A/N: Well this is the quickest I've updated in a while. Thank you guys for sticking with me through my entirely non-existent update schedule. We will get there, I promise.
Chapter Twenty-two and a half
The sun melted the days together and there was a sort of routine about the house, well, different people had varying degrees of a routine. Sam seemed to operate on the basis that he was made entirely out of clockwork, he would wake up at dawn each morning - or so Dean was told - then, after consuming a disgustingly healthy breakfast he would go outside and complete increasingly more impressive workouts. Dean thought maybe daunting was a more accurate term as he wavered between joining Sam or not on the days he actually woke up in time; very soon, Dean timed his breakfast so he would warm up in time to spar with Sam before the giant cooled down and went to shower then move onto his jedi training with Pamela. Dean always thought Sam looked tired at lunch and he began to take naps before dinner and his appetite increased even to surpass Dean's, which Pamela said was only natural since using psychic powers burned a lot of energy.
Sometimes Dean read up about demons, sometimes Bobby set him to looking up something for another hunter who had called for help and sometimes he practiced his aim or made ammo, and very occasionally, he tinkered with his car. Sam joined him in whatever Dean was doing when Pamela gave him the day off, usually he had his nose in his own book, but would pass wrenches and otherwise lend a hand when asked.
It was... nice. But also weird.
Dean guessed he just wasn't used to someone joining him just for the sake of joining him. His dad had disapproved or had been uninterested in more and more of Dean's hobbies over the years and then when he was in the gang... No one ever joined in anything without turning it into a competition. Dean supposed he could get over Sam's grumbling about dirty laundry and getting crumbs on the sofa for that.
Then September rolled around, bringing slowly with it a coolness to the nights and a freshness to the days that was welcome after the dusty heat of August.
Dean was feeling lazy as a day, late in the month, presented itself as summer's last stand and cocooned Dean with its heat as he lay on the sofa. He was aching after a particularly brutal sparring session with Sam the previous day and had quickly decided he was going to console himself by skipping any and all activities which seemed too much like hard work. Instead he decided to go looking for any useful spare parts in Bobby's treasure trove.
He lay there for a few more minutes, reluctant to exacerbate the aching in his muscles with physical exertion, before rolling off the sofa and shuffling towards the kitchen.
Coffee, he decided, was what he needed. And bacon. A lot of bacon.
Nodding a greeting at the other two occupants of the kitchen he poured himself a coffee and - after almost scalding his tongue on the huge gulp he took - set about cooking a breakfast of champions, the clumsiness and the fog in his brain slowly being chased away by his coffee.
He served up for the table quietly - articulation was often the last thing to return to him in the morning, or afternoon, whenever he happened to wake up - and fell on his food. If he moaned a little at the taste and the satisfaction, no-one mentioned it.
Once he had finished his meal, he took his plate to the sink and poured himself another cup of coffee. He landed heavily in his chair as he sat back down slumped over the table unable to shake off the weight of sleep completely.
Pamela lifted an amused eyebrow at him, "I think you must be the worst morning person I have ever met."
"My behaviour in the morning is completely justified, it's you people who can just get up and go who are the crazy ones." Dean defended groggily.
Bobby snorted, "by the time you're fully awake half the day is gone, you're the one sleeping your life away."
"Look, I just take a little time to adjust in a morning. Going from sleeping to waking is a pretty big gear change, you know. How do you guys even do it anyway?"
"Self control," grunted Bobby.
"Pure stubbornness," rebutted Pamela turning her gaze challengingly to Bobby.
"Don't talk to me about stubbornness," replied Bobby, flicking his gaze towards the yard.
Pamela huffed, "If I didn't know any better I'd say Sam's single-mindedness was supernatural, much like your appetite, Dean."
Dean was - slowly, it was still morning - preparing to take mock offence to Pamela's judgement, however Bobby's sigh was too tired, too sad. It pulled the playfulness from the atmosphere.
"We need to find a way to convince Sam not to go after Azazel alone," Bobby urged quietly, as if he was afraid Sam would hear him from all the way outside.
Well that certainly woke Dean up.
"What? He wants to face him alone? Does he want to die? Why would he just throw everything away like that? What was the point in saving his life if he's gonna throw it away a few months later?" Dean erupted, clearly not giving a rat's ass if Sam heard him or not.
Bobby looked at him mockingly, "you really can't think of a reason he wouldn't want to drag any of us directly into Azazel's firing line? He wants to protect us just as much as we want to protect him."
"You can't be serious? We can't let him go head to head with Azazel alone!" Dean fumed.
"Of course we're not, idjit! Just because I can understand his reasons don't mean I agree with him!"
"We just need to get him to understand our reasons - and come up with a pretty airtight plan." Pamela explained calmly, as if talking about Sam being the equivalent of suicidal was completely normal.
Dean decided to wash his anger off in the shower, lest he say something say something stupid when he eventually bumped into Sam and earned a punch in the face. He honestly tried to calm down in the shower but his ire clung to him like a second skin, so he decided the next therapy he would try would be of a mechanical nature.
He headed to the other side of the lot from where the brothers had become accustomed to doing their workouts and wondered between the piles of junk, feeling like a prospector, searching a vast waste for one nugget of gold. In fact it was barely two hours later that he spotted the possibility of a promising part midway up a tower to his right.
The creak as he put his weight on the car at the base of the tower didn't sound particularly healthy, but neither did it sound truly ominous, so Dean continued to climb cautiously. He made it to the car he wanted the part from but the door refused to open. Dean's forearms were beginning to burn as he held his weight through his fingers and frowned and began tugging at the door more harshly.
There was a desperate cry of, "Dean!" from somewhere to his left, making him turn to see Sam sprinting towards him but the tower was already rocking and as Dean felt something slide somewhere deep in the tower, the whole thing started to collapse. His grip slipped, then suddenly he was falling, along with the other detritus of the tower; then just as suddenly, he wasn't.
Dean opened his scrunched up eyes to find himself floating in the middle of a meteor belt of scrap metal. He felt a little queasy at the sight and wondered if this was what people meant when they said that time stood still when they witnessed disaster unfolding. He looked around to find Sam stood with both arms raised and an expression of panic in his face, flanked by Bobby and Pamela both with similar, gaping expressions. Then he noticed how heavily they were all panting and realised that maybe time hadn't stopped after all.
Sam screwed up his face in concentration and Dean began to descend slowly towards the floor as a drop of blood beaded under Sam's nose. When he was half a foot above the ground the force holding Dean up disappeared, catching him by surprise as he dropped.
He gazed around at the suspended cars in wonderment for only a moment before Sam growled his name through gritted teeth, the blood from his nose now dripping from his chin, and Dean scrambled for safety before Sam dropped half a scrap yard on him.
The racket was enormous as the tower resumed its customary relationship with gravity and the dust cloud was almost as huge. It had them all choking for a few moments but as the air cleared revealing the devastation which, magically, didn't include him, Dean looked over to Sam who was bent over with hands on knees, panting still and coughing in the remaining wisps of dust.
"Sam! Are you ok?" Pamela cried, rushing to Sam's side and assessing him with worried eyes.
Sam nodded and coughed once more, he wiped the blood from his chin with a trembling hand and slowly straightened up, only to slouch in his posture, "I'll be fine," he attempted to reassure everyone, "that just really took it out of me. That's all." Sam smiled but there was no energy behind it.
"Why don't we get you inside so you can rest," Pamela suggested.
Sam nodded his agreement and trudged back to the house with Pamela supporting him at his elbow, even though Sam was trying his best to walk unassisted.
When Dean tore his eyes away he noticed Bobby was watching him with concern. He shouldn't have been surprised by the concern, he could still feel the alarm plastered loudly all over his face.
"You doing ok there, Dean?"
He shook his head in an attempt to reorder the kaleidoscope of his thoughts, "I was certain I was gonna die back there..." He trailed off, unable to wrest his thoughts into the right shape for words.
Bobby nodded, "It's a feeling not like any other, and not one you can just forget." He agreed slowly. He flicked his eyes to the wreckage behind Dean, "It was quite a sight, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Dean breathed as he also surveyed the mess he'd made.
There were a few moments of silence as they continued to absorb what had happened, until Bobby spoke again. "We should probably get back inside too," he said shaking his head.
They walked back to the house to find Sam sprawled out on the sofa with a blanket tucked around him and looking for all the world - despite his size - like a ten year old kid. Pamela sat in the kitchen sipping from a glass of whisky while two more glasses sat already filled on the table.
"Well that's not something you see every day," Bobby remarked as he sat down and claimed one of the whiskys.
"Tell me about it," murmured Pamela just as Dean made his own comment.
"Yeah, no shit." Dean huffed and ran a hand though his hair, "how is he?" He asked, nodding vaguely towards Sam.
"Well he damn near collapsed onto that sofa as soon as he saw it. I reckon he was out before he even hit the cushions." Pamela sighed.
"But other than that he seemed ok?" Prompted Dean.
"That was a lot of psychic energy he just used, once the vision hit, he ran straight outside and caught you and a dozen cars in mid air, his head had to have been killing him. But his nose stopped bleeding, I don't think there was any serious damage." Pamela replied.
Dean finally took his seat at the table and accepted the glass of whisky Bobby nudged towards him. He sat quietly sipping for a few moments before Bobby cleared his throat and asked a little hesitantly, "so just how strong is Sam anyway?"
Pamela raised an eyebrow, "I thought we'd been over this, there's no need to worry about Sam like that."
Bobby grimaced, "I meant, I've been fighting the supernatural a long time - and seeing what happened today... It just felt plain wrong. But that boy is like a son to me and if that freaked me out... Some hunters would just shoot him on the spot."
Pamela nodded. "Not every hunter though, but I get what you mean, that was quite a spectacle."
"I dread to think what Azazel could do with someone who can bench press a tower of scrapped cars. I've never been up close and personal to any psychic that powerful before..." Bobby mused absently.
Dean frowned, "But you saw him afterwards, he could barely stand."
Pamela snorted, "Well wouldn't you be tired after lifting a dozen cars all by yourself, not to mention your sorry ass." Pamela grinned good naturedly at him, "I know you're worried about him facing Azazel, but a honestly you should be proud. Both of you."
Dean shot her an affront look, of course he was proud! But Sam was pitting himself against the king of hell, which was a little more threatening than a pile of rusted out cars. "I am proud, but-"
"Good." Pamela said sternly as she cut Dean off, she then turned the same stern expression to Bobby, effectively quelling any further argument or discussion of the subject.
Silence descended on the table like a snowfall. They each finished their drinks and Pamela poured another round for the table and they continued to sip pensively until Dean's stomach reminded him loudly that he hadn't eaten breakfast, much to the amusement of the rest of the table. Dean laughed off his embarrassment and made sandwiches for everyone and he left one out for Sam, hoping the kid wouldn't nap too long.
In fact he appeared in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes and slightly sheepish, not too long after they had finished eating.
"Hey, Professor X is awake!" joked Dean, who pushed Sam's plate towards the empty seat next to him invitingly.
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes as he sat down with a small but grateful "thanks." He picked up the sandwich and finished half of it almost in one go. He picked up the second half of his sandwich but it only got halfway to his lips before he spoke again, "Sorry for checking out on you guys like that. You ok?" He said turning to Dean.
Dean briefly wondered if Sam was joking, but he was a picture of sincerity in a way only Sam could manage. "Dude, yeah I'm ok, you just stopped me from redecorating the yard with my own brains. No need to apologise for needing a nap afterwards - although there are probably better ways of telling me I need to lose a few pounds."
Sam sniggered and proceeded to inhale the rest of his sandwich.
"How's the head?" Asked Bobby after Sam finished eating.
Sam shrugged, "it's mostly fine now, these headaches never usually last too long."
"Do you need a painkiller?" asked Pamela.
Sam shook his head, "it's honestly not that bad now and it will be gone by the time the painkillers kick in anyway."
"Do you need another sandwich?" Dean suggested.
The look on Sam's face answered for him and Dean had grabbed his plate to be refilled before Sam could get any words out, so instead all he heard was a quiet word of thanks from behind him as he began making another.
There was a knock at the door which Bobby went to answer then Pamela sighed and said, "I guess you've earned the afternoon off, Sam."
The padawan in question looked at her in surprise, "are you sure?"
Pamela snorted. "Yeah I'm sure, handsome. Why don't you go out and have some fun for once?" she said as she got up and sauntered out of the kitchen. At the door she stopped and turned back to Sam, "just try not to break too many hearts while you're at it." She added with a wink.
Sam let out an uneasy laugh as Dean slid another sandwich infront of him. Dean looked his brother up and down as he resumed his seat but was distracted momentarily by the sound of Bobby griping to someone as they passed the window. The uniform said local sheriff so Dean turned back to Sam who was eating his second helping at a much more reasonable pace but with eyes trained resolutely on a scuff on the table infront of him, shoulders tensed and a slight flush to his cheeks.
"Dude, you're acting like a teenage girl."
Sam scowled at him, "shut up."
"You know she's only messing with you, right?"
"I know," Sam said quietly.
"So why do you let it get to you?" Dean was equal parts curiosity and concern.
Sam shrugged, "I dunno."
Dean ran an exasperated hand down his face, "is it because of Jess?" He watched as Sam sighed and put the remains of his sandwich on his plate and continued, "you know it's been three months since she died. You're allowed to start moving on. And flirting is part of that."
"I don't think I know how." Sam admitted in the manner of someone confessing a significant shortcoming. Which, in Dean's eyes, was fairly accurate.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I remember. But flirting is just one of the basic things everyone should know. You can't be all work and no play all the time."
Sam got a look on his face that seemed to suggest that life for him had been pretty much all work and he was lucky if he got to see someone else play.
"Dude, I don't care what you say, we are going to have some good old fashioned fun tonight. Finish your sandwich, then get changed," Dean ordered.
"What for?" Bobby asked suspiciously as he re-entered the kitchen.
Dean looked up at him and grinned, "me and Sam are having a night out, and I'm going to teach him how to pick up chicks."
Bobby rolled his eyes to the sky and muttered, "heaven help us," as he made a cup of coffee then headed for the library.
Dean had tried to help a painfully unenthusiastic Sam find something to wear - something that would hold a girl's interest - but mission one had already failed miserably. It had become astoundingly clear that all of Sam's clothes had been selected with only two requirements in mind: first, they were all dirt cheap, and second, they were functional. That was it. And they were all past their best by quite some years by Dean's reckoning.
He began to consider lending Sam something of his but, upon a closer look at the behemoth standing shyly beside him, he dismissed the idea on the grounds that he didn't want Sam to accidentally move the wrong way and bust out of the shirt like he was the hulk - and that was if they could even get him in the damn thing.
So Dean had tried his hardest to make lemonade out of the lemons Sam's duffle bag had offered him and had tried not to over do the peacocking in himself.
To be fair, they didn't look too out of place in the town's bar. It was filled with people who could only be described as salt of the earth. A handful of people nodded to Sam with slightly stunned looks on their faces and Dean was reminded that he had lived here for just over six months before going to college and Sam had grown a hell of a lot since then.
Dean bought the first round, ordering just beers to start them off. When they had finished their first drinks Dean was surprised to see a large wad of cash tucked into Sam's wallet as he paid for the next round.
Dean still hadn't wiped the surprise off his face by the time Sam glanced up at him, so he explained in a low voice, "Hunting isn't exactly lucrative, so most pay their way using credit card fraud. I have one for emergencies, but I don't really like to use it so I do odd jobs and play pool... Sometimes if the guy's being a dick I'll take him for all he's worth, but usually I stick to friendly wagers that won't cause any trouble."
Dean shook his head with a rueful smile playing at his lips, "You are just full of surprises." He said while clapping his brother on the back.
Apparently not very fond of hanging around the bar area, Sam gathered their drinks and lead them to a table in the corner where they talked about growing up. Sam shared some of his rare fond memories of his childhood - a good portion of them involved Bobby, there were other hunters that made appearances too and even their mom turned up occasionally.
"Hey, do you ever think what would have happened if mom hadn't left when she did?" Dean wondered.
Sam chewed his thumbnail as he pondered. "I can't see anyway that would have worked out well for any of us. Either mom would've tried to keep the supernatural a secret - then when Azazel came I would have been horribly unprepared - or she would've had to teach you and John how to hunt too and we would all have been on the run from demons."
"So you're basically saying that, any way we could've played this, we would always be screwed?"
Sam nodded grimly.
Another round of beers, a plate of nachos and a side of wings later, Dean was surprised to see a chick standing at the table, enthusiastically asking how Sam was.
"Melanie," he greeted with a shy smile, "I'm good. How are you?"
Dean narrowed his eyes as the two chatted, there was a sparkle in the girl's eyes and she was leaning very much towards Sam as she hung on to every word he said. Dean had begun to think Sam's experience with the opposite sex began and ended with Jess, but knowing Sam, whatever had happened here had probably been barely more than a kiss.
Dean grinned and high-fived his reluctant brother once he had his suspicions confirmed and the chick had returned to her friends. Then Dean suggested they play some pool - he was no stranger to winning his way through the night on the green felt. And from the pool table, Dean had a better vantage point to scout the bar for potential conquests - and a better chance of catching their attention too.
It was a little strange trying to be a wingman for his brother, who was not particularly interested in Dean's speciality of one night stands, but perhaps a brother who might benefit from being open to the possibilities. He took another casual glance around the room as Sam leaned over the table to line up his shot, and thought to himself, well it won't be getting the girls interested that'll be the challenge, as he saw several approving glances directed towards his brother.
"Dude, your turn," Sam called his attention back to the game.
As the game was finishing, Dean was thinking about taking Sam over to try their luck by the bar, "Hey Sam, why don't we go and buy those girls a drink?" he said, nodding his head in their direction.
Sam's expression immediately became one of pained chargrin, "I can't Dean. Not just yet, not while Azazel is still out there..."
Dean nodded after Sam trailed off, tonight was meant to be fun and he didn't want to ruin the mood by pushing Sam too far. He would teach Sam how to pick up chicks, he would make sure of it. So Dean suggested another game of pool, to which Sam more readily agreed. He left Sam to set up the table and went to get more drinks, only flirting a little with the chicks who were sat there.
"Hey, why don't we see if anyone's willing to make a bet?" Dean suggested merrily with a nod to the table.
Sam looked amused by the suggestion but said, "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Because this is Bobby's home, not just some random town we're going to put in our rearview mirror in a couple of days and I don't trust you to keep it friendly." He said, narrowing his eyes at Dean in mock suspicion.
"C'mon, you can trust me!" Dean protested, "I've really grown as a person recently, I won't do anything to make trouble... Promise."
Sam bit his lip and drummed his fingers against his cue. His eyes kept darting between Dean and the table, so Dean did his best to look innocent. He wasn't sure if it was more convincing or amusing, but either way it seemed to work as Sam gave in with a warning not to get too cocky.
They played a few games before calling it a day, a little earlier than Dean wanted but he told himself he would just have to be content with loosening Sam up as much as he had. Baby steps.
The next morning Dean awoke early - for him - and stumbled into the kitchen as his stomach growled angrily at him. Moving around the kitchen to grab ingredients and utensils for pancakes he passed the window and saw Sam still sat on the porch both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Dean paused in surprise for a moment before shrugging and continuing to see to the demands of his stomach.
The smell of the pancakes must have lured Sam inside - well, duh, it was pancakes - and he soon appeared in the kitchen with a hungry look on his face that he was failing to hide.
"Sit," Dean commanded, waving the spatula in the general direction of the table as he grabbed another plate from the cupboard.