A/N Another update! What? Probably a while before the next one, but it wanted to be written.
/
Stage 4: Depression
The kettle started to whistle on the stove so she grabbed the prepared mug and moved stiffly across the room. Pouring the hot water over the herbs, she took a deep inhale of the fragrant bouquet and felt a tingle spread throughout her aching body. The brew was going to help ease the soreness as well as sharpen her mind for the evening ahead.
She let the cup steep for a couple of minutes, her thoughts drifting to her son as she gazed at the photograph of him that sat on the shelf above the sink. Handsome in his graduation cap and gown, just like his daddy had been. Her eyes threatened to mist before she forced herself out of her painful reverie.
The clock in the hallway chimed out the quarter hour and she smiled the smile of the knowing. Taking a sip of her tea and allowing it to buffer her ails, she opened the upper cabinet and pulled a bottle from behind a row of oils that she had prepared herself from her bountiful garden. The reach was getting harder for her and she lamented the fact that it was becoming time for her to rearrange her storage to a more accessible level for the future.
She opened the dishwasher and extracted a clean tumbler from the rack. Thought for a moment and then grabbed a second one.
What the hell
She already felt like she'd been run over by a truck.
They joined the bottle sitting on her kitchen table as she limped over to the refrigerator and pulled out fixings for sandwiches. Despite the creeping arthritis in her hands inflamed by the damp chill of a November evening she worked fairly efficiently to assemble a humble meal.
She smiled again as she finished filling the two plates in front of her. You have to give credit where credit is due. Another person would not have known he was there as silent as he was.
But then she had never been just another person.
Picking up the plates, she turned around and they shared a silent laugh together for the briefest of seconds before his face clouded over and the moment of levity was done.
They had been friends long enough and had been through enough together that it didn't phase him when she set one of the plates in front of him, clearly expecting his arrival. Over the years he had seen too much around her to even question anymore. Although the two of them hadn't spoken in a while, he wasn't surprised that she would already know that he'd been in town today.
The bottle of whiskey on the table was more enticing than the food and he at least had the manners to wait until she offered, pouring a full measure in each of the glasses and then handing him one. Their hands brushed briefly, but not quickly enough to prevent her from gleaning the thoughts troubling his mind.
"John Winchester," she scolded. "What did you do, you damn fool?"
He sighed a deep heavy sigh that didn't come close to the mental and physical exhaustion that was overwhelming him. It was such a loaded question. So many possible answers he could give her. So many transgressions he had committed since they last met.
Regardless, he knew what she was referring to without needing her to elaborate.
He took a drink from his glass and relished the burn of the alcohol searing its way down his throat. Then another to chase the first even as the fire spread inside of his belly highlighting the fact that he hadn't eaten yet today. A poor attempt to fill the empty hole inside of him that his relationship with his younger son should have filled.
"Don't start, Missouri," he pleaded tiredly, his eyes drifting away from her intense gaze. "He made his own choice. It's what he wanted."
"He's just a boy! That child hasn't even begun to know what he wants."
John leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his temples. Part of him had known that this was the greeting he would receive here, but a larger part of him wanted to come anyway because he needed Missouri's help to figure out his next move.
It didn't mean that her words weren't making him bristle.
"Do you think I wanted this?" he barked sharply, looking up enough to level his old friend with a glare. "Think I'm happy about the fact that I don't know where my kid is most of the time or what he's doing? If something will happen to him before help can get to him?"
They stared at each for a moment at an impasse neither was prepared to back away from. John's chest was heaving from the intense emotions he was repressing and Missouri, knowing what day it was, chose to retreat first.
She knew the pain of losing the love of your life every bit as much as John did, and she also couldn't imagine the agony she would feel if she wasn't able to speak to her own son on top of that.
"Eat something, John," she said kindly as she nudged the plate closer to him and gently pried the glass of whiskey from his hand.
He looked at the sandwich in front of him, piled high with meat and cheese and accompanied by her signature potato salad. The sight of it made his stomach do an unhappy little flip, his gag reflex triggered, but he managed to swallow it back, picking up one of the halves and taking a decent bite to please her.
Missouri took a drink from her own glass and sat down at the table to join him. They spent a couple of moments in companionable silence as they ate together, no words needing to pass between them after so many years of friendship. When John couldn't force anything else down without bringing it back up he pushed the plate aside and picked the glass back up, draining it and refilling it from the bottle.
"How's Dean doing in all this?" she asked hesitantly, switching from whiskey back to her tea for a bit.
It was going to be a long night and she needed to pace herself.
John closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, the troubles weighing him down so heavily that Missouri had to steady herself by grabbing the table from the wave of despair she felt crashing over her. She saw it all in her mind in a split second.
The accident that had almost cost the older Winchester son his life. The weeks of fear watching over Dean's prone form in the hospital bed. The fight that drove Sam away from them. The month of silence so very much like that time after he lost his mother.
But then the lines in John's forehead smoothed out as he took another sip and she saw the better thoughts. Dean's face grim but determined as he worked at Ground Zero. A hint of his humor returning when he and John started to hunt together again.
The image of Dean and a beautiful girl of color, and the unadulterated happiness on the young man's face as he stared adoringly at her.
The side of John's mouth quirked up into a half smile and not for the first time he was grateful for her gift that made spilling his guts vocally unnecessary. Sometimes it was nice to just be understood without having to explain yourself.
"He's growing into a fine young man," she commented, leaning over to rub an affectionate hand over the top of the one John had resting on the table. He nodded his head jerkily and gripped her hand with his own.
Another flash of pain seared into her and she flinched, unable to hide it from him. Although he tried to pull away she held tightly to him, assuring him with her eyes that she didn't mind.
"She would be proud of him too."
John swallowed hard and lifted his other hand away from his glass to smooth his fingers over the wedding ring on the hand Missouri was holding.
"Yeah, she would," he agreed. "I'm the one that disappointed her."
Another rush of thoughts assaulted her and she pulled in a quick breath, barely able to believe what she was seeing.
"Oh my!"
He nodded his head sadly and she stood as quickly as her twinging back would allow her and shuffled slowly over the cabinet where she retrieved a second bottle.
"We're going to need this."
/
John was passed out on the couch in her parlor long before the hall clock chimed midnight. His annual despair and booze consumption ritual exhausting him into a troubled rest. In another time Missouri might have made the effort to wrestle him up the stairs and into James' empty bed so he could sleep a little more comfortably. Unfortunately she no longer possessed that kind of strength, especially after drinking more whiskey than she should have.
Normally she knew better because it made the rough mornings even more rough than usual.
The life of a hunter was hard. Hard on body, mind and soul in ways that others couldn't even begin to comprehend.
As a psychic Missouri had encountered too many powerful angry spirits on hunts over the years to even count. Needless to say they were never very happy to see her, considering that she was there to dispose of them. All of those times when she had been tossed around a room or bombarded with heavy objects. A few too many hospital stays when the injuries couldn't be treated at home.
It all had taken a toll eventually.
So it was no surprise that her movements had become strained as she grew older. Her gait stiff and slow. Or that she didn't really have the ability or desire to be out in the field anymore unless it was truly important. As long as she drew breath she would still happily help the other hunters in any way she could with her gift, but the time for her to be out among them was over.
Missouri was one of the lucky ones. She had been able to exact her revenge against the thing that had taken her Robert away from her and James and lived to talk about it.
Everyone got into hunting because of something after all.
Grabbing a quilt from the back of the couch, she draped it over John as he became restless from the nightmares that plagued his unconscious mind. There was nothing more she could do for him tonight. Easing her sore body into the armchair across from the couch, she leaned back heavily into the cushions and prepared to keep watch over her friend for a while.
It couldn't have been easy for him to come here tonight. John had always preferred to spend the anniversary of his wife's tragic death in the company of their children. To actually have felt the need to come to Lawrence of all places was a sign of something troubling on the horizon and Missouri knew that they were going to have to figure it all out.
That was a project for tomorrow. Tonight they both needed to grieve their losses.
Missouri's heart was breaking for young Sam. Poor boy, separated from his family and cast out into the wind. John could be a real bastard sometimes even if he did have his reasons. Missouri had never approved of the way John had raised his sons although she knew better than most to keep her mouth shut on the issue.
It's not as if the ground she walked on was much higher than John's own when it came right down to it. How many times had she left James at home while she went out on a hunt?
Of course they were more fortunate than the Winchesters in some respects. Robert's momma lived close by and she had never minded watching her only grandbaby during Missouri's occasional absences. There was a life insurance policy that paid off and provided some support during James' childhood, supplementing Missouri's sometimes unreliable income reading palms.
An overall sense of stability that John hadn't been able to give his boys.
But for all that James was still raised the child of a hunter, with all the emotional scars and baggage that came with it. After losing his father at a very tender age, Missouri's son had spent a distressingly large part of his young life worrying about whether or not his mother would come home. She had given him a bag of thematic gems and taught him their secrets so that he could ease his mind during her absences but it was never truly enough.
She smiled as she took a framed photo from the end table next to her chair. James and his new fiance Tess, recently taken for the engagement announcement for the local paper. One of the differences between Missouri and John Winchester is that she had encouraged her son to go to college and follow his dreams. Her life didn't have to be James' life.
As a psychic Missouri was never going to escape her place in the paranormal world. Her future set before she spoke her first word.
But James? James was going to have a better path.
Her boy had gotten his MBA with honors and was now establishing his own business as a financial consultant. Confident enough in his prospects to propose marriage to a lovely girl and ready to start a family of his own.
Missouri was pretty lucky in that regard.
The Winchester boys might not be so lucky.
John was a good man underneath it all. As good as her Robert had ever been, even if it might pain her to admit that. John had taken all the bitter lemons that life had given him and somehow made lemonade for countless families that would heal and move forward from their tragedies because of him. Often at the cost of his relationship with his own boys. Young Sam in particular.
John was more than just the hot head that most of the hunting community thought he was.
Because of her gifts Missouri was in the unique position to really know what lay beneath his surface. She knew, probably better than John probably did himself, how much he didn't want any of this. How much he would given to change it all and have the ability to raise his children in a better life.
It was the reason she had never ended their friendship over the years, no matter how much they had argued or how many times John had crossed a line with his obsession. And it was the reason that she would help him figure out exactly why Sam had been chosen and what the demon world wanted from him.
Even though John was having trouble accepting it, Missouri was pretty sure that it had more than a little to do with the fact that his beloved wife had lied to him about being raised a hunter too.
But for now she would keep vigil over her friend that was laid low by his losses and try to not let her own bring her down with him.
/
Dean rolled over and wrapped an arm around Cassie's warm body. The alarm clock on the night stand was already on its second snooze but neither of them were in any rush to get out of the warm and cozy bed to head out into the prematurely frigid morning.
Her long curly hair was tickling his face as he snuggled in closer to her, breathing in deeply of the floral scent that clung to her like a second skin.
It was his second favorite way to start the day.
Very softly he brushed feather light touches over her exposed nipple's sensitive skin. She moaned sleepily, wiggling closer to him as she turned in his arms, and was greeted by a very enthusiastic part of his anatomy that was already wide awake, snooze alarm or not.
Dean pulled her closer and began to nibble on her neck hoping to convince her into joining him in his first favorite way to start the day.
"I've got class in twenty minutes."
"I can be done in ten," he promised, sucking a trail up to her earlobe and making her laugh.
"That's really sad," she teased, gently starting to push him away. "For me, I think."
Dean wasn't going to be deterred. He was a man on a mission. After three weeks together he knew all of Cassie's weak spots and he wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of them in his quest.
A nip here, a gentle suck there. Slowly he headed back down the expanse of her tiny voluptuous body, his tongue leaving a pleasure trail across the sensitive spots of her skin in its wake.
She groaned in frustration when he disappeared under the blanket and began to pay her proper homage in all the right places.
"God, you are such a bad influence," she growled, not nearly forcefully enough to dislodge his head from where it currently nestled. A wordless mmm hmm was mouthed against her tingling skin that made her back arch.
Fuck it. She could be a little late.
Or a lot late as it turned out.
Bed sex turned into shower sex. Which then turned into kitchen sex when Cassie had the incredibly bad idea of bending over to reach into the refrigerator for some coffee creamer wearing nothing but a bath towel on her head.
Thank God she lived alone.
Not that Dean was blameless. If he was just going to lay there on the bed like that and watch her get dressed, all naked and firm and smirking at her, she had no choice but to take her turn on top and show him who was boss.
Looks like it was laundry day. Again.
Eventually they did manage to get cleaned up and dressed. Cassie's first class was blown but thankfully attendance for that one wasn't mandatory. Her second class was in less than two hours and that one she would have to attend, no matter how much Dean was trying to get her to play hooky by whispering lascivious suggestions in her ear as she tried to do some prep work on her laptop at the kitchen table that had been recently defiled.
"Go away," she scolded, reaching behind her to threaten his overused and slightly sore nether region with her manicured fingers. He got the hint, jerking his hips out of the way before she made contact and shuffling over to open the fridge.
"I'm starving," he whined, taking a second futile look into the barren wasteland in front of him. "Why don't you ever have any food here?"
Cocking an eyebrow she glared at him over her screen. "Does this place look like IHOP to you?"
Huffing, Dean rummaged through the cabinets, coming up with nothing but two cans of sodium free chicken soup, a mostly empty box of tea, a honey bear and half a box of granola.
"Jeez, you're as bad as Sammy," he muttered looking at the granola box before closing the cabinet door. "C'mon, I'm taking you out for breakfast."
Cassie smirked at him but she shut her laptop and slid it into her leather bag. They put on their coats, wrapping up against the cold breeze that smelled like snow, and headed at a rapid walk towards the coffee shop two blocks from her garage apartment.
The breakfast crowd was long gone by the time they rushed inside, shivering as the door closed behind them. A quick nod from the regular morning hostess had them strolling over to the booth in the back that they both preferred. Dean helped Cassie off with her coat and they were just sitting down when the waitress brought them coffee and water.
"The usual?"
Looking at each other sheepishly, they both laughed because they really had been here quite a lot lately. "Yes, please," he answered when Cassie nodded.
Gripping the mug in her hands to warm her fingers, she blew on the surface before taking a tentative sip.
"So who's Sammy?"
Dean choked a little on his coffee before recovering his composure. "What?"
Cassie cocked her annoyed eyebrow at him, her curiosity peaked by his obvious lie. "Sammy. You said I was as bad as Sammy back at the apartment. Who is he?"
Dean spun his mug around between his hands for a moment, avoiding her eyes. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.
"He's my little brother."
Her large brown eyes blinked rapidly as she took in the news. While they hadn't exactly been sharing their deep dark secrets with each other, they had occasionally spoken about their families.
"You have a brother? Why didn't you tell me before?"
Dean was temporarily saved by the arrival of their food. He picked up his knife and fork and took a huge bite of the steak he covered in egg yolk as Cassie ignored her spinach omelet to continue to look at him in expectation of an answer.
She waited with decreasing patience as he chewed and took a sip of coffee, pressing a restraining hand against his as he went to cut another bite. "Dean?"
He exhaled deeply, his pale face showing pain that he couldn't quite cover up. He looked young and vulnerable for a moment and her concern for him spiked when he threaded their fingers together.
"We don't talk," he admitted quietly. The brief flash of pity he caught in her eyes got his back up and he let go of her hand abruptly to return to attacking his food. "It's no big deal."
"No big deal?" she challenged. "We're sleeping together for almost three weeks, living together, and you don't mention him at all and now it's no big deal? C'mon, Dean. I can tell that's not the truth."
Dean swallowed down another mouthful of coffee and poured ketchup on his hash browns. "That's going to get cold," he said pointing to her omelet. "So, what do you want to do tonight?"
"Dean,"
"Hey, I know. That French flick you've been talking about is playing downtown. Amy? Amelia? Something like that. Why don't we hit that up after your last class?"
Cassie sighed and shook her head. Dean's lack of willingness to open up to her had frustrated her more than once and was becoming a problem between them. While it was true that they were just starting to get to know one another, she was really drawn to him and wanted the opportunity to get closer.
Something that was decidedly hard to do when he just shut down emotionally and refused to let her in.
"Sure," she agreed, knowing that she really shouldn't be placated by the look of relief that spread across Dean's face. He threw her his best smile and attacked his steak again with a renewed appetite while she resignedly dug into her omelet and let her questions go in favor of reliving their more pleasurable morning activities.
/
It took three trips up the stairs to the garage apartment to get all of his shopping bags inside. Now that the decision had been made, Dean was going to do it right.
What had started out as a nice diversion had become something...more...
Certainly more than Dean had been looking for and truthfully had never expected to find, having decided a long time ago that a serious relationship with a woman was off the table for him as long as he remained a hunter.
But Cassie, Cassie was different. She brought out a side of himself that he didn't even know existed before he arrived in Athens. Not only did he realize that he wanted more with her, beyond a brief interlude to pass the time, he couldn't get enough of her.
Not just her smoking hot body and their killer sex life. He wanted more of her laughter that was adorable, especially when it became so intense that she snorted. The cute wrinkling of her forehead as she chewed all her pencils down to the nub when she was in deep concentration in her studies. The way her hips would swing side to side as she walked towards him like she was the world's naughtiest cowgirl.
Dean loved all of that about her. More than that, he was in love with her, and he found himself worried that he wasn't going to be able to keep her if he didn't come clean about it all.
There was an inner turmoil battling inside of himself that had stayed his hand so far.
Despite his outward carefree attitude towards just about everything, Dean really did give serious thought to each move he made physically and mentally. Fortunately, when he needed to think on his feet he could, and that had saved his life on more than one occasion. But given the opportunity to really think through his next move, his quiet contemplation that most people who never give him credit for possessing would strategically break down every molecule of a situation to be studied until he rebuilt it all in his mind and the pros and cons became clear.
Finding himself unnerved by how quickly he had allowed himself to fall head over heels for a girl he had known for less time than it took for a gallon of milk to spoil, he was at least honest with himself that his uncharacteristic rush to play house needed to be because he really did care for her and not because there was a large vacant hole in his life.
It wouldn't be fair to Cassie to use her as an emotional substitute and it certainly wouldn't be fair to himself.
It wasn't an easy decision to come to, but it had been the one thing in the forefront of his mind ever since he started staying with her two weeks ago. Going against all rhyme and reason, and the Winchester Family Code of Secrecy, Dean was going to damn the consequences and tell her the great big family secret.
He had already accepted the fact that she was going to be angry with him over the lies he had told her so far, knowing from day one how she felt about honesty.
No, that's not true. Angry wouldn't begin to cut it.
She was going to be furious, and she had every right to be, but Dean also knew that there were things about himself that she was going to have to be able to accept before he could be sure that whatever this was between them was the real deal and not just some fantasy on his part.
To be fair, he had tried to keep to the truth as much as he could since then, which is why he barely spoke about his personal life. As far as Cassie knew he was just a mechanic working in his uncle's garage.
The problem was that his uncle wasn't really his uncle and the garage was in South Dakota and not Kentucky. And Dean wasn't just taking an extended vacation from his job, he had no expectation of returning to it any time soon.
Oh, and that he wasn't actually related to the douchey frat boy that had died.
And there was the whole I hunt ghosts for a living thing, so...yeah...little bit of a truth issue.
On the night of the anniversary of his mother's death, Dean had held Cassie in his arms and realized that he might finally be in danger of experiencing the kind of love that had the power to destroy a person if the one they loved was taken from them.
Ever since then he knew that what he was about to do tonight was only a matter of time, and it scared him because the feelings he had for her made him vulnerable in a way that he wasn't comfortable with but was prepared to accept if it meant keeping her.
Without a doubt the conversation was going to spill over into ugly at some point, so he also knew that it wasn't something that they should do out in a public place like a restaurant. Taking her out to dinner to soften the blow simply wasn't going to work.
And because he also knew that it was going to take a copious amount of his charm to soften her rage, if she even allowed it, they should probably be close to home and the bed where they had worked out their differences on more than one occasion.
Cassie couldn't cook worth a damn. He had found that out practically on day one of their budding relationship. She lived on canned food and takeout which sounded pretty familiar to him after all his years on the road. Not that it mattered to Dean. It's not like he had his sight on settling down with a little Miss Merry Homemaker or anything like that.
He emptied the bags of groceries on the table, along with a few basic pots and pans that he was going to need and Cassie simply didn't possess, and felt a familiar flutter of satisfaction in his gut. It would be fun to cook a real meal in a real kitchen and take care of someone again.
Dean didn't mind that at all. Hell, he was happy to do it.
Cassie was a serious student, when he wasn't leading her astray that is. After a year living in the dorms on campus, and realizing that she had enjoyed the privileged home life of an only child, she had quickly found an apartment where she could have the peace and quiet she liked. It wasn't anything too fancy but it was decent enough. Her father owned his own successful business and was more than happy to pay her rent.
She talked about her parents a lot, actually. They were close.
Maybe not as close as Dean was to his own father, because their relationship transcended more than just the garden variety of parent/child. Dean wasn't just John's son. He was his second in command, his confidante and his best friend as well. An unhealthy burden to be sure but that didn't change the facts.
Dean admired Cassie's indomitable spirit. She wasn't shy about sharing the painful details with him of the sometimes less than ideal circumstances of growing up in maybe not exactly The South, but south enough to still carry prejudices. With parents who had a mixed race marriage that still could bring out strong feelings of disapproval. The stares that she would get on occasion when she was out running errands with her white mother or the comments from parents of friends who assumed she was adopted because they had never seen Cassie with her black father.
She intentionally chose college in Ohio, far from the comfort zone she had grown up in around Cape Girardeau, because she was the type that wanted new experiences and the journalism program was well lauded. It meant that she didn't get to see her parents that often outside of holidays because of the distance, but that only strengthened her independence.
Dean sometimes wondered how changed Sammy would be after his time alone at school.
He stripped the bed that was still disheveled from their happy morning romps, making a pile of sheets and towels to take down the street to the laundromat. There were bags of rose petals in his pile of shopping, and while Dean wasn't normally a hopeless romantic, tonight was going to be different.
The apartment was a little disorderly lately, since neither of them had been able to tear themselves away from each other long enough to really give it a good scrub. Dean had also bought a new micro fiber mop like the one he had at home in Sioux Falls to replace the sad, abused sponge mop that he was pretty sure Cassie had purchased in her freshman year.
Just as he started to run hot water to fill the bucket his phone buzzed with an incoming text message.
39 -89
Damn it
Perfect timing, Dad. As always.
Dropping down hard on the bare bed, Dean sat with the phone in his hands for a full minute just staring at the screen and its digital orders for him.
Once upon a time Dean wouldn't have even taken a second to blink before he was packing up his shit and hitting the road. Nothing. Nothing would have stopped him from obeying his fathers silent command to come and work a job.
Not even Sammy whining and kicking up a stink about moving or being left behind again.
So what did it mean that Dean was now actually having to give some thought about whether or not he would look up the coordinates and blow town?
Would he still be able to juggle hunting and his relationship with Cassie?
Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching and Cassie had already mentioned more than once that she would be leaving Athens for the long weekend to see her parents. There had been some subtle and some not so subtle hints dropped that she wouldn't mind Dean joining her on the trip.
With increasing enthusiasm she repeatedly assured Dean that her folks were going to like him, given the chance for them to meet. Her doting father owned a car dealership and had love of classic automobiles. He would take one look at the Impala and approve of Dean on this spot, she just knew it.
Dean didn't do parents as a rule. A clear cut sign of approaching the line his father had instilled in his sons to draw in the sand about forging personal connections and attachments. It was too personal, too intimate. One thing to work his mojo on willing companions to share a fox hole for a while and another one entirely to open himself up to familial approval that implied commitment.
It was different with Cassie. He was different now.
Dad was always off doing his own thing, and Sammy clearly didn't need him anymore. Why shouldn't Dean explore new possibilities? Why should his constant fear for the safety of family members that didn't seem to notice him until they needed him rule his actions?
He could make an excuse and put off the plans he had for tonight. Just tell her that he had a family situation and take off for a while. If they really were building something she would still be here when he got back. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn't make himself do it.
It probably had something to do with the fact that Dean hated lying to anyone he truly cared about and now Cassie had been included on that very short list.
By the time Cassie arrived home after finishing her editor duties for the day, Dean had steaks marinating, twice baked potatoes keeping warm in the oven and her favorite spinach salad chilling in the fridge. Fresh clean sheets on the bed after doing their all of their combined laundry. With none of his own packed. A bottle of the merlot she enjoyed in the evenings breathing next to two place settings at the table.
Dean met her at the door. A bouquet of flowers in his hand and hope in his eyes.
/
Sam stood on the sidewalk in front of the imposing Classic Revival mansion and felt sick to his stomach.
Dressed in one of his generic sweaters, the collar of a reasonably coordinating polo shirt sticking out from underneath, he was suddenly extremely self conscious about the humble state of his clothing in the midst of so much obvious wealth.
"It's just a house, man," Brady said calmly, coming up from behind where he had been unloading some boxes of unnecessary crap taking up space in the dorm from his car.
Calling the Brady family home just a house was like saying that Notre Dame was just a church or Luciano Pavarotti was just a singer.
"Well, your house is bigger than some apartment buildings I grew up in," Sam reminded him as he playfully shoved his friend's shoulder.
Brady laughed and thrust one of the boxes into Sam's arms as he retrieved another one and they hauled them and their overnight bags up the handful of granite stairs that led to the front entry. Before they had a chance to reach the door it was already being opened by a pretentious looking man in a black suit and tie.
"Good afternoon, sir," he greeted Brady, his balding head dipping deferentially. "May I assist you with that?"
Brady shakes his head and motions Sam into the entry hall behind him. "No thanks, Weston. Any idea where her ladyship wants my friend to stay?"
Although the man that Sam now understands to be the family butler doesn't comment on the derogatory tone of voice that Brady uses to refer to his mother, he can tell that Weston probably wants to by the pinched look on his face. It hard to hold back a smile.
"Mrs. Brady has arranged the Chinese room for your guest, sir."
Brady just nods and drops his box next to a large table at the far end of the ornate entry hall. Sam follows his lead and does the same while he tries not to look impressed over the intricately laid marble flooring and the carved wood ceiling. He's been in museums that aren't as grand as this entry.
"I'll be back for these, Weston," Brady says as he heads toward the center staircase. "Anyone else here?"
"No sir. You are the first to arrive."
A look of relief passes over Brady's face and he jerks his head up the stairs to get Sam to follow him. The marble staircase, which is broad enough for a dozen people to stand side by side on each step, circles upwards to the second floor and Sam admires the detailed carvings in the railing. They climb up another flight that showcases the wide expanses of parquet wood flooring before Brady leads him down a long hall and pushes a double door open, beckoning Sam inside.
The large bedroom suite is dominated by an enormous king bed with pale yellow drapes hanging from a padded crown mounted just under the coffered ceiling. There are four large windows with matching drapes banking the wall opposite the bed. One of the windows actually appears to be a door upon closer inspection and Sam can see the small wrought iron balcony attached outside.
The twelve feet high walls are covered in a similar silk to the bed clothes. With a delicate oriental print that is mirrored in the throw pillows that accent the couch and chairs that make up the small sitting area in the middle. Along with a few tasteful art books is a bottle of mineral water with two glasses and a plate of fruit on the coffee table just waiting for its occupant's arrival.
It's easily the nicest room Sam has ever seen.
"Okay, you're in here while we're trapped at Casa Torture," Brady informs him, his usual good humor replaced by a disgusted scowl.
Sam can't help his eyebrows shooting up into his head when he realizes that this is the guest room and somehow he's been invited to stay in it.
"It's just a house, Sam," his friend mutters again, slapping him on the back to take the sting from his words. "Why don't you relax, have a snack and I'll catch up to you in about twenty, okay?"
Sam nods and watches Brady's retreating back as he leaves, closing the door behind him.
It's a little overwhelming to be honest. Not that he didn't already know that his roommate was wealthy, but it's one thing to know it in an abstract sense and another thing completely to see it up close in person.
Because it's relatively mild outside for the end of November, Sam heads over to the door that leads to his balcony and pushes it open. Brady's house is in the very posh Presidio Heights and Sam's room comes with a million dollar view of the bay. Probably more than a million to be honest because Sam has learned a little about San Francisco's neighborhoods since his arrival in California.
He glances around the neighborhood below him, still maddeningly unable to let go of the autopilot paranoia his father drilled into him of strange new places, and goes back inside with a huff when he catches himself thinking that a nondescript Dodge parked down the street is the same one he noticed as they left Palo Alto.
It's just his mind playing tricks on him, he decides as he helps himself to a perfectly ripe strawberry.
Further inspection reveals a private bathroom attached to his room that holds an enormous stone shower with a central rain forest shower head, mounted high enough that even a giant like Sam can stand under it, along with several other spa jets lining the sides. He sighs in appreciation because after almost two months of gymnastics to fit himself into the dorm shower this is going to be heaven.
Twenty minutes isn't going to be long enough to indulge in his temporary bath but he does take a minute to use the toilet and wash up. He darts back into the main room for his toiletries and wets down his brush in an attempt to tame his hair. He would like to make a good first impression.
Sam had almost declined Brady's offer to join his family for Thanksgiving. He knew enough about the Brady family to know that they didn't seem to particularly like each other and he couldn't really imagine that they would want some strange kid from the wrong side of the tracks invading their home during a holiday.
It wasn't his only offer either.
Luis had invited him to LA which was tempting because Sam hadn't spent a lot of time there during his family's travels. Dad had always tried to avoid larger cities if he could. But Luis had plans to stay a couple of days longer than Sam could be away from his job, so he declined.
Zach offered to bring him to St. Louis as well, but besides the plane ticket that Sam couldn't afford to buy, Brady was quietly insistent that Sam stay with him instead.
It wasn't until they were cruising along the slower but more scenic US-101 in Brady's Maserati Spyder that Sam finally understood why his buddy had all but twisted his arm to spend the weekend with him.
Sam had completely forgotten that Brady's sister was out of the country indefinitely with her girlfriends. Most likely because Brady talked about his family just about as much as Sam did, which was never.
Apparently their father was spending the week in Taiwan working on negotiations to buy a company that provided a lot of raw material that would enhance his own holdings. Which would account for Brady's willingness to even consider going home at all since he avoided his father like the plague. And according to Brady, his mother would start her Thanksgiving morning pretending to volunteer at a soup kitchen.
Just long enough to get her photo taken for the society pages to showcase her philanthropic side before returning to spend a few moments at home berating her children and the household staff for their perceived crimes against her. Then off again for some social function or another with the other champagne swilling disinterested mothers that she rubbed elbows with.
That was just going to leave Brady and Barclay at the dinner table and Sam got the distinct impression that he was going to be pressed into service as their buffer. There was not a lot of love lost between the Brady brothers.
Sam would have been happy to spend the weekend with his buddy just by being asked, but Brady had offered to also play tour guide and Sam had to admit that he was looking forward to seeing San Francisco for recreational purposes for the first time. By the time Brady returned to his room, he was ready to go.
/
Sitting in his car, Christian took a big slurp of coffee from his travel mug and watched his cousin and friend exit Rich Boy's house.
His ears were still ringing from the dressing down he had received this morning from Uncle Robert after giving his uncle lip about guard duty, and he was thisclose to stopping Sammy-boy on the sidewalk, spilling all the beans about how much his family were breaking their asses for his benefit and telling the kid to grow a sack and get to work like a Campbell should.
All in all Christian was pretty much done with babysitting the beanpole.
The job at the college wasn't so bad. At least he got to wear his piece without worrying about getting busted which made him a rarity in California. The pay was pretty good too, since thanks to Ash's genius he was actually a legit employee on the books, and the dumbasses at some of the local bars were easy marks to make some quick bank on the weekends that he was putting aside to buy an engagement ring that was nice enough where you didn't have to strain your eyes to see the diamond.
If it wasn't for the fact that he had to share a place with Gwen that was basically the size of a shoe box and filled with all of her crap he wouldn't have been too put out of joint.
But his girl Arlene had pitched the mother of all bitch fits when she heard that he wouldn't be home for Thanksgiving after all, despite two months of his promises to the contrary, which meant that he would be lucky if he got laid again in this lifetime, big diamond or not.
That woman had a long, unforgiving memory.
To be fair Arlene had been pretty good so far about his temporary move to the center of yuppieland. She was raised in The Life too and she knew the score. Her folks had enough respect for Uncle Robert to not give Christian too much grief about being assigned protective detail over hunting. Of course no one outside the family knew who was being protected or why and it was going to stay that way.
If Robert Campbell said something was important, it was important. That simple.
Christian didn't exactly resent Sam for choosing college over the family business. In his opinion a weaker link should steer clear if they weren't invested enough to save your ass. Lives were lost when you hunted with someone who didn't really want to be there.
His twice weekly meetings with Mark, happily hidden away in the dorm where he could pursue his own studies, had painted a pretty clear picture of the Winchester kid.
Although Mark and Sam weren't exactly buddies, Sam had always been friendly to him without knowing their connection and Christian should have trusted the cousin he had grown up with enough to be honest about whether or not the kid was trouble.
Maybe under different circumstances Christian wouldn't care that he was stuck living out of his car and hiding in the shadows alone for the next three days protecting a civilian if he didn't have the sneaking suspicion than there was more to his Gigantor cousin than met the eye.
When he realized that his marks were walking instead of getting back into that pretty little Spyder he swore colorfully under his breath, knowing that every time he had to tail them out in the open made it more likely that he was going to get spotted at some point.
Why the damn kid just couldn't keep his ass in his very well protected dorm, he didn't know.
But here he was in San Francisco acting like he'd never even heard of a salt line, and Christian stuck watching him stroll around the city like a star struck moron instead of being back in Michigan showing Arlene how much he missed her talented mouth.
/
Sam was quiet on the incredibly premature drive back to Stanford Thanksgiving evening, but not for the reasons that his friend suspected.
The miles clicked by in silence as Brady's sleek Italian convertible propelled them ever further away from the house of misery.
As awkward as they both expected the weekend to go, it didn't even come close to how bad that last twenty four hours really were.
Clay was home by the time they got back from their sightseeing trip the night before. Seemingly waiting for their arrival with baited breath as he sat in one of the plush leather wing back chairs of the first floor library with a tumbler of something probably very expensive on ice in his hand.
Sam had seen a few family photos and knew that the brothers had a pretty strong resemblance to each other. Bulky athletic builds with fine aquiline noses and thick burnished gold hair that seemed to style itself without effort. The comfortable in their own skin look of people that had money and weren't afraid to show it off.
Certainly more physical traits in common than Sam shared with his own brother.
But that is where the similarities ended.
After spending only a few short minutes in his company, Sam had come to the conclusion that Brady's brother was quite possibly one of the cruelest people Sam had ever encountered, and considering his upbringing that was really saying something.
It wasn't just the way he made backhanded jabs at Brady that were disingenuously disguised as grudging compliments. Or the not quite so playful shoves and cuffs to the head that were far more aggressive than anything that could be interpreted as normal fraternal tussling.
Not that Sam was worried about Brady holding his own, because he knew his friend could. It was more about the way that Brady kept repeatedly throwing Sam apologetic looks over having to be subjected to the company of an obnoxiously large asshole.
From the way the normally confident Brady was blushing, obviously humiliated in front his his guest, Sam was pretty sure that his buddy had severely underestimated just exactly how much his brother had planned on ramping up his apparently normal boorish behavior.
Sam politely endured a few jabs of his own. Holding his tongue for his friend's sake and the fact that he was a guest stopping him from taking a swing at Clay when the jackass simultaneously congratulated Sam on having enough brains to get into a school like Stanford while waxing poetic about how good it was of the school's donors to generously take in the poor kids who probably had no business being there.
They managed to escape when Brady had finally had enough to shove his brother hard enough to have him rocking on his feet, a warning finger in his face that produced a cold smile from his brother that promised retribution at a later point. Sam didn't say anything when his friend grabbed a bottle of his own from the very well stocked bar and herded them both up to the tastefully appointed roof deck of the mansion.
The sun had set hours earlier and the air was chilly from the breeze coming off the water but Sam didn't object to sitting outside when it was obvious that Brady needed to literally cool off. There were soft chenille throws artfully draped on two of the chairs and Brady pulled them off and tossed one to Sam that he wrapped around his shoulders while he took a sip of the offered bottle. Sam didn't know enough about the better brands of liquors to know what he was drinking, but he did appreciate the smooth way it went down.
Brady didn't want to talk and Sam didn't push. He knew what it was like to just need to sit and collect his thoughts without being pressured into conversation. If that little show downstairs was any indication of their normal brand of family bonding, it was no wonder that on the rare occasion his friend spoke about his family it was with no small amount of vitriol.
Thanksgiving dinner didn't go over any better.
Slightly more sober, Clay seemed to have found a small amount of his manners hidden in a box somewhere. Sitting himself at the head of the table he was at least cordial to Sam, even if he glared at his little brother which was returned in full by Brady who was decidedly hung over.
Sam sat quietly at the long elaborately decorated dining table. Pristine place settings that looked like they had been measured for exact distance, made up of fine china, heavy crystal glasses and sparkling silver flatware. Multiple courses of precisely plated foods brought to them by the somber looking Weston and a young girl that cast fearful looks at Clay when he leered at her.
He wondered if the staff of the house, pressed into service on Thanksgiving day, were as unhappy as the occupants.
The arrival of Brady's mother didn't improve the uncomfortable atmosphere.
For someone that had supposedly been feeding the needy, she looked more like she had just stepped off a runway. There were air kisses for her sons that weren't returned by either, and an icy polite welcome to the guest that was obviously a product of years of conditioned obligatory hospitality.
She arrived well into the quiet meal but her presence was long enough that Sam was left in no doubt that he was a guest that had only been invited out of pity for his lack of a proper home to go to. Like he was some kind of charitable project that she could speak about with her like minded friends about how the Bradys bestowed the largesse of their good fortune on the have-nots.
It was enough to have Brady standing from the table in disgust before dessert was served. Turning to Sam he calmly apologized for his family, trading cold glares with his mother while his brother snickered. He thanked her for dinner before pointing out that she had a new wrinkle by her left eye and that perhaps it was time to see Dr. Snyder again.
Brady and Sam were packed and on the road in less than fifteen minutes. Long before their planned return to the campus that seemed to be a refuge for both of them.
So while Brady sat in the driver's seat, shamed into silence by the way his friend had been subjected to only a part of his family in all their horrible glory, it wasn't his family that had Sam preoccupied.
Sam was thinking about his own family.
His own brother that would have never, in a million years, treated him so poorly. The brother that had protected him like the fiercest lion from all comers his entire life. If Dean had been at the Brady house he would have destroyed Clay, first verbally and then physically because Dean had a sharp tongue and a wicked left hook for dicks that needed to be taken down a few pegs.
And while Sam had fought with his father on a near constant basis, John had never looked at him with such coldness in his eyes the way Brady's mother regarded her own children. There was anger and irritation to be sure, but also warmth and love. Even though he had thrown Sam out of the house, it hadn't been entirely unwarranted.
Just unexpected and hadn't Sam done a few rash things too that day?
He closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat as the miles flew by and remembered Thanksgiving last year in the little house in Sioux Falls that had been so much different from the one held today by the supposedly normal family. The way Dad and Dean had joked around with each other as they cooked together in the kitchen. The teasing between the two brothers that was actually lighthearted and affectionate. The food that hadn't been gourmet or served on silver platters, but was still made with love and consumed around a table of laughter.
It hadn't always been like that. Far from it until last year.
But Sam had always known love from his family and he was now even more acutely thankful for that than ever.
He also missed them more than ever and couldn't help the stab of pain he felt wondering if they even missed him at all.
/
"You're insane!"
"Cassie, please..."
"If you want to leave, just leave. Don't feed me some crazy story about ghosts."
"It's not a story! Just listen to me."
"I can't even believe you right now. Just go, Dean."
"Cassie."
"Go."
"HEY!"
Dean's head jerked up and he saw his father glaring at him. "What?"
"Get your head in the game, Son," John snapped as he loaded the consecrated rounds into his pistol. "You were a million miles away."
Dean rubbed a hand down his face as he shook the thoughts from his head. "Sorry, sir."
"You will be sorry if that Black Shuck takes a bite out of your ass," his father scolded before he stomped off to make one last check of the trap they had set up.
November in the wetlands of Wisconsin wasn't anyone's idea of a good time. Especially Dean who would rather be neck deep in a bottle of just about anything right now instead of freezing his ass off hunting a ghost dog that shouldn't even be in this part of the country.
But this was his entire life now.
The hunt was all he had.
It was the only thing that mattered to his father, and his father was the only one that Dean had now.
Dean wasn't going to ever be anything more than an unattached drifter.
Protecting the unsuspecting from the things that go bump in the night. Never acknowledged or thanked for his trouble. Never anything more than a sharp tool in his father's arsenal.
He had been foolish to think otherwise.
Checking his guns and gear, he shifted his pack up onto his shoulder and strode off towards his father.
"Here Fido," he singsonged quietly as they crouched down into a waiting stance. "Come and get it you ugly mother."
Perched side by side, he took a quick glance at his father's face deep in concentration. A perfect picture of intent in the dark eyes that promised death to their target.
Happy Thanksgiving, Dad.