A/N: Your feedback is so very valued and appreciated. Many, many thanks.
Disclaimer: Red Cliff, CO is a real place but I've taken creative liberties representing its size, etc…
On with the story! Sam and Dean have some serious fun to catch up on, but not without some detours along the way.
( ) ( ) ( )
It had been six hours since Dean woke up and he had yet to sit down. The seasoned hunter could not have been enjoying his newfound mobility any more, and Sam was enjoying it just the same. In addition to being on his feet, Dean hadn't shut up all day; his mouth was moving as dexterously and vibrantly as his legs. Currently, he was doing laps around the bunker without any real purpose, while also singing along loudly to his vinyl.
"Still like that old time rock 'n roll / that kinda music just soothes the soul / I reminisce about the days of old / with that old time rock 'n roll."
Still singing, Dean came bounding up the few steps to the library platform with a small stack of books in his hands. He dropped them onto a table and a small cloud of dust rose from their covers. Sam looked on from a distance and tried piecing together what the hell his brother had in mind. Standing, Dean leafed through a few pages until he stopped flipping and instead took the phone from his back pocket and snapped a picture of the page. Dean's head was still nodding in time with the music, his lips were still casually miming the lyrics, and his leg was tapping out the beat as well. Dean remained on his phone for a moment, eventually grinned, and then restacked the books. Picking them up again to take them back to their rightful place, Sam finally interrupted.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
"Putting the books away." He wasn't being cute; Dean literally hadn't understood Sam's implication. In reaction, Sam smiled.
"No, what are you doing with the books?"
"Oh. Uhh Nikki wondered if we had any lore on vengeful spirits tied to living things."
"Living things?"
"A pet, maybe? I don't know. Sent a few things her way."
"Speaking of sending…" Sam began, "Do you think we should give Cas an update?"
Dean hesitated for a moment and tried to casually shrug while answering.
"Wanna wait a little longer till we do the whole show-and-tell routine. Not really in the mood to tempt fate."
"No, yeah, sure. I get it."
"Alright- well, I don't know about you but I've run around this whole place about seven times and I'm ready to get the hell outta here. Waddya say we get some food? Go for a run? Something like that?"
Sam eyebrows raised as high as they would and Dean knew the response headed his way.
"Go for a run?" Sam repeated. "Running? With you…?"
"Yes, Sam. One foot in front of the other."
"You're out of shape." Sam countered.
Despite the fact that the statement was true due to Dean's illness, Sam had meant it unrelated and Dean knew that.
"Yeah, well your legs are about eight feet longer, so you're just a cheat. C'mon, watch me suck wind, it'll be fun."
"Dean, you don't need to convince me, we'll go." Sam smiled as a consolation prize for his blooming frown. "But that's not really what you want to do." Sam called him out.
Dean took in a deep breath and walked over a little closer to Sam. His tone was removed and factual-his shoulders shrugging in between his sentences.
"No, it's not. But look- hunting…" He tailed off briefly, organizing his thoughts. "All I wanna do is work. But hunting is different right now, I get it. But I'm losing my mind not being productive. I mean, I don't have hobbies-not really. All I wanna do is shoot something, kick something, slam, punch, kill. But until we get a handle on this-whatever this is-I'm gonna focus on makin' sure I'm ready to get back in the game. New year's resolution: Dean Winchester back and better than ever."
"And that involves running?"
"Well…" Dean took another moment to consider the loathsome activity. "Something like that. C'mon, let's get outta here."
Sam was more than happy to get out of the bunker for a while. Their seclusion was beginning to take a toll on him as well. Sam was also itching to work-to be productive, to do something familiar. Closing his laptop and grabbing his coat, he followed Dean to the garage and without thinking grabbed the keys to the Impala. He noticed Dean eyeing the movement and Sam suddenly realized that with his leg better, there wasn't really any reason for him not to take over.
"You wanna drive?!" Sam asked excitedly, holding the keys more in view.
Dean stared longingly but a knowing look washed over him, turning his hope to practicality.
"Should wait and see if I can make it through today without a reprise of shake, rattle and roll."
Oh.
Right.
In his excitement Sam had almost forgotten the fact that not all their problems were solved. Still, Dean didn't harp on the moment so neither did his brother. Leaving in search of food and a good time, the brothers pulled out of the garage, smiling and unburdened.
( ) ( ) ( )
They'd gotten food at a nicer place-more of a modern sandwich shop than a roadside diner. Dean insisted that Sam choose the food despite the fact that the younger one had been in full support of deep fried cholesterol. There was something in Dean's tone that made Sam accept the offer, though. Sam knew it was Dean saying thank you-saying it silently and in his own way, but saying it all the same. After they'd eaten, Sam drove around looking for a park or trail; anywhere that he and Dean could walk around. Settling on a large, open, and relatively empty site, Sam parked and they'd wandered around. Dotted along the looping tails were small plots of exercise equipment; obviously installed by a recreation board and something that had never taken off. There were various beams and ledges, bars and swings.
Dean played on every single one.
It was as if the utilitarian equipment was an irresistibly tempting playground offering endless possibilities of fun. Dean bounced on every pedestal, strutted on every beam, and weaved through every picket. He paraded through every stop with a stupid, smug smile glued to his face and Sam couldn't resist joining in on the fun. He dodged and shoved, skipped and swung, joining his brother in the simplest of joys; joys they realized they had once taken for granted.
Finally looping back to the beginning of the path, Dean paused about thirty yards from the parking lot. Without noticing, Sam continued heading for the car and only noticed Dean's absence when he heard his brother's voice come from behind him.
"Hey, Sam?" Dean began.
"Yeah?" He responded, turning to face him.
"Come hit me."
"What?" Sam asked, half amused, half perplexed.
"I mean, try to hit me. C'mon." Dean's tone was entirely serious and Sam didn't quite know what to make of it.
"Dean, this is ridiculous."
"No it's not." He was playful. "Seriously, I haven't fought hand-to-hand in forever. Gotta get my body back into the swing of things."
"Believe me, you're already in the swing." Sam tried using reassurance to dissuade Dean from goading him into what was bound to be a very bad idea.
"I'm not gonna hurt ya, c'mon." Dean taunted.
"Dean, I'm not just gonna punch you in the face." Sam insisted.
"It's cute you think you'll get that close."
Dean wiggled his eyebrows and Sam couldn't help but become officially invested.
"Is that a challenge?" The younger one asked.
"Maybe."
There was a held breath by the both of them before Sam finally responded.
"Do you honestly believe you can bully me into wrestling with you?"
Dean's stance became sturdier and his head tilted a tad to one side; he looked like he was preparing to be tackled. Or perhaps he was preparing to tackle...
"I don't know, is it working? Bitch." He smiled, smugly.
"Okay, fine. Jackass."
Sam strutted over and stood within a few feet of Dean, wondering how far this was really gonna go. Apparently, Dean was deciding for the both of them; the shorter man made a grab at his brother's shoulder, attempting to pull it down so that he could knee him in the stomach. Sam knew Dean wouldn't really hurt him, but in the spirit of sparring, Sam genuinely tried to block the attack. Successfully turning out of Dean's grasp, Sam tried to land a punch of his own. Dodging, Dean avoided the contact and spun back out such that they were facing each other yet again. Dean held up his hand to indicate a pause and held his eyes closed for a long, extended blink.
"On account of the fact that everything's spinning, I call a time-out." Dean stood still for another moment before grinning and continuing towards the car. "Got some work to do but the important thing is that you still can't kick my ass…" He shook his head in mock disapproval. "I thought I needed work but Sammy... C'mon, I taught you better than that." Dean chuckled as he tucked himself into the passenger seat and Sam shook his head.
"You're an idiot." He countered, laughing along with him.
Starting the car, Sam began backing out and Dean closed his eyes again. Sam didn't particularly think anything of it until Dean spoke in a quieter, more analytic tone.
"I'm gonna space out for a minute, I think…"
It was rare for Dean to sense an absence seizure coming but it was difficult to phase Sam these days. Just as he'd predicted, Dean stared blankly out the front window as micro movements in his fingers caused his fisted hand to wiggle against his chest. Sam stopped before merging onto the road, wanting to make sure nothing more dramatic was on the horizon. Luckily, Dean regained lucidity and told Sam that heading back home was probably a good idea. Agreeing with his brother, Sam drove back to the bunker with Bob Seger blaring the whole way.
( ) ( ) ( )
Back home, Dean immediately headed for the kitchen and Sam couldn't help but chastise him.
"We just ate."
"'Just' being like two hours ago." Dean stated it as if it was plainly obvious that it was time to eat again. "Besides, you've seen how skinny I am. I got on the scale this morning and I was like a buck seventy. I get into a fight and the freak's gonna push me over with his pinky."
"Gun to my head, I get asked to describe you, 'push-over' is not gonna be one of my words."
Dean rolled his eyes at the double meaning Sam was playing with and went back to pulling food from the fridge. His hands paused over a bottle of beer and he hesitated for a moment. Pulling it out and placing it on the counter, Dean ate first, ignoring the drink. Eventually, Sam broke and couldn't resist showing his smirky smile.
"Dean, you don't need my permission."
Dean's brow furrowed and he looked comically displeased.
"I'm not waiting for your permission." He paused, rolling his eyes up to his skull briefly. "I'm waiting because I value your opinion."
"Drink the beer, Dean." Sam smiled.
Despite the fact that he'd called Dean out, he knew that Dean had only waited as a courtesy. His brother was genuinely considerate of the fact that Sam might have serious reservations about him drinking. In all honesty, as much as Sam was worried about possible repercussions, he was more interested in finding ways of making his brother happy. Still hesitant, Dean paused before bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips. Finally committing, Dean took a long pull and closed his eyes to savor it. It had been a long time since Dean had a drink-he and Sam both remember the misery of sobriety during those rough first weeks. The older man smiled around the lip of the bottle and Sam saw the comment coming before Dean spoke.
"This is cheap-ass beer."
"Yes it is." Sam agreed, nodding.
Standing to retrieve one himself, Sam moved over to the fridge as Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. Sam was back at the table and tossing his bottle cap down with a rattling clank by the time Dean pulled the phone from his pants. Not immediately reading the messages out loud, Sam's curiosity was piqued but figured that if Dean wasn't sharing it was probably because the messages were better off left unshared. Sam cringed internally but made no obvious facial expression. Dean seemed to reread the messages several times and his expression grew more pensive each time. Finally, he wet his lips and looked up at Sam with both confusion and worry.
"You've been texting Nikki a little, right?"
"Not much...just that she was checking out that hunt in Colorado. I thought you sent her some lore earlier."
"I did. But you haven't heard anything since then?"
"No. What's going on?"
"She just texted me again but something seems weird. Doesn't sound like her at all."
"You said yourself you haven't seen her in a long time. People change, you know? Maybe you're just not used to the person she is now."
Dean wasn't sold.
"No, Sam. People change but they don't change. Something's wrong."
"Dean, I know you care about her. And I know you're dying to get back out there. Are you sure this isn't just seeing something you wanna see?"
"I was right about the Adlet, wasn't I?" Dean's tension was rising.
"Yeah, but this isn't even remotely the same. You're basing this off a text message from someone you haven't seen in like ten years."
Rather than responding, Dean held his phone up to Sam and the younger man glanced to read the messages displayed on the screen in front of him.
I'm getting lonely out here, Dean
"Dude, I don't wanna see this-"
"Just read the damn messages." Dean barked.
Sam reluctantly looked back.
Bed's been pretty cold.
Ditch the deadweight brother you got and we can have fun like old times.
I'm staying in Red Cliff and got a room rented out for the week.
I know you're scared cause your body's weaker now, but baby I can still put you to good use. Come show me what you're made of.
Dean's eyes were cold and dark, his lips in a stern line.
"Tell me that sounds anything like Nikki."
Sam swallowed thickly and shook his head.
"That's not her." Sam responded.
Dean's voice echoed loud and clear.
"No, it's not."
( ) ( ) ( )
They were ninety minutes into their car ride to Colorado and Dean was already restless. He said it was because he was losing out on enjoying his newfound mobility but Sam had other theories. Dean was nervous and hesitant; while he'd been the first to begin packing and insisted they leave as soon as possible, he was still anxious. So anxious in fact, that he brought his prescriptions. Right before they left, Sam decided to go behind his brother's back and pack his medications. If things got bad, on the road no less, Sam didn't want to be helpless. But peering into the medicine cabinet, he had found it empty save for a few half bottles of Aspirin and Tums. Sam knew that the yellow containers hadn't casually been misplaced; if they weren't there, then it meant Dean must have already packed them. And if Dean packed them, it meant that this hunt was more important than getting better.
Translation: Nikki was more important than getting better. Or, maybe what Nikki represented was more important than getting better. Sam wasn't entirely sure which was the truth. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. Still, the question rattled in Sam's head: what had happened between them?
The answer could have been: nothing.
The answer could have been: everything.
Looking over at Dean in the passenger seat, Sam concluded that if there was ever a time to make inquiries, it was now.
"Dean?" He tried timidly
"Hmm" Dean didn't bother looking up from his phone.
"We'll figure out what's up with Nikki…" Sam tried coaxing him into sharing.
"I know." Dean's pitch was relatively high and his tone casual.
It was clear that Sam wouldn't be getting anywhere without being more direct.
"Is there something more between you two? You don't have to tell me but the way you talk about her is like… like she means something different."
"You've met her, Sam. She's just a good person, that's all."
"Yeah. She is. But you seem very...invested-"
"Sam! What are you getting at? Just spit it out." Dean rubbed his face and turned to stare at his brother.
Sam probably should have taken a moment to consider what he was going to say but he couldn't stop himself from spilling.
"I know you brought your meds. Which means that despite how well you're doing, you'd risk starting over if you had to. And your decisions are your decisions...that's fine. But I wanna know if there's a reason, or if it's your stupid, stoic, sacrifical, self-hatred crap. I don't wanna go into this case not knowing what's going on with you. Cause we both know that doesn't usually end well."
Taking a moment to breathe after his speech, Sam wasn't sure what kind of reaction he would get from his passenger.
Dean's expression was more annoyed than anything; he looked like he was simply irritated at the prospect of having to speak.
"She's a friend, Sam. A friend that's in trouble-someone we gotta save. Last time I checked, that's kinda what we do."
"Okay." Sam conceded he wasn't getting anywhere.
Dean bit his lip. He felt bad about being curt and knew that Sam was only trying to find all the puzzle pieces. Sighing in defeat, Dean explained.
"She told me something once. It kinda stuck with me." Dean paused and Sam looked over for a brief moment. "She said that every hunter craves death...at least a part of them. And the only way to stop that from taking over is to spend time really living." Dean swallowed. "She said it better than that, but you get the idea."
Sam was silent, wondering if his brother would go on.
He did.
"And we had fun. We did. But it was always…" Dean trailed off. "She wanted it to be more than just fun. Not serious or anything, just more like...she wanted what we were doing to be living. Contentment, I guess. So ever since M-" He swallowed again. "Ever since Michael...and since she reached out...I've been thinking about that a lot. About wanting to make sure I'm really living. And I owe it to her to say thank you for that. For reminding me."
Sam was surprised at how open his brother was only moments after snapping at him; to be fair, though, Dean was always surprising Sam.
"Then we'll make sure you get the chance to thank her."
Dean nodded and stared out the side window, clearly uncomfortable at how the levity evaporated. Leaving his brother to his privacy of thought, Sam continued driving. Forty five minutes later, gentle snores filled the car and Sam continued driving the straight and simple route from Lebanon to Red Cliff.
( ) ( ) ( )
Sam wanted to stop. Six hours in the car and he needed to stretch his legs, he needed a cup of coffee, and he needed to get out of his own head. Dean didn't have much to say and Sam could only suppose that it was because he was swept up in a flood of his own memories. Passing signs about an upcoming exit with food, lodging, and gas, Sam changed lanes in anticipation of taking it. If Dean noticed, he didn't make any commentary. A few miles off the main drag was a small strip mall. A diner and a motel were at its center and various convenience stores and alike were dotted around. Parking outside a small grocery store, Sam opened his door but Dean made no move to get out.
"Dean? You want me to grab you a coffee or something?"
The short haired man remained silent.
"Hey. Dean?" Sam peered into the car from his position standing in the open door. Dean blinked a few times and it occurred to Sam that his brother's daze could have been a seizure. Crawling back into the car, Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder. At his touch, the older man jumped.
"Just me. Sorry." Sam apologized, removing his hand. "We stopped to get some caffeine. I don't know how long you were zoned out. You feel okay?"
Dean's face was more marked by confusion than concern.
"I wasn't uhh...I don't know. You didn't hear anything?" Dean asked.
"No. What kind of things were you hearing?" Sam attempted to keep his tone flat and unassuming despite his curiosity.
"Just kind of a-buzzing. It's nothing. I prolly just had a bunch of little ones, one after another." Dean shook his head and wrote the moment off as a series of absent seizures. Sam was still a little doubtful but nothing else about his brother seemed concerning.
Sam nodded instinctually and got out of the car once again. This time, Dean followed suit and they strode into the store in hopes that a leg stretch and a cup of coffee would get them through the remaining few hours to Colorado.
Thirty minutes back on the road, Dean brought his hand to his ear and asked Sam,
"You don't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Buzzing, ringing...white noise." Dean specified.
"I don't hear anything. You want me to pull over?" He offered.
Dean pinched his eyes in consideration but shook his head.
"No. Just keep driving, 'm fine."
"Does it hurt?"
"Not really...just kinda...busy. Does that make sense?"
Dean's question was rhetorical so Sam stopped looking for answers he knew wouldn't come. Besides which, the ringing of Sam's phone interrupted.
"Want me to get it?" Dean offered.
Truthfully, Sam didn't. He had no way of knowing who was calling, why they were calling, or what they had to say. Always airing on the side of caution, Sam had kept what little information they had close to his chest; but hunters could only be kept in the dark for so long. In the beginning, Sam had ignored as many requests for help as he could manage-outsourcing what he could. But eventually he had to open up; Sam had to explain why he and Dean would be off the grid. And so, inevitably, most everyone had heard about what happened with Michael.
About what happened to Dean.
Hunters- never the most reliable- couldn't be counted on to be sensitive or discrete, respectful or considerate. Some were more than understanding but others were a bit too caught up in the drama of the story. That was exactly the scenario Sam was concerned about now; a hunter who was too invested in the trauma. A random hunter, looking for help, who was all-too excited to speak to the living, breathing, screwed-up Dean Winchester.
But Sam didn't dare say any of this to Dean.
"Sure." Was all he said.
Clenching the steering wheel in anticipation, Sam waited for the moment when he'd learn what kind of a scenario they were dealing with.
"Winchester Incorporated. What's the skinny?" Dean answered, amused with himself.
Muffled voices came from the other end of the line and Dean's tone dropped in pitch. Sam clenched the wheel harder.
"All due respect to Garth, but I don't really give a crap about what he says."
Sam swallowed thickly as Dean responded once again.
"Doesn't work like that, blockhead." Dean condescended.
There was another lull of silence as Dean listened to the voice still unknown to Sam.
"If it's a Revenant they'll prolly come back in the original body so make sure you're not just dealing with a spirit." There was a brief pause. "Yeah, silver'll do it."
With that, Dean dropped Sam's phone onto the portion of seat between them and rubbed his face.
"So I take it that didn't go great." Sam observed.
"Garth's contact, Ned-just as pathetic as he sounds, by the way-was just friggin tickled to get me on the phone. Maybe we oughtta open a sideshow, charge admission. Dean Winchester: Michael's puppet, learning to walk and talk again like a real boy." His tone was drenched in ooey, goey, saccharine.
Sam knew that there wasn't a response that was likely to make a difference so he let Dean get it out. In two hours they'd be in Red Cliff and there wouldn't be time for self-loathing or resentment-the case would take precedence. So for the time being, Sam let Dean vent and didn't bother trying to curb his brother's hurt.
( ) ( ) ( )
Two and a half hours later, Sam and Dean were pulling into the Lead Mine Motel just outside Red Cliff and Sam, oddly enough, was starving. Parking and hurrying inside without much regard for Dean, Sam headed immediately for the front desk and made little small talk with the clerk. By the time Sam was back with the key to the room, Dean was at the trunk getting their duffles.
"You okay?" Dean's interest was piqued at his brother's odd behavior.
"Fine. Gonna go track down some food." Sam tossed the room key to Dean and moved to get back in the car.
"Hey, Sam." Dean's words paused the long-haired man's actions. "I'm not that hungry. Don't rush back, okay? Go sit and eat and just...give yourself a break, would ya?" Dean's eyebrows raised and it indicated his seriousness.
Sam nodded, a bit embarrassed at how easily Dean had read him.
"Call me if you hear from Nikki?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. I'll let you know. Tomorrow we'll head over to wherever she said she was stayin."
"Everything about this says it's a trap." Sam said.
Dean grinned stupidly back.
"Yes it does. But that's a problem for tomorrow. Go eat." Dean shooed Sam off and took the duffles to their room. As he was maneuvering the key into the lock along with two duffles on one arm, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Rolling his eyes, he ignored the cell until he'd managed to get the door open and the bags on the nearest bed. The phone ceased vibrating and went to voicemail but a new kind of ringing began. Dean's head was filled with the same loud static from before, but this time it was loud. Really loud. Uncontrollably, the memory of the windows bursting in that gas station from so many years ago flooded his mind; the time he'd heard Cas' real voice.
Dropping the phone he'd pulled from his pocket, Dean's hands went to cover his ears in vain. The action did nothing to block out the painful sound and Dean instinctually shouted out for Cas. Unable to hear the sound of wings folding, Dean was taken aback at the immediacy of the angel's arrival.
"Dean? DEAN?" Cas shouted as he placed a hand on the hunter's shoulder.
"CAS, THERE'S NOISE. SO MUCH FRIGGIN' NOISE." Dean's volume was obscene and Castiel placed a calming hand to the hunter's head in an attempt to find the origin of the mysterious sounds. Taken aback by the realization he made, Cas stepped away from Dean and knitted his brow. Painfully moaning, Dean drew Castiel back into the moment and rather than touch the suffering man, Cas directed his thoughts towards him. Emerging from the blaring static in Dean's head was Cas' clear and calming voice.
"Dean, listen to my voice. You can stop the static if you concentrate on ignoring it. Listen only to my voice. Dean, look around the room, focus on what you see, what you think you should hear. A truck is passing outside, the lights are humming. There's distant shouting from a room across the parking lot. The ice machine next door is vibrating." While his lips remained unmoving, Cas led Dean through this odd meditation and eventually the hunter bowed his head; calming silence returning.
Looking up at the angel with panic in his eyes, Dean demanded an explanation.
"Cas, was that you talking inside my head?"
"Yes." He replied, his voice gravely and reticent
"Cas, what the hell just happened? Since when did I become an antenna?"
"Dean…" Cas was more than fearful.
"Spit it out, man. What's wrong with me?" Dean pleaded. "Cas, please."
"You can hear it."
"Hear what?" Dean demanded.
Cas took a step away from Dean and took a breath. This was certainly the beginning of a new predicament; a predicament that Cas didn't know how to handle.
"Angel Radio." The angel finally confessed. "You've been hearing Angel Radio."
( ) ( ) ( )
A/N: And the (usually non-existent) plot thickens! The feedback I've been getting has been wonderful and helps me so much to understand what I do well (and not so well) so I can continue making this story as enjoyable and rewarding as possible!
Next chapter the boys will dive into figuring out the angel drama as well as investigating Nikki's hunt-gone-wrong.