A/N
Thank you Kathy, mckenna4, sammygirl1963, Wunjo and Christine for the great reviews!
Closing in on the end of the first story of Brothers Found... one week left!
Jacob shifted to switch the hand holding the ice pack to his jaw. With his hand freed he turned it and held the thumb up to show of the cut that Sam had left. It was still an impressive wound for such a small blade, clean and straight. And it still stung in the open air. "He's definitely the boss," Jacob agreed lightly, though his own smirk was subdued.
Jacob shrugged, unsure of how much he wanted to add to the story. Just knowing he had bruised Sam up so badly got him decked right to the floor. "I'm not sure what kinda answer you're looking for, here. I grabbed him too fast and fucked up. Didn't know what I was dealing with." Jacob averted his eyes, losing yet another staring contest with Dean. "No amount of apologies will make up for it, and I know that."
Sam brightened at being dubbed 'the boss,' even if it was jokingly from both humans. He'd have to put that to the test at some point if he could manage it. His motions down on the table didn't get notice from Dean, being out of the direct line of sight of his older brother. He was too busy putting all his energy into staring Jacob down.
Dean's gaze relented after a moment. "Look, if Sam says you're okay, you're okay. But you better be true to your word. If you ever try trapping him again, you'll be answering to me."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, he's not going to do anything to me. If he wanted to, why would he bother hauling ass all the way across the state to find you?" He grinned up at Jacob. "We wouldn't be here without you."
With a pointed glare from Sam, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, whatever pint-size." He turned to Jacob as well. "Thanks, man. Without you, I might never have found him." It was short and clipped, but it was genuine, and the closest they'd come so far to congenial conversation.
A thought occurred to Dean. "How did you two manage to track me down, anyway? I mean, I'm not a master at it like dad, but I know I'm not easy to find. I made sure of it after spending some time in St. Louis."
Jacob switched hands on his ice pack again, not quite ready to remove the blessed cool from his aching jaw. His neck hurt like a bitch, too, but overall things were minor compared to the bruises on Sam's front. He felt immensely lucky that some of the tension forming a wall between himself and Dean was beginning to chip away.
"Luck, mostly," he admitted with a shrug. He glanced down at Sam before explaining. "Sam told me what he remembered. The details on the car are what got us here. Lucky for us you ran a red light the other day and got that Impala's picture taken by a traffic cam." Very lucky. It was the only lead Jacob had managed to get from the police, and without it he and Sam would probably still be floundering for a direction to go.
"My stepdad's a cop so I just called the station and made up some bullshit excuse to see what they had on you. Don't worry about your ninja skills, dude. They had basically jack."
"Heh," Dean shook his head. "Son of a gun. Who'd expect speeding through a red light would end with Sam coming back from the dead?" In all his years, he'd never heard of anything even close to a curse that turned someone to almost a twentieth of their normal size. He tried to imagine what Sam had looked like all those years ago, when he was just a kid and shrank down to such a vulnerable size and no time to adjust.
Dean folded his arms on the table, resting his head so he was closer to Sam's level for the time being. The ice cube was melting, so Sam was trying to shift it away from his pants. Dean tugged a napkin out from one of the bags he had strewn nearby and handed it off to his younger brother. "So, how'd…" his throat closed up for a moment, the subject he wanted to bring up a tough one for Dean to stomach, "how'd you manage all those years on your own?"
Sam shook his head in a negative. "Not alone." He wiped his arm off on the napkin, shaking the water droplets free. "I have a family. They're the ones that saved me from getting… stepped on all those years ago when I first got attacked. Without them, I never would have made it."
He turned his eyes up to Dean, sincerity in his gaze. "Dean, please, don't go looking for them. It's not their fault I got downsized and they aren't dangerous, I promise. They just try to get by out here, and it's hard when you can't even open a fridge."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Sam, I only hunt things that need killin.' I'm not about to go hunting after the people that saved my little brother. If I ever see them, I'll have to thank them."
More tension leaked out of Sam at that. "Good," he mumbled. Then looked up again, this time with a curiosity that was familiar from so long ago as he latched onto Dean's previous statement. "What did you mean you've got to stay off the map since St. Louis?"
Dean winced. "Oh. That. I, ah… ran into a shapeshifter in town a month back. Before I caught up with it and dealt with the thing, it took my form. Sorta tried to torture and kill and innocent girl while lookin' like me. So now, the authorities have my mug on a murder case, but they think I'm dead, since I killed the shifter while it was wearing my face." He even sent a smirk Jacob's way while he recounted his misadventure.
Jacob's lips were parted in either disbelief or awe. He decided it was probably both, since the surprises didn't seem to quit with these two. Ever since he'd glanced to the side and seen Sam darting towards the nightstand, Jacob had been confronted with one shock after the other. Nothing quite like discovering a long-lost family member, but enough that he chuckled almost exasperatedly.
"Shapeshifter," he echoed. Of fucking course. Somehow, that hadn't gotten through when the station called him back. Maybe they needed to update their records on out-of-state criminal reports. Figures they'd have the latest traffic violations but not murder cases. "Well, damn. You just bring the party wherever you go, don't you," he quipped, suitably impressed by the story.
Dean had faced down himself and killed the false image. Jacob would be lying if he said he didn't think that was pretty badass. It made him appreciate all over again that the man had listened to Sam. That kind of tenacity had been set on beating the tar out of Jacob a few minutes ago.
"Better than the party finding me," Dean countered. It was more than true... and the reason he slept with a weapon under his pillow every night. Gun or knife, he felt naked without it within reach at all times. "There's plenty of strange in this world. Getting rid of a few monster freaks is the best thing I can do. At least shapeshifters don't have superhuman strength. They're just pains in the asses to track down." He pointed at his eyes. "One of the only ways to be sure is to see them in a camera. Their eyes flare up white."
"And silver takes them down," Sam piped up from down on the table. He was in the middle of wiping off the excess water, since the cube had melted most of the way down on him. Once that was all clear he put his grey tee back on, feeling more comfortable with the injury hidden from sight. The last thing he wanted was a constant reminder to the two giants in the room of how easy he was to hurt, even though at this point he trusted them both to not just reach out and grab him. Jacob was clearly repentant, and from the look on Dean's face, he wasn't about to let anyone within reach of Sam if Sam didn't want them near. A riled hunter was not someone to mess with.
Dean's face broadened in a grin. "You remember all that?" he asked in surprise. "I thought you only got hold of dad's journal once." The reason he'd made Sam's blade silver was because of monsters like that. At the time, he'd been determined to give his little brother any edge he could, and an edge made of silver was a huge boon when some monsters weren't affected by anything else.
Sam shrugged sheepishly. "Well... maybe a few other nights. I was curious about everything going on." Listening and waiting for Dean to fall asleep, then slipping it out of their father's belongings... the book had information that he'd never dreamed possible, and he'd wanted to know it all. He'd read through it more than once and still wanted to know more. Maybe now he could.
"I would be, too," Jacob chimed in. His smile, though not as broad as Dean's, was no less amazed. Unlike the brothers at the other side of the table, Jacob was hearing all of his information new. He was completely uninitiated in the knowledge of the supernatural, and he was willing to bet it'd show no matter what topic came up.
"Good thing you got your reading done back then," he mused, moving the ice pack away from his face and brushing off a few stray drops of cold water. "You'll have to help Dean out with his ghost hunting now."
Sam's sheepish expression broadened into a smile. "You think?" he asked. He stared down at the table, tracing a knot in the wood with a finger. "I always thought I'd be too small for the actual cases."
Dean arched an eyebrow. "Maybe against a werewolf, sure. But if you've got some iron or salt, you'll do fine against a vengeful spirit. They might not even see you coming. Too busy kicking my ass while you save the day." He lightly nudged Sam's small arm with a finger, getting his brother to try and elbow him back.
Sam gave the finger one last annoyed push before it retreated, then glanced up at Dean. "What happened to dad?" he asked worriedly. "Do you hunt on your own now? Did he…?"
Dean shook his head, dispelling Sam's fears. "Far as I know, he's fine. He up and vanished a few months back. I haven't heard from him since." He reached into his jacket, tugging out an older, leatherbound journal that he lay reverently on the table near Sam. Opening it up to the first page, he went on, "This is all he left me. I'll track him down eventually, I just need a good lead."
Sam bounced to his feet, walking over to the book. He looked up at Dean, getting an encouraging smile before he stepped onto the pages to see it once more. Now, each letter was about the size of Sam's palm, but he could still manage to use to book as long as it was open.
Dean stretched his arm out protectively alongside the book, one finger touching the edge of the page Sam stood on, before turning to the third member of their group, who'd been watching most of the conversation from the sidelines. "So, did you have plans we're keeping you from or you just killing time now that you've helped us?"
Jacob glanced up from the journal, his own curious look fading into surprise to have Dean address him. Sam was clearly lost to the conversation for the moment, with his father's journal laid out beneath his boots. He didn't even give Dean's protective movements a second glance. He had a lot of memories to catch up on, plus whatever might be new since the last time he snuck that book away.
Jacob shrugged and set his ice pack down on the table to give his bruise some air. He counted himself lucky that he was even still there. It'd be a pretty depressing drive if he had to get out of town sporting that mark, the only thing he had to show for getting Sam back together with his family. Even so, he didn't want to overstay his welcome. "I didn't really have any plans. I can, uh, head out whenever you think I ought to, though. I do appreciate the ice."
As engrossed in the journal as he was, Sam still found the chance to shoot Dean a pointed look. Don't you dare scare him off, was what it said, loud and clear. After Jacob had done so much for them, tossing him out onto the street was a below the belt hit, as far as Sam was concerned.
For the moment, Dean took it in stride. He shrugged, glancing back at Jacob. "Head out whenever you want. I've got a date tonight with a…" he paused for a second, wondering how much he should tell the kid. But Jacob already knew about shapeshifters and curses, vengeful spirits wouldn't be stretching things too far. Dean gave a laugh. "I've got to run to the cemetery and try and find a grave. A spirit of a girl who's been working her way through an entire family before I got in town."
Grave desecration, floated back through Jacob's memory in the voice of the nonplussed desk sergeant he'd called. A smirk grew on his face. "Lemme guess. Blind date," he quipped. Who knew a tiny town in western Nebraska could play host to a murderous spirit? It seemed like something that should skip past the more idyllic places. It made Jacob wonder what kind of supernatural things happened behind closed doors (or under filled graves) in his own hometown.
"Not to cut in on your action or anything, but if you want a little help ... it's the least I can do after everything," Jacob offered, hardly able to believe what was coming out of his mouth. Had he just volunteered to go and dig up a grave?! Since when did he get himself into shit like that? Still, despite his surprise with himself, he didn't retract the offer. He wanted to make up for his mistake with these brothers.
Dean considered the offer, giving Jacob a good look, head to toe. "Things might get hot," he warned. A second set of hands would be welcome. He hadn't had backup on a job in years, aside from a case or two with his dad before John vanished into thin air. Digging up a grave was hard work, and keeping an eye out for any onlookers just made it harder. So long as Jacob behaved himself around Sam, they wouldn't have any problems.
"But hey. I won't turn down help."
Sam brightened at that. "I guess that means I can give you a hand?"
Dean hid a smile. "Sure. I'll just go grab you a spoon, pint-size." He ignored the glare being shot up at him. "We could use a lookout, if you're up for it. This is your first case, though, so you're sticking behind the salt line. At least until you get the hang of things."
Jacob raised an eyebrow at the mention of a salt line. Dean had mentioned salt before, though Jacob wasn't sure what it was actually for. He supposed if he dug deep he had some memory of hearing or reading something about salt and ghosts. It might have been a movie, or a superstition. But, apparently, salt had an actual effect on ghosts. Because ghosts were real.
Holy shit. What did I really get into here?
He grinned, encouraged that Dean seemed to be accepting him little bit by little bit. He looked down at Sam, glad to see the little guy looking a little better, slightly more at ease. He was back with his family where he belonged. "Salt line or not, you're still ahead of me on this one. I had no idea about any of this stuff 'til yesterday, y'know. You'll have to catch me up on anything I need to know on vengeful spirits."
Sam sat down on the edge of the journal, stretching out his legs. "Salt can keep spirits out, so if you form a line across a window or a doorway, they can't get through. Or if you're desperate, a circle of salt around you can help buy some time. Did you ever hear about tossing salt over your shoulder? It kind of came from this. Throwing salt at a spirit can dispel them. Iron can, too, but it has to be pure iron."
Dean didn't say much while Sam spoke, nodding along with his younger brother. He still wasn't quite over the my brother came back from the dead and he's four inches tall phase, so he was content to just listen to the small voice. His hand was stretched out on the table only a few inches from where Sam was sitting, and he was slightly awed to see the sheer size of it... and how calm Sam was sitting nearby. He really did trust Dean, after everything that had happened before he arrived. Considering that a single finger had put those bruises on him, he was showing a lot of trust sitting with not one, but two humans.
Don't you worry, Dean thought while Sam continued on about spirits, clearly thrilled to have someone that actually wanted to listen to him about everything he'd learned in secret those years ago. And someone that didn't already know it all, like Dean. No one's getting their hands on you like that again. Not with me around.
"And once you find where the body is buried, salting and burning the remains gets rid of the spirit..." Sam was finishing up. "Our dad wrote it down as 'death for a spirit,' but no one knows what happens to them after that."
Jacob listened intently, trying to commit every word to memory. Sam's explanation came quickly but succinctly enough that Jacob kept up with it, as much as one could keep up with an entirely new worldview. A world in which words like ghost and werewolfshould be taken seriously and things like salt and iron elevated from mundane to life-saving. Jacob found himself leaning ever so slightly to make sure he caught Sam's quiet voice all the way through.
" 'Death for a spirit,' huh," he echoed. He briefly wondered how it was first discovered what was effective against spirits, and what happened to the poor bastards they accosted before that. Considering the fact that Dean's entire job, finding and getting rid of these things, was necessary, it wasn't anything good. Dean really was fighting to help people. "They probably just move on," he mused, sitting back in his chair again.
"Well, I wouldn't call myself an expert yet, but I probably know enough to help out with at least this one, if you'll really have me along."
Dean nodded, deep in a contemplative air. He shared a look with Sam, surprised at how natural it was becoming already. His answer was already set in his mind.
"If Sam gave you a second chance, I guess I can too. Tonight you'll be hunting your first spirit."
A/N
After everything, Dean turned to the overprotective big brother a lot faster than in BA. Confronting him right out with a tiny, vulnerable Sam will do that to a guy. Must protect.
***The story ends 8/21! Go vote in the poll on tumblr to help decide the next story!***
Next: Coming August 16th 2016 at 9pm est.
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