Chapter Six – He's Not Heavy, He's My Brother

The building was brand new, a testament to modern architecture, but the insides were familiar and comforting. Sam felt like he was coming home, more like home than any fleabag motel they might spend a few nights in. The one place he always felt at ease was a library and when all else failed he knew answers could be found in the archives of the past. History does indeed repeat itself, and in their line of work research often meant the difference between success and failure. He excelled at research and he enjoyed it, not like Dean.

His brother could do the research if forced, if his life depended on it, which in their line of work meant it quite often did; but Dean much preferred rushing in, shooting first with both barrels blazing, and asking questions later…, that is if anything was left alive to answer. Dad was always trying to temper Dean's enthusiasm for the hunt, trying to instill in him the wisdom of actually knowing what you might be facing off against before you actually stared the fugly beast down.

Not that Dean was careless or unprofessional. He might be deemed reckless by some, but then again, he always got the job done. He just did it in his own inimitable way and it worked. Dean was a hunter, no doubt about that. A lesser man would have gotten himself killed a long time ago. Sam used to worry about his safety, but these days he mainly worried about the toll the hunt left on his brother, the vacant, lost look that sometimes descended on him when the job got to be too much. The times when Dean needed to disappear with a willing woman or a bottle of whiskey and a six-pack and decompress.

Sam might have been young, but he'd already seen the price the job demanded. It was just one of the reasons he hated the life: the burden it placed on his family and the sacrifices they were forced to make on a daily basis. Dad was distant and detached, so often cold and harsh, hardened by the life and the worry. Dean never acknowledged it, as if Dad had a free pass and could do no wrong. Whatever slack he left on the homefront, Dean casually picked up and took care of, never admitting he was asked to do more than what could rationally be expected. It had been this way since Sam could consciously remember ever considering what their lives were like, and how different they were from regular folk. In other words, from always. Hardly normal, but this was his family and the only life he'd ever known.

The truly tragic part was Dean never questioned the life or the price he was asked to pay, content to be the diligent soldier in Dad's little war. Whatever pressures he felt seemed to silently build until he was ripe to explode and then he simply took off on his own and took care of it. Sam was never quite sure how, he just knew women and booze were usually involved. Dad most times didn't even seem to notice or if he did, he simply turned a blind eye to it, like he always had faith Dean would be alright. Hell, that's what everyone thought, Sam included… Dean was always alright… until he wasn't. Now for the first time in his life, Sam began to suspect that maybe Dean wasn't right at all. Maybe Dean was fallible after all was said and done, maybe… god forbid, human.

Now it was up to him to help big brother by finding that angle that would break this case wide open, some hidden piece of intel that Dad had somehow missed.

An elderly woman with a small gray bun affixed atop her head at an odd angle watched him with intense, almost beady, little eyes as he passed the front desk. He smiled in response, but his focus was on his surroundings as he glanced around the large, open entryway, surveying the scene and trying to plot out his first move.

"Can I help you?" her smoke-damaged voice asked in between choked coughs.

Sam grimaced as he stared into a face that was reminiscent of a skeleton. Her skin was a pasty white and stretched taut over hollowed out cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth was weathered with a multitude of deep lines spidering out from her painted lips, the dark red lipstick only making her appearance more frightful from the stark contrast to her pale skin. If he'd been expecting a creature to hunt, he'd have paid close attention to this one. As it was, he only felt sympathy for her frail appearance. "I need to look at the newspaper accounts from the early 1900's."

"Local or national?" she inquired, her boney hand absently rubbing across her lips, probably aching for a cigarette to hold.

"Ah, local."

"Any particular year or did you just want to start at the beginning?"

Sam was distracted, still checking out where the exits were and observing the patrons, always on the lookout for possible signs of trouble. Even in a place as benign as a staid, respectable library his training was always at the forefront of his mind, drilled into him like his numbers and letters from a young age. He was especially on edge now. With Dean acting so peculiar it felt like anything was possible, like maybe the bulletproof shield the Winchesters seemed to have wrapped protectively around them was cracked, his impenetrable family at last vulnerable. He looked back at the librarian as she started hacking, trying to suck in another breath between coughs.

"Ma'am, you all right?"

She leaned over, taking in deep breaths. "Oh, I'm fine, son. Nothing a smoke won't cure. My break's not for another fifteen. Now, what year did you need?"

Sam shuddered from the disturbing image. It was amazing how people could delude themselves. No wonder so few believed in the supernatural. "Uh… 1912."

Once he was situated in front of the microfiche machine he got to work. Dad had previously done research and he was good, the best if you asked Dean, but maybe he missed something, maybe the answer did lie in the past buried in seemingly insignificant details. Research was Sam's area of expertise, deciphering details his life. It wouldn't be the first time he'd caught something the rest of his family missed in the rush to complete a job, time often playing as important a role as preparation in their line of work. Evil has a nasty habit of not waiting around for you to gather all the pertinent facts, instead delighting in carving up the innocents if you hesitate.

While Dean might be the best shot, and Dad could pick out a pattern of destruction that wouldn't even be a blimp on another hunter's radar, research and interpreting what the past had to say was Sam's forte. There were always multiple ways to approach a job, one not necessarily better than the other, but this was how Sam operated and he knew he had to find an answer. His brother needed him whether he was ready to admit it or not. Given the opportunity to help out, Sam could hardly resist. If this worked out he'd have bragging rights for the next month.

---

Dean smiled back at the hot chick checking him out as he hung around the lobby of the movie theater waiting until the last possible second to subject himself to the torture of the next showing. Three hours jammed into those painfully hard seats making his body ache as much as his head was more than enough… thank you very much! She started to make her move and he felt relieved he could divert his mind from the coming pain if only for a brief shining moment. His anticipation was evident on his face as his lips curled up into a cocky smirk, his eyes sharp and clear as he watched her cross the floor. His dimples letting her know that he too had noticed her.

"You don't live around here," she stated, curiosity smoldering behind her doe-like eyes, wide and intense, drinking him in. "You visiting someone?" Her tongue rolled out of her mouth and seductively swept across her lush lips drawing all focus to the succulent dusty-rose ribbons of pleasure.

Dean's mind took him to a more desirable locale where he could devour those lips on his way to even more pleasant pursuits. This miserable job shoved to the back burner, a very temporary, but delicious, respite. He felt stirrings down deep, his body aching for pleasure to replace the torment he'd been drowning within. He stood devouring her beauty with a stupid, slap-happy grin plastered across his face.

She waited and smiled at the stupor the poor boy seemed to be in, delighting in knowing she had that effect on him. "Pretty boy, you can talk, right?" she whispered in a slight tease, already moving closer into his personal space to gaze into his piercing emerald eyes. He was a beautiful man and she wanted him… wanted him bad.

"Hmmm?" he murmured as he felt her breath upon his face. He leaned in, inhaling the subtle misting of lavender with a hint of mint, and admired the smooth texture of her flawless ivory skin, somehow able to ignore how she called him 'pretty boy', a term he'd heard on more than one occasion and normally instigated a fistfight. Definitely a fight if a guy says it… under present circumstances, he was in a forgiving mood. His eyes continued to peruse her model-perfect features. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders in waves, a fiery red to match the passion in her eyes. He wanted to feel that smooth skin beneath his palms as he pulled her to him and devoured those tempting lips, wanted to run his fingers through her silky long locks, and lay her down and take her… jeezus, it hasn't been that long, dude. Get a grip! He straightened up and ran his hands down the front of his shirt to wipe away the sweat clinging to his palms, and he was back on track, a hunter with a purpose. Yeah, you know what you'd really like to be on the prowl for here… and it certainly ain't no freaking spirit. He snapped to attention, a soldier on task, as he replied with a steady tone, "I'm on a job. I'll be wrapping it up soon." I hope… Oh, God, how I hope!

"Maybe when you have some spare time we could get together. I could, you know, show you the sights."

"Many sights to see around here?" He smirked, licking his lips in anticipation as he felt more at ease and in control. This was just his kind of girl. Small town hottie ready to rock and roll, tired of the same old faces and cheap thrills, ready to take on a new adventure and make his world spin. Yeah, she could definitely turn my world on its axis.

"Not many, but I have access to anything worth seeing and I'd love to show you around."

I bet you would. He glanced behind her at the clock on the wall and cursed, his eyes squeezing closed and tasting the darkness soon to descend upon his soul. Damn this job!

"Sounds great, but… I… uh, my.., uh, movie's… " his voice trailed off as he felt himself again leaning in towards her charms, desperate to escape his fate before he pulled himself back with a start, "… I have… to… uh… go, but… maybe I could… uh… take you up on… that… uh… you know… after I… uh… finish my job?" He hoped the anxious tone of his voice and the complete lack of brain function was not too terribly noticeable. It was fine to show interest, beneficial in fact; he just didn't want to appear desperate, let alone come off as a blathering idiot. Good luck there, dude! Desperate was definitely a turn-off. Stupid he wasn't so sure about; he had a pretty strong feeling she wasn't looking to discuss world events or math algorithms. Me either, sweetheart!

Aloof, damn it! James Dean cool, remember? Dean Winchester cool for godssakes… or have you forgotten? A lone wolf… His eyes flashed, sensitive and deep, as his mind raced. Man, this job is so messing with my head. Damn it! He tried to salvage his image, summoning up his most confident smirk to hide the tremble of terror he felt snaking its way under his skin. He momentarily buried his Titanic fears and addressed his last chance at refuge. He smiled at this fetching beauty before him and silently wondered if he'd already displayed too much rapture, but she seemed to be equally mesmerized so he hoped they were still good.

Not that I am desperate, because Dean Winchester is never desperate, but I will admit to being a little anxious. Anxious to put this miserable job behind me and eager to find some enjoyment again. It has been a while, way too long in fact. Then again, any break in the action could be considered too long. I am in my prime, can't let the pipes get rusty.

She sweetly smiled and fluttered her long eyelashes; her interest apparently still intact.

Thank God!

She leaned in and grabbed hold of his arm, her touch sweet, but firm, just enough to telegraph her still-active interest. "Oh, I'll be around. My family just got back from vacation and we'll be stuck in this boring town for the rest of the year. This theater is about the only diversion we have around here. Maybe when you finish up that job you could think of something else to occupy my time?"

Dean offered up his most confident, smug smirk as he let the word roll off his tongue, "Ab-so-lute-ly!"

"Well, my movie's about ready to start too. Have you seen it? Best movie in like forever. Titanic. I just love Leo, and how romantic is it that he dies for her?"

Dean's face froze with his familiar smirk plastered across it, chiseled in stone and impenetrable, while his eyes nervously darting about offered the only indication of his distress. His body was still ready for that tumble in the hay, but his brain was lamenting the death of a beautiful, but vacuous, mind. Thank God, she still has a hot bod.

"Yeah, Titanic. Some kinda movie, huh?" he choked out; hoping the despair in his eyes was beyond her comprehension. It's a good thing she has a bod to die for, figuratively speaking… only figuratively speaking, or I would be so out of here. Please, God, don't tell me she's into Woody Allen.

"See you around, handsome." She turned and raced off toward the theater at least giving him a parting visual to hold him over for the next three and a half hours. Her tight jeans were form fitting over her curves, just begging for attention and he was more than willing to provide it.

---

Sam printed off the list of locals who either booked passage on the ship or lost their lives that fateful night. The list wasn't very long and it wouldn't take long to track down their histories, whether any descendants still lived in this town, and if any noticeable events occurred after the sinking of the great ship. Research was always the answer when a difficult spirit refused to co-operate. Why the heck can't Dean figure that out? You know why! 'Cause he's a stubborn ass, that's why. Sam confidently grinned as he placed the papers in his notebook. He again glanced about the serene library, appearing safe and secure just like the movie theater his brother was imperiled within, before heading for the door. Dean is in for a rude awakening. Guess he needs little brother more than he realizes.

TBC