"One step forward, three steps back. Story of my life." Skye's voice penetrated Sam's brain, bringing his attention up from where he sat leaning back against a strut, watching Dean start up the steep hill that ran up to the road. "Should we go help him?"
"Hell no, let him suffer." Smiling as she sat down next to him, Sam judged Dean was more than far enough away to give them a decent few minutes before they were in any danger of being overheard. "Besides, it gives us a chance to talk."
"Yeah?" Settling in, she crossed her legs and leaned back, her weight on her hands as she cocked her head to look over at him, "And what are we talkin' about, Slim Jim?"
"You." From the look on her face, that was the last thing she expected Sam to say. Smiling at her surprise, Sam picked up a tiny piece of broken asphalt and lobbed it in her general direction, missing her by about a foot and a half. "Dean says he's been sitting across from you for a week and doesn't know a thing about you, but you seem friendly enough to me, so why is that?"
"He hasn't asked." Sam had to wonder if that were true, or if she'd just shut him down so hard the first time he'd tried that he hadn't tried again. "What do you wanna know?"
"Well, for starters, do you have a last name?"
"No, it's just 'Skye'. Like 'Cher' or 'Prince'." Her complete lack of expression and total deadpan delivery almost had him believing that until she grinned and shook her head at him, rolling her eyes for the millionth time that day. Hey, he'd dealt with weirder things, it's not like it was outside the realm of possibility. "Of course I have a last name, Sam. If you must know, it's Bleu."
"So your name is-"
"Skye Bleu. Yeah." From her tone and the wry smile she plastered on her face, Sam knew she'd heard every joke and line in the book. Who the hell named their kid 'Skye Bleu'? It was setting them up for it from day one. With a sigh, her smile turned a little more genuine, and she chuckled, "Now you get why I haven't told Dean. He'd have a field day."
"He'll find out, eventually."
"Probably." Turning to sit facing Sam, she pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on a knee. Going quiet, she looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether it was worth opening her mouth. Apparently curiosity won. "Since we're gettin' to know each other and all, you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Go for it." Lacing his hands together, Sam leaned his head back and studied her as she formulated her question. Based on what Sam had seen over the last day, and what Dean had told him, he had a sneaking suspicion that Skye would be more than willing to open up to a friend, she just had to have a friend first. And maybe an excuse. Holding up a hand as she opened her mouth, he cut her off before she could start. "In fact, I'll make you a deal. Until I go home, I'll trade you question for question. I'll answer any question you ask, and promise total honesty, but I get to ask you one in return with the same stipulation."
"I don't-"
"That includes questions about Dean."
"How easy do you think I am?" She might laugh, but Sam could also see the gears turning in her head. He was hoping an inherently curious nature and the very human need for someone to talk to would win out over her reluctance to talk about herself and he was inordinately pleased when she eventually nodded agreement. "Alright, that's fair. First question then, how'd your Mom die?"
"Dean didn't tell you?"
"The first and only time I was stupid enough to use your mother as an insult, he didn't speak to me for six hours and played the same side of The Beatles on repeat the whole time." Ouch. Yeah, so Dean was a little touchy on the subject. A lot touchy. The man needed therapy. "I didn't know 'Hey Jude' before but I sure as hell do now. So no, Dean didn't tell me."
"Hey Jude is what Mom used to sing to him when he was little, and me too, I assume. Dad says it was the only song she knew all the words to." Lots and lots of therapy. We're talking astronomical bills here. Poor girl had absolutely no idea what she was in for, but Sam had the impression she could handle it just fine. "She died in a fire when I was about six months old and Dean was four. According to Dad, he walked into my nursery and found her burning to death on the ceiling. We don't know what did it or why and it's been Dad's mission to find out ever since.""
"And now Dean's, too, I take it. That explains so much." Wrapping her braid slowly around her hand, she nodded absently. This wasn't information Sam got to share on a regular basis, even Jess didn't know that last bit, and watching someone absorb it without question was a little unnerving. Then again, she had almost been run over by a ghost in a Chevy just a little bit ago. That kind of thing tended to make believers out of people.
"Doesn't it just?" With a smile, Sam stretched one leg out in front of himself, leaning over to pick up a handful of gravel. Rolling the pebbles around in his hand for a second, he started tossing them slowly in her direction, getting more than a few in her hair and earning him a middle finger. "My turn to ask something personal. What do you really think of my brother?"
"Don't believe in pulling your punches, do you?" Shaking the pebbles out of her hair, she picked up a few and lobbed them back, grinning when she got one in a pocket. Good aim. "I don't know. I don't hate him. I mean, he's not the worst person to ever exist or anything."
"That's total honesty?"
"I see being a dick runs in your family."
"Does being defensive run in yours?" Stretching out a foot, he nudged her leg with his boot and smiled to show he was only teasing. It wasn't at all difficult to play the friend with her. Too bad he wouldn't be around long enough to develop an actual friendship, she really wasn't half bad. Smart, funny, and didn't put up with Dean's bullshit. "You promised."
"Touche." Swatting at his foot, Skye made a face as she wiped a trace of mud off her jeans. She'd had them for all of two hours and they'd already earned two new rips in the knee and a couple of mysterious stains. About par for the course, in Sam's experience.
Keeping his mouth shut, Sam waited patiently, giving her ample time to answer the question. Eventually she sighed and shook her head, a ghost of a smile hovering somewhere around her lips, "Fine. He's ...alright, I guess." Moving a little closer to the strut behind her, she crossed her arms and leaned back against it, her attention shifting to Dean, only about two-thirds of the way up the slope at this point. Still plenty of time. Turning back to Sam, she sighed and gave up, lowering her voice so there was no chance of being overheard. "He's a decent enough guy, Sam. Funny, mostly good taste in music and is almost as cute as he thinks he is and if you tell him I said any of that, I will turn your ears into a keyring. Why do you want to know?"
"Is that your official question?"
"...yes."
"Because he's my brother and I love him. I just want to know you're not going to actually shoot him in his sleep someday when he does something particularly stupid." And maybe because it was evident to anyone with eyeballs she was just as attracted to Dean as he was to her. Okay, maybe not quite as obvious, but still, it didn't hurt to see exactly where she stood. At least she didn't seem to hold on to denial quite as tightly as Dean was. "Why did you run off with a strange man in a shiny car in the first place?"
"I just—It's gonna sound crazy."
Blinking at her, Sam couldn't help but laugh as he held up a hand, gesturing to not only the bridge they sat on, but the entire situation. "This isn't crazy?"
"You make an excellent point. Alright, just don't say I didn't warn you. I don't really know how to explain it. It just...you know, when I stumbled over Dean in that back alley, it was the first time I'd ever taken that shortcut? I saw him and it was like ...like everything stood still for a second and something clicked and then when he showed up at my door… It just felt like it was supposed to happen."
"So you're saying running into Dean was Fate?"
"Hey, I told you it was crazy." Crossing her arms, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, not looking terribly concerned that he might actually think she was nuts. Only fair, she'd thought Sam was nuts until an hour ago. "Besides, it's not like I was leavin' anything behind. No friends, a shitty job, an even shittier apartment, and my only family is a grandmother that doesn't know who I am anymore. A cute guy in a cool car didn't seem so bad at the time."
"My mother roasted to death on the ceiling, who am I to judge what's crazy?"
"If Dean heard you say that, it'd be you in the river."
"...probably."
"Sounded like you and Tink were gettin' awfully chummy." Popping the hood, Dean tried to ignore the layer of mud caked on his clothes and every square inch of bare skin as he leaned over the engine, giving everything a cursory inspection to make sure that bitch hadn't fried anything. "I could hear you guys giggling all the way from the river."
"Yeah, we had a nice talk." Leaning a hip against the side of the car, Sam crossed his arms and grinned at Dean, no doubt laughing at Dean's discomfort. And not just the physical. "She's a sweet kid."
"...traitor." Go figure she'd start opening up to Sam instead of him. Not that he could really blame her, but that didn't seem to make a lick of difference to the thread of resentment reaching up to strangle him. Not resentment. Jealousy. Oh goddammit, he was not going to be jealous of his brother for making friends with that obnoxious little girl.
"So I take it you don't want to hear what I found out about her?"
Slowly turning to look up at Sam, Dean eyed him for a moment, studying his brother's stupid fucking face. In particular that equally stupid smirk currently decorating that stupid fucking face. "...were you pumping her for information, Sammy?" Was Sammy actually playing wingman here? Not that Dean needed one or had any intention of even trying to act on an attraction that was getting harder to deny by the minute. Maybe Sam's face wasn't that stupid after all.
Straightening, Dean leaned back enough to peer around the open hood to check on Skyler. Sitting in the backseat with the windows up and her headphones on, there was no way she could hear them but still, didn't hurt to be cautious. Lowering his voice, Dean turned back to Sam, "So what'd you find out?"
"Tell me one thing you like about her and I'll tell you."
"Dude, why are you bein' such a dick about this? Do you want to wake up with a mohawk?" Oh for fucks sake. Sam wasn't trying to play wingman, the dickhole was trying to play matchmaker, which Dean needed like an extra hole in the head. "She's got an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Happy?"
"That's something about her body." Crossing his arms, Sam shook his head, lips thinning as he threw Dean a dirty look. "Quit thinking with Little Dean and name one thing you like about her."
"I am not-God I hate you sometimes." He was not thinking with 'Little Dean', if anything, he'd been trying hard not to do just that. And hard was probably not the best word choice there.
With a sigh deep enough to feel in his toes, the curiosity gnawing at Dean's brain finally won out over his reluctance to be manipulated by his dillweed of a brother. "Fine. She's-she's...she's not stupid and she's almost as funny as she thinks she is."
"Funny, she said something similar about you, only I think the word was 'cute'-"
"Wait...she thinks I'm cute?" And just like that, Dean was in a much better mood. The dumbass grin trying to creep across his face though, that was just unacceptable. Taking a deep breath, he focused on what else Sam was saying, trying not to look as interested as he was. Not that he seemed to be fooling his brother at all. How in the hell was it easier to fool himself than that lanky son of a bitch? ...not that he was doing a terribly great job with that, either.
"-and I'm thinking maybe her mother was a hippie because her full name is Skyler Summer Bleu and she was working as a bartender, but really she's a dancer and has been studying hardcore since she was three. Oh, and she said you weren't the worst person to ever exist, so there's that."
Whatever train of thought Dean might have had regarding that ridiculous name came to a screeching halt as the wheels locked up. So much for trying not to think with 'Little Dean'. "...she's a what now?"
"I thought you'd appreciate that." 'Appreciate' wasn't quite the word Dean would have used. What possible good could come from him knowing this bit of information? It was official, the Universe hated him. Shit, what was Sam saying? "-you know, with the kind of training she's already had, I bet she'd make a decent fighter."
"Never gonna happen, she's six inches tall and weighs less than my boots." And what if she got hurt? Seriously hurt? ...or worse. The vivid mental image that shoved its way into Dean's head at the thought was enough to make him queasy and there was no way to blame that on a taco this time. The rapidly shrinking part of him that was holding onto denial with both hands could only deal with so much.
Closing his eyes for a second, Dean cleared his throat before latching onto the part of the conversation that wasn't going to break his brain to think about. At least, not the one on his shoulders. "...so when you say dancer, like, what kind of dancer are we talkin' about here?"
"Sorry, no poles or lap dances involved." Tucking his hands into his pockets, Sam perched on the bumper, looking up at Dean with that smirk still plastered on his face. "In her words, 'Think more Step Up and less Striptease."
"Yeah, right, and you're Channing Tatum." Shit. Did he just admit to having seen a dance movie? ...dammit. This was just not his day. But on the plus side, Tinkerbell thought he was cute and not the worst person to ever exist. Clearing his throat, Dean reached over and adjusted the oil cap before waving Sam out of the way so he could close the hood. "Well, car looks alright. Whatever she did to it, it seems fine now. That Constance chick, what a bitch."
"Not even going to thank me for the information? Midget's right, you have no manners." Glancing over at the 'Midget' in question, her voice faintly audible as she sang along to some song or other, Sam smiled before looking back at Dean. "So where's the trail go from here, Romeo?"
"I'm not gonna thank you, but I might let you live to your next birthday." Sinking down onto the hood, Dean closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit him, dragging at his shoulders, making his thoughts thick and heavy. "...I don't know, Sam."
Wrinkling his nose as the breeze picked up, wafting the stench of river mud in his direction, Sam just couldn't keep his big mouth shut. "...you smell like a toilet."
"That I know."
