A/N: So this story is a year old on 14th April, so I thought what better way to celebrate than a new chapter. Hope you enjoy :)
~S~P~N~
Chapter 13
THEN
Pulling the motel door open, Sam never notices the admittance of air taking into its grasp a vulnerable sheet of paper. It flutters across the table before its voyage comes to a halt; wavering against the chasm created by the straight edge of the metal table and the slightly curved back of the dining chair seated beneath the one window. The breeze releases its hold and gravity steps in; bringing that defenceless piece of paper's journey to an end upon the seat of the plastic chair tucked away neatly under the table as silence prevails with the closing of a door.
NOW
Quietly pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click, Sam traverses the wooden footpath that runs in front of the rooms. Entering the motel office the bell rings overhead, immediately announcing Sam's presence.
The guy sitting behind the office desk turns his head from a bulky and muted TV the moment the bell sounds and shuts off the TV. He has to be late forties, maybe early fifties; short salt and pepper hair falling across one side of the guy's head; nose crooked and too big for his face, he greets Sam with a grin that reveals straight teeth with only a few stains.
A shiver passes through Sam as the guy continues to stare unblinkingly at him far longer than is socially acceptable to be doing so. Sam draws his laptop bag closer to his body, wanting to turn right back around and exit the office without gaining the information he came here for in the first place. He wants to go wake up Dean and tell him this guy is giving him the creeps, and Dean can come and tell the guy to quit it with the staring already. Or, you know, just punch him in the face and knock his eyeballs around. Just a little bit.
But Sam clears his throat instead. "Hey, um, is there a library in town?" he questions seeing as it's evident this guy's brain is stuck elsewhere.
"Sure, sure," the guy finally finds his voice. "Sits on Redfern Avenue. When you reach town just follow Main Street for three blocks, you'll find it." The guy leans slightly forward over the counter, eyes shooting down and slowly tracking upwards until they focus back on Sam's face. "You're tall."
Wow, way to state the obvious, dude, Sam almost snorts and only just manages to hold himself back as he tightens his arms around his bag. "Yeah." Sam turns to go only to begrudgingly stop and look over his shoulder when the guy calls out to him.
"You needn't go all that way if you're just after somethin' to read, I got a bunch of books and material …" the guy says, beginning to gesture behind him with a hand towards a closed door.
"What I need can only be found in a library, but thank you," Sam is quick to point out.
"Well aren't you a polite boy. Most kids nowadays don't even know what manners are."
Oh god, seriously? Sam fumes quietly. He doesn't look so freaking young that he can be confused for a kid anymore. And this guy calling him boy… yeah, no, Sam takes great fucking exception to it, even as his cheeks heat in embarrassment at the guy's latter words.
He can't help it if Dean taught him to have manners. Especially when his brother doesn't much care for using them himself. He flashes a brief fake smile, tightening his hold against his bag once again and makes his way out of the office as quickly as he can without actually running. Another shiver passes through him as he steps out into open air that has nothing to do with the cold.
Setting off, he makes a silent reminder to himself to stay far, far away from the office for the remainder of their stay.
Crossing the parking lot, Sam's eyes drift to room one-nineteen where his brother and Cas still sleep. He's strongly fighting the part of him shouting that he should stop being a naughty boy and get his bottom back in that room. Crawl back into bed, go back to sleep, and behave as if he hadn't stepped out of the room at all this morning when he wakes again.
Then Dean and Cas can't possibly be mad at him.
But he steadies his resolve. Forces himself to keep walking. Firmly telling himself this is what needs to be done. And a minute later he hits the main road.
Glancing briefly up at the signpost planted in the sidewalk, he sets off to the right, heading for the township of Redfern Grove.
#SPN#
Bare toes curling into the wet sand beneath his feet, Castiel silently observes the magical array of sunset colours splashed across the horizon and reflecting in the ocean standing calm before him. A calm that belies the might it can deliver upon the world when nature speaks up; both beautiful and hideous in its everlasting reminders of potency and anger, never to be taken for granted again.
But the beauty before him will never hold a candle to that which lies behind him; the sound of his husband and child's laughter curving his lips into the smile they hold.
And peering over his shoulder at the pair, his smile widens until a soft chuckle flows from him at the sight of the man and child immersed in trampling the previously built sandcastle city beneath their feet. Catching his husband's eye, the other man grins before grabbing up their child around the waist and throwing the squealing boy over his shoulder to spin around in the mess of sand the two have just created.
His own laughter merging with theirs, Cas moves to join them …
"Cute kid."
Cas spins around at the familiar voice disturbing their peace. "Gabriel?" he questions with disbelief.
Gabriel smirks. "In the flesh… so to speak."
"No," Cas growls, with a shake of his head. "I have been through this before. You are just a figment of my imagination. Or someone else's idea of a twisted game. Leave. Now!"
"Oh, sure," Gabriel shrugs. "I just figured I'd save you experiencing the heartache of what comes next, but, hey, little bro, I'll leave and come back …"
Cas deflates, hunching over against the fear of knowing what comes next in this recurring dream had Gabriel – or whoever it is – not barged in. And he would rather not watch everything he holds dear be destroyed before his eyes. Again. "No. Stay. Please."
"If you insist." Gabriel shrugs, parking his behind on the sand to watch Castiel's husband and child playing.
Cas sighs and joins him. "How are you here when you are dead, Gabriel?"
"Of all the young angels, you had to go ahead and be the most friggin' stubborn." Gabriel rolls his eyes.
"I am not stubborn."
Gabriel snorts. "Yeah, you are. Because damn, bro, you are seriously not getting it," he shakes his head, and Cas can feel the rising power radiating off the being beside him. Or at least a latent aspect; a remembered feeling of what it was to be in Gabriel's presence when the archangel was breaching upon angry. "This is ME, okay. I mean it, Castiel."
A large part of Castiel truly wishes to believe it, but it just cannot be. Gabriel was killed with his own archangel blade; an absolute end. He shakes his head and firmly reiterates, "You. Are. Dead."
Gabriel sighs. "Dead, yeah, sure. Depending on who you ask of course."
"What does that mean?" Cas questions sharply.
"Oh, please, you honestly think you're the only one Dad has a soft spot for?" Gabriel snorts. "Even if he never shows it."
Cas cannot help but stare at him in surprise. "Our Father brought you back?"
Gabriel rolls his eyes, "Come on, Cassie. Don't tell me all those boring-ass lessons all newbie angels suffer through have gone to waste?"
"Many of Heaven's teachings no longer hold any credence in my life, Gabriel." Not after Naomi, he adds silently, but Gabriel looks at him as if he understands, which is most likely.
"Regardless whether they do or don't, you should remember what happens to an archangel if or when they die."
Cas sucks in a breath, his eyes widening with recollection. "Your essence is bound to Father. To return to him upon death."
"No passing Go. No collecting two-hundred … The reason Dad had Michael banish Luci rather than kill him outright, I imagine. So he didn't have to listen to Luci grumbling for eternity. Of course there was also that pesky apocalypse."
"That apocalypse claimed Sam's life! And Dean nearly followed!" Cas responds angrily.
"They weren't the only ones as I personally recall, Castiel."
Cas stills his anger at the truth of Gabriel's words. "I apologise, brother."
"Ah, don't sweat it, bro." Gabriel waves a hand. "I had a job to do."
"A job? You are dead."
"And we're still lingering there," Gabriel snorts. "Fine. Yes. I'm dead. But my essence exists within my own personal little bubble in the very inner echelons of Heaven. Now, at least. Before that … I had a job to do," he reiterates.
"A job in Heaven?"
"Heaven. Time. Reality." Gabriel looks out to the horizon, a haunted look in his eyes Cas has never seen on his prankster loving brother before.
"What are you talking about, Gabriel?"
Gabriel sighs and the look is gone; his gaze tracking to Cas' husband and child playing around. "He really is a cute kid."
"I know." Cas sighs at the deflection. "Why are you here, Gabriel?" He questions, turning to stare at his brother only to have a gasp escape him as a curtain of white rolls across and submerges the honey-brown eyes of Gabriel's known vessel in the blink of an eye.
Gabriel's mouth opens, his lips move, but the voice that alights is a hollow whisper that sends chills down Cas' spine. "Knowledge seek to answers gain … Seek the grey … Gain the key …" Gabriel shakes his head and his eyes return to normal.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Cas glares at his brother.
"How do I know?" Gabriel shrugs. "I'm just the messenger," he adds, holding up his hands before him. "I have no idea what I even said. So whatever it was, well… that's entirely up to you and the other two stooges to figure out. But… be careful, little bro. It isn't safe for any of you, especially not …"
He barely blinks, but Gabriel is gone, and Cas is plunged back into his dream as darkness descends overhead more rapidly than should be possible.
He jumps to his feet and moves to rush to his family, but he cannot move. Dread fills him as he stares downwards to see his feet have sunk into the sand. And as he tries to pull them free they only sink deeper, now trapping his lower legs within a vice built of sand and water.
Cas' family have stopped playing, his husband back on his feet with their child protectively cradled against his chest as he notices Cas' predicament. Cas calls out to him while the other man does the same as he charges forwards to reach Cas, but a sudden hush envelopes the area as if all sound has been sucked from the world and their voices disappear with it.
Lightning flashes across the dark sky and with a boom, a fork impacts the sand separating him from his husband and child. With it, the existence of sound slams into him like the buzz of a million locusts bearing down on them as energy crackles up from the point of impact, growing larger by the second and beginning to take shape.
Cas' watches his husband's anguished green eyes flicker down to the sand holding Cas immobile, before glancing down to their child. His eyes flicker back up to Cas, the unspoken apology clear.
Cas nods, his heart hammering in his chest as he does the only thing he can do to try and save them. "Run!"
His husband manages to take only a step before an invisible force sharply yanks their screaming child out of the man's fierce grip; their little boy flying backwards directly into the dark vortex of energy whirling within the developing humanoid form, his fathers' screams following him …
#
Blindly reaching for the buzzing phone on the nightstand and fingers curling around the irritating device as he leans up on an elbow to jam a finger against the screen, Dean sets it to his ear and gruffly snaps, "Yeah," with a voice still fogged with sleep. "Kara, hey," Dean swipes a hand down his face, waking up a little at the voice on the other end, but feeling like absolute shit.
A quick look at his watch reveals why. He's been asleep for less than five fucking hours after being awake for nearly five days. He groans inwardly, quietly cursing the woman for waking him up. Yet at the same time, he knows Kara wouldn't be calling unless it was important.
"Whoa, Kara, slow down," Dean stresses, shifting himself to sit up slightly, "you think what? … Right now? … Alright, send it through." Dean pulls the phone from his ear.
It beeps a moment later and he opens the text message to view the picture Kara just sent him; it's grainy, but he can just make out the red hair and the short stature of the individual it belongs to in the photo. The side profile might hold a resemblance to Rowena, but it's just too blurry.
He sets the phone back to his ear. "That's not a lot to go on, Kara. Can you get a …" Dean's words dissolve as he nearly jumps out of his skin instead as Cas bolts upright beside him with a gasp, the other man panting heavily as if he's just reached the end of a long ass marathon. "Cas. Hey." Dean quickly ditches his phone on the bed in front of him while shifting himself around so he can rub one hand over Cas' back and grip his shoulder with the other to give his partner grounding support. "Cas, just take it easy. Breathe, man."
Cas finally blinks and turns to face him, skin almost ashen. "S-Sorry," the man apologises quietly once his breathing is under manageable control. "Strange dream."
"Yeah, kinda figured that," Dean acknowledges just as quietly before the sound of Kara bellowing through his phone, asking what's going on, draws his attention. He quickly brings the device near his mouth and snaps, "Hang on, Kara," lest the sound of the woman's voice wakes Sammy, who has thankfully remained asleep since the phone buzzed to life.
"I'm okay, Dean. Take your call," Cas tells him, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs over the side.
"You sure? I can call her back."
Cas turns to look at him over his shoulder. "It's Kara. It's important," the man responds, giving him a nod to go ahead, and a half smile that Dean is supposed to believe as reassuring, but feels anything but.
However, he knows Cas will talk when he's good and ready and the quicker he takes this call, the quicker Dean's free for Cas if the man needs him.
Releasing a sigh, Dean sets his phone back to his ear, "Kara, hey, sorry about that."
He listens to what she has to say in regards to this possible sighting of Rowena as he watches Cas trudge his way towards the bathroom; the man running his fingers unconsciously over the bottom of Sam's bed the way Dean often does to ensure himself of his kid's presence.
But Cas stops with his next step and turns to the bed with a deep frown. With a frown of his own, Dean turns his gaze fully to his kid's bed to check what's putting that look on his partner's face when Sammy's sleeping peacefully.
Except… Dean realises it's much too quiet. He can't hear Sammy's little snuffling snores and he's far too attuned to that sound. And with that realisation, he also realises the shape beneath the rumpled covers is wrong. And though it is still relatively dark in the room, with only a slither of dull light from the bathroom for illumination, Dean still can't make out his kid's mop of brown hair the way he usually can.
Ending his call without preamble and throwing back his covers as he does, Dean pats his hand down on Sam's blankets and has to brace himself against the mattress with his hands as the blankets immediately deflate flat against the bed.
He and Cas stare at each other for a fraction of a second before they separate; Cas taking the bathroom, while Dean runs into the living area, calling his brother's name. Throwing open the heavy drapes to allow the early morning light in, he quickly surveys the main room, finding no trace of his baby brother. But he does notice the kid's jacket is missing along with the brown messenger bag Sam generally carries his laptop around in.
Crossing to the entrance door, Dean knows full well he's going to find it unlocked before he twists the handle and wrenches it open. With rising anger coursing through his veins, he steps out into the cold, his eyes tracking a parking lot that also holds no sign of his kid.
"He's not in the bathroom," Cas informs him from the doorway, voice filled with worry. "But his laptop is no longer on the rocking chair and his messenger bag is gone. And this was on the nightstand next to you." Cas holds up the pacifier Sam had been put to bed with after being rocked to sleep in Dean's arms. "Do you think this …?"
"I don't know," Dean growls, snatching the pacifier out of his partner's hand as he storms his way back into the room. "I do know that kid's backside is so fucking toast when I get a hold of him! And he's grounded! For fucking eternity."
"Dean," Cas chides lightly as he closes the door behind him, "we don't know he left of his own …"
Dean rounds on him and barks out, "Do those sigils look intact to you, Cas?!" He throws an arm out in gesture towards the back of the motel door. "'Cause they fucking do to me!"
"It could have been something that can bypass those sigils, Dean," Cas points out, trying to be a voice of reason as he follows Dean back into the bedroom.
"And this thing kindly waited for Sam to pack up his laptop and put on his jacket and clothes did it?" Dean snorts angrily. "Where the fuck did I put my phone!" he growls.
"Dean, you need to calm down," Cas intones as he pulls his sweater over his head. "Sam would have left a note, would he not?"
"Do you see a note lying around here anywhere, Cas?" Dean snaps, pulling his jeans up his legs.
"Exactly, Dean. Sam would have left a note had he walked out of here of his own volition."
"You want him to have been fucking kidnapped, that it, Cas?!"
"No! You damn well know that's not what I'm saying, Dean!"
"Coulda fooled me!" Dean snarks, slamming his feet into his boots.
"There is no talking to you when you're like this!" Cas snaps back.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean demands. Cas lets out an angry huff and turns, heading towards the entrance into the main room. "And where the fuck are you going?"
"To the office! To see if they have seen Sam while I try calling him on my phone! But you carry on looking for your damn phone, Dean!" Cas shouts back at him, pulling his own phone out of his coat pocket and spinning on his heels. Except his feet get tangled up in his anger and he smacks into the floor beside the dining table, much like Sam had done yesterday. "Goddammit!" Cas growls.
"Serves you fucking right," Dean can't help snapping, his worry and anger getting the better of him.
"Yeah, and fuck you, too," Cas snarls back at him, pushing himself up on his hands and knees.
Dean angrily rolls his eyes, finally finding his phone amongst the folds of his bed's blankets. Snatching it up, his finger is just pressing down on the screen when Cas yells his name from the other room.
"What?!" Dean barks, stomping his way over to where Cas is now sitting on his ass and holding up a lined piece of paper with Sam's familiar and messy writing across it. He reaches down and snatches the paper out of his partner's hand to quickly read over it:
GONE TO TOWN
BACK SOON
I'M FINE
SAM
Dean raises his eyes to Cas, who stares back at him with stormy blue eyes. "I'm definitely kicking that kid's ass six ways to fucking Sunday."
#SPN#
It's a twenty minute walk before Sam reaches the edge of town and he really wishes he'd grabbed a bottle of water out of the vending machine. The cold air is sapping his breath away and causing his mouth to dry out. Thankfully, he quickly spots a sign for a café and heads for it.
When he enters Dots Coffeehouse a few minutes later, Sam observes each person seated at the tables and at the serving counter with a couple of quick sweeping glances as he makes his way up the central aisle to the counter. He pulls off his gloves, sticking them in his bag as he surveys the menu nailed to the back wall behind the counter.
"What can I get you, Hun?"
It's on the very tip of Sam's tongue to order his usual half-caf, double vanilla latte, but Dean's voice pops up in his ear telling him not to even think about it. He wants to do it anyway. Dean's not here, he's not going to know Sam's had a coffee. But Sam also doesn't want to chance facing Dean's unnatural ability of just knowing when Sam's been naughty.
Gah, there's that word again. I meant misbehaved, Sam corrects himself quickly, when I've misbehaved, not… not that stupid word.
"Sir?"
Sam shakes himself awake and smiles shyly at the lady behind the counter. "Um, coffee, black, strong," Sam bites his lip as the words leave his mouth; he hadn't meant to say that.
He releases his lip to change the order when he snaps his mouth shut with a quick shake of his head. Because if he's going to take charge of his life again then he's damn well having coffee.
Screw Dean's issues on the matter.
"Extra-large," he adds, with another shy smile. "Um, a bottle of water, too, and one of those double chocolate cookies please."
A cookie isn't exactly substantial breakfast material but at least the large round thick cookie will be a good filler until he gets back to the motel. Plus nothing else they have to offer is appealing to him right now.
"Here you go," the barista sets his order down on the counter in front of him a minute later.
"Thanks."
"That'll be five ninety, Hun."
Sam hands over the cash; grateful for once to actually have the accurate change thanks to his brother's resistance to carrying coin. Opening his bottle of water, he takes several long gulps to quench his thirst, before recapping the bottle and slipping it into his laptop bag. Replacing his gloves on his hands, he grasps the napkin curled around his cookie, picks up his tall coffee and heads back out into the frigid air.
Taking his first mouthful of coffee once it's cooled enough, Sam's eyes close involuntarily. He may not savour the taste, because to be perfectly honest it tastes just as disgusting as always – more so without milk - but from that first taste, he knows his body is being filled with wonderful caffeine.
And he suddenly feels more awake than he has in weeks, a small grin sliding over his lips. Because the first thing he's going to do when he speaks to his brother again is tell the man the coffee ban is no longer in place. And Dean's not allowed to dictate what Sam feeds his own body.
Yep, I'm back in control, Sam's grin widens and he gives an unconscious little skip along the sidewalk.
He finds the library easily enough with creepy motel guy's directions, though Sam has no doubts he could have found the place on his own. It would've saved him that awkward encounter. But he hadn't wanted to venture into town without knowing the place actually had a library first.
It's the only reason he's here.
He dumps his empty coffee container and the napkin in the trash can outside the doors, surreptitiously brushing his lips and chin to check he hasn't made a mess of himself before he goes in.
There is an elderly, grey-haired woman seated behind the circulation desk as he enters. She's so thin Sam thinks one little breeze would knock her over, but you can never judge a person's strength by their appearance. He's had enough experience with that.
He offers a smile, she glares back, and his smile slips off his face. Ooo-kay, he thinks as he turns to the directory, self-consciously running a hand over his hair just in case it's sticking up everywhere and he's looking scruffy or something. Or maybe she's one of those librarian's; one who thinks nobody else should be touching the books but her. Great. He can still feel her glare on his back as he moves into the library proper, finding a directory computer and sitting himself down.
Quickly typing in several different search phrases, not one result is particularly helpful. But he doesn't give up. If he did that after every hurdle in research, he would never produce any results for their hunts. So instead he stands and heads into the stacks, heading towards the section on Occult, and taking note of Religion. He'll hit that area next.
Sometimes it's just easier and faster to go straight to the source.
Because as much as he loves his laptop and tablet and the access they give him to so much material online, there's nothing like holding the weight of an actual book in his hands; flipping the pages, reading the printed ink and absorbing the information they offer.
And Sam likes books. Which means he likes actual physical books. Call him a geek.
Though he really isn't holding out much hope that he'll find something that will offer him assistance in his search in a small town library that could explain Dean's recent behaviour. But it doesn't hurt to look. It's why he's here after all. And he'll hit as many libraries as possible until he finds the answers he's searching for.
Maybe I should hit the psychology books too, he ponders, eyeing a sign for that section as he reaches the occult books. Traversing the small selection with his eyes, Sam shakes his head at what he sees; too recent, too Wicca.
An ominous gurgle erupts from Sam's stomach that has nothing to do with hunger. He freezes; sudden nausea making him swallow heavily against the rising sensation of wanting to throw up. Saliva starts to build up in his mouth and it only takes Sam a second to realise it's time to high-tail it to a bathroom so as not to give the woman at the desk a true reason to be glaring at him.
As quickly as he can manage, he hurry's for the men's restroom. Clamping a hand over his mouth as he enters, he shoulders open the nearest stall door, using his free but shaking hand to fumble the lock closed. He hastily twists around and drops to his knees, leaning over the potty not a moment too soon as half-digested double chocolate cookie and coffee forcefully ejects from his mouth.
He coughs, feels the tears start to trickle down his cheeks as his throat works hard to dislodge more of the clogged mess into the potty bowl, and his tummy muscles scream at him for the forceful spasms his heaving is producing.
Finally it stops, the nausea disappearing as swiftly as it overpowered him. Still kneeling, the small space allows Sam to lean back against the stall door, swallowing against his now burning throat. Digging out his water bottle, he's grateful he bought it at the diner. He takes a swig, swishing it around his mouth before spitting it in the potty, while doing his best to avert his eyes from the mess already in the bowl.
Reaching out, he flushes the potty, trying to fight back the sob he feels rising from his chest as an overwhelming need for his brother lashes him. He flops back onto his butt, rattling the stall door as his back hits it and buries his head in his raised knees to conceal the cry escaping his lips.
Dean, his mind whimpers.
Biting at his bottom lip to keep from making a noise and feeling the tears leaking down his cheeks, Sam digs into his jeans pocket with a shaking hand, pulling out his phone. Raising his head a little, he swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand to clear his vision slightly as he pulls up Dean's contact.
NO! The independent part of his brain suddenly yells while his shaking finger hovers over the contact on his screen ready to swipe across to place the call. You're a big boy! If you do this Dean's NEVER gonna let you out of his sight again!
NONONO! I WANT DEAN! The side of him currently at the fore of his mind and emotions screams back louder, the little boy seeking out big brother for comfort and reassurance.
Gah! You ALWAYS want Dean! Get your ass up off this god damn fucking floor and do what you came here to do first!
Sam raises his hands to his head, pressing them against the sides as he gives it a shake.
No, no, no…
His brain is not doing this.
He is not arguing with himself.
It reminds him too much of the disjointedness that came with Lucifer hallucinations that had sailed him all the way into a mental institution. A situation he wouldn't have survived without Cas taking Sam's crazy into himself.
Though he does realise it wouldn't have been needed without Cas' actions in breaking the wall in the first place, but he's forgiven those. He doesn't think he would be on speaking terms with the former-angel now if he hadn't.
This time it's his turn to help Cas. To help his brother. That's the here and now. But he cannot function with two sides of him warring against each other …
So both of you shut the hell up, deal with the fact I WANT my big brother, but I NEED to get this done too! He yells back.
His mind goes blessedly, but eerily, silent. Then he feels a buzz through him and he feels that overpowering want for his brother lessen enough to join with the need to do his job. Those two sides of him having finally united in a shared goal and resonating encouragement.
And oh god, I really am going crazy if I'm talking about sides of me as if their individually real.
Shit.
Sam surges to his feet, using the stall walls to steady himself; it is passed time to get away from this craziness.
Slipping his phone back into his jeans, he sets his bottle of water to his lips again and swallows down a small mouthful. Just enough to ease his throat a little. He won't chance taking more. Not until he knows his stomach has at least settled down completely. Dumping it back in his bag, he unravels a portion of toilet paper and briskly wipes it across his face to remove any residue of his tears.
Opening the stall door a moment later, Sam crosses over to the sinks and washes still trembling hands under the hot faucet, before switching to the cold and rinsing his face and neck with his hands. The mildly flushed face in the mirror reveals bloodshot eyes which is to be expected after the tears, and with the force his stomach contents had ejected from his body.
And Sam really wouldn't be too concerned about that if he hadn't been ill as recently as yesterday. But there was no throwing up yesterday, at all, and the fever is gone. So… it has to be the other thing. The thing that has happened five times already since the casting of the spell. The thing where Sam throws up roughly fifteen to twenty minutes after eating, just like clockwork. Sam glances down at his watch.
Yep, right on schedule.
But he thought it had stopped; the last time it happened having been a couple days before they left the bunker.
That, or its punishment for the coffee.
He sighs, swiping his wet hand over his face once more before moving to the paper-towel dispenser and pulling out several to dry his face and hands.
Exiting the restroom, Sam makes his way back to the Occult section. Maybe another perusal will reveal something helpful, but again he's not hopeful.
Maybe I'm suddenly allergic to chocolate, or hell, coffee, Sam muses as his eyes rove over the book spines, before shaking his head at his own thought. He's eaten both chocolate and drank coffee recently and independently of each other; he hadn't thrown up either time.
Body's change, another thought flitters in. "But not in the space of a few days," Sam murmurs out loud.
Of course it could have been an ingredient in either the cookie or coffee. But he doubts any of the ingredients share commonality with the foods he'd eaten the other five times he's thrown up like this. And it isn't every time he eats. He didn't throw up after the nuggets and fries nor after the noodles last night.
Another sigh releases from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. He decides to hit Religion and then find a table and set up his laptop. He can at least use the library's Wi-Fi to get online while he's here. And set about finding and changing the laptop's administrative password while he's at it.
His phone rings in his pocket before he hits the end of the stack. He digs it out, briefly taking in Dean's name. As he answers, Sam has to clamp down on that crazy want to tell Dean he's just thrown up, and his need to demand his brother come make it all better.
Because that's just childish.
Being rocked to sleep in his big brother's arms last night was childish enough.
Sam can deal with this himself, he has been for three weeks. Except that one time he embarrassedly threw up all over himself out on the green. And the past four days of course.
"Which part of 'you're not to go anywhere alone' did you not understand, Samuel?" Dean demands the second Sam has his phone to his ear and before he can even open his mouth.
And even though he's being scolded, happiness swells inside Sam at the sound of his big brother's voice and he once again has to clamp down on his want and need to spill his guts. Though not literally this time.
"You were asleep, Dean," Sam just hopes his brother doesn't detect the slight shakiness in his voice. "I wanted to …"
"NOWHERE ALONE, SAM!" Dean barks, his voice reverberating against Sam's ear, causing Sam to wince and hold the phone slightly away from him as his brother continues to scold him. "You're damn lucky Cas tripped over his own goddamn feet and spotted your note before we came tearing after you! Unless it was your intention for it to remain hidden on a chair under the damn table?!"
"What?" No, he'd left the note on the table. He'd made sure it could be seen on his way out the door … oh shit. "Okay, okay, would you shut up for a second, Dean," Sam quickly interjects as loudly as he'll let himself say without seeking trouble from the fierce lady at the circulation desk. He hears an angry huff of breath leave his brother on the other end and can practically feel the man's glare. "Dean, look, I left the note on the table, I swear! It must have fallen off in the breeze when I opened the door."
"Well gee, Sam, that's great," the sarcasm is rife in Dean's tone, "thanks very much for the heart attack! I'm still of half a mind to come tearing after you to tan your frigging hide just for that!"
Sam smiles nervously when a woman near the opening of the stack turns to stare at him with shocked eyes as Dean's voice blares through the phone. Heat spreading across his cheeks, he ducks his head and hightails it deeper into the stacks where hopefully less eavesdroppers abound.
"I'm sorry," he sighs, speaking as he moves. "But, look, Dean, I get your protectiveness seems to have kicked into overdrive," something I'm desperately trying to figure out, Sam adds silently, "but you gotta give me some freedom here, man." Sam is rather proud of the fact he managed to keep the exasperation out of his voice. The last thing he wants to do is sound like a whiny brat when he's trying to get a point across. That won't get him anywhere with his brother. "You and Cas can't watch me every minute of the day."
His brother is silent on the other end and Sam knows Dean's brain is trying to come up with ideas as to how exactly he can keep eyes on Sam twenty-four-seven. Sam is extra proud of himself when he neither huffs nor rolls his eyes at the notion.
"Dean."
"Yeah, I know, okay," Dean's voice is filled with his own frustration. "But bad shit usually happens when your outta my sight, Sammy."
"I'm just at the library, Dean. There's, you know, normal people here, doing normal people things. I think I'll be safe away from you and Cas for a few hours. And…" Sam frowns in thought "… I don't think I've ever been attacked in a library before …"
"Nazi necromancer."
"Well crap." Sam had forgotten about that incident, and he'd really been aiming for the library as a safe place thing.
Dean snorts. Then sighs, and Sam can almost sense the wavering indecision. "Fine. You get two hours of freedom," Dean spits the word out like it's a curse. Sam winces; immediately knowing that's going to come back and bite him in the butt at some point. "But your ass is back in this motel room by that two hour mark, Sam, or I'll come looking for you. And you really won't like me if I have to do that, you understanding me?"
Oh, Sam understands. And the library is way too public for Dean to make an appearance if Sam doesn't do as asked. Because thanks to his note, he's avoided punishment for this little journey, and he'd prefer for it to remain that way.
So as Sam dutifully responds to his brother's wishes with a, "Yes, Dean," a little balloon of achievement is inflating within him. Even though the two hour deadline only gives him roughly an hour and a half of research before he has to pack up and leave for the thirty minute walk back to the motel, he'll most definitely take it. "Wait, are you gonna be at the motel? Thought you and Cas were heading back to that farmhouse?"
"We are. It'll take an hour tops. Then we need to go hire a car for Cas to get to Vancouver."
Sam frowns at the news. "I thought you said Kara's been checking that out?"
"She is. She called while you were pulling a Great Escape …"
"Dramatic much, Dean?" Sam rolls his eyes. It's silent on the other end. "Um… please continue."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Just sounds like someone's worried about their behind. You being all polite with me an' all."
"No I'm not. I'm just …"
"Worried about getting another spanking on top of the one you've already earnt yourself?"
Sam feels his eyes widen, that little balloon of achievement inside of him deflating rapidly. He's getting a spanking? What for? Did he miss something? "I… but… I left a note, Dean. That's the rule."
"And I appreciate you following that rule, Sam. You did good there. But the fact still remains that you disobeyed me."
"But I didn't!"
"No? So telling you 'nowhere alone' doesn't make any sense to you? You don't recall the conversation we had in our kitchen before we even hit the road?"
"Dean, that was like five or six days ago! And I've been sick since then. How am I meant to remember that?" Sam scoffs, hoping his brother doesn't catch onto the lie.
"Because I know you do."
Sam inwardly curses Dean's stupid big brother super powers. "Well, that doesn't… that… that …" he stumbles to a stop at hearing the familiar jingle of the Impala's key against its keyring on the other end of the phone.
"Baby's looking real impatient to come pick up her boy, Sam."
"Okay, yes, I remember," he rushes out quickly.
"Remember what?"
Sam huffs. He's been pretty good at refraining from doing that this entire conversation so far and probably deserves a pat on the back for lasting this freaking long.
"Samuel."
"Uh, well… you told me I'm not allowed to go off anywhere by myself."
"And yet, knowing this, you went and walked out the motel door by yourself, walked into town by yourself and currently stand in a library by yourself, and that doesn't qualify as disobeying me, that about right, Sam?"
Sam swallows and looks down at his boots, finding them particularly interesting right now as he refrains from adding, 'I bought and drank a coffee all by myself, too'. He's fairly certain that answer won't go over all that well with his big brother right now. He'll have to bide his time on that one. "Okay, I guess I did, a little …"
"A little…" Dean snorts harshly and Sam just knows the man's shaking his head. "You can thank Cas, by the way, for the fact I'm still at the motel and not standing right behind you, kid."
Sam whips his head around to look behind him, he can't help it, and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find Dean magically standing there.
"Oh you go right ahead and let that relief out, little boy. 'Cause as soon as you're butt's back in this motel, you and I are gonna be having a long conversation about this."
Sam unconsciously reaches back to cover his bottom. "Can't we, um, forgo that type of, um, conversation, this time, De? I mean," he hurries to continue, "I get it, I really do. I know I shouldn't be here by myself; I know I should've woken you up; I know …"
"… You'll do exactly the same thing again in the next town you find a library," Dean finishes.
Sam winces. He has already told himself that he'll hit every library he comes across if he has to in finding some answers, with or without Dean and Cas' knowledge if necessary, so his brother isn't wrong on that score.
"You can't…" Sam surreptitiously glances around to make sure no one is in ear shot before carrying on at a whisper, "… spank me for something I might do in the future. Or spank me twice …"
"I'm not gonna be spanking you for something you might do in the future, Sam," Dean interrupts sharply. "I'm gonna be spanking you for something you've done in the here and now. To prevent you from doing it in the future. Because I KNOW you, Sam. And if I don't spank you now, this is gonna happen again and again, kid. As to that second spanking… that all depends on whether you can do as you're told from here on out doesn't it, Sam?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"No guessing about it, kid. You'll do as you're told or our conversation will be that much longer." Dean reiterates, firmly. "Do you wanna tell me what you need to do to avoid that, Sam?"
Sam scuffs the tip of his boot against the floor; never feeling more like a child then when asked to repeat instructions given to him when he's in trouble. But he still does so without hesitation, wanting to be back in his big brother's good books again. "Be back at the motel on time. And stay put in the library until it's time to head out," he adds for good measure, hoping it may stay Dean's hand just a little. He really doesn't want a second spanking.
"Good boy. I'm happy you understand that, Sammy."
Sam's tummy flutters happily at the praise and words sprout from his mouth before he can shut himself up, "Am I allowed to change the administrative password on the laptop, Dean?" Sam closes his eyes; he could kick himself. What the hell did he ask that for? He already knows the answer he's going to get; the reason he was going to change it on the sly. God. He's such an idiot.
"No. You'll leave it as it is, Sam. You can access what you need to online. Save for porn. And you better not be watching that."
"I'm in a public library, Dean." Sam rolls his eyes, even as he feels his cheeks heat. "And 'm not a baby. I had a whole life that involved sex before somebody decided to turn back that clock, you know. And when did Dean Winchester turn into such a frigging prude about porn?"
Dean snorts. "Oh I ain't never been a prude, Sammy. But I have my reasons."
"And these reasons would be?"
"Sammy, tell me what a strap-on is?"
"A what?"
"That would be my reason, kid." Dean clears his throat and when he speaks his gruff voice is back to the all-business tone it has for hunting, rather than the one that indicates he's dealing with little brother. "Alright, listen, Kara thinks Rowena might be in Vancouver right now. Except we don't exactly have photo evidence of the witch and she could have hired anybody that was a reasonable lookalike. From a distance …"
"It could look like her to a stranger," Sam fills in, shaking off the moroseness from being scolded.
"Yahtzee. Kara sent a photo to me, but it was just too blurry to give a positive ID, so Cas is gonna head up there to verify."
"You know, I still think Cas should give his teleporting a go. I mean, I can handle the headache that'll come with it. And if you hold onto me and Cas gets far enough away from me, then maybe …"
"We've already had this discussion, Sam."
"No, Dean. That wasn't a discussion. That was you and Cas dismissing the idea entirely."
"And with good reason! Dammit, Sam! You've passed out twice now from these powers, once for Cas just summoning your damn sippy-cup! And you're harping on about him zapping his way over to Vancouver. I swear that hit to the head you took a couple weeks back did some damage this time."
"S'not a sippy cup," Sam mutters quietly.
"Not the point, Samuel! We are NOT risking your life to satisfy your fucking curiosity. Cas is driving, end of."
"Then at least go with him, Dean. You've done the trip before, you'd cut it down to half the time. And probably be back before you even should've got there."
"I think we need to work on your definition of alone, Sam," Dean snaps. "Letting you outta my sight for over eight hours is a big difference from the two I'm giving you. And you better make damn good use of that time because it ain't happening again anytime soon."
"Dean, you CAN'T watch me twenty-four-seven!" Sam reiterates his earlier point at his big brother's dogmatic tone.
"Sam, mine and Cas' powers are knocking you on your ass. We have no clue what they're doing to you on the inside, or if there still affecting you when Cas and I don't even use 'em …"
"Which is exactly why we should test …"
"You know what," Dean's voice cuts in, tone now harder than steel, "I don't wanna hear one more word outta you on this topic, Sam, you hear me?"
Oh hell, Sam has heaps more he can say on the subject, but he refrains. Because if he carries on arguing he knows he can kiss goodbye to this little adventure in Redfern Grove's library. His butt will be planted back in the motel quicker than he can blink and it could be several more towns before Dean might relent again. Not to mention he'll be far closer to that second spanking than he ever wants to get.
"I asked if you heard me, Samuel."
"Yeah, Dean, I heard you."
"You better." His brother is silent down the phone and Sam can't yet bring himself to fill that silence. And just as he's thinking he should hang up a moment later, his brother speaks. "Look, Sammy… don't worry about Cas, alright. He's a big boy and can take care of himself. This is just a straightforward recon mission."
"Did you really just say straightforward? That always jinxes things, Dean."
"Two hours, Sam."
"From which starting point exactly?"
"Clock starts the second I cut this call."
"Okay." At least Dean is allowing that. His brother could have easily given him from the moment Sam left the motel, or reached the library. Either way it would have left only about ten or twenty minutes on the clock and definitely not enough time to research. "Hey, Dean?"
"What?"
"Why the car hire?" he asks quietly, eyes flickering around. "We don't usually go that route."
"Because Cas getting arrested for grand theft auto trying to cross the Canadian border isn't something we can afford, Sammy."
"Right. Yeah." Sam doesn't know why he didn't think of that. "So legitimate hire it is."
"Exactly."
"Hey, Dean?"
"What, Sammy?"
"Thanks."
Sam hears Dean sigh through the phone and he can easily picture his brother swiping a hand over his face. "Yeah, whatever. Go do your geek thing."
Dean hangs up and Sam breathes a sigh of relief as he quickly inputs an alarm into his phone for an hour and half's time. He had managed not to blab his mouth about the sickness, and by some miracle he'd won himself a round of independent Sammy. Granted, he's also earnt himself a spanking, but still… he gives a brief jab of victory to the air with his fist.
He'll accept a semi win-win.
And, best of all, Dean hadn't asked what Sam was researching. Though his brother must know it's something to do with the spell. They haven't really been researching anything else currently.
With the euphoria of his victory, Sam heads back towards religion, which is conveniently next door to psychology.
It can't hurt to have a look, right?
#SPN#
Cutting the call with his baby brother, Dean glances at his watch, taking in the time and sets an alarm on his phone for ten-fifteen, the two hour deadline for Sam to have his ass back in this room.
"So that's it? We just leave Sam out there alone?"
Dean roughly drags a hand down his face, again, as he dumps his phone onto the table beside him. "What more do you want me to do, Cas?" Dean allows a sigh to release from him as he turns his gaze to his partner leaning against the edge of the kitchenette work surface; the man's arms crossed over his chest, and eyes still storming blue. "We can't keep Sam locked up in our need to protect him. There's gonna be times when he's out of our sight, whether we like it or not. And if you had an issue with the way I handled him you could have jumped in. Phone was on speaker. The floor was open."
"I might have if I thought Sam would listen to me."
"Sam does listen to you," Dean frowns. "You wouldn't have been able to calm him down the other morning when he was crying if he didn't. And yeah, he might be a stubborn shit who has trouble following the rules sometimes, man, but he respects you enough to listen to you."
"Then perhaps I should have. We may have already been on the way to collecting him."
"Cas, he needs this," Dean tells him, though the words leave a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.
"Needs this?" Cas scoffs harshly, glaring at him. "He's a little boy, Dean!"
"No he's not!" Dean growls back, shooting to his feet. "He's a grown fucking man!"
"Really?!" Cas interrupts sharply. "He's all grown up now is he? No longer needing big brother to comfort him when he's crying or sick. To read him a bedtime story and tuck him in. To take him to task for his behaviour? Is that what you truly think, Dean?"
"No!" Dean yells, slamming his palm into a wall and ignoring the sting it ignites, along with the shallow dent he made in the plaster. "Sam's a kid!" he grounds out, the thought of Sam no longer needing him feeling like a spear to his heart that Cas seems intent to drive all the more fucking deeper. "He's always been a kid! And will always be a fucking kid! Just a baby! That what you wanna hear?! Dammit! Why d'you have to push all the fucking time?"
"Because it's about time you fully admit to yourself that Sam is only a child, Dean, and should be treated as such. His very soul is proof of that."
"I know that already!"
"And yet you are willing to leave him alone out there when it is far too dangerous!"
Dean opens his mouth, more than ready to state Sam is a trained hunter, when he snaps his mouth closed again, the cogs turning within his mind as he stares at his partner. "You're afraid for him." He states, frowning, and wondering what the hell is causing a reaction like this from Cas.
Because Dean has seen Cas worried before, but they now know Sammy's safe at the library. (Even if Dean doesn't like it one fucking bit.) But why is Dean seeing downright fear in his partner's eyes? It surprisingly calms the roiling anger in Dean's veins and he steps closer to the man as a spark of knowing ignites in his mind.
"What happened in this dream of yours, Cas?"
Cas' eyebrows arc in surprise. "Nothing," the man responds, the hand on Dean's chest pushing him away slightly, which is just proving Dean's theory that this behaviour has something to do with the man's dream.
And normally Dean wouldn't push for details. Each one of them is entitled to keep their dreams and nightmare's private. Unless it impacts their daily waking lives. Like it is Cas right now. Or causes them to have fucking nosebleeds.
"Cas… c'mon, man."
"What bearing could my dream possibly have on our current situation, Dean?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking. Because out of the two of us, you're usually the calm, rational one that is calming me down."
Cas' adam's apple bounces beneath his skin as he swallows heavily, his shoulder's slumping. "It was a recurring dream. One I have experienced many a time since the spell to cure you was cast," he explains quietly.
Dean nods his understanding; not one of them has been saved from dreams and nightmares since that day. Before the guilt can burrow its way in, Dean nods again for Cas to go on.
"There is a child. Our child." Dean blinks at the notion but remains quiet, just waiting for Cas to carry on. "The child is taken from us. Drawn into a vortex and… and we can do nothing."
Dean watches the man before him trying in vain to blink the tears out of his eyes. He can tell there's something else Cas is not telling him, but he's not going to push. "Hey." Dean leans forward, kissing away the tears from his former-angel's cheeks. "It's okay, Cas," he whispers. "It's just… a dream causing you to project your fear for the child within it onto Sammy."
And Dean can't promise no one is going to take Sam because it has happened on far too many fucking occasions. But whoever gets it into their heads that it would be a good idea better pick a different hemisphere if they still want to exist after Dean retrieves his kid. And then Dean will hunt them down anyway and make sure they never come into existence ever again.
Cas ducks his head down to stare at the floor. "Then why do I feel as if I cannot breathe, Dean?" he asks quietly. "Why is there a weight on my chest that is slowly going to crush me if I do not see my little one soon?"
Dean cannot help the small curve of his lips at hearing Cas calling Sammy that, staking his claim on Dean's kid. Though he's not sure why that pleases him. Because if anyone else were to try it Dean would be pissed as all hell. But with Cas... it's just different; he doesn't feel like he would have to fight to retain his position within Sammy's life where Cas is concerned.
"I think that's what the shrinks like to call separation anxiety, Cas," Dean explains. "Welcome to the human race."
Cas snaps his head up to stare at Dean incredulously. "You have felt this?"
Dean snorts humourlessly; having far too many memories of times he has come under that crushing weight. "Just every time the kid disappears," he however responds, knowing Cas needs to know he isn't alone in this dose of ocean-size reality of human life. "Or he goes in the opposite direction on a hunt and I don't have eyes on him."
Or dies. Dean swallows sharply as too many images of dead baby brother assault his mind unbidden. He quickly shoves them away before that vice can get its claws into Dean's own chest and destroy him.
"It cannot be healthy."
"I'm sorry… you have met me and Sam, right?"
"I am acquainted." Dean snorts softly, brushing his lips against Cas' to calm him down further. "How have you dealt with it all these years?" Cas murmurs against him.
Dean pulls back and looks into less stormy fear-filled blue eyes. "I learnt to control it before it controlled me. I'm a protective person, Cas. That's never gonna change. And my baby brother will always top every list. But Sammy would be living in a bubble if I allowed the fear of him getting hurt to rule me." Dean sighs softly, telling that niggling portion of his brain happy with the bubble idea to shut up. "I'm in no way perfect, Cas. My control slips. And it has been slipping more often than not lately where protecting Sammy's concerned." It's the only apology Dean can offer for blowing up at Cas earlier when the realisation hit that Sam was gone. "And however much I would love to keep the kid somewhere he can't get hurt, it's not an option. That action in itself would be hurting Sam."
"I just want to keep him safe."
"I know. And we will."
"My heart, my mind, still thinks we should go and get him."
"We have to give him this, Cas. This small amount of freedom." The word twists on Dean's tongue in the same way it did when he was speaking to his kid.
Cas raises an eyebrow and accuses, "You don't want him out there by himself any more than I do."
"Told you. I'm not perfect," Dean reiterates with a one shouldered shrug. "Sam's okay. He's a trained hunter, Cas. And a damn good one at that. If he thinks anything's outta sorts he'll call. But right now we got a job to do." Dean crosses back to the table and picks up his gun, slipping it into his back waistband. "And besides," he says, turning back to Cas, "outta the three of us, who's oversized brain is more likely to figure all this crazy shit out?"
One corner of Cas' mouth curls up ever so slightly into a smile. "Sam."
"Sam," Dean repeats.
"I still don't like it," Cas grumbles, fingers fidgeting with the handle of one of Sammy's sippy cups sitting on the side.
Dean raises an eyebrow. "Do you think I ever have?"
#SPN#
Forty-five minutes after starting in on his research Sam decides it can hurt to look as he sits back with an aggravated sigh, dropping his pen and rubbing his temples to try and relieve the building headache.
Shortly after his brother's phone call, Sam had set up at a table, one sitting the farthest away from the grumpy old librarian's desk. His laptop sits in front of him, several windows open on screen and a selection of psychology books spread around him.
Though a fat lot of good they've been.
The books on religion had nothing more than he's already previously read thanks to Pastor Jim, Bobby's extensive and varied collection, and the Men of Letters library. He had thought the psychology books may assist him after reading a few interesting tidbits, but the most relevant answers he could find were separation anxiety disorder and co-dependency.
Which, unfortunately, he's pretty sure he and Dean have more than likely suffered with both of those, on and off, for years anyway. Sam definitely had the former when he was younger. And more than one supernatural being has deluded to the latter over the years.
So, Sam has absolute bubkis; literally nothing more than he already knew. Which at this point in time is jack-shit. Seriously, he has no more clue now as to what could be going on with his brother than he did before he started reading these psychology books.
And he doesn't understand it. Doesn't understand why an answer isn't popping out of all this research. He's trawled through so many articles, spells and the like. You name it, Sam's read it.
Online. From scrolls. From books.
The spell he used just doesn't seem to exist anywhere else other than the book he found it in amongst the Men of Letters Archive.
Which means it's looking more and more likely that Rowena is probably the only one who can help.
Sam sighs, staring down at the open page of a psychology book, the words blurring together. He snaps the stupid thing closed.
Maybe he just doesn't have an eye for psychology.
Or human behaviour in general for that matter, having spent too long analyzing the behaviour's of monsters instead.
But he knows Dean.
He shouldn't need a book to tell him how to analyze Dean's recent behaviour.
But maybe that's where he's going wrong. Maybe he should just observe and figure things out that way.
But what if I can't observe because I'm too busy trying to fight my own stupid frigging emotions that are flying all over the place whenever I'm around Dean? Dammit.
His phone vibrates on the table. He snatches it up and doesn't recognise the number, but he presses his thumb against the round red button on his screen anyway before setting the phone to his ear. It will at least break up the monotony of staring at useless crap.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Sam."
"Charlie!" Sam exclaims with relief. "Where have you been? I've been trying to get in contact with you for the past three weeks. You okay? Those guys still following you?"
"Nah, managed to evade those d-bags in Portugal. Unfortunately I had to ditch my phones and tablet before scooting across to Hamburg to get a plane home. I just got to the cabin you said to get to. Got a few bumps and bruises, but I'm good, Sam, promise."
"Jesus, Charlie." Sam runs his free hand over his face, guilt eating at his tummy. "I never should have sent you after the book …"
"Hey, don't do that. I made the decision to go after it, not you, Sam."
"As to that, please tell me you got my messages, Charlie. My email, anything."
"I got them, Sam. I just couldn't reply for obvious reasons."
"So you didn't get the book?" Even as he asks, Sam isn't sure he wants the answer.
Charlie had gone after the Book of the Damned months ago as a possible means to finding a cure for Dean. The first email Sam had read after curing his brother was Charlie informing him she had found the book's location in a monastery in Spain. But she'd unfortunately caught herself a couple of 'southern fried d-bags' when she paid too much attention to it, so she had to scram for a bit, but she'd go back for the book.
Sam had immediately fired off text messages and emails to the self-confessed nerd, warning her not to get the book and telling her what to do to ditch the assholes on her tail. Unfortunately, he's also been secretly hoping he could get his hands on the book. It might hold answers to the spell he used.
"No, I didn't get it." Sam sighs, nods; it is better this way. Charlie's safe. And Sam won't have to try hiding the book from Dean and Cas. "But… I thought that's what you wanted," Charlie continues, sounding confused and clearly having heard his sigh. "Right? Not to get it anymore. Because I'm telling you, Sam, there's bad bad bad bad bad mojo surrounding that book. I mean old and scary. I left it where it was. Think I dodged a bullet on this one, too."
"You did the right thing walking away, Charlie. I wouldn't want you getting hurt." Or worse, he thinks, his chest tightening painfully with the thought.
"Okay, that's good. Because I think Dean would've killed me if I'd given it to you."
"Not you too," Sam grumbles under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"O-kay. So… is it true, Sam? The Mark of Cain is gone? Like, completely gone? Dean's one hundred percent mark free?" Her voice is filled with awe, but heaps more hope.
Hope that Dean's back to normal; that he won't turn around and attack her again. Even if she had forgiven him pretty much straight away after the Dark Charlie fiasco. Much like Sam, too, has forgiven his brother's actions towards him under the influence of the Mark.
"Yeah, it's fully gone."
"Well go you, Firecracker!"
Sam sighs, feeling fresh tears building in his eyes and brushes at them angrily with his fingers. God, not now! He doesn't deserve anyone's praise. He screwed up. Royally. Whatever it was that he had done wrong with that spell is affecting his brother and Cas. In more ways than them both now being humans with powers at the opposite end of the supernatural spectrum. The reason Sam is here alone in this library.
"Sam? Hey, you there? What's wrong? This is good, right?" Charlie's voice is soft, reassuring, which only makes Sam feel even worse.
"Yeah, I know. It's …" Sam trails off, his throat closing up.
He raises his free hand to his mouth, thumb resting against his bottom lip before he realises what he's doing, where he is, and snaps it away. He quickly shoves the hand under his thigh, sitting on it to prevent a repeat.
"Hey, kiddo, you know you can always talk to me."
"Charlie …" Sam sighs, briefly brushing his cheeks against his shoulders, swiping away the moisture.
Maybe Charlie's right.
Maybe he should talk to her.
He needs to talk to somebody about this, short of going to Dean and Cas with it. Something he isn't ready to do just yet.
But Charlie… she's as close as family. He knows Dean views her as a little sister. Maybe she can help; give him a little insight. A different perspective.
Because his brain is fried.
He swallows against a tight throat, his voice a little hoarse as he gives her the overall gist of what's been happening since the spell's casting.
Charlie's quiet when he finishes. He hears a soft sigh of breath before she speaks again. "So… Dean's being uber-protective and strict with you?"
"Mostly, yeah."
"And… how is that any different to Dean's normal behaviour, Sam? I mean… I like to think I know you guys pretty well by now, and honestly, all I'm getting from your observations is that Dean's just… being Dean."
"That's what I was afraid of," Sam murmurs.
"What d'ya mean?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just making too much of all of it, Charlie," Sam rubs at his forehead, thumb finding its way to his lips again. Dammit! He shoves the hand back under his thigh. "Maybe you're right and Dean's just being his usual self, it's just …"
"You're not sure."
"Yeah."
"Sam, send me the spell you used and I'll see if I can find anything more on it …"
"I've looked everywhere, Charlie," Sam sighs, a hint of defeat creeping in. "I don't know if there is actually anything left to find."
"It still can't hurt to get fresh eyes on it, yeah?"
Sam sighs. "I guess. But you just got back, Charlie. You should rest."
"Sam, I'm sitting on my butt. I'm resting. I want to do this. Please. Let me do this for Dean. And Castiel, who I have yet to meet still by the way. Is that gonna happen someday soon? Anyway…" Sam smiles lightly, picturing her shaking her head of red hair as she gets back on topic. "… Two pairs of eyes are better than one. Though, Sam, does…" He frowns at the nervousness creeping into her voice. "… Does Dean know where I've been? About the book? Have you told him?"
Sam winces. That would explain the nerves. "No. And for both our sakes we don't ever want him finding out." Because if his brother ever found out Sam had let Charlie go halfway across the world after the Book of the Damned alone, his butt wouldn't be leaving the bunker for a year. Once Dean was done blistering it, of course.
"Oh, I'm doubly-down with that idea, kiddo. I love my video games."
Sam snorts softly as he remembers overhearing Dean promising to take Charlie's beloved video games away from her if he ever had to dish out punishment to the little sister he never wanted, but had grown to see and love as a sister anyway. Dean had even thanked her for providing him with the information while they were out getting Charlie an FBI approved suit.
Charlie had rolled her eyes and jokingly called Dean a dominant bastard.
Dean had shrugged and told her seriously, "I do what's necessary for those I love, kiddo."
Then it had been Dean's turn to roll his eyes as he found himself with an armful of Charlie. But he'd wrapped her in his arms tightly, chin resting atop her head. Sam had felt a twinge of jealousy flash through him at how easily and strongly his big brother returned her embrace when Sam rarely got a hug out of his brother. Not half a day later he had been surprised by those strong arms pulling him into a tight hug of his own.
Sam cringes lightly, also remembering the conversation only cropped up because Charlie had witnessed Sam getting his butt swatted earlier in the day. Which was rude of his brother to dish out considering Sam was sick at the time. Disobeying an order shouldn't count in the requiring of punishment department when the one doing the disobeying is sick. But he thinks Dean must have skipped over that or scratched it out from that invisible big brother handbook of his.
"You might not wanna stash any in your room at the bunker if you wanna avoid that outcome, Charlie," Sam chuckles lightly, feeling a little better now that he's talked it out with someone.
"But then I've gotta lug them with me every time I come stay," she grumbles, "or we won't have anything to play. Huh, that rhymed." Sam snorts. "Plus it wouldn't be fair. I mean, you can't exactly remove your cutie-patootie butt now, can ya, Sam," she teases and he feels his face heat.
"Shuddup, Charlie."
She laughs. "All right, I'm out. Stay out of trouble, bitch. And send me the spell, Sam. This place does have Wi-Fi, right? 'Cause my service isn't working."
"Err, it might," Sam winces. "I know I set up a couple of Uncle Bobby's cabins for him, but I can't remember if the one you're at was on that list, so it might still be old fashioned dial-up."
"Oh pants. Well, I'll check it out. And fix it if it's not."
Charlie ends the call and Sam shakes his head, a smile on his lips as he sets his phone back on the table. Glancing at the time on his laptop, he only has a few minutes before he should head out if he wants to get back to the motel on time.
Which, hell yes, he does.
Dean's hand smarts. And though Sam's most definitely not looking forward to what will happen when he gets in the room, sitting comfortably will definitely not be an option if a second spanking gets dished out.
Closing his several open windows, he instead opens his email. Typing out a quick message to Charlie, he attaches both the scanned copy of the original and the translation of the spell and sends it, hoping she'll be able to retrieve it with little fuss. Though its Charlie he's talking about, she's an electronic whizz.
Reaching out to shut the screen of his laptop, a shiver suddenly passes through him and he feels not only the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end but his arm hair as well. And having been a hunter for as long as he has, he knows it's a good indication something supernatural is here in the library that shouldn't be.
A sensation of ice sliding down Sam's spine causes another shiver and… Sam doesn't know how... but he could swear he's sensing a demon.
Which makes absolutely no sense. Because he couldn't even do that when he had demon blood pulsing through his veins. He could only smell the blood; like when famine made a play. But Sam's no longer infected with that evil. At least that's the hope. There isn't exactly a test. He swallows back the bile wanting to climb up his throat at the fear the thought alone invokes.
He doesn't have time to worry about that.
Sam surreptitiously tracks his eyes around the library to note if anyone is watching him out of the corner of their eyes or just blatantly staring as demons are prone to do. He sees nor feels any eyes on him which only indicates one thing; the demon isn't here yet.
But it's powerful and strong. Sam raises his eyes to the library's ceiling lights flickering above him.
And incoming fast.
So fast it'll give Sam no time to make a retreat to somewhere less crowded before it hits. Or even get up off his freaking chair. And the fact he'd completely forgotten to bring the demon knife in his rush to get out of the room. At least he has his gun, but it'll be useless against a demon. God, Sam's really not winning in the staying out of trouble with his brother department.
"Hello, Moose."
Despite having the ambiguous knowledge of the approaching demon's presence, Sam still jumps at the sound of Crowley's raspy voice behind him. He moves to swiftly rise from his chair, but a force on his shoulders slams him back down into it. He grunts, the chair almost giving way beneath him. He tries struggling against the hold but he's held tight.
He glares at the self-proclaimed King of Hell as the demon rounds the table to stand across from Sam. He's really not in the mood to be dealing with Crowley's shit right now. And aside from already wanting the King of Hell to burn for getting Dean caught up with the Mark of Cain to begin with, the demon has just destroyed any chances of Sam being granted even an ounce of independence from his big brother's rediscovered control.
Crowley snaps his fingers and Sam watches horrified as the grumpy old lady at the circulation desk slumps down over the high desk in front of her, eyes closed. Others drop around him, sprawling on the floor, slumping against stacks, computers and even other people.
"Crowley, what the hell?" Sam barks, renewing his struggle against the demon's hold. "They weren't hurting you!"
"Oh relax," Crowley waves away Sam's concern as he sits down in the chair opposite Sam and swings his feet up onto the table, depositing his phone onto the table just in front of him. "They're unconscious, not dead." Sam raises a sceptical eyebrow. "Promise," Crowley smirks.
Sam's eyes narrow, not trusting the demon one iota, and he half turns his gaze to a man on the floor ten feet away from him. He watches the guy's chest; it rises and falls as if in sleep. Sam relaxes minutely and returns his full attention back to Crowley.
"What the fuck do you want, Crowley?"
"Such a potty mouth," Crowley gasps, hand going to his chest in fake horror. "Dean wouldn't be impressed to hear it, I bet. He might have to smack your bottie again."
Sam feels his cheeks heat. How the hell could Crowley know Dean…? Oh god… "Stay. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Head. Crowley." Sam grits out through his teeth, slamming walls down over his mind, his brain catching up with the memory that demons like Crowley can read surface thoughts.
And Sam no longer has the protection tattoo to guard against that power.
"Oh believe me, Moose, there's a lot more I'd rather be doing than reading your pathetic mind."
"Crowley," Sam growls, "restore these people and get lost."
"Nope. Can't do that. We need to chat. Alone."
"You know there's easier ways to do that," Sam's eyes flick down to his own phone then over to Crowley's phone resting on the library table in front of the King of Hell. "You do have my number."
"And I would have used it if I actually wanted to have this little chat with you, Samantha. You still want to kill me after all. But seen as you're lit up like a Christmas tree while your brother and the angel curiously can't seem to be found by any channels, including this," Crowley gestures at the phone, "I'm left with little choice."
Sam maintains his glare as he absorbs that piece of information, storing it away to analyse more closely later. But it's good to know the demon and angel warding they have set up in the motel is actually working with the few added extras he'd found from the Men of Letters sigils a year ago and rarely been able to put into practice. No demon or angel can pinpoint their exact location within a five mile radius.
Of course that would be all well and good if Dean and Cas were actually in the motel, but Sam knows they're not.
And as much as Sam likes to think of Crowley as being an idiot, he isn't. Crowley's read his and Dean's history thanks to Chuck's books; used the knowledge to kill people he and Dean previously saved. Crowley knows where they stay when they get to a town and this place only has two motels. That doesn't take too many brain cells on the King of Hell's part to figure out.
So what's he playing at now?
Dean and Cas have no protective sigils on their person keeping them from being detected by demons – though that would be a good idea – so why can't Crowley find them? Even by phone. Would that mean their…
No. Uh-uh, no. No way in hell. They're not. Shut up, Sam harshly tells his mind, because he can't even … "Stay away from my brother and Cas, Crowley."
"Isn't that Squirrel's usual line, Moose?" Crowley smirks, dropping his feet down from the table and stands, buttoning his black overcoat. "Now where is big brother?"
Sam stares at Crowley. He had just given the demon vague credit for not being an idiot and now here he is asking Sam something he's never in his life going to spill his guts on. He narrows his eyes. "What are you after?"
"I thought that would be obvious," Crowley rolls his eyes. "What I've been hunting these past months."
"You mean what your demons have been ineffectively hunting," Sam points out.
"Semantics," Crowley waves a hand again, brushing Sam's observation aside. "Why would I engage all my own personal power on the search for one witch when I have an army to do it for me? But as you say, the minions have been doing an… ineffective job of it. And that's where you jack-arses come in."
Sam refrains from rolling his eyes. "Let me guess, you're minions informed you we just missed her by an hour at most. Probably closer than your demons have got in months. So you figure you'll use us to do the job they can't manage."
"Correct. You'll draw her out and hand her over to me."
Sam waits for more but none seems forthcoming. "Why exactly would we do that?" Sam questions, especially since their already hunting her down anyway for their own purposes. But he wants to understand Crowley's incentive here, aside from wanting to torture and kill his own mother. No matter how much of a witch she is.
Crowley blinks at him as if he's stupid. "You, Squirrel and the angel get to live another day, Moose. When did that not become an issue?"
"Roundabout the time your crown lost its pointy little ends and you became useless. Because let's face it, Crowley. If you could kill us, you would've done it already. But maybe you have gone soft like Mommy Dearest thinks you have."
Crowley's eyes flare red and Sam has the good sense to shut his mouth. Maybe mentioning Rowena like that wasn't the best of choices, but he knows how much hatred Crowley has for the witch and if he has to use it to get under Crowley's skin he will. He just wasn't aware Crowley was back to full-on red-eyed demon since the blood ritual that had weakened the bastard.
A loud crack steals across the library with a blinding echo and Sam cries out in pain as burning fire lances across his left forearm. He instinctively wants to move his right hand to cradle it, but bound in Crowley's hold as he is, is preventing that. All he can do is grit his teeth against the pain, shove back the tears that want to rise and glare at the demon before him.
"What the hell, Crowley?" Sam snaps from between his teeth.
Crowley glares, his eyes still blood-red as he telekinetically shoves the table out of his way, Sam's laptop and notes going with it, and invades Sam's personal space. Sam can only sit there, shoving away the burst of fear wanting to invade his body. Crowley's clearly fully juiced again now, he can do anything to Sam in a blink of an eye and Sam… he can't fucking move.
"There's about two-hundred and six bones in your body, Bullwinkle. Some a damn sight more giant than really necessary, but that just means there's more mass to be broken and shattered," Crowley snarls. "And I can do that…" he jabs harshly at Sam's broken arm with a finger and a muscle in Sam's taut jaw bounces as pain shoots across his arm, "… to every single one of them whenever I want." Crowley's eyes seep back to the brown of the possessed corpse, and he takes a step back. Sam, however, doesn't relax. "So you're going to run along to your big brother now, Samantha. You're going to tell him he hunts down the witch and hands her directly over to me… or this will happen again, and one broken bone in his baby brother's body will be the least of his problems. Actually …" a slow smirk crawls its way across Crowley's lips, and Sam has to bite back the fear creeping forwards. "… I think I'll tell him myself."
Crowley snaps his fingers.
Sam's surroundings disappear in a rush only to reappear a second later. He instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of a vertical beam with both hands as he wobbles on his feet, a cry releasing from his throat when pain sears through his broken arm at the movement.
Biting his lip to try stemming the pain and resting his forehead against the beam, Sam waits a moment until the pain is dialled back to a just-about manageable level before he raises his head to survey his new surroundings.
And quickly wishes he hadn't bothered as he realises he's at least sixty feet above the ground …