A/N: Okay, so this is a pretty monstrous chapter simply because I got WAY carried away and I didn't want to cut it because I figured if I gave you a meaty chapter, maybe I'd get some meaty reviews, and more of them instead the pathetic number I got last time. And that really made me paranoid, because I started a new half, and I wasn't sure if anyone liked it or not. Yeah, so please, review for me, tell me if you like it.
A/N: Good news, I actually know where I'm taking this story now. I planned it all out. Yay me.
A/N: So, there is a little flashback to Sam's time at Stanford coming up and I used their lingo (which is on their sight) and it's all explained down at the bottom. I wanted it to seem like he was very comfortable and at home, so I used their lingo. Anyway, on to the reading and reviewing.
Warning: Slight sexual references… uh, I think that's it mostly.
Disclaimer: Just for fun. Song is by Flyleaf (they're good, check them out if you haven't)
Chapter Thirteen: Red Sam
Here I stand
Empty hands
Wishing my wrists were bleeding
To stop the pain from abating
There you stood
Holding me
Waiting for me to notice you
But who are you
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Out screaming these lies
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Saving my life
The warmth of your embrace
Melts my frostbitten spirit
You speak the truth and I hear it
The words are I love you
And I have to believe in you
Aimee threw the card down. "I win." She said with a smile. Dean frowned.
"I thought we were playing poker." He said softly, staring at the Ace of Diamonds she'd just thrown down. She smiled.
"We were. I win." She declared and got up. "Besides, it's time for your nap anyway."
"Dude, I'm not seven." Dean grumbled. Aimee put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side.
"Dude," she mocked. "I'm not giving you a choice." She explained. "It's either that, or the sponge bath." Dean pretended to think about it, but before his mouth could pronounce the "spooo" for the beginning of his most obvious answer, Aimee added something else. "And I'm just about off duty, Nurse Alder will being giving you your bath."
"You mean the hermaphrodite with huge boobs and chin hair?" Dean muttered. Aimee punched his chest. "Jesus, girl, no wonder I'm still here! You're going to kill me!"
"Cry me a river, you bitch." She smiled and then stood up when some commotion outside caught her ear.
"What's going on?" Dean asked, his fears for his father and his brother spiking instantly. Aimee smiled reassuringly at her most attractive patient… well, ever.
"Don't worry, Dean. Sam is better, and there is no reason for your father's health to decrease."
"You mean besides the fact that he's been completely unresponsive for two months."
"I really don't like your attitude."
"It's the highlight of your day." Dean insisted with a cheesy smile.
"You wish." She stuck her head out the hall and grabbed the nearest nurse. "Hey Pattie, what's going on?" She asked.
Pattie, the hermaphrodite with huge boobs and chin hair, as Dean had called her, stopped and Aimee left the room, shutting the door behind her. Dean sighed.
"I never hear the good stuff."
OUTSIDE DEAN'S ROOM
"Oh Aimee, its amazing." She whispered. "You know the comatose patient, the father of those boys who've been nursing?"
"John Winchester." Aimee corrected her. Pattie nodded.
"He woke up."
- - -
Aimee walked back inside slowly and watched from the doorway as Dean struggled to get into the bed.
She'd learned the hard way not to offer assistance. So she watched worriedly, praying he didn't fall or something.
Once her patient was safely lying down she walked over to his side, sat down and fished out his hand from under the covers.
"Dean," she began. He stared at their conjoined hands.
"What are you doing?" He asked curiously and she squeezed his hand.
"Your father," but he cut her off.
"What about him? Is he okay?" Dean started to get up. "Jesus, what happened…"
"He moved, Dean." Aimee said quickly and watched a million different emotions play across Dean Winchester's face. "When Sam was with him, he moved and now the doctors are prepping for his return to consciousness, they think its going to happen."
The million emotions continued on loop.
He moved! That's great! Now we can be a family again.
But he's going to want to get back to hunting, what if he ruins what I've all ready started? What if he wants to put Sammy back in danger again.
What if this is another false hope thing? What if he just spasmed or something like last time. Can I really afford to get my hopes up again?
He moved for Sam. The son who doesn't remember him. I spent five goddamn years—by myself—at that man's side and in the five goddamn seconds Sam is with him, he wakes up?
"Dean?" Aimee asked, and he barely noticed that her hand and traveled to his thigh. "Are you all right?"
"I want to see him."
- - -
After dropping Dean off at his father's room, where John Winchester's eyes were fluttering and he responded to the sound of his sons' voices, she disappeared into a room.
She walked over to the man lying on the gurney. The dead man. They'd just pulled the sheet over his face and were going out to tell the family the bad news.
Aimee ran her hand up the body, hovering only centimeters from the sheet, until her hand paused over the body's face. She grabbed the sheet and yanked it down, revealing the all ready discolored flesh beneath it.
The man couldn't have been more than thirty, native America, with beautiful hair. She smiled and ran her hand over his features.
"Your blood will not go to waste." She promised him and then pulled the knife from her jacket. She sliced open his neck, letting the blood pool into her cupped hand.
"This is a new connection between us, child." Father has whispered as he repaired the body, attempting to rejuvenate the soul.
"Father… I tried, I'm sorry."
"Shh, daughter." He whispered, stroking her forehead. "It's all right. We underestimated them, it will not happen again."
"This body… its dead… you cannot heal it."
"That's all right, I have found you a new one." He smiled.
With this new connection, there was no need for the ceremonious calling cup. Blood was all that was necessary, as long as it wasn't hers.
"Father," she whispered. "John Winchester is awake."
Aimee smiled, it was time to get her revenge on the man who had almost killed her. He had done away with her body, and her identity.
She was Aimee now, but the complete madness behind that delicate smile was utterly Meg.
ONE MONTH LATER
"You okay?" Sam asked, looking up from his book, at his brother who was sitting on the end of the motel bed, rubbing his temples.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Just a headache. Get me some aspirin, will ya?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, setting his book down and walking over to the counter and retrieving the bottle of brandless pain reliever. He opened it for Dean, knowing his brother had always been foiled by those nasty child protection things.
"Here." Sam handed him two pills and a bottle of water. Dean was about to say something along the lines of "more", but Sam was stern. "You only need two." Dean couldn't help but smile as he took the offerings.
"Yes, Mother." He muttered and tossed the pills back with a sip of water. He groaned and fell back on his bed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.
"You've been getting them a lot lately." Sam mused, trying to sound innocent and less like an interrogator.
"I've been stressed, Sam." Dean explained. "Dad is re-learning how to live, in case you've missed that. You're insisting on going back to college, and I've been working at the most godforsaken place ever."
"You done?" Sam asked, a smile on his face. Dean shook his head.
"No, I'm not." He insisted. "And you, Mother-Hen, won't give me more than two aspirin when it feels like someone is driving ice picks through both my eyes and jerking them around." Dean sighed.
"Done now?" Sam asked, putting the book down once more and rising to his feet. Dean nodded. "Good, because I have good news."
Dean raised his eyebrows, indicating that he was listening.
"I've saved a little extra money from that… horrible job experience I had." Sam explained and watched Dean smile.
Sam had applied to work at a restaurant, a real nice place, and every table was served a salad first. It was Sam's job to serve said salad, but he was supposed to toss it, make it look fancy. Well, those little tong instruments he was supposed to use were designed for right handed folk, which Sam found out just did not work for him. (You see, Sam and Dean are both ambidextrous, though Sam tends to favor his left, while Dean favors his right) Needless to say, he ended up throwing salad on two very important customers, the manager's father and mother in law. And when he went to clean it up, he just made matters worse by tipping over the lady's wine glass into her lap and then leaning over the candle and catching his uniform on fire. It was a complete disaster.
Sam quit before they could fire him.
"And well, I want to take you to dinner, since I did miss your birthday and all and now that I actually can remember your birthday." Sam said happily.
It was true, he was remembering much more. He could tell you his life story, of course leaving out small details such as insignificant camping trips or his fifth grade teacher.
Oh yeah, and the fact that they were supernatural hunters.
Dean wasn't sure how Sam had managed to forget about remembering that, but he was thankful for it. Part of him suspected it was mostly because Sam didn't want to remember it, not that he couldn't.
Either way he wasn't complaining because at least it left Sam out of trouble. Dean on the other hand, was continuing to hunt, mostly at night or when Sam was at the library studying for his entrance exam.
That's right, Sam was trying to get back into Stanford, much to the dismay of his older brother. Dean was quite uneasy about letting Sam out of his sight for too long, he wasn't sure what could happen.
Dean looked at his brother, his eyes shining with an excitement Dean had missed, and groaned.
"Sam," he whined.
"Come on, it's a burger joint." Sam teased. "Just come on, man. You're not eating as much and I'm getting kinda worried in all honesty. Just let me take you to dinner."
"Kinda sounds like a date to me." Dean teased. Sam smiled at him and shrugged.
"Call it whatever you want." Sam said as he walked towards the bathroom. "I'm just offering you a free burger and a free beer."
"Get your coat then and let's go."
- - -
Dean ordered a cheeseburger with bacon and onion rings. Sam had caved and let him get a nice Corona.
"I love you little brother, you know that?" Dean asked and sipped from the bottle. Sam nodded and absently ran his fry through his ketchup.
"Mmm hmm." He mumbled.
"Dean, Dean Winchester?" Someone asked. Sam and Dean both looked up to see a young woman standing there.
"Emile." Dean said with a smile and got to his feet to greet her. "Hey, how are you?" She smiled and swept a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Good, I'm good." She explained, nodding her head. "How are you?"
"The same." He smiled and looked at Sam. "Emile, this is my brother Sam. Sam this is Emile."
They shared a smile and a "nice to meet you" "oh and you too". Before an awkward silence settled.
"So, I just wanted to thank you again for doing that job for me. That gh…"
"Yeah, no problem." Dean cut her off. She frowned slightly. "Well, it was great seeing you again." She nodded, still frowning.
"Yeah, you too. Bye." Dean waited for her to leave and then sat down, ignoring Sam's stare.
"What'd you help her with?" Sam asked curiously. Dean shrugged, staring at his food.
"Her spark plugs were shot, she brought in her car and I fixed it free of charge." Dean explained. (Oh that's right, Dean Winchester works at a garage, the same garage where his baby is getting repaired.)
"Oh. So, how is the Impala coming along?" Sam asked. Dean sighed.
"Not good." He admitted. " Her parts are really hard to find, not to mention expensive. I'm almost thinking about putting her in a garage and waiting to fix her, because we don't have that kind of money. Especially with you going back…"
"I'll wait on that if you want to get your car."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"I'm offering." Sam said strongly and leaned forward to whisper to Dean. "I get that this isn't going to be easy for you, me leaving, and I want to make it the easiest it can be." He smiled. "I figure if you get your car, you won't be as lonely."
"Oh Sammy, you know a car could never take your place." Dean cooed. "She can't buy me dinners."
Sam smiled at him. "But honestly Dean, I'd do it."
"Thanks for the offer Sam, but no."
- - -
"You go ahead, I'll meet you there." Dean called over his shoulder as he left Sam outside their father's recovery room.
Dean rounded the corner and small hands grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him into a room. He was shoved against the closed door and a body was pressed close to his.
"What are you doing here?" A voice hissed in his ear, lips touching his earlobe. Hands slid down his chest, over his abs.
Dean licked his lower lip and let the corner of his mouth twitch into a grin. "I came to see my Dad, and maybe you."
Aimee smiled and kissed him hard on the lips. "I've missed you." She whispered. "You don't come around as often anymore."
Dean shrugged and ran his hands down her back. "I don't see any need to, honestly. Dad is in good hands." He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. "And Sam is out, I'm good…"
"Except for that little addiction you've developed. Dean, if you're still in pain, maybe you should let someone check up on you…"
"It's my headaches. It's just stress." Dean lied with the grace and flawlessness of an Oscar winning actor. "They'll stop once my family is right again."
Right again? When could this family ever be right again?
She bit her lip. "I don't feel right giving it to you."
"Then don't." Dean cooed. "But you know as well as I do that I'm perfectly capable of stealing it." He kissed her cheek. "And if I do that, well, I will probably apprehend lethal doses and then I'll die. You won't want that on your shoulders."
She slapped his chest. "You're a mean man, Dean Winchester." She pouted and handed him a bag. "There are some extra supplies in there, since you come in less and less lately."
"Thanks. I appreciate this." Dean whispered, taking a peek at the syringes and vials of morphine. He looked up to see Aimee staring at him, appraising him, his condition. She put her hand on the top of his head and tipped his head back to get a better look at the new cut on his forehead.
"What happened here?" She asked curiously. Dean smiled cutely.
"I hit my head on the underside of a car. That's a dangerous job, that mechanic job." He lied and stuffed the bag into the back of his pants.
"It sure is." She said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well, I should go." Dean said and kissed her forehead. "See you soon." Then he left and Aimee smiled wickedly.
The morphine dulled his pain yes, but it dulled him, dulled Dean.
And Dean was Sam's best defense against them. Little did the older brother know that he was leaving Sam more vulnerable than he'd ever been.
You're not helping anyone here, Dean.
You're killing yourself and taking Sammy with you.
- - -
Sam sat down beside his father's bed. The man was coming back to himself. He was still unconscious most of the time, but he had his moments.
He couldn't speak well, maybe three words at a time, all horribly slurred and nearly inaudible. His movements are sluggish or jerky and he has yet to regain feeling in his left side.
But it's Dad and that's good enough for the boys.
"Hey, Dad." Sam said with a smile and as his father's eyes flickered open. John let his head roll to the side and he smiled at his youngest.
"San-ee." John mumbled. Sam nodded and grasped his father's hand tightly.
"Yeah, its Sam."
"Dean?" John asked, looking around the room. Sam squeezed his hand reassuringly.
"He'll be right back. He…" Sam realized he didn't know what Dean was doing. "He'll be back." Sam clarified.
They held each other's gaze for a while and Sam watched a smile come to his father's face.
"Hi." John said softly. Sam laughed and smiled back.
"Hi." And all those bitter feelings he barely remembered having, dispersed and somehow, Sam felt lighter. Like all that pain and guilt weighing on his soul was finally gone.
"The…. Coh…t." John stammered. Sam frowned and leaned closer.
"Coat?" Sam asked. John gave a grunt of disapproval. "Cold?" Sam asked. "What Dad, I don't…"
The door opened and Dean came in with a smile on his face. He saw their little meeting and his smile disappeared.
"You're awake." Dean said with a grin. "You normally save that for your private visits with Sammy-boy."
And they all heard the bitter betrayal there.
"Dean…" John muttered, and somehow Dean knew what his father wanted to say. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, Sam we should probably go. I have to be at work…"
"Don't… go…"
Dean cleared his throat and looked away from his father. "We have to. We'll come around soon, Dad." Dean left with that and Sam looked apologetically at his father.
"He's been really stressed lately with everything." Sam explained. "Work is taking a lot out of him, and me wanting to go back to school… and he's been getting these chronic headaches and these bad nightmares…"
The sparkle in John's eye made Sam think his father knew more about this than either of them did.
Unfortunately that was locked away in John's mind along with many other things that would bring the real Sam back. Not this diet Sam.
All the personality, none of the supernatural flavors.
Sam smiled and let go of his father's hand. "Go back to sleep, Dad. We'll visit again soon. Promise."
- - -
Dean was waiting outside, leaning against the Impala.
"What the hell is your problem, Dean?" Sam yelled, walking towards him. Dean looked up at that and shrugged.
"What are you…"
"You know very well what I'm talking about. You're treating Dad like crap, you barely talk to him and you act like he betrayed you somehow by waking up!" Sam yelled. "Now, talk to me and tell me what the hell is going on in that messed up head of yours."
Dean stared at his brother, considering, honestly considering to let Sam have it. To just let it all out and scream at his brother. Instead he smirked and shook his head, snorting in disgust.
"You wouldn't get it, Sam." Dean insisted.
Sam held out his arms at his side, cocking his head to the side. "Try me."
"Just drop it, Sam. Alright? Drop it." Dean ordered and got into the car. Sam bit at his lower lip angrily before getting into the car and slamming the door. "Don't." Dean warned.
"What?" Sam snapped, turning to look at his brother.
"Don't throw this little pissy routine with me, Sam. I'm sick of it and it needs to stop. For good. You have a problem with me, you tell me, don't act like a little bitch." Dean said angrily, poking his brother's chest.
"Shouldn't that go the same way?" Sam asked.
"I don't have a problem with you." Dean insisted. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, whatever Dean." Sam slumped down in his seat and propped his knees against the dash, turning to look out the window.
"You kill me, you kill Daddy too." John hissed, his eyes glowing yellow. Sam stood strong, a gun raised.
"I know." And he fired the ancient looking gun. The Colt. And the bullet hit his father's leg, sending John to the floor.
The gun was discarded and Sam ran to his brother's side. Dean was on the ground, arms wrapped around his bloodied middle, eyes half lidded.
"Dean, hey." Sam said softly, soothingly. But that front shattered instantly when he saw all the blood. All that red. "Oh god, you've lost a lot of blood."
"Where's Dad?" Dean asked, gritting his teeth out of pain, his chin stained red from the blood streaming from his lips.
"He's right here, he's right here Dean."
"Go check on him…" Dean whispered, more blood coating his teeth. Sam's face crumbled slightly and he hesitated.
"Dean?"
"Go check on him." Dean's voice was weaker, but more persistent somehow. Sam still hesitated, but strayed over to the prone form of his father.
"Dad?" Nothing. "Dad?"
Suddenly John lifted his head. "Sammy!" He screamed, face strained and teeth bared in struggle. "It's still alive. It's inside me. I can feel it. You shoot me. You shoot me in the heart son! Do it now!"
Sam raised the Colt and cocked it.
"Sam, don't you do it!" Dean cried, fighting the darkness edging towards him tooth and nail.
And the battle raged on. John crying for the end, Dean crying for another day together and Sam wanted both.
In the end, his family meant more.
Sam gasped from the sudden rush and grasped his head in his hands. Dean's hand was strong on his shoulder.
"Sam, say something! Sammy!" Dean yelled, his eyes wide with concern. Sam took a deep breath; he was shaking and felt sweat between his shoulder blades.
"I… shot Dad?" Sam whispered brokenly. The hand on his shoulder jerked and Sam looked at Dean, his face taking on a milky white hue as though he were about to be sick. Sam swallowed and it hurt, his throat scratchy and dry.
"What… what are you talking about, Sam?" Dean whispered. "You never… Christ…" Dean let go of his brother and ran his hands over his face. "It was just a nightmare…"
"Dean! I'm awake!" Sam cried. Dean hit the steering wheel.
"I know! Damn it I know that!" Dean yelled back. "Just… just… oh God." He got out of the car and walked to the edge of the parking lot, muttering and swearing to himself, pulling at his hair.
Sam watched him from the car, wondering if his brother was about to have a break down. He closed his eyes and tried to recount the… nightmare as Dean had called it. But it was all fuzzy. None of the details were there, just the gist. Sam had shot his father and his brother had been dying.
He'd seen it.
And according to this dream—memory—he'd lived it too.
- - -
Dean paced back and forth.
Damn it. The walls were falling in on his plan all ready! Some mystical priestess Eve turned out to be.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking and his head was pounding. His heart was going to beat out of his chest and his stomach was churning and—Jesus Christ calm the hell down, Dean.
He took a deep breath. "Just calm down. You can fix this. You can… somehow." Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, grabbing the wrist of the violator and twisting it until it was shoved against the person's back.
"Ow! Damn it Dean, it's me!" Sam yelped. Dean let go and took a few steps back, his hands in the air like he'd broken Sam's wrist instead of merely twisting it.
"Sorry, Sam. I'm sorry." Dean mumbled, shaking his head.
"Dean, calm down, it's fine." Sam whispered soothingly, rubbing his wrist. Dean shook his head.
"No Sam it's not fine!" Dean cried and Sam flinched at the unnatural tone of his brother's voice. So upset, so… scared. "Nothings fine anymore!"
"Dean…"
"And you don't get it!" Dean yelled, mostly to himself, a hysterical smile on his face. "You don't freaking understand and that's my fault." He sat down on the curb and put her head in h is hands. "Everything is my fault…"
Sam sat down next to his brother and gripped his shoulder with one hand, his bicep with the other. "Dean, look at me." Sam demanded.
Dean snorted. "Don't try it, Sammy."
"Look at me." Sam demanded once more. Slowly and grudgingly, Dean lifted his head and looked at his brother. "It's not your fault." Dean smiled at his brother's naivety and shook his head.
"You don't even know, Sam." And Dean's voice almost sounded like a wail. "You don't… you don't remember and that's my fault."
"So you drove the semi into the Impala, huh?" Sam asked. Dean looked at him with a creased brow.
"No, but I…"
"Then you didn't do it. It's not your fault." Sam insisted. Dean shook his head, letting it fall between his hands again. He rubbed at his temples.
Sam watched the slow gentle circles of Dean's fingers turn into rough gouging circles. "Dean, hey, stop!" Sam demanded and knocked Dean's hands down. "What are you doing?"
God, had Dean really lost it? What the hell was going on with him?
Sam was scared. Really and truly scared out of his mind because he knew this wasn't Dean. He knew his brother well enough, he had enough memories in his damaged brain to know that this wasn't his brother.
"These headaches, Sammy." Dean whispered, his eyes closed tightly. "They're driving me crazy."
Sam stood up, still holding his brother's arm and hoisted Dean to his feet. His brother staggered slightly, but Sam held him up.
"Come on then, let's go back to the motel and I'll get you some aspirin."
"Can I have more than two this time, Ma?" Dean asked meekly. Sam smiled and shrugged, one hand still on his brother's arm.
It worried him that Dean wasn't trying to shove him off.
"If you're a good boy, I'll consider it." Sam kept his face stone serious and Dean grunted in amusement.
- - -
"Tea?" Eve asked softly, her hand resting over her stomach. She was seven months along.
God it seemed like years since she'd been able to wear normal jeans.
"Yes please." Missouri said gently, eyeing the kitchen. Eve nodded and poured some of the hot water into a mug and dropped in a tea bag. She handed it to Missouri. "Why thank you, child."
Eve smiled and nodded. Missouri reminded her of her Grandma Isabella. Eve sat down slowly, her stomach was quite an obstacle, and looked at Missouri.
"Not that it isn't great to finally meet you in person, Miss Mosley," Eve started. Missouri lifted her hand.
"Missouri, please. No need to be so formal."
"Alright, Missouri. Like I said, not that this isn't a wonderful surprise. But what are you doing here?" Eve asked.
"You get right to the point, don't you?" Missouri asked. Eve shrugged.
"I assume we're going to discuss Sam or Dean. If one of them died, I want to know fast so I don't have time to work myself up." Eve explained. "But that's all ready happened, so just tell me. Dean's dead, isn't he?"
"No, honey no. That idiot is still alive." Missouri explained and watched Eve exhale. Missouri stared at her for a minute, appraising her. "You love him." She realized. Eve rested her face in her hands.
"Yeah." She nodded, whispering. "But we can't… it's not possible."
"Anything is possible. The Winchesters are proof of that." Missouri reminded her. Eve shook her head.
"No disrespect, but I don't think you understand who I am… what I am. He kills things like me. What I am, I can't change it and neither can he." She shrugged. "We're as different as night and day. We accept it."
"Dean Winchester rarely accepts things unless they're what he wants."
"Then I guess this is what he wants." Eve snapped and then stared at the steaming cup of tea. A few moments of silence past and Eve spoke again. "So, if you're not delivering me their death certificates, why are you here?"
"A few months ago, Dean contacted me and asked a quite large favor of me." Missouri explained. "He asked me to take away Sam's abilities and transfer them to him." Missouri paused to gauge Eve's reaction.
The girl managed to stay unreadable.
"And as you know, that's dark magic, something I've always avoided." Missouri sighed. "But I know the boy and I knew he wasn't going to give up when I said no. Now, I know what you are, and what you do… so I had a feeling he'd probably come to you." Missouri leaned closer. "Eve, did you do it?"
Eve took a while to answer before she whispered a "yes."
Missouri sighed heavily and sat back against the chair. "Honey, I understand you love the boy… but what you did will kill him."
"I know." Eve said simply, getting up and walking towards the sink to rinse the dishes. "That's why I only gave him the visions."
"So Sam…" Missouri was interrupted.
"Is still telekinetic?" Eve asked and Missouri nodded. "Yeah, he is."
- - -
Dean grit his teeth and he tied the string tightly around his upper arm. He flexed a few times and then filled the syringe. He tapped the glass and expelled any air bubbles before finding his vein and injecting the glorious morphine into his blood stream.
He untied the string and flexed a few more times before stripping down and getting into the shower.
As the water got hotter and he washed away the stench of that major huge chick-flick meltdown, he felt the drugs taking hold and calming him, dulling any, and all pain. He closed his eyes and braced himself against the wall.
He had another hunt tonight. Some black dog that was frightening the children or some crap like that. In and out. It'd be simple.
But the damn headache.
Would a little more morphine really be that bad?
- - -
Sam was working at his laptop when Dean sauntered out of the bathroom, looking clean and fresh and… happy.
"Feel better?" Sam asked, looking up from Stanford's webpage. Dean nodded and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair.
"Yep." He explained and he swung it around his back and slipped his arms into it. He grabbed his shoes and sat down on the bed to put them on.
"Are you going somewhere?" Sam asked curiously, shutting the laptop. Dean nodded, but didn't look up from tying his shoelace.
"Someone has to put bread on the table, Sammy-boy. I've got work. You knew that. I wrote it on the calendar last week." Dean explained, nodding his head at the swimsuit edition sports-illustrated calendar on the wall.
Sure enough, on the space for Thursday—today—were the words "Dean: work 7-closing". Sam sighed. He didn't really want to let Dean go, not after what had happened today.
"Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" Sam asked softly. No, of course he couldn't say what he really wanted to. I don't want you to go. I'm worried.
Dean nodded. "Like I said, someone needs to make the money you eat away." He teased. But that just made Sam remember how little Dean had been eating.
Sam tossed Dean a paper sack. "Then take this with you."
"You made me a lunch?" Dean asked incredulously, peering at the contents. Sam laughed and nodded.
"Kinda, but its more a dinner/breakfast type thing." Sam explained, trying to lighten the seriousness of the gesture.
"Thanks, but why don't you save it? I don't have a lunch break or anything…"
"I doubt the garage will be swarming with work this late at night, Dean." Sam said honestly. Dean nodded.
"Thanks, but no thanks." Dean tossed the bag back on the bed and started to walk towards the door.
"Dean, come on…" Sam's voice was close to pleading. "Man, you're sick or something. These headaches… you're not eating…"
"I'm not hungry, Sam. I eat when I'm hungry." Dean explained. "Stop treating me like I'm five, okay? You're pissing me off."
"And you're worrying me, Dean." Sam yelled. "Look, you don't understand. Dude, you're the only person I have right now." Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm lost, Dean. I don't… I have holes in my memory, I don't remember my life man. You're the only person I remember having that… that family thing with. Dean, I can't lose you, okay? I can't." Sam explained. Dean softened and he walked over and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"You're not going to lose anybody, Sam." Dean promised and groaned jokingly as Sam pulled them into a hug. "Do you remember that I hate touchy-feely moments?" Dean whispered after a good two seconds of hugging.
Sam laughed and nodded. "Yeah, that much I remember." He whispered and reluctantly let go.
"Gees, all that to get me to eat your stinking lunch." Dean grumbled and Sam's smile grew bigger. "If this sandwich is dry I'm going to kick your ass." Dean threatened before walking out the door, he paused before he shut it. "Don't wait up, okay? I might go grab a beer with the guys… so don't worry. I'll call you if I get hammered." He teased and then left.
Sam sighed heavily and sat back down in his chair, feeling less stressed and emotionally lighter.
He re-opened his laptop and returned to the Stanford website. He smiled at the off white background and maroon lettering. He looked at the small collage of pictures, of the parties, the flags team and the graduates and he knew (but didn't really know) that he had been part of that once.
And he wanted to be part of that again.
He read the introduction out loud to the room "Located between San Francisco and San Jose in the heart of Silicon Valley, Stanford University is recognized as one of the world's leading research and teaching institutions."
- - -
"Sam! Come on!" Jessica called, tossing her hair up into the ponytail. "The Big Game is about to start." She explained.
"I don't see why we have to go." Sam whined. Jessica pouted mockingly and walked backwards towards the door.
"Because, Samantha." She drawled. "This is the biggest game of the year, not the mention the last. Don't you want to watch Chris cream some of the Berkley boys?"
"Are we going to go Fountain Hopping this time?" Sam asked, pulling on his coat. Jessica nodded excitedly, she always looked forward to this type of stuff. She was an avid member of the ASSU (Associate Students of Stanford University), Stanford's student government .
"Of course we are. And I'm going to push you right into The Claw." She smiled. Sam shook his head.
"No way, we'll get caught. The RAs are all over that tonight." Sam reminded her. Jessica shrugged and opened the door.
"I know all the RAs, I'll promise them some beers at Co Ho." She grabbed his hands and pulled him out the door.
"It's Dead Week, Jess." Sam whined. "We should be studying for finals." Jessica rolled her eyes and walked close to him as they walked to pick up Greg.
"Greg! Get your ass out here!" Jessica yelled, pounding on his window. Thankfully Greg was on the floor level with a window against the sidewalk.
Greg opened the window and looked at them. "Dude, I can't go."
"Why not?" Jessica asked, truly disappointed. "Don't leave me with the Mope all night." She begged. Sam tickled her sides until she socked him in the stomach and kissed his forehead when he pinched forward.
"He's probably studying for finals, like we should be doing." Sam explained. Greg shook his head.
"Actually I'm working on my article for The Daily… you know about that PAA who died last week?" Greg asked. "Cherrie talked about it on The Zoo last week."
Sam nodded. "Right… what did they say happened to her again?" He asked and received a weird look from Jessica.
Greg shrugged. "Murder of some kind. Real gruesome too. She was at her family's cabin, they think maybe a bear or maybe Freddie Kruger." Jessica crossed her arms over her chest.
"That's not funny, Greg." But she couldn't completely mask her smile. Sam on the other hand was completely serious.
"Doubt it was him. Probably wasn't a bear either…"
"Sam… lighten up. It was a joke." Greg said, giving Sam a weird look. Jessica grabbed Sam's arm.
"Babe, if you're really that worried about studying, just go back. I'll explain to Becky why you missed her performance with the Dollies, she'll totally understand." Jessica said sarcastically.
"I'm going." Sam whispered and looked back at Greg as they walked away. "We're going to the City tomorrow, right?"
"Totally." Greg yelled back. "Dude, meet me at Stern Dining Hall tomorrow and we'll grab some breakfast and go."
Sam and Jessica walked mostly in silence through the Farm and Sam slowing wrapped his arm around her when they heard a scream and she flinched.
"Sounds like someone is doing their Primal Scream a little early." She joked. Sam nodded and kissed the top of her head.
As they walked past one of the fraternities, the door opened. "Hey, Sammy!" It was Zack and he was totally wasted. "Want to stop for a beer?" He asked.
"Shouldn't you be at the game?" Jessica yelled back. Zack shrugged. "Becky is going to castrate you for missing this."
"She'll get over it." Zack slurred. "Come on, sobers, we got EANABs in here for ya too." Sam smiled.
"Thanks but no thanks, bud. We have to go the game." Sam explained, a little disappointed. It wasn't everyday he got invited to an upperclass fraternity party.
Jessica grabbed his arm. "You know, I could go for a beer."
They never made it to the game.
- - -
Sam jerked away when the phone rang. He slapped his hand on the desk blindly, still mostly asleep.
He found the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?" No answer, just another ring. "Oh, come on, Sam…" He opened the phone and then answered. "Hello?"
"Hey, Sam… this is Big Louie. Is your brother around?" The man on the other end asked. "I can't seem to reach him on his cell phone." Sam frowned, knowing it probably showed in his tone.
"No, he just left…" Sam meant to say "for work" but something he liked to call common sense, not common curiosity, stopped him. He picked up the silver pen that lay on the table and began to doodle on the surface, hell, it was junk anyway.
"Oh, well I just wanted to let him know that I've got his final paycheck down here and he can come collect it whenever he wants. Also, I moved the Impala to that storage place he wanted." He paused. "Oh, and I wrote him a recommendation. He's a good mechanic when he shows up."
"When he shows up?" Sam asked, dropping the pen back to the table. Louie sighed on the other end.
"Your brother, he's a good worker, really skilled with his hands, especially when it comes to cars. But he's always gone. I had to let him go, it was getting ridiculous. And all those injuries, I don't know what you're brother does after work… but whatever it is you should tell him to quit it. Lord knows I told him enough." He paused. "And he's been kinda… scatterbrained lately, he almost raised up a car yesterday before putting the brakes on. Coulda killed himself and a lotta others." Louie sighed. "If it woulda been anyone else, I would have suspected drug use, but not your brother, he's not dumb enough for that."
"I wouldn't doubt it." Sam whispered.
"What was that?"
"When did you fire him?" Sam asked.
"He didn't tell you?" Louie sounded genuinely surprised that Dean would keep something like that from his little brother, a man he talked about with such respect.
"Not yet." Sam admitted.
"Sam, I fired your brother damn near two weeks ago." Louie said softly. "Maybe he's got a new job now…"
"Maybe." But Sam doubted it. "Thanks for calling, Louie. I'll give him your message. I appreciate you being honest with me."
"'Course… now, you two look after each other."
"Will do. Goodbye Louie."
"Take care, bye Sam."
They hung up and Sam resisted the urge to throw the phone at the wall as hard as he could.
Damn you, Dean.
So, if he hadn't been out late at work for the past two weeks, where the hell had be been? And what was that about being scatterbrained?
Drug use? Dean? No way. It wasn't even an option… right?
Of course not.
What about those injuries then? What were they from?
Sam was so angry, and that pesky pressure growing in the back of his head was not helping one little bit.
And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got and the more the pressure spread.
When he'd finally reached an all time high level of hysteria where he depicted Dean out late, shooting up heroin with topless dancers on his lap, the pain had reached that spot between his eyes, you know, the worst place for a headache to go.
Sam clutched his head and stared intently at the table, willing the pain away. His eyes drifted to the pen he'd been using to doodle on the table while he'd been talking to Louie.
It felt like his head was going to split in two. He finally let out a cry, a manly one of course, and the pen flew across the room, hitting the wall with a dull thud and landing harmlessly on the carpet.
Harmless… right.
"Who the hell am I?" Sam whispered and pointedly ignored the flying pen (there are just some places the mind refuses to go, like when you discover you're a freak, not a good place to go) and opened his laptop, this time searching for something else, or someone else rather.
Sam Winchester.
Dean Winchester.
John Winchester.
- - -
The door opened late that night.
Sam looked up from the desk, his eyes thankful for the change of scenery. He'd been staring at that obiterary for the last hour at least.
His legs were crossed, cradeling the portable computer in his lap—like it's supposed to be—and his head rested in his cupped left hand, the elbow of which rested on the table.
The light of the computer shining on his face only accentuated the very obvious frown he wore.
Dean crept in slowly, making the least noise he could. He turned his back to Sam, oblivious of his presence and shut the door slowly and softly, wincing at the small clicking noise it made as it closed. He sighed and leaned against the door, resting momentarily.
When he went to push off, he grunted and fell back against it.
Drunk, Sam figured.
"I'm awake, Dean." Sam said loudly, the noise echoing in the silent room and thoroughly startling his older brother. Dean flinched and couldn't quite bite off the small gasp of surprise.
He whirled around, a very guilty grin on his face. "Oh Sammy, hey… I didn't see you there." He explained, pointing lazily. "How are you?"
Sam just shook his head. "Don't." He ordered. "Where have you been?" Sam asked. Dean looked at him, then nodded pointedly at the calendar.
"We went over this, I had work."
"Oh really?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised. Dean nodded.
"Yeah, really." Dean mocked Sam's tone. "What? You know something I should, Sammy boy?"
"Like how you got fired?" Sam asked. And Dean Winchester deflated.
"Oh… that."
"Yeah, that." Sam said angrily. "Louie called me to tell me that he has your final paycheck. He also said some other interesting things, like how you never showed up, and when you did, you were totally out of it…" Sam crossed his arms. "He was thinking you were on drugs or something. What is going on, Dean?"
"Just leave it, Sam." Dean said tiredly, sitting down on the end of the nearest bed, which turned out to be Sam's.
"No, Dean. What is going on with you?" Sam yelled. Dean looked at him for a moment and Sam saw how glassy his eyes were.
"Fine, Sam, okay? I got fired. I gore fired because I'm a no good screw up and I can't do anything right. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Dean yelled, getting to his feet. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous." He shook his head. "I just want to know where you've been going, why you've got all those injuries and what is causing those headaches, because damn it Dean, work isn't an excuse anymore."
Dean groaned. "Leave me alone, Sam." He said softly. "I'm tired, and I want to take a shower." He headed towards the bathroom, but Sam grabbed his arm.
"No, Dean. We're going to talk about everything. I get that you don't think I remember enough to understand… but I remember enough to know that the way you're acting is not you." Sam paused to look at his brother. Dean's was clenched tightly and he was staring at Sam's hand, blinking as if to ward away tears. "Dean?" Sam asked worriedly, squeezing Dean's arm.
With that, Dean winced. "Leggo my arm." He whispered in a strained voice. Sam looked down and gasped, dropping his brother's arm immediately and involuntarily taking a step back.
Dean's entire shirt sleeve was red, and the stain was growing. How Sam hadn't seen it before…
"Dean!" Sam cried and guided his brother to the bed. "What the hell happened?" He asked. Dean grimaced as his little brother forced his shirt over his head.
"Would you believe I got in a nasty fight with a rake?" Dean asked with a grin. Sam shook his head and glared.
"This isn't funny." Sam whispered. He stared at the wound. "Christ…" There were three large parallel gashes running diagonally from Dean's left shoulder, over his collarbone, over his sternum, over his ribs and through his right bicep, like something had sliced him on the run.
They were deep enough to need stitches, all three, but none were deep enough to be fatal, just painful.
"They look worse than they feel." Dean whispered softly, attempting to soothe his brother. Sam sat down next to him and stared, mouth agape.
"I uh," he cleared his throat. "I need to dress them." He stammered, completely in shock, running on an unfamiliar yet somehow comforting autopilot.
"Sam, I can do that." Dean started to get up, but Sam shoved him back down. Actually shoved him, but neither of them said anything. Not a "sorry" for a Sam, or a "what the hell?" from Dean. Just a twice as painful silence.
"No, I'll do it. Just sit down." Sam insisted. He got up and got the first aide kit from Dean's bag. Dean didn't remember ever telling his brother where it was kept… or re-telling him rather.
"Weird thing is, Dean." Sam whispered as he got out the necessary items. "All this seems normal, familiar almost." He turned to Dean with the gauze and cleaning alcohol.
"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, eyes never meeting his brother's. Sam nodded.
"Yeah." And Sam knew he'd be waiting for ever if he asked his brother for an explanation why he knew exactly how to do what he was about to. "This will be easier if you lie down." Dean smirked.
"Watch what you say there, little brother." Dean teased.
"Just do it, Dean." The youngest brother demanded exasperatedly.
"Yes, Sir." Dean laid back and set about cleaning the cuts and stitching them, and then bandaging the wounds. Everything felt like second nature to him.
"So, I don't suppose you're going to tell me what really happened." Sam muttered as he cleaned up. Dean was still lying shirtless on the bed, one leg hanging off the side, his arms thrown over his eyes.
Dean nodded, pointing at him. "Hey!" He said excitedly with a smile. "You'd be right with that one." Then he let his hands fall back on his face.
"Dean, I knew how to stitch that up…" Sam whispered. "I wasn't studying to be a Doctor, so why the hell do I know how to do that?" Sam asked.
"Because you're a smart kid, Sam." Dean explained tiredly. "Do you have to question everything? Next you'll be asking me why I'm shorter than you. It's because the world is a cruel and messed up place and you needed that height advantage to make up for all your other disadvantages."
"I'm being serious here Dean." Sam said angrily and sat down on the opposite bed. He let his head fall forward. "Dean… I moved a pen today."
Dean lifted up onto his elbows, grunting as the action pulled at his stitches. "Like you threw it or something, right?" And the tremor in his voice clued Sam into the fact that Dean knew exactly what he meant.
Sam lifted his head and shook his head once. "Without touching it." He whispered. Dean closed his eyes and laid back down. "With my mind, Dean! My mind!" He cried.
"I heard you the first time, alright Sam. I heard you. Just let me think for a second." Dean whispered. Sam got off his bed and sat down next to Dean. "Sam, I need to think, without you sitting on top of me."
"Who are we, Dean?" Sam asked softly.
"Sam and Dean Winchester." Dean explained, opening his eyes to look at him. "You think I lied to you about who we are?"
"Well then, according to a St. Louis obituary, you're dead. Not only that, but you're a murderer."
"That was a misunderstanding." Dean explained, closing his head again. God, the headaches were just getting worse.
"So you have a twin who died in St. Louis, who was suspected of murder?" Sam yelled.
"You so you don't trust me all the sudden Sam?" Dean yelled. "Before I left, you said I was the only person you had left…"
"And you said I was going to lose you!" Sam yelled back and got to his feet. "You could have died tonight, Dean. And I wouldn't have even known. Did you think about that? Did you even think about me when you went out there doing whatever? If you would have died I would have spent possibly years wondering what happened until some shmuck ran across your remains. I'm going to be the one to bury you Dean, so just tell me what is going to kill you so I know what to blame and then find and tear apart!" His voice cracked and he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on Dean, and not to cry. But he failed both and let his head fall forward.
He knew it sounded selfish, but damn, he was scared out of what little of his mind he had left. If Dean had died… he would have been lost. Sam might have never known what happened to him.
"Look, Sammy… I messed up tonight. It won't happen again." Dean got up, albeit slowly and painfully, but he got up. He grabbed Sam's shoulders and squeezed them. "I'm not going anywhere." He smiled. "You're stuck with me."
"Tell me where you were…" Sam begged.
"Hunting." Dean whispered. "I was hunting. No drop it, okay Sam?"
"What…"
"Leave it alone!" Dean yelled and then doubled over groaning, pressing a hand to his chest, where the cuts burned the most. "Sonofabitch."
"Dean." Sam whispered and grabbed his arm.
But emotions were high and that electrical after shock that clung to Sam like static cling helped send Dean into darkness with a weak cry.
"Dean!" Sam yelped and caught his brother before he hit the ground, just barely. Taken by surprise and not quite ready to deal with the weight, Sam sent them both slowly to the ground. He pulled his brother to his body and let Dean's back rest against his chest, his head tipped back on his shoulder. "Oh Christ, Dean I'm sorry… I don't know… I didn't'…" He hugged Dean softly and rested his face against Dean's hair. "I'm sorry." He whispered.
Dean stirred weakly and groaned. "It's not your fault, Sam." Dean whispered.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked.
"Headache." Dean whispered.
"What can I do to help?" Sam asked, standing slowly and bringing Dean with him. Dean whimpered. "I'm sorry." Sam whispered. "I'm just going to put you to bed." He laid Dean on the bed and took off his shoes and tugged off his jeans, leaving Dean in just his boxers. He tucked him in. "What can I do?"
"Turn off the lights." Dean whispered. Sam ran to the light switch and turned off every light in the room. "Sam…" Dean whispered.
"Yeah." Sam hurried to Dean's side and placed a hand on his brother's arm. Dean swallowed.
"I have… I have some morphine in my bag…"
"Morphine… Dean?" Sam asked, alarmed.
"Please, Sam." Dean whispered, hating himself. He was supposed to stay strong for Sam, not beg for drugs. And here he was, about to admit his weakness. "I can handle these headaches…"
"I'm going to take you to the hospital…"
"No!" Dean cried and winced.
"Dean! You're hurt… there's something wrong with you and I can't help you."
"Yes you can, get the morphine." Dean whispered. Sam sighed and caved. He went to the bathroom and got the syringe and small vial from Dean's bag.
"How did you ever get this?" Sam asked as he readied the small dose. Dean grinned.
"I've got connections." He whispered. Sam snorted and tapped the syringe with his finger and then expelled any air bubbles. He grabbed Dean's arm and flipped it over. He tried to ignore all the little marks from previous injections. There were so many. Dean's arm resembled that of a junkie's.
Sam inserted the needle into Dean's vein and injected the medicine. "Thanks, Sam."
Sam nodded and sat down, watching Dean as the drugs took over. His body relaxed and he drifted off to sleep.
Sam bit at his thumbnail angrily, just watching his brother because he could think of nothing else.
- - -
"I'm here to see John Winchester, my brother."
"Name?"
"Roman Winchester."
"Visiting hours are almost over."
"I just need to see him."
"Down that hall, fifth on your right. Number 245."
"Thank you."
- - -
"Good evening John." Aimee said with a smile as she walked into John Winchester's room. "I saw your boys earlier, how was that?"
"Fine." One of the few words John could say.
"You're one attractive family, if you don't mind my saying so." She set up his dinner tray and smiled at the slight blush on his cheeks. "I brought you some nice Jell-O and other foods you can sip through straws."
"Cr.. ees." John stammered. Aimee frowned and leaned closer to his face.
"What?" She asked softly.
"Cristo." He whispered. Aimee whipped her head towards him and he managed to smile, though only one side of his mouth worked, as her eyes turned black. "Got ya."
Aimee sighed and shrugged. "You did. You caught me." She walked over to the wall, where his monitor and other assorted—needed—equipment sat. "Too bad you lose." She whispered and then pulled the plug. She walked over to John's side and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm so going to enjoy ripping apart your oldest, and then calling your baby my husband."
Then she turned and walked out.
- - -
"Oh, excuse me." Roman stepped out of the way of the nurse as she left John's room in a hurry. She saw him, looked a little startled, but then kept walking. "Like the manners." He said softly and then opened the door.
John was lying on the bed, looking pointedly at the wall, where the wire to his heart monitor and respirator lay on the ground.
"Not good." Roman whispered to himself and hurried over to plug it back in. "John, what happened?" Roman asked.
"Nurse." John explained. "Demon."
"That nurse was a demon?" Roman asked. John nodded once, looking at the door where Aimee was looking in the small window.
"Meg."
- - -
STANFORD "Lingo"
Big Game - The annual football matchup against rival Berkeley. Traditionally it's the last, most highly anticipated football game of the season.
Fountain Hopping - A common activity after football games.
ASSU - Associated Students of Stanford University. The student government.The Claw - Nickname for the fountain in White Plaza, between the Bookstore and Old Union.
RA - Resident Assistant. The truly dedicated upperclass student who lives in dorms and serves roles ranging from dorm activity coordinator to advisor, confidant and friend.
Co Ho - The Coffee House. A place for late-night java, music, backgammon, studying and beer (for those over 21).
Dead Week - The week immediately preceding finals week. It is intended that students study feverishly during this week.
The Daily - Stanford students' independent newspaper.
PAA - Peer Advising Associate. Upperclass academic mentors who are invaluable source of information to freshmen about planning which classes to take.
The Zoo - KZSU, 90.1 FM, Stanford's student radio station.
Dollies - The five spirited women who accompany the Stanford Band with dance routines.
The City - Known as San Francisco to non-Bay Area residents, it's the cultural center of the Bay Area and popular with students when they want to get off campus.
Stern Dining Hall - Open weeknights until 1 a.m. for students in search of a late-night snack.
Primal Scream - Tradition of stress alleviation for students. Listen for it at midnight the Sunday night of Dead Week.
EANABs - Equally attractive non-alcoholic beverages. Required at campus parties serving alcohol.
Now, leave me a nice message and show me you love it. Seriously, I want 19 reviews, one for each page this chapter was on Word.