A/N: So… I got a lot less reviews than I would have liked, but I'll blame it on the amazing episode of Supernatural. I know my mind was blurry for a few days. But I'd really like to get… hmm, at least fifteen reviews for this chapter. Not that hard.
Another A/N: Unfortunately I got grounded and I have no idea when I will be able to use the internet again… so you're going to have to be patient with the next post. Sorry. I'm just a bad kid like that, lol (actually I'm skipping school today, that's why)
Yep, another A/N: I mention Alice Lakwena in the below story… um, she is this woman from Africa (Uganda more specifically) who led a rebel army, now called the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) that is now led by an internationally wanted man named Joseph Koney, but anyway… Alice Lakwena said she was inhabited by a spirit called Lakwena and she led this rebels against the government… go to if you want to know more about the civil war going on and the terrible things they do to the child soldiers, it will break your heart and motivate you to make a difference in the world.
Warning: none
Disclaimer: See other chapters, the song is by Relient K
Without any further ado and no more political rants, here is the next chapter! Read and review puh-lease or I won't risk getting in bigger trouble for sneaking onto the computer.
Chapter Six: I So Hate Consequences
And after all of my alibis desert me
I just want to get by
I don't want nothing to hurt me
I had no idea where my head was at
But if my heart says I'm sorry can we leave it at that
Because I just want for all of this to end
And I so hate consequences
And running from you is what my best defense is
Consequences
Oh God, don't make me face up to this
And I so hate consequences
And running from you is what my best defense is
Cause I know that I let you down
And I don't want to deal with that
Dean tossed and turned all night. Every memory made sense. All the pieces were falling together in a painstakingly perfect pattern. And it all just seemed so goddamn helpless.
There was nothing he could do. He was going to lose Sam.
Dean sat up and looked over at the couch. Sam was in a deep restful sleep, his limbs in wonky places and his hair a complete mess. Dean smiled softly.
"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean whispered and slowly got up and began to pack.
- - -
Sam woke up when the heat of the sun beating down on his face became too much. He opened his eyes and stretched as he woke.
"Mmm. Good morning, Grouch." Sam whispered as he looked at the bed.
The empty bed.
His heart jumped to his throat.
"Dean?" He called warily. "You in the bathroom?" He asked.
No answer.
That's when he saw it. The note.
It sat there on Dean's pillow, taunting Sam with its noted-ness, and the fact that whatever was written on the inside could very well be his brother's final goodbye.
And because of Sam's sheer stubbornness and refusal to believe that Dean had really left, Sam went to breakfast.
He made it halfway to the door before he ran and snatched the note from its spot atop the pillow. His shaking, unsure hands unfolded the paper.
Paper he realized had been torn from their father's journal. He thought that maybe Dean had been right after all, about his paranoia that is, because in that moment before he read over the smudged scrawl of his big brother, he thought that maybe that single piece of blank paper that had rested within their father's tattered journal had been there for this exact purpose.
Paranoia aside, Sam unfolded the note.
Sam,
Can the hypocrite stuff. I have my reasons for doing this. Knowing you—and despite what you might say, I do—none of them will be good enough to constitute my leaving, so you're just going to have to trust me.
The man from your dream is your guardian. His name is Rowan. Because of your gift, the League assigned you a protector. He's completely neutral. He's to you as The United States was to Britain before Pearl Harbor…
Sam couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips. He knew exactly what Dean was talking about. He remembered that conversation well. It was the first night he received any insight into the twisted mind of his big brother.
"Hey Dean… what pulled the United States into World War II?" Sam asked, his nose buried in his eighth grade World History book.
"A tornado." Dean grunted, flipping the page of his Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit addition. Page seventy was looking pretty good…
"Dean…" Sam sighed impatiently.
"Pearl Harbor did." Dean explained, looking over at his brother. "Japan went behind Germany's back and bombed us… but Germany was all ready going down. Basically it was the worst move ever, because we dropped the atom bomb and nearly wiped Hiroshima and Mitsubishi off the map." Dean explained. Sam laughed.
"I think you mean Nagasaki." He corrected.
"Whatever. Why'd you ask if you all ready knew?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged.
"I like to hear differing opinions." He explained. "What do you know about the Lend-Lease act?"
"The story of my life." Dean muttered.
"What does that mean?"
"Oh come on. You're Britain, Dad is Germany and I'm the United States." Damn right I'm the best one. "You two are always at war with each other and I aid but don't get in the middle. The Neutrality Acts, Sam. Look them up."
"I'm not stupid, I know about the Neutrality Acts." Sam stuck his nose back in the book and Dean stuck his nose back between the cleavage of page eighty four.
"You don't really feel like that, do you Dean?" Sam asked softly. Dean shrugged.
"Yeah, but it's not a big deal. It's my job to keep you two from killing each other." He turned and smiled that wise ass smile. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to."
Sam wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Damn you Dean.
…he guides according to what you want the most. Trust him. But not too much. Keep your secrets, but go to him for advice. Rowan has saved you a lot. He won't stop now.
I'm doing this to keep you safe. Believe it or not, it's for the best. And when this is all over, I'll find you again. We'll find Dad again too. I'm not abandoning you, I'm letting you go. You don't need me anymore… this is the only way I can help you now.
There are so many things I know you want—need—to hear from me, remember your questions and I'll answer them when we see each other again. But there are a few things you need to know that I've never said and I should have.
One: I want to thank you. Thank you for being my brother, for being Sammy—and you'll always be Sammy so don't even try it with that Sam crap. Thank you for sticking with me through all my crap, through all my lies… through everything. You could have left, but you didn't. Especially with the heart thing. You did what I would have done. Please don't blame yourself for Marshal Hall, that's misplaced guilt.
Second: I've always sorta, kinda been jealous of you. And I realize that right now, with everything that you're going through, that is must sound a little ridiculous and I'm sure you're rolling your eyes at me—which bugs the hell out of me, by the way—but it's the way that I feel, and I thought it was something I should tell you, to clear the air. I did have dreams. I did want to go to college, to be normal. You know when that all changed? The day I found out the truth, about us, about you. Please don't feel any guilt over the pathetic emptiness of my life, because I loved helping you study for your SATs, I loved watching you sweat over asking a girl to prom the way I never did, I loved watching you do all the normal things you did that I chose not to do. I chose not to do them, Sam. No one forced me not to. I chose to because frankly, saving your ass and keeping you around meant a hell of a lot more to me than soccer and a lousy dance. And going to college or even getting a normal job didn't mean as much to me as seeing you happy when you got to do those things…
Sam was definitely crying now. He'd fought against the tears until the second point.
Damn you, Dean.
…Third: I am so goddamn proud of you, Sammy. You've always been special, even without your gift. Before Mom died, I remember her taking me into your room at night to say goodnight to you. Every night you'd stare a little longer, smile a little bigger and coo a little louder. I knew you were going to be smart. Even then Sammy, you were the freaking genius of the family. And I know I discouraged you from going to Stanford… it was because I was scared of losing you. Before, you'd always had me or Dad to be there to protect you, to watch out for you, but there you were on your own and that scared me senseless. But that night Sam, when you told me you got a full ride, I drove down the highway with my windows rolled down yelling "My baby brother is going to Stanford." I was that damn proud. I didn't know how to tell you, so I told the whole goddamn world.
I've never said it enough, and I regret it now, but the words are so hard to say and you know me and sappy moments—which reminds me, burn this letter and we're never to speak of it again—but I love you, Sammy…
Sam pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and took deep breaths. The bastard says it now! Of course.
Damn you, Dean.
… you and Dad, you're all I got and you two mean everything to me. I just wanted—needed—you to know that. And don't go and do something stupid, like getting yourself killed. You're no good to me dead.
I have faith in you. I know you can do this, if anyone can, its you. Whoever chose this path for you isn't stupid, they chose the right person. I know its not fair and I know you hate the world for this Sam, but honestly, no one else could ever do this. You're the strongest person I know. And I look up to you. I respect you.
Be careful and remember that I am always there for you.
I love you.
Dean
Sam sat in retrospective silence for a while, his hands still shaking violently and the hot tears coursing down his hot cheeks fell on the letter and smeared the ink.
He sat in retrospective silence as the world crashed in a chaotic quiescence and the walls he'd built around himself fell in, exposing him to everything, setting him ablaze with pain and a chilling sense of freedom.
"Damn you." He whispered, shaking his head. "Damn you!" He stood up and crinkled, mashed, squeezed the letter with all his fury and threw it at the waste basket, something inside of him hoping it would explode—like Alice Lakwena promised her rebel armies—and he'd take on the League with exploding paper and his body covered in bullet proof oil. And if perchance he happened to die, it was because God found him unclean.
Think straight, Samantha. His inner Jessica chided.
Damn, he was losing it.
No.
He was losing Dean.
"Damn you." The only words his mouth would mutter, so he repeated them. "Damn you!" He yelled and shook his head. He thrashed out, his victim being the poor unsuspecting walls.
If walls could talk, this one would say "ouch" as Sam drove his fist through the plaster.
"How could you?" Sam yelled to his brother who was probably half way across the state by now. "You wanted us to stick together! You wanted it! How could you leave?" He leaned against the wall, exhausted from the yelling, exhausted from the punching, exhausted from the heartbreak.
He slid down and huddled on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes drifted to the waste basket where the ball of Dean's goodbye sat. It hadn't exploded like his paranoid mind had hoped, instead it sat there, taunting once again.
I could be Dean's last goodbye, it whispered.
Sam crawled to the basket and gently plucked the letter from its terrible fate among old recipes, an empty Styrofoam cup, Dean's toenail clippings—which Sam could remember clearly yelling at him for; "Dean, do that in the bathroom! It's disgusting." Sam had cried. "How about I leave a few on your pillow, Princess?" And the discussion had stopped there—and a wrapper from one of Sam's healthy granola bars—"Fruit and rolled oats? What happened to the Frosted Peanut Butter and Chocolate kind?" Dean had asked.—but it was far too important to rest among trash.
Sam sat back against the wall once against and smoothed out the letter against his knee, noticing for the first time that his hand was split open and bleeding from when he had punched the wall. He looked up and behind him and winced, though he hadn't felt the pain in his hand yet, he knew it was going to hurt tomorrow.
He looked down at the letter again and stared at the somewhat smudged lettering that now had his blood splattered here and there. "Sorry, Dean." He whispered, holding the paper gently.
He read over it again, reading between the lines, looking for codes, for hidden messages. Maybe his brother had left clues—it had saved them before—to what was going on. Maybe this was a fake note—that too had happened before—and someone had taken him. That's it. Sam decided. Dean had been kidnapped.
And that brought about a strange comfort, a feeling of normality.
But it became all too obvious upon the discovery that Dean's suitcase and the Impala were gone, that Dean had walked out of the house on his own. He had chosen—wanted—to.
Sam let his chin fall to his chest in defeat.
"Sam?" A gentle whispering and a timid knock. Sam didn't lift his head, but shifted it and the dull aching that resided there told him that he had been asleep for some time.
Part of him hoped he had been dreaming.
But that wasn't Dean's voice that had woken him.
"I don't feel like talking right now, Eve." Sam explained gently. But the door opened anyway and Eve gasped. Sam felt her lifting his hand. "Oh my god, Sam."
Sam lifted his head, wincing at the sore muscles, and looked at the wall. "I'll pay for that." He muttered, referring to the huge dent.
"I'm more concerned about your hand." She explained and stretched his limp, curled in fingers, gently; checking for broken bones. "I don't think you'll need stitches…" She whispered.
Sam only stared. He stared in the way only a person who feels like they have lost everything can stare. With a primitive lust—need—to be held—loved—touched, he stared.
She had a perfectly symmetrical face, a model face and lips that reminded him of Cassie. Sam had denied it once he saw the look on Dean's face when they'd seen her and he knew instantly that his big brother had loved that girl—besides, the thought of Dean's sloppy seconds was not a pleasing one—but Sam had been instantly attracted to Cassie and her "don't mess" attitude that could have kept Dean in line the way no one else could.
But the way Eve's long eyelashes seemed to reach far enough to rest on her soft cheek was so utterly Jessica that his made him ache.
"He left for good, didn't he?" Sam whispered. Eve looked up into his eyes, searching his face. She looked back down at his hand without answering.
"You're shaking; I think you should lie down…"
"Didn't he?" Sam yelled, grabbing her wrist when she attempted to stand. She froze and looked at him, nodding slowly.
"Yes, Sam." She said strongly. "He left. But he had his reasons." She sighed and put her hand over the one that held her wrist. "Now please, come and lie down, you look like you're going to loose it."
"Damn right I'm going to lose it! The bastard just up and freaking left!" Sam yelled. Eve flinched.
"He had his reasons." She repeated and whimpered. Sam realized he was holding her wrist in a strong grip that'd leave behind bruises. He dropped her hand and stared in alarm at the way she let it fall limply to her side. "Dean knows what he's doing, Sam." She promised.
Sam scoffed in sardonic reliance.
"Have some faith, Sam."
"Screw faith." Sam whispered back and got to his feet. "I'm going to find him, and then I'm going to kill him."
- - -
Dean parked the Impala in the closest parking spot, which just happened to be next to a black Mustang. He'd dated a girl back in high school who couldn't tell the Impala from a Mustang. She'd lasted a week, she was nice, dumb, and did something weird with her tongue that made him laugh, always killing the moment.
He'd never understood how she couldn't tell the difference, to him the differences were startling.
"Thinking about your car, again?"
Dean whirled around, glaring and shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Do me a favor and don't read my mind?" Dean asked angrily, his tone implying that it wasn't much of a request or a question, but a plain command.
"I just wanted to make sure you'd done what I asked, nothing personal Dean."
Dean scoffed in the familiar cynical trust he'd heard from Sam so often, and the thought made his heart ache suddenly and he absently rubbed at his chest.
"Your heart troubling you again?"
It took Dean a moment to realize what he was implying.
Right. My heart almost failed once. Damn, that seems like a lifetime ago.
Dean shook his head. "No, I just think I might be coming down with something." He lied. "Tell me, when can I contact him?"
"When it's safe."
Dean sighed impatiently. "And when will that be." God, he needed to call Sammy, let him know he was okay. It was like he could feel Sam's apprehension, his fear.
"Trust me, you will know."
"How long?" Dean yelled, getting extremely impatient. What was with the Yoda like riddles? This wasn't their father.
"Could be days, could be years."
"Stop yanking me around, Rowan!" Dean ordered. "How long should I wait before I go and help!"
"You should never go…"
"You know damn well that's not going to happen."
"If he has not won by the end of next year, you may aid him." Rowan conceded.
"That long?" Dean cried, his voice almost cracking. God, he couldn't imagine not seeing or talking to Sam for over a year, not after everything they'd gone through.
"He will benefit from every moment." Rowan promise.
Dean sighed and bowed his head in defeat. He stared at his shoes, gently kicking a rock with his toes.
Rowan regarded Dean in silence. He'd always been fond of the boy. And despite the rules, he'd always saved Dean when he could. It broke his heart to do this to the boys. Though they didn't know him, he'd been with them since Sam's birth. He was their favorite teacher, the mailman, the janitor… he was always in the background, but he was always there. Of course he was always in a different form… but this was him. This body was Rowan. And this was the body he could be forever now—now that they knew him this way.
"Take care of him, Rowan." Dean whispered finally and opened the car door, ready to get back in.
"I always have."
"Yeah, you have." Dean agreed. Please don't stop now. He gave Rowan a weak nod of gratitude and got in the car. He went to shut it, but Rowan's hand stopped it.
"Dean?" The man asked, leaning his head down so they could make eye contact.
"What?" Dean asked impatiently, his chin sticking out indignantly. Why the hell did he feel tears coming on?
This is the first time you'll be without me too, son. Don't do anything rash, I won't be there to guide… to save. Stay alive. "You take care of yourself." I couldn't stand it if you died because I couldn't protect you both. You and Sam, you're one package in my eyes. "Sam will need you when this is all over."
Dean nodded. "Bye." He shut the door and drove away without once glancing in the rearview mirror, though his whole being begged him to do so.
He drove away from Sam, from his home.
And he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to go back.
- - -
Eve stood in front of the door, her back against it, and her arms out, trying to conceal it with her petite body. Sure, her growing stomach added slightly to her side, but not much.
Sam might have laughed if he wasn't so pissed.
"Eve, move." Sam ordered. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find the duffle bag of weapons Dean had left behind, and as much as he hated to think of pulling out that pistol in his belt against a pregnant woman… he had to find Dean. He reached back for it and Eve's eyes widened.
"Don't you dare!" She recited a quick spell and Sam stopped moving, not by choice of course. His muscles felt solid, unmovable.
"No, Sam." She ordered just as angrily. "You have to let him leave. There is a reason for all this. I can assure you there is, and this is the best option."
Fortunately his mouth muscles were working.
"No! I have to find him! He's going to die alone if I don't find him! I won't let that happen! You have to let me find him." Sam explained. Eve put her hands on her hips.
"He chose this, Sam." She reminded him. And then she added softly; "You have to let him go."
Ah, the beautiful irony.
Sam gritted his teeth. "I'm going to find him."
"Then I'll just keep you here until he's too far away."
"Don't you dare."
"You'll thank me someday." She assured him and walked closer, reaching out to touch his face. "Sam, I love Dean. Beyond words, I love him." And Sam could see it in her eyes.
She'd loved him beyond their brother/sister relationship. She loved him.
"You have to believe me, I wouldn't let him get hurt. I wouldn't let him walk off into a trap." She shook her head. "I would die before I let him do that… and I love you and all, but I'd let you die before I let him die." She admitted and Sam had to smile at her brutal honesty.
"Me too." He whispered back.
"So believe me when I say that he's safe."
"I need to hear it from him."
"I know you do, I want to hear it from him too, but its too dangerous for him to contact you. You have to be patient, Sam. You'll see him again someday." She assured him. "You have lots of people looking out for you two." She smiled softly and shrugged. "Besides, I got you a consolation prize." She turned and looked at the doorway.
"Hey Sammy."
Daddy was home.
- -
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