy complicated ancient script thing you wanted. Tim told me you had another one on your side, kinda like it but not in a circle." Tish said, pointing out the places she listed.
"How did you…"
"I used to have red hair. Worked at the tattoo shop in Concordia. Kansas? Any of this sounding familiar?" She asked, waiting a few moments before turning to Sam. "And your leg was broke. Never did catch your name, but I'd remember that smile anywhere."
"Tish?" I realized, recalling bits and pieces of the several hours I spent under her iron while getting the sigil that protects my baby tattooed on my leg. The same one that Cas drew so I could show her exactly what I needed.
"Yeah! She remembers me." Tish smiled, turning to Sam. "How about you, sweetheart? Look past the platinum curls, real hard…"
Sam chuckled lightly and nodded. "The shop was south of Concordia. I've gotten work down there before. But, uh, I don't think you were there then."
"I only worked there for a couple weeks." Tish shrugged. "Call it a rebellious streak. A friend of mine showed me how to work the machine and hey, I already knew my way around a sketch pad, so it worked out. I was in Alabama for a while, then Kansas, but then my Gram died and Mom needed me at the deli. Family before self, y'know?" Her smile had taken on a more morose hue. "Yours was one of the last tattoos I ever did."
"So your family lives out here?" I asked, not wanting to dig up any sad memories of broken dreams. I had enough of those and I knew how it hurt when anyone brought them up.
"Yeah, but it's just me, Mom, and Grandad now. My father ran out on us when I was little. They found him three counties over drowned in a river. Suicide, they said. But he wasn't the type." She shook her head. "Maybe he just got sick of working at the bar. Never did want to help out with the deli." Tish looked back up to Sam, then to Dean. She rolled her eyes and smiled, trying to hide the sudden wave of emotion that had her eyes glistening. "Now look at me, yakin' you up while you're lookin' for someone else."
"It's okay." Sam said with his trademark puppy dog smile. "We do have to go, but if Matthias comes back, let us know, alright?"
"Yeah, sure thing." Tish pulled one of her tattooed arms across her face, then huffed a laugh and grinned at Dean. "That mean I get your number?"
I could have sworn Dean blushed. "Usually I'd get your number, but yeah."
Tish went back into her apartment and retrieved her phone. "How's it feel to be on the bottom, Meatballs?"
Dean definitely blushed that time. "I don't know what you mean. You ready for the number or what?"
Tish giggled. "Means I get to make the first move. Keep you in suspense. So digits."
Dean read off his phone number- one of his rarely used burners- before he got this suave smile. "Why don't we go out tomorrow night? Keep the suspense to a minimum?"
I'm pretty sure Sam and I both rolled our eyes at the same time. Leave it to Dean to see the tree through the forest. Hopefully we'd have this case under control by then. If not, poor Tish would be stood up again. Good thing he gave her a burner number.
"Sounds like a pretty good plan. But I don't even know your name, mister. What ever will I cry out in our moment of passion?" Tish asked, batting her eyes.
Sam and I turn on a dime and walked away, holding back peals of laughter.
"Giovanti. Call me Gio." Dean shot her the most genuine smile I've seen in a while. It was nice to see his eyes light up again, even if he was lying to this pretty girl's face. "And dinner would be nice, too, by the way. I'm at least halfway decent."
"A perfect gentleman." Tish winked. "I'll call sometime tomorrow, Meatballs."
Dean just laughed and followed us down the hall.
Once outside the building, the smile still hadn't left Dean's face.
"Dude. You are way too excited about this." Sam shook his head, but he too wore a small grin.
"Don't rain on my parade, Sam. It's been months, okay?" Dean play punched his brother's arm. "But that doesn't mean it's gonna happen if we don't gank whatever's killing people around here before tomorrow night. So let's double time it."
"To the club? Interview some employees?" Sam suggested. We'd have to go back to the motel and get the fed gear, but that sounded like a solid option to me.
"No." Dean said as we piled into the Impala. "We're gonna run some tests."
"What kind of tests?" Sam asked nervously.
"You'll see."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you did. Also, I got a review the other day (thanks SilverNightmares!) that got me thinking. Who do you think the father will turn out to be? Should she tell them, or run? How should she tell them, if she decides to? I'd love to hear what you're thinking!