A/N: Okay guys, I swear I start writing this story and it just goes wherever it wants to, it has a mind of it's own. I thought this chapter would have more action, but Dean in just too curious about Book to let it go easily, and for some strange reason, Dean is feeling really protective of Book, even though they just met, hm-mm...I wonder why?
Anyhow, I've just decided to see where this story wanders, and I guess it's okay for the boys to take a couple of extra chapters to get to know each other.
I'm having a ton of fun with story, and like I said before, my favorite part is that everyone get's to be a good guy, Sam, Dean, John, Gabe, Cas ( yes, eventually he will show up, and he will be good, though we will have that awkward period where Cas still believes in Heaven's mission and therefore thinks of Sam as evil.) I might even end up with awesome Meg in this story.
So, notes on other projects. Soulless666 mentioned in a review of the last chapter that they wished they knew what happened to Ellie, after she left Sam and Dean and the street fair. So, just for grins and giggles, I gave Ellie her own one-shot, complete with happy ending. It's a stand alone one shot titled "A Space Shaped Like Home" and you could find it by hitting up my profile.
If you follow Prisoner of War, that updated today. If you follow "How To Fix A Winchester", you might have noticed that I missed my fluffy Friday update, and the reason was this; I work the prompts for that story in order, and the next prompt was from one of my readers, DomBird. Their prompt was asking for a discussion between the brothers about Gadreel, since we never saw it on the show. The thing was, the prompt was really perfect for the next update I had planned for my canon project, Confessions Of A Boy King, so Dombird graciously allowed me to use their prompt to update that project instead, so that came out Friday night. If your a 'How To Fix A Winchester' follower, definitely check it out, because it could have easily worked for that project, it was just even more perfect for Boy King.
Reviews are love, love, love...
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox.
Tuesday's Child – Chapter Five
"Unfamiliar Memories"
It wasn't just their house, John would come to find out. Sam had seemingly been erased from the entire world.
Birth records, shot and medical records, all gone.
His pediatrician had no recollection of him, nor did the Doctor who delivered him. None of Mary's friends even recalled a second pregnancy.
None of their other photo albums contained any photos with Sammy in them, despite John distinctly remembering fourth of July, and going to the lake to swim, could remember Sam laughing as John held him in his lap as he tried to eat the sand, the way the fireworks had startled him, but instead of crying, he'd only laughed more.
And of course, there was Dean, who continued to have no memories of the little brother he had adored, no matter how many times John questioned him.
John eventually cut a corner of the blue baby blanket, taking to carrying it around in his pocket, where he could rub his fingers over it reassuringly any time he started to wonder if he was actually losing his mind.
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"So..." Dean studied the younger man over his menu. "Are you a hunter that just happens to be psychic, or a psychic that just happens to hunt?"
Dean had decided against going to the antique store that night, figuring it could wait until the morning.
The cursed object idea was a long shot at best anyway, and the odds of him ever stumbling across Book again were somewhere between slim and never-the-fuck-going-to-happen-again.
And Dean had questions.
The younger man chewed his lip, seeming to choose his words with care. "I'm a...wanderer."
He said finally. "Sometimes I stumble across a hunt, and if there doesn't seem to be anyone who can take care of it, I will."
Dean raised a brow. "You carry some pretty nice artillery for someone who hunts for a hobby. And the psychic thing?"
Again, Book seemed to pick his answer carefully. "I have a...knack, I guess you can say. Sometimes it's a little more spot on than others. It comes in handy, at times."
Dean looked at him carefully. "Back there, with that Ellie girl, that seemed like a little more than a 'knack'. That was some heavy duty mojo you were swinging back there. And I'm guessing she wasn't the first customer you surprised today, if those tips you stuffed into Lena's bag when she wasn't looking were indication. You pocketed, what, forty bucks for yourself? You must have tucked a couple hundred in her bag. I make more on a decent game of pool."
Book shifted a little self-consciously. "Money's just money." He repeated his earlier words to Ellie. "I have enough. Money's...not really an issue."
Dean studied him a little more.
His dark hair was over-long, and Book seemed to have a habit of using it to hide his eyes. His jeans were good quality, as were his shoes, but both were rather worn, to the point where comfortable segued into ready-to-replace. His knapsack, likewise, seemed sturdy enough, though it had obviously seen better days.
"How old are you?" The question surprised Dean, slipping past his lips without his intentions.
He was genuinely curious, but he'd first encountered Book in a hunter's bar, and the hunter code of ethics was firmly etched into Dean's morals, the first rule of which was- "Don't dig into another hunters business."
After all, no one hunted for the fun of it. Every hunter Dean had ever met had come into the business on a wave a tragedy.
Book grinned at him wryly, as if he were aware that Dean was breaking taboo.
"Twenty-two." He finally answered with a crooked smile.
"Are your family hunters? Is that where you got the blade you lent me?" Dean asked, leaning forward in order to lower his voice.
Legacy hunter's weren't unheard of, though the high mortality rate in the field often meant hunters never had a chance to start families. Still, there were a few, as Dean and Jo proved.
"My family is...unusual." Book said, a shuttered look coming over his eyes.
Dean found himself wishing Book's earlier openness would return. "The blades are old, and my...brother got them for me when I started traveling."
"Your brother?" Dean asked, with a curious, sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "Does...he hunt also?"
Book pursed his lips and shrugged. "Like I said, it's complicated. But the important thing is, those knives are old, and meant to hunt things even more dangerous than demons, but they'll kill demons too. Don't lose it, Dean. I wouldn't have a way to replace it."
Dean nodded, knowing Book's evasion on the matter of his brother meant the discussion was closed. Then a thought struck him. "How'd you know what my name was?"
Book tilted his head at him, smiling a little again. "Today, just now, or the other night, at the Roadhouse?"
"Either." Dean said quickly, trying once again to shake off that overwhelming sense of familiarity he had every time Book made a face, or tilted his head, or even some of the ways he spoke certain words.
Book tapped his temple. "Psychic, remember? The waitress at the bar, Jo, right?"
Dean nodded, shoulders tensing when Book brought up the woman he considered a sister. Dean felt protective of her, though it drove her crazy.
"She's a little bit of a...projector?" Book said, wrinkling his nose as he tried to think of a way to explain. "Some people are a little louder than others, psychically, I mean. Most hunters aren't, they tend to develop mental shields of sorts, comes with the business, I guess, but she's pretty young, or else she's just a natural projector."
Dean chuckled. "Oh, Jo's nothing, you should meet her mother. That's why you came to the Roadhouse, then? Peace and quiet? Are place's like this too...loud?" Dean asked, looking away at the new-agey cafe.
Book shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, usually. But yeah, hunters tend to be more...quiet, mentally. A lot of supernatural creatures are mildly psychic, and the hunters that have better natural shields tend to survive better."
Dean frowned in concern. "So, what, you're saying Jo's some kind of...beacon?"
Book shook his head. "I wouldn't worry, she's nothing alarming. I just meant that's how I picked up on your name and stuff, when you came over that night. Thanks for that, by the way."
Dean lifted a brow. "In the scheme of things, I think we're even. So, am I a natural projector, because we didn't even touch that night, but you managed to be there when he attacked me. So you were either following me or the demon." Dean's voice had hardened a little, as much as he liked the kid, he needed to know what had happened.
Book shifted again. "I had a...vision." He admitted. "I wasn't one hundred percent on the details, but once I saw you, more of them made sense, so I was able to zero in on the demon."
"What do you mean, zero in?" Dean asked suspiciously.
Book raised his hand and let it fall again, and Dean suspected he was one of those people who talked with their hands. Neither Dean nor John did that, but Dean had dim memories of his mother, Mary, in animated conversations with her friends, gesturing widely as she talked.
"Sort of like, with a pendulum or a Ouija board, except I don't normally need one of those. If I get close enough, I can usually zero in on something like a demon, if I have a general idea of where to look. Once I saw you, enough of the pieces fell into place for the vision to make sense, and I just...took it from there."
"You mean you have some sort of mental demon-finding compass in your head?" Dean asked skeptically.
Book shrugged again and Dean could tell he was becoming more agitated, more upset. "Um, something like that. Uh, listen, I should go..." He started to rise from the table and instinctively, Dean did also.
"We haven't even eaten yet." He said, trying to shift the conversation in a way that would allow him to get the information he needed without alarming the kid.
"Hey, I didn't mean to jump your ass. You saved mine, and I won't forget it, it's just a freaky situation..."
Book nodded, swallowing. "No, it's fine. I get it. Hunter's survive by asking the right questions. It's just...I'm sort of a loner, you know? What I can do is sort of hard to explain to someone who can't do it, and usually I don't have too."
"I get it, I'm sorry." Dean said, waving his hand at their table. The idea of Book leaving already rubbed him the wrong way. "Sit down and eat something, man. You're skinnier than hell for your height, dude. Jo's mom Ellen would have been chasing you around with a cheese burger if she'd been there the other night. That woman's the only reason half of those monster obsessed morons haven't starved to death."
Book chuckled a little, and Dean smiled, glad his gambit had worked. Still, Book stood by the table, wavering just a little, like he might bolt at any moment, and Dean felt a little like he was trying to coax a feral cat to eat from his palm.
"It's cool. Actually, I should probably hit the road, since you're here. I only stopped in Lily Dale because I knew hunters hated the place." Book said, chewing his lip again indecisively.
Dean got the sense that he was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run away, a sentiment he could understand completely, as it described most of his entire life.
"You didn't think any of us would check it out, huh? Well, my Uncle Bobby had to strong arm me into it." Dean said with a laugh.
A curious look came over Book's face. "Your...Uncle?"
Dean looked at him curiously, attention caught by the slightly hungry look on Book's face, as if Dean were answering a question he hadn't dared to ask.
Normally, Dean was taciturn by nature, particularly about his friends and family, but something (or, if he were honest with himself, practically everything) about Book put him at ease, and he wanted the kid to sit down already. Dean still didn't have all his answers, plus, the idea of the kid on the road without having ate first actually bugged him, which was a first, since Dean couldn't really remember worrying about that kind of thing with anyone else ever before.
Maybe he was spending too much time with Ellen.
"Well, he's not my Uncle by blood, but he's probably better. Bobby Singer." Dean elaborated.
"Singer Salvage, up in Sioux Falls?" Book asked, finally sitting again, though he remained perched on the edge of his seat, like a bird ready to take flight.
"You know him?" Dean asked, surprised, as he was certain Bobby had never heard of Book.
Book shook his head. "By reputation only. All good things though. Clever guy, the go-to in that area, if I'm not mistaken."
Dean nodded. "You're not. Bobby's smarter than hell, though you'd never know it by the way he talks. He's semi-retired now, mans the phones and helps with the trickier research. Still takes hunts, but tries to stay more local unless someone needs back up badly."
Book nodded. "And he's your...sort-of Uncle?"
This time it was Dean's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I don't have any blood relatives, apart from my Dad. Bobby's been around as long as I can remember. Dad traveled a lot, and when he couldn't take me with, I usually stayed with Bobby or Ellen,"
Book looked at Dean intently. "So, you grew up at Singer Salvage, and the Roadhouse?" His voice had a funny tone to it, something that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Dean shrugged again.
"Well, Dad couldn't really raise me out of the Impala, could he?" Dean joked.
A pained expression flitted across Book's face, gone almost as soon as it had come, but the sight of it had lit Dean like a punch in the stomach.
"Nah, it's no way for a kid to live." Book said softly.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I gotta ask. We have absolutely never met before, right?" Dean said suddenly, finally unable to ignore the nagging sense of 'this-person-this-person-I-KNOW-THIS-PERSON' that screamed through his mind every time he looked at the kid.
Book looked over at him, wide eyed. "Um, no. I've never been to the Roadhouse, before that night, or Singer Salvage. I've actually spent a lot of my childhood out of the country." He said after a moment.
Dean looked at him appraisingly, not sensing a lie, but not sensing the entire truth either, or it was just that insane voice in his head that refused to believe that Dean hadn't talked to Book a hundred, thousand, million other times before.
Because that was exactly what it felt like, like every word from Book's mouth was another unfamiliar memory,
The waiter returned just then. "Gentlemen, how may I make your evening even more wonderful tonight?"
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Book bit back a chuckled at the bemused expression on Dean's face when their flaky waiter returned.
"Uh..." Dean stammered for a moment. "Bacon Cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake?"
The waiter made a pained face, but wrote the order down obediently, turning to get Book's order.
Book hesitated, knowing he should leave now, while he still could, and yet...
Dean was the same, and yet so different, a puzzle, made out of the same pieces as the brother he'd once been to Book, in the life they never ended up living, but now formed in an entirely new, surprising shape.
The mix of familiar and unfamiliar was maddening and enticing at the same time, and Book was having a hard time breaking away, even when he knew it was for the best.
His hand gestures, his expressions, the way he shaped his words, that faint, faint trace of a Kansas accent, all were familiar.
But at the same time, he was so different, the things he was saying, about Bobby and Ellen, and Book felt like he was discovering the unedited version of his favorite movie, and this was his chance to see the deleted scenes.
Could one meal really hurt?
"What kind of soup do you have?" Book asked finally, and the waiter beamed as he began rattling off the cafe's numerous vegan, organic, locally sourced options.
Over his shoulder, Book could see Dean making a face, and he choked down another laugh.
"The vegetable soup sounds great, and I'll have a Caesar salad with it, please." He finally said.
Dean was frowning at him. "Dude, you know you're like, six three, right?"
"Six Four." Book corrected with a grin, then shrugged. "It'll be fine."
Dean rolled his eyes, then looked back over at the waiter. "You have any organic, vegan, locally sourced onion rings back there?"
After the waiter had left, Dean turned back to Book.
"So, I was hoping you could help me." He said casually.
Immediately, everyone of Book's senses went on red alert. "Oh, well, like I said, I'll be headed out of town after dinner." He evaded.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, that's cool. It's just, we both came here to work the same case, maybe it...I don't know, maybe we should put our heads together, you know? Share notes."
Book hesitated again, panic eating at his insides.
He had no memories of working this case before, to his knowledge, in the other time line, he and Dean had never encountered this job.
Likewise, though he hadn't really had a chance to start investigating, he'd had no visions or anything else of value to add psychically.
This case would literally be a matter of footwork and investigation, and that could take a while...
"I really had just got here. You probably know more than I do. Like you said, I was just afraid no one else would show up..."
"Yeah, yeah, No, I get it. Actually, I have the case file Bobby put together for me right here." Dean held the folder out to Book.
Book wanted to refuse, wanted to walk away (run away) right then and there, but then he saw the label on the folder, where the words 'Lily Dale' were written in a familiar handwriting, and his hand reached out of his own volition.
He opened the folder, mind suddenly swimming with other-life memories of doing this very same thing a dozen, no, a hundred other times. He felt himself go pale, as sweat popped up on his brow, his limbs suddenly heavy and ungainly.
It was almost too much, the conversation with Dean, the folder, familiar and heavy and new all at the same time in Sam's hands.
Added to the effort he'd put into finding a safe haven for Ellie earlier after doing readings all afternoon, and it was probably a good thing he was staying and eating, since using his powers, or even just trying to draw out memories from his other life on purpose was tiring, burning a surprising amount of calories.
Even back when Book still traveled with Gabe, Gabe had always been pushing sweets and candy on Book, because no matter how much he ate, he always seemed to lose weight the moment he wasn't paying attention to it.
In the past two years he'd wandered on his own for the most part, he'd gotten too thin a few times, simply because he'd get caught up in things and forget to eat enough calories to make up for what he was expending.
"Hey, man, you okay? Your face has gone white." Dean said suddenly, and Book looked up, startled out of his reverie.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm cool. Blood sugar get's a little low every once in a while, that's all. So you're thinking it's a cursed object, then?" Book asked, pausing while the waiter brought Dean's shake and Sam's water.
Dean stopped the waiter before he could walk off. "Hey, excuse me. My friend's got low blood sugar, can he get a glass of...what, orange juice?" Dean said, looking over at Sam inquiringly.
Sam opened his mouth to reassure Dean that he'd be fine in a minute, but the waiter was already nodding in sympathy. "Of course, the owner's daughter is a diabetic, so we always keep some on hand. Just give me a minute, and your food will be done soon also."
In less than two minutes, the waiter had placed a glass of orange juice in front of Book, and Book, feeling the heavy weight of two pairs of eyes on him, obediently raised the glass and drank until Dean and the waiter both seemed satisfied.
"Just let me know if you need a refill, and your food will be out shortly." The waiter said, before moving off to greet the next customer.
Ironically, the orange juice did make Book feel a little less shaky, and he wondered how Dean had known to suggest it.
Book didn't remember having low blood sugar in his other life, but perhaps he wasn't remembering everything. Or perhaps Dean knew someone else, and was just applying that knowledge to Book's case.
Gabe had done his best with Book and Anna, but he'd learned on the go, literally, and it had probably never occurred to him to try orange juice instead of candy bars back when Sam had been little.
"Better?" Dean asked, and Book nodded, feeling self-conscious again. "So, cursed object." he began again.
"That's my best guess, though, I admit, it's a weak one. I was going to hit up the store where the last victims belongings were sent..." Dean trailed off suddenly.
Book lifted a wry brow. "Before you encountered the street fair?" He supplied.
Dean shrugged. "Yeah." He agreed self deprecatingly.
Book sighed, looking over Bobby's notes again. It did sound like a genuine case, but something about it felt...off.
He wasn't sure why, but he didn't think cursed object was right. He had no idea what was right, though, and it made him uneasy knowing that Dean might not know what he was going up against.
Book had spent years trying not to thing about Dean hunting alone, but right now, with the man who was once his brother sitting across the table from him, he was failing miserably.
"Your food, gentleman." Their waiter announced with a flourish as he sat down their food.
After he left, Book looked over at Dean, making a split-second decision. "I guess I could stay another day. I gotta be honest, I think cursed object is...I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."
Dean nodding knowingly. "I know, that's what my instincts are telling me, but the necklace is the only link between the two women."
"Other than the showcase..." Sam murmured, looking through the file again.
"Huh?" Dean asked, and Book looked up, startled, still not used to having someone around to hear him when he muttered to himself ( a habit Anna teased him about unmercifully).
"The Psychic Showcase. It's a pretty big deal around here, and both victims were set to be headliners." Book explained.
Dean smiled a predatory smile. "Well, that sounds like motive to me."