Chapter 49

Sam woke with a pounding head and a mouth that felt like he'd been breathing desert dust for a year.

Cracking his eyes hesitantly against the light leaking in from the hallway, he noted the bottle of Gatorade and the foil backed strip of Imitrex sitting by his bedside. Not Advil he noted, his brother the good fairy, had broken out the good stuff and to be honest it felt like he needed it. How much had he drunken last night?

Most of the previous evening was a blur. Though the catalyst for it was still crystal clear.

After Mom had left the bunker, after they'd told her to leave, while the final slam of the outer door still echoed in his head, Sam had found Dean sitting in his room with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

In lue of discussing previous events, there had been a marathon of action movies on Netflix and whiskey.

Sam doubted if either one of them actually took in more than the general motion on screen. But the silent hours together, bolstered by that line of warmth from his brothers arm and knee, against his side, had been comforting in a way nothing else could be.

Dean had shamelessly medicated both of them with alcohol the previous night. And for once, Sam hadn't found it in himself to object against the course of action.

There was a vague memory, of half surfacing, becoming aware of being sprawled against his brother, of Dean calling him a lightweight and the intrusion of the sound and light ceasing.

"So damn sorry Sammy, ya don't deserve this." His brothers voice rasped in his memory, accompanying the memory of Dean manhandling him into bed. He'd been too far gone to respond, to tell his brother the same.

The ghost of a memory, the calloused hand brushing his hair back from his face as he settled into the pillow. One of those moments of tenderness Dean pretty much only allowed when one or other of them was too far gone to respond.

Sam took a shaky breath, the Gatorade and Imitrex were a sign Dean hadn't been so very far gone at the point he, Sam, had folded under the liquors weight.

So often Dean raced ahead of him, when they hit the bottle together keeping their inebriation rates pretty level. He'd half expected to wake to find Dean sprawled next to him or slumped uncomfortably in a chair close by, his guardian against night terrors.

But he had woken alone.

If Dean had deemed himself capable of driving without endangering the impala last night, he could be anywhere.

Kicking himself, Sam dragged upright, threw back the pills and downed the sports drink in hasty gulps.

Fighting the worry that twisted in his stomach along with the hangovers gift of nausea; Sam wondered uneasily whether he'd be getting a call to bail Dean out of jail... or hospital.

Too often his brother picked drunken bar fights against ridiculous odds in these circumstances. Dean had certain go-to moves, none of them were good. Sam knew that and yet he'd still allowed himself to be dosed and put to bed like a sick kid instead of being there to have his brother's back. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

When the younger Winchester forced his protesting body to surface and found his brother sprawled across his own bed, dead to the world, flat cell phone cradled loosely in a curled fist.

Sam thanked everything holy for small miracles, huffing out a small breath of relief while feeling almost dizzy at seeing Dean, unmarked by any self-destructive coping mechanism greater than alcohol.

Slipping the phone carefully out of his brothers grasp so he could charge it, Sam stared down at his older brothers sleeping face for a moment longer, memorising the picture of unguarded peace that would shatter the moment Dean woke.

"Please, just let him sleep." He half prayed silently.

Why had their mother done this to Dean? Didn't she understand how badly her words the previous evening, the choices she'd made, would hurt Dean.

Hurt them both, Sam conceded. Trying not to dwell on his own feeling of abandonment and betrayal, because they seemed paltry compared to what Dean must feel.

It still seemed unfathomable that Mary could have been lying to them and working with the British men of letters for months.

It called so much into question ...

If she wanted to hunt so badly why had she left her sons to do it? Why were the British men of Letters preferable to the only family she had left? Did his mother blame him for her death? Was that why she couldn't bear to be with them. Had he once again, ruined Deans chances of happiness and stolen his mother?

She'd called the British men of letters way a better way, was she right? Were Toni Bevell's actions the symptom of a deeper disease within the men of letters, proof that the organisation couldn't be trusted or just one woman's insane actions?

Was it simply that neither he nor Dean could see past what they felt? Was the expected normal response to suck it up and get over themselves? Sam couldn't tell anymore... Were they just acting like a couple of pouting children? Did she really think her choices should change nothing? That they should be ok with her working with the British men of Letters?

Where did the failure lie? With them or their mother? How could she fail to understand their feelings, or were they just unimportant in the grand scheme? Was this his fault, had they failed her? What were they supposed to have said or done when faced with the revelation? What was she thinking now? ...

The list went on endlessly, without an end in sight. The seesaw of flayed emotion verses attempts at logical thought.

Sam pushed the thoughts away roughly attempting to take a leaf out of his brother's book, as he made his way to the bunkers kitchen to start coffee, searching for something else. Anything else to occupy his thoughts.

Sam opened his laptop staring listlessly as he watched it load up, uncertain what he was even doing.

They were at a dead end on finding Kelly, his hungover brain refused to provide him with any new avenues of inquiry and the last thing he wanted was to find another hunt today.

But doing nothing just gave him more time to chew over questions with no answers.

His eyes drifted to Skype, was it really only yesterday they'd sent Gavin back?

Opening the Skype conversation with Michele from the previous day Sam scrolled through yesterday's dialog, wanting to touch those light-hearted bantering moments again, as if he could roll back time. Take away the sour taste of today.

The fact she remembered their version of time was intriguing. As if she was right, that there was something intelligent tying their prophet to them.

Sam shifted uneasily, feeling guilty, she wasn't theirs, she wasn't some stray animal they'd found on the side of the road and adopted.

She had a life out there on the other side of the world, a husband and kids.

Her connection with them was slowly bleeding her dry, but it was like she didn't see that, instead of hating them she ... cared. Even when Dean was trying to be a jerk, especially when Dean was being a jerk.

His eyes lingered on those written gestures, her calling his brother an adorable brat, why couldn't their mother be like that, why did Everything have to be so difficult?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam breathed out a small huffing breath through a throat tight with loss and longing, he looked away. Feeling guilty and disloyal. With a son like him, was it any wonder their mother had chosen the men of letters.

...

Michele flicked her eyes to the Skype box. She'd been working dutifully on catching up on her emails, for the past hour... well if she was honest she'd been catching up with her emails as an excuse to keep an eye out for her two lost boys.

Mostly Sam... she was pretty sure Dean would avoid her for a bit, after the previous night.

She knew Sam was hurting, with the same certainty she knew the sun rose in the morning and set at night. And she wanted so desperately to help him. She was pretty certain Sam needed to talk and despite being willing to burn the world and himself for Sam, Dean wasn't really equipped to give him that right now.

Seeing Sam log in loosened something inside her chest, but now she dithered uncertain.

Did she really have any right to open up that well of hurt, ask him to share it with her? Her knowledge of his life was illicitly earned, not freely given.

Didn't she invade his life enough? Would talking to her even help?

First of all, do no harm.

Michele bit her lip tapping her fingers nervously against the mouse wishing desperately to be more certain of what was right.

Maybe if she just opened a communication line.

Her eyes came to rest on the replacement webcam her husband had finally bought the previous weekend but still hadn't gotten around to installing. Maybe the best way to start helping Sam was to get him to help her.

...

"Hey Sam, are you busy?"

"Not really" Sam typed back glad of the distraction.

"I don't want to interrupt anything, tell me to bug off if you want ... But... you're good with tech stuff yes? Do you think you could ... umm help me set up our new webcam? Please, please please, pretty please. I'm the world's biggest tech idiot and hubby's away. Mr 8 really wants to use it to chat to his cousins and play some computer game. -hopeful sad eyes-. Pwease Sammy."

Sam felt a half smile curve his mouth. Wow such a normal request, no monsters, no life or death, no end of the world pressure. Helping a friend puzzle through installing a webcam.

"Sure."

...

It didn't take long, Michele had swapped to voice using her phone a few minutes in.

"Well Sam," Michele said finally "if the hunter gig ever gets dull" there was a tone that declared dull wasn't likely "you'd be a great Helpdesk guy. Thanks so much for being patient. Oh, for goodness sake, will you two just quit it for two minutes!" The last part was aimed at the toddler and cat that apparently both needed to be part of every step of the instillation, underfoot and into everything.

"So... uh, did you want to test it?" Sam asked uncertainly wondering if she'd ghost on him at the suggestion. He was aware that video chat was something she'd been avoiding.

Michele took a small breath like she was bracing herself "Of course we need to test it" she spoke quickly "you have no idea what sort of wrath I'd face if I told Mr 8 I'd gotten it set up and it didn't work! Autism has no wrath like an 8-year-old promised electronics, then denied."

...

Michele rammed down her nerves and clicked the button. Found herself staring at Sam's image on the screen. She knew his face so well, but this was weirdly different than the visions. The feeling of him looking back was disconcerting. Eyes flicking between the small black eye of the webcam and Sam's face she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"So, it works?" She asked attempting to appear un-phased.

"Yeah... it really does." Sam's voice and face were hesitant his brow lined with a slight frown.

"So, I guess this is Hi from New Zealand."

Sam smiled with a show of dimples and looked down almost shyly. "Hi back from Kansas." He re-joined.

...

Sam studied the woman on the screen, his eyes tracing the shadows under her eyes and the way the freckles across her nose and cheeks showed in stark relief against her too pale skin. The physical signs of blood loss were easy to trace.

She was a couple of years older than Dean, but looked very young as she sat with the toddler held on her lap like a shield. Michele bit her lip and nudged her glasses up her nose, her big green eyes seemed to meet his and flinch away.

"So, it works?" She asked him earnestly.

"Yeah... it really does." He assured her feeling something settle slightly inside as he watched his friend on the other side of the world smile shyly at him.

They talked for a while about nothing much and he watched her relax incrementally, the toddler slipped down from her knee and wandered out of view, the cat leapt up and settled across her knees instead. Watching her simply sit and pet the cat was oddly mesmerising.

"Sam are you okay…. After lastnight?" Michele sighed quietly, her voice suddenly very serious and solemn, she frowned and fixing him with wide green kitten eyes that seemed to look inside him.

Shit! Sam swallowed uncomfortably, he knew what she was doing, had done it himself a million times. Earnest eyes, the soft understanding voice, the silence that begged to be filled.

She knew about Mom.

"You saw?" His voice was small, falling between numb lips. Our prophet he thought.

Another small sigh and a nod.

"Ohhh Sam" there was pain and love in that voice, understanding and a touch of anger "I'm so sorry, you don't deserve this." He looked up at the screen "You don't deserve this." she said again fiercely, as if it was the most important thing in the world, that he understand that.

He longed to believe her.

"Did... did you see inside her head? Do you uh ... know why...?"

A shaky inhale of breath whispered against his skin, and he watched a tear track down her cheek

"O-h sweet heart, I wish I could give you answers that would make this all better, it's so completely unfair ... all I know is they are her choices, neither you or Dean deserve this. You have every right to feel hurt and betrayed."

"Maybe if we'd ..."

"No Sam!" It was such a Mom voice, one that brooked no argument "don't you dare minimise what you went through with the men of letters or turn it around as another thing to feel guilty for, I'm sure your Mom has her reasons ... I don't know what they are and personally I don't think they're good enough" there was a slight bite in her voice "but..." Michele took a breath, steadying "But one thing I do know is, knowing another person's reasons for doing something... being logically able to follow them... that doesn't magically make things hurt less, make you feel less angry or betrayed. That takes time. So, cut yourself some slack okay?!"

It was strange, hearing that helped.

"Dean... Amara said Mom was the thing he needed most." He argued

"Hmph, no offended to her royal darkness but she also thought Dean would make a nice snack and sucked people's souls out... She might be Chucks sister but I've 38 years more experience than her, give or take, with humanity ... I'm pretty sure what Dean Winchester needs most is you." she tilted her head slightly and shot him a grin "...and pie... I mean seriously Sam, if she never mentioned pie how well could she possibly know him?"