Okay, so you know how in the last chapter or two I tried help you guys out with the timeline between the shows and how it matched up with the calendar?
Right. Now I want you to take that carefully constructed timeline for the shows—both/either/or—and do you and me a favor: Chuck it out the nearest window.
I'll tell you what episodes we're at and you just pretend that they happened at the same time. Okay? :D Disregard any and all canon time markers. Unless it's a big one like some of the later season finales/premieres. But the episodes that aren't really time specific? Yeah. Ignore the canon timeline. I don't need the migraines from trying to bloody figure them out and you don't want the delays that said migraines would cause. Fair enough?
Good. :D
That being said . . .
TIMELINE MARKER
Psych: I promise--I really, really promise--we WILL be getting to the Pilot soon. IT IS ON THE HORIZON. Maybe closer . . . But for now, we're still pre-series. :D
SPN: Faith. Yup. FAITH. This one jumps around a bit because I wanted Shawn in on this whole mess and not just a lead into the episode or flailing in the aftermath. Also, some of the stuff below (namely the part near the end with Sam and Dean) is again taken directly from the show. Like last time I chose to follow the brother that left the scene so I could plug in Shawn. :D
And I'll stop talking now and let you read. :D *shoos you towards the story*
"Chinese or pizza? Chinese? Or pizza?"
Shawn frowned, eyes sliding between the two fliers.
If only there was a way to have both . . . He'd tried that once and it hadn't worked, but maybe it was time to-
He glanced at the table, eyebrows rising, then dropped the two pamphlets, picking up the menu for the Mexican restaurant a block away.
Mmmmm. Carne Asada. Posole.
Ooh. Sopaipillas.
Sí, Mexican was sounding muy bueno indeed.
Eyes still scanning the menu he felt out the table, searching for his phone. Once he'd located it, he brought it up and glanced away just long enough to make sure it was on.
It chose that exact moment to ring.
He blinked, then grinned at the name on the screen.
Punching the button he leaned back, eyes returning to the menu.
"Hey, Sam. That zombie thing smarter than you expected? It's been a week, dude."
"Hey, Shawn," Sam said quietly.
Shawn sat forward, menu dropping to the floor, elbow coming to rest on the table.
"Dude, what's wrong?"
"Wha- uh, what? How did-" The attempted recovery was impressive, but not enough to be a sell.
"The last time you called me you sounded just like this. Only drunk. What happened? You didn't shoot Dean again did you?" Shawn asked joking. Well, half-joking.
There was a pause.
"No. No, I didn't- I called you? Drunk? When?"
Shawn manged to bite back the laugh at the bewildered segue. "Last fall. You were in Indiana after shooting Dean with rock salt at some haunted nut house in Illinois . . . Ring any bells?"
A soft, "Huh," drifted over the line. Then he cleared his throat. "Anyway, uh, we won't, uh . . . we won't be making it to California this week. Or, um, anytime soon probably. I don't know. I just, I mean, maybe, but-"
Shawn's smile faded, concern slipping into his tone. "Dude, what happened?"
Sam sighed, weighty and probably accompanied by a headache from the sound of it.
"The rawhead. It was smarter than we thought. Took us two days just to locate it. And it took two more kids in that time."
Shawn winced. "Ouch. That's . . . that's brutal, man."
"Yeah. But we got them out okay. They're fine. Scared, but fine. But Dean . . . He wasn't so lucky."
"It got him?" Shawn asked, briefly wondering if he wished he knew more and could see what was coming or grateful for his ignorance of what the hell Sam was talking about.
"No. No, nothing like that. Well, I mean . . . not exactly like that anyway . . . I was getting the kids out and he stayed down in the basement to kill it. He'd amped up these tasers because the first time we found it they weren't high enough voltage or something because all we did was piss it off. So he upped the voltage to 100,000 volts or so. But he missed with his and so he used mine and . . ." The crescendoing babble died.
"Idiot wasn't paying attention," Sam muttered, sounding very weary and a little angry but mostly scared and not prepared for the shift of roles this accident had brought about. "He's not the dumbass he pretends to be. He built an EMF meter out of an old Walkman, for fuck's sake. He knows that you can't stand in water when you're shooting off electricity. But it- It cornered him, I guess, and he, I don't know, forgot or something. Wasn't paying attention," he repeated sort of distractedly. "Anyway, uh, when he zapped the rawhead he got shocked, too."
Shawn swallowed. "Oh man. A hundred thousand volts? Sam, I mean . . . Is he okay? Or . . ." He didn't even want to think about the alternative.
Not that he was all THAT close to the Winchesters, but they were awesome still. From what he knew anyway. And Dean had saved his life which automatically earned bonus points in Shawn's book.
Granted, Dean had a dangerous job and this was one of the risks, of course, but . . . it just . . . it wasn't fair.
Not that life ever really was, but- He realized Sam was talking and had to mentally rewind to catch up.
"-They say he's got maybe a month. At best. And he's pretending like he doesn't care, like it's okay that he's going to die, that shit happens, but-"
"Whoa, there. Easy, big fella." The babble was angry now. Short time and few conversations that Shawn had had with the younger Winchester and he knew that Sam was a talker when it came to problems and Dean was not. Shawn wasn't entirely surprised that Sam had gone beyond 'letting Shawn know they weren't going to make it' and into full on 'I need someone to spew on can I use your open ear?' mode.
Though the fact that there was no alcohol involved this time was a bit unexpected.
He also knew from his brief experience that the kid had a guilt reservoir a mile wide and if Shawn let him continue on this path of emotional puking, he'd find his way to a reason why this was all his fault and fill that puppy to the brim. A conclusion that was even less true this time than last.
And since—once again—Dean was out of commission, it fell to Shawn.
He sighed. His mother would be so proud that she'd managed to rub off on him like this.
Ah well. That couldn't be helped. But maybe Sam could.
"The doctors said a month?"
"Yeah. Well, a few weeks, maybe a month. They're not sure. The only thing they know for sure is that he's not going to make it."
Oh yeah. No lingering bitterness there.
"Sam, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
Sam sighed. "Not really. I mean, unless you know of a magical way to fix a damaged heart?"
It was said with such an underlying current of wistful hope that Shawn wished he did.
Well, he wished he did anyway. Because Dean so did not deserve this. Neither did Sam.
"I . . . where are you?" Shawn stood, eyes skimming over the hotel room he was currently calling home. He'd only been here a day and he'd been out for most of that so he wasn't really unpacked.
"What?"
"Where are you at?" Shawn said, slowly, emphasizing the words. "State, city, hell, hospital name even." He bent down and retrieved a dirty shirt, tossing it on the bed to start a pile.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not doing anything and if you're not coming here I might as well go there." He stopped. "Unless they're not letting Dean out of the hospital because he's that bad. Then again, no one should spend their last days in a hospital being forced to watch crappy daytime television." He kept moving. "You know what? Doesn't matter. I'll sneak him in some decent movies if nothing else."
Did he still have that portable DVD player here somewhere? Oooh, there it was. Now, should he stop by a Suncoast here and pick up movies or trust that the local Blockbuster out there would have them?
A strangled sort of snorted laugh escaped Sam and Shawn wondered what the hell he'd said. But it was apparently swallowed because Sam sounded fairly normal when he spoke again.
"Shawn, uh, I appreciate it, really, I do. But-"
"But what?" Shawn stopped and frowned.
"You don't have to do this. I mean, we're not . . . It's fine. We're okay. Or, we will be. But-"
"Can I want to anyway?"
Sam snorted what might have actually been a laugh that time. Shawn's lips curled just a little, wryly victorious.
"Seriously, Shawn, I appreciate it. A lot. It's . . ." He coughed. "I'll let Dean know you offered. But there's no reason for you to come out here. I think I might have a lead on someone who can help and if that doesn't work . . ." Another cleared throat and a strained voice. "Maybe we'll come after all. California's a much nicer place to die than-" A cough and Sam's voice was stronger. "I have to go. I need to call my dad and then do some more research. I just wanted to let you know not to expect us."
"Wait, someone who can help? I thought the doctors said-"
"Yeah, well, this guy's not exactly a doctor. But that's one advantage of our line of work. You get to know people with . . . alternatives not available in the medical world."
Oh yeah that sounded good. NOT.
"Sam, what are you planning to do?"
"Huh? Nothing."
Oh yeah. Shawn was buying that innocent tone. Because, you know, he hadn't used it himself a thousand times. Didn't Sam know that other Jedi were not susceptible to mind tricks?
"we're just going to see a friend of a friend who might be able to help. It's kind of homeopathic, I guess you might say, and-"
"Sam."
"Look, I have to go, Shawn. I'll, uh, keep you informed of updates if you want."
Shawn sighed. There would be no getting information out of Sam and no persuading him out of his plan.
Whatever it was.
But Sam knew 'people with alternatives not available in the medical world' and that, combined with some of what Dean had told him in his stories of past hunts, had Shawn worried. He didn't even have a real clear idea of what Sam could possibly be talking about, but he had watched too many horror and sci-fi movies as a kid to ignore the feeling in his gut that said this was a bad idea.
And he had a feeling Dean wouldn't be on board with this. He might be wrong about that, but Dean seemed pretty clear on where certain lines were drawn.
Shawn understood Sam was desperate but . . .
Maybe a little tattling was be in order. But not to Sam. Obviously.
"Yeah," Shawn said, realizing the silence had stretched. "Keep me updated. Please. And if you need anything call, okay? I can be on a plane in an hour or less. Seriously, dude. Anything."
"Okay. Thanks, Shawn."
"Sure, Sam. Tell your brother I'm gonna kick his ass for making me miss Spring Break. And don't watch the soaps. They're like crack. The game shows are boring, but they're not addictive until you hit retirement age and start knitting and adopting cats and tea-cup Chihuahuas."
Sam laughed. "I'll pass it on."
Shawn ended the call and dropped the hand with the phone to bump against his thigh, wiping the other hand over his face and through his hair.
He glanced at the menus, then shook his head. Food was just not so appealing anymore.
Lifting the phone he dialed Dean's number, waited until the rings gave way to voicemail and sighed.
"Dean, it's Shawn. I just heard from Sam, uh, about the," he waved a hand that wouldn't be seen. "Thing. With the rawhead or whatever. Dude, that sucks. Um, anyway, Sam said something that . . . I know it's not my business, but he sounded kinda . . ." He scrunched up his face, then blew out a breath. "I don't know. Uh, call me. Or . . . something." He winced and ended the call, bopping his furrowed forehead with the fist around his phone.
"Awesome message, dude," he berated himself. "Way to not be creepy and weird."
Then he exhaled and and straightened.
"Whatever. Too late now."
He picked up the fallen papers and replaced them on the table, then shrugged into his jacket and patted his pocket to check for keys. His phone was tucked away where he'd feel it vibrate, then he headed out the door.
He needed to go for a ride.
o.o
It was almost midnight when the phone rang.
Shawn jerked awake and blinked sleepily as he groped for the light, then squinted at the vibrating cell.
He considered ignoring it, but then he checked the name and sat up straight in bed, sleep gone from his mind.
"Dean? Dude, are you all right?"
A tired laugh came back through the line.
"Sammy's a worry wart."
Shawn half smiled. "Yeah, well, he has reason to be from the sound of it. You sound like crap, dude."
"Thanks, man. Way to encourage the sick guy."
"Anytime. Hey, where are you?"
"Uh . . . Illinois. I think. I dunno. Convinced Sam to stop for the night so I could sneak out and call you. Dude, what did he say to you?"
"That you got your dumb ass fried by standing in a pool of water while shooting a taser. Way to go, genius, by the way. But if you're looking for originality for your Darwin Award nomination you should know that you totally failed. It doesn't take you out of the running, but electrocution is so not original. "
"Dammit. I was so hoping to get that, too. Well hell, I'll just have to settle for an Oscar and a Nobel Peace Prize."
"Yeah, sounds like it. Standing in water and firing a taser, dude? Seriously? Even I know not to do that!"
"Okay, first off, I wasn't standing in it. My boots would have actually provided some protection then. And when I shot the damn thing he wasn't in the water. He fucking stepped in it right as he got hit."
"Yeah, well, same difference, dude." Then Shawn sobered. "So, uh, heart attack, huh?"
Dean sighed. "Yeah. Guess it really did a number on me too because the docs say it's not fixable. Not how I wanted to go out, but . . . Everyone's got to go sometime. And we saved the kids so . . . could be worse."
Shawn leaned back against the headboard. "Dude, you gotta stop that."
"Stop what? Being realistic? Oh please, not you too. Why the hell can't anyone let me die in peace?"
"Oh, I don't know," Shawn said. "Maybe because we don't want you to die at all?"
"That's what Sammy said, too. But sometimes . . . you just can't stop it. I wouldn't turn down a few more years, sure, but I'm not full of an assload of regrets either. I had a good life. I saved a lot of people. That's nothing to be ashamed of. And I got Sammy back before the hunt took me. That's all I care about. Shit happens, man. That's a fact of life you can't change."
Shawn frowned. "Sam seems to think he can."
Dean snorted. "Sam is grasping at straws." His voice took on a gentler tone then. "He's not ready to let me go yet. But he'll come around. Won't have much of a choice here in a week or two. I mean, hell, I've been in this business for years and I've seen just about every way people try to cheat death. It doesn't end well."
"He said he was taking you to-"
Dean sighed again. "Yeah. A specialist, I know. We'll see. The doc in North Carolina seemed pretty sure I was toast, but maybe he doesn't know anything. I dunno. Sam feels like he's doing something and as long as he doesn't take me to some voodoo priest and this doctor of his isn't named Frankenstein, I'll go along with it. Can't hurt, right?"
Shawn considered telling Dean exactly what Sam had said, but he'd had time to think about it and decided he was probably blowing things out of proportion. Sam was the more level-headed of the Winchester brothers. If it had been Dean then there would be real cause for concern. He had a serious protective streak running through his veins.
But Shawn was pretty sure that Sam wasn't desperate enough to do anything stupid and even if he'd taken a few years off for school he'd probably seen a lot of what Dean had. He knew better than to cross any lines.
This friend of a friend probably was some sort of homeopathic hippie with a 'magic herb' to cure Dean's ills. Dean would be pissed, but no serious harm done. And it made Sam feel better so there was actually a bright side.
Besides, knowing that werewolves existed and hearing about demons was a far cry from believing in zombies. Some of those things had to be complete fiction, right?
So Shawn smiled, shaking his head in amusement. "Dude, you gotta tone down that optimism, man, or it's gonna get you in trouble one of these days. It's not healthy to be that full of hope and cheer."
Dean laughed, weak, but genuine. "I'll try to work on that."
There was a silence while Shawn tried to think of anything else to say, but Dean beat him to it.
"Hey, Shawn?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you, uh . . . Can you do me a favor?"
"Anything."
Another pause, and Dean's voice came back just a bit surprised, like he hadn't expected the speed or carte blanche nature of the response.
"Okay, uh . . . When I'm gone, Sam . . . He's not going to take it well. I'm still here and he looks like he wants to hug me 24/7. When I die, he's . . . Can you . . . you know . . . call him once in a while? Just . . . make sure he's okay? Not doing anything stupid. I was thinking of trying to talk him into going back to school. He's not really as into hunting as I am and . . . I dunno. Ah, fuck. Forget it. Painkillers're making me all girly or something. I think they gave me Pamprin instead of Motrin. Bastards."
"Dude, I'll call," Shawn said. "I'll even drag his ass to a beach and make him talk to a girl or two. Might have to get him drunk first, but they'll eat that up, the wounded puppy thing he has going."
Dean laughed. "Hell yes they will. I can't pull it off, but he's got that emo vibe that just screams 'pet me'. And not in the way actual guys like you and me think of petting. I think it's the hair. Make him cut his hair, too."
"Sure, Dean. But you have to promise me something, too."
"What?"
"If this doctor of his doesn't pan out, come to California."
"You got a specialist friend too?" Dean asked wryly. "I swear, everyone knows someone but me."
"No," Shawn said, "well, okay, yeah, I probably do, though I don't know it." He thought briefly of Gus and made a mental note to make a phone call in the morning. Then he waved a hand. "Anyway if you're going to die, it might as well be surrounded by beautiful women in the warm Cali sun."
Dean laughed at that. "That's what I told Sam back in North Carolina! I didn't want to die in that damn hospital because the nurses weren't even close to hot. Not even warm. And some of them were downright frigid. Dude, you definitely need to see if you can teach Sammy about girls after I'm gone. I tried, but obviously it didn't stick. Maybe you'll have better luck. Maybe he'll listen to you."
Shawn didn't miss the regretful twist on the tail end of Dean's words.
"Dean-"
"I gotta go, Shawn. Don't want Sam to wake up and find me not sleeping. It was good talking to you, though, and I'll call in a couple of days after this doctor thing is over with. We'll come to California and you can show me all these hot babes you keep bragging about."
Shawn just shook his head, lips curling on one side.
"Take it easy, dude." He hesitated, then added seriously, "And try not to be too hard on Sam. He's just trying to help."
"Have you been talking to him a lot lately, Shawna? Or have you always been this much of a girl and I just missed it somehow?"
Shawn raised the pitch of his voice and lowered the IQ. "Dude, why do you think I'm always flirting with you? I'm going to have enough saved up for the surgery soon and then you'll see me for who I really am!"
"And on that creepy note, I'm going to bed. Night, dude. Uh, sorry about the wake up call."
"No worries. Night, Dean."
Snapping his phone shut, Shawn placed it on the nightstand and shifted to his stomach, one hand under the pillow—though it wasn't gripping a big ass knife or anything. Maybe the pillow a little. But not because he expected to need it for defense before the night was over.
Shawn reached up and flipped the light off again and, with a final, settling sigh, tried to find sleep once more.
o.o
"A faith healer!"
The snarled words weren't much of a hello and Shawn had been expecting a return call from Gus so they took Shawn by surprise as he sat eating his sweet and sour chicken.
"A what?" he asked.
"That was his 'specialist'," Dean said. "A fucking faith healer."
Shawn frowned, setting aside the take-out carton and licking his thumb clean. "Like . . . those guys in tents? Before they get the TV specials?"
"Exactly like that. Right down to the fucking tent and the hallelujahs from the fucking crowd. That little bastard tricked me into going, laying on the guilt and the puppy dog eyes so thick I almost died right there in the parking lot of asphyxiation before we even made it to the 'healing' part."
Shawn gaped for a moment, pineapple smoothie stopped halfway to his mouth, then said, "I'm sorry, Dean."
"What the hell for? Did you tell him to take me there?"
And wow that was a scary level of . . . scary . . . in his voice, Shawn thought, eyebrows rising in response.
"Fuck. Is that what you meant? What the hell did he say?"
"Well, no, I didn't tell him to take you there. But, I mean-"
"What. Did. He. Say?" Shawn swallowed, forcibly reminded that Dean's father was a Marine and—according to Sam—this was Daddy's perfect little soldier.
"He said something about knowing people in your line of work that had alternatives not found in medicine-"
"And you didn't think you should mention that? Fuck, Shawn. Knowing what we do every day, that doesn't sound bad to you?"
Shawn stiffened at the condescending and implacable tone that had a remarkable way of tossing Shawn a decade into the past and right back into his father's kitchen.
"Yeah, dude, it sounds bad," he snapped back. "If you're living in a fucking Romero film. But excuse me for not assuming that every damn horror movie out there is actually based in fact. Besides, Sam's supposed to be the smart college boy. I didn't think he'd do anything really stupid. That's your job, Mr. I'm-Going-To-Stand-In-Water-And-Shoot-A-Fucking-Super-Taser."
The, "Fuck you," that came back was softly growled but no less menacing.
Shawn ran a hand through his hair, reminding himself that this was not his father and Dean dealt with some pretty epic shit on a day-to-day basis, not to mention he was dying because said epic shit had come back and bitten him in the ass. He was entitled to a freak out or two.
"Look, I'm sorry, Dean. I really didn't think that it was that big a deal. I assumed it was some, I don't know, hippie with some ground up oregano in a dime bag or something. Maybe some yoga or Tai Chi, I don't know. He said it was homeopathic and that to me didn't come across as Dawn of the Dead."
"Yeah, well, next time, smart ass, let the professionals decide what is and is not 'a big deal'. And if Sam tells you something that sounds even slightly stupid—even if it doesn't sound 'Dawn of the Dead'," he added, voice dripping with sarcasm enough to have Shawn's hackles rising again, "you tell me. Got it?"
Shawn bit down on his anger and managed to sound mostly civil when he said, "Yeah, I got it." Mostly civil. There might have been a hint of bitterness in there.
Then his anger died completely when he realized why Dean was so pissed. Hope hurt more when it was smothered again after being fanned into reluctant life. Dean had accepted his fate and then Sam came along and said he had a solution and now Dean had to accept it all over again.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the palm of his hand, the elbow of that arm propping him up on the table. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm sorry it didn't work, Dean."
"Didn't work?" Dean repeated, his anger not even beginning to cool. "Oh no. No, that's the problem, Shawn. It did work!"
Shawn's brows drew back down and he sat up straight. "Wait, what? What do you mean it worked?"
"I mean he healed me. That fucking faith healer laid his hands on my head and I was healed! Hallelujah and glory be!"
"But-"
"We even had it checked out. You know what the doc said? She gave me a clean bill of health. Then she said that there never was any damage from what she can tell." Fervently muttered curses leaked through the phone.
"But how-"
"I don't know! But I intend to find the fuck out."
The call was ended abruptly and Shawn was left listening to a dial tone.
Forehead wrinkling, he let the phone and hand drop to the table.
So Dean wasn't dying now?
Man. This so could not be good.
Except for the Dean not dying part. That was awesome, but . . . But some bad juju-magumbo had to be coming down the line if Dean was that pissed off about it.
Shawn just hoped that Sam didn't regret this before it was over. Well, any more than Dean was surely going to make him regret it even if things didn't go pear-shaped.
o.o
Dean sat on the end of the bed, staring at the floor. Sam watched him for a moment as he packed, balling up a shirt to be stuffed in the dirty laundry portion of his bag.
"What is it?"
Dean looked up, but didn't maintain eye contact as he shrugged out a, "Nothing."
Yeah, Sam so wasn't buying that. He rested his hands on his hips and smiled. "What is it?"
Dean gave in with surprising little effort. "We did the right thing here, didn't we?"
"Of course we did," Sam said, only partially surprised by the question. He was sorry about Marshall Hall, but . . . there was no taking it back. And Sam would never regret saving Dean's life. Never.
Plus, they'd stopped Sue Ann from killing anyone else. That had to count for something.
Dean considered his answer. "Yeah, doesn't feel like it."
Sam wanted to say something, to make Dean understand that it wasn't his fault and that he needed to let the guilt go, but a knock at the door interrupted before he found the words. Dammit.
"I got it," he said and headed for the door, unsurprised by the blonde woman on the other side. He'd been hoping she would show. Not right this second, but . . . Well, too late. The moment was gone.
And maybe she could help Dean understand where Sam could not.
"Hey, Leyla, come on in," he invited.
Dean stood, surprised, of course, to see the young woman again after last night.
"Hey," he said. "How'd you know we were here?"
"Um, Sam called," she explained, motioning to him and glancing his way, the little minx. She wasn't supposed to share that part. "He said you wanted to say goodbye."
And that was Sam's cue to leave.
"I'm gonna grab a soda," he said and escaped before Dean could stop him, returning a grin for the one that Dean offered that promised later retribution.
It would be worth it, Sam thought, closing the door behind himself with a carefully exhaled breath.
He did head for the soda machine down the hall, pulling out his cell phone as he went.
Punching the correct button, he waited for the answer.
"Sam. Dude. What the hell is going on?"
Sam winced at the slightly annoyed tone.
"Hey, Shawn. We're okay."
"And Dean's not dying. Yeah, I got that newsflash."
Sam frowned. "You did? When?"
"When Dean called me yesterday, pissed as hell."
Oh. Damn.
"What did he, uh, tell you?"
"Not much. He said you took him to a faith healer and the guy actually healed him. Oh and that he was going to find out how exactly. He sounded like he intended to rip the answers out of someone if necessary. You might want to look into some anger management for him now that he's not dying."
Blowing out a breath, Sam closed his eyes and let his head fall.
"Yeah. He was pretty pissed."
"Yeah. Understatement of the year, dude. So what happened? Did you guys figure out how the guy did it?"
"Yeah. We did." Sam dug out change and jiggled it in his hands for a moment as he considered. Then he plunked it into the machine. "Shawn, what do you know about reapers?"
"Besides the fact that they're grim?"
Sam chuckled. "Yeah. Besides that." He made his choice and pressed the button, frowning when it buzzed and whirred and then the light flashed indicating that flavor was out. Dammit.
"I don't know. It's like a representation of Death. Why?"
"Because that's what it was. Sue Ann, Roy Le Grange's wife, had bound a reaper and was controlling it." He tried his next choice but it too came up empty. Shit. "See, reapers are the only thing that can control life and death like that, giving it and taking it away. She started it to save her husband, and then decided to keep going, saving the lives of faithful God-fearing people."
"Okay, so she basically told Death to take a hike? How?"
Sam smiled and tried his third choice. "Not exactly." It didn't work either and he frowned and just started punching all the buttons seeing if ANY worked.
No joy.
Dammit.
He hit the refund button and wasn't remotely surprised when nothing happened.
Yeah. That was a shock.
He thought about going to the front desk and asking for a refund but decided not to.
He didn't feel like arguing with the clerk over a buck in change.
"Sam?" Shawn said. "Hellooo? Can you hear me now?" He blew on the mic a couple of times.
"Oh, sorry." Sam turned and started to walk back along the hall. "A reaper controls life and death, but it can't just give it willy-nilly. It can only exchange one for another."
"Wait, so this reaper that she was using to heal people. . . it was stealing the life from someone else?"
"Yeah. Specifically, people that Sue Ann Le Grange decided needed to be punished for their wickedness. Or anyone she thought was less worthy of life than the penitent faithful who came to hear her husband preach. She'd call the reaper and force it to give the healthy life to the sick, transferring the illness to her victims."
"That's . . . Ugh. That's horrible. What the hell, man?"
"Yeah."
"So Dean's heart thing-"
"A gay teacher at the local high school. Apparently Sue Ann was a little homophobic and decided to punish Hall for his sins. He dropped dead when he was at the pool swimming. A perfectly healthy guy with a heart attack out of nowhere."
"How's Dean feel about that?"
Sam snorted. "Dean doesn't think his life is worth a whole lot so he's royally pissed that someone else died to save him. He feels guilty for stealing a life, which is absurd because he didn't do it. He wasn't the one controlling the reaper."
There was a brief pause.
"You can see where he's coming from though, right, Sam? I mean, how would you feel?"
"No, I can. I mean, yeah it sucks that the guy died. But we didn't even know what Sue Ann was doing until after Dean was healed. Marshall Hall would have died anyway, just not of a heart attack. And since we can't undo it . . . I'm not sorry Dean's alive. I won't apologize for that."
Shawn sighed. "I'm not sorry he's alive either, dude, but you need to see where Dean is coming from. He may not have been in charge of it or asked for it, but he did benefit from it. Just cut him a little slack, okay?"
Sam sighed. "Yeah. I guess."
The door to the room opened as Sam reached it and he smiled and waved at Layla as she walked past.
"Bye, Sam."
"Bye, Layla. Good luck. Hey, listen, Shawn, I have to go. I just wanted to say thanks for letting us bug you this week and sorry again for ditching you."
"No problem, man. So, do you think you'll be heading this way now that Dean's not living under a deadline?"
Sam thought of the look he'd caught a glimpse of on his brother's face when the door was opened to let Layla out.
"Uh, probably not. Sorry," he said with a wince. "I just don't think Dean's going to be in a mood to cruise the beaches right now."
"Don't worry about it. I understand. Maybe another time."
"Yeah. Really, I'm sorry-"
"Relax, dude!" Shawn said with a laugh. "It's okay. I promise. I get it. But if you get a job that brings you out this way, and you don't stop? Then we're going to have words. Angry words. Like meanie-face and liar-liar-pants-on-fire. You just remember that."
Sam laughed. "I'll be sure to warn Dean."
"No, dude, that warning was for you. Don't you dare tell Dean I said that."
Sam's head tilted, mouth quirking in an amused but confused smile. "Why not?"
"Dude, have you heard your brother? He's downright scary when he gets mad. He's not going to fear me."
"Oh, but I should?"
"Well, yeah, dude."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "You do know that I was trained by the same guy that trained Dean—and that Dean himself trained me in a lot of things. Right?"
"Whatever. I could still take you. You don't have the super-scary voice of doom like Dean."
"Uh huh. Well, you have fun out there on the beaches, Shawn."
"Oh I will. In fact, I was thinking of heading back to my old stomping grounds and seeing how my best friend Gus is doing. He went to college like you and I'd bet he's gotten very boring. He tends to do that when I'm not around. Maybe it's time to spice up his life again."
Sam felt a twinge of pity for poor Gus. Shawn's voice right then had been that exact same one Dean always used right before Sam's day or night went down the toilet in a rush of dirty water.
But it might be amusing to watch if Sam wasn't the one the tone was being unleashed upon.
"Maybe we'll make our way down to . . . where is it again?"
"Santa Barbara. Best city in California, dude."
"Uh huh. I'm partial to Palo Alto myself, but, uh-"
"Ohhhh. So that's why he wanted to know . . . huh."
Sam frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Who? Dean? What did he want to know?"
"Huh? Oh nothing. Doesn't matter. Anyway, if Palo Alto is what you know of California then you really need to come to Santa Barbara."
"We'll see," Sam said neutrally.
"You better."
"See you later, Shawn."
"You too, buddy. And I mean it. Come to SB. We'll have jerk chicken. It'll be great."
"Okay. Bye, Shawn."
"Bye, Sam."
Sam shut his phone and headed back into the room where Dean was packing. His phone call appeared to have taken just enough time to let Dean put himself back together.
Bury the emotion like he always did.
Sam wasn't sure that was healthy. But maybe Shawn had a point and he needed to cut Dean a little slack. It had been a rough week.
"So I think I found a job in Pennsylvania," Dean said.
"We're not going to California?" Sam asked, watching his brother carefully.
Dean grimaced. "Ah, yeah, I don't . . . um . . ."
Sam smiled. "It's okay. I called Shawn. Said you probably weren't up to beach bunny hunting."
Dean shot him a glare. "What're you talking about?" He wiggled his eyebrows and leered. "I'm always up for beach bunny hunting."
Sam chuffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean," he said dryly. "I know. Unfortunately. So do you want to go?" he asked, serious once more. "I'm sure the offer is still open."
Dean didn't respond and the smile left his eyes. "Nah." He looked away, went back to packing. "This thing in Pennsylvania sounds like it might be a black dog or a werewolf. Something with teeth that likes to chew on humans and leaves a mess behind. Business before pleasure and all that crap."
Sam didn't push the issue further. This was why he'd told Shawn no. Dean could bluff with the best of them, but it wasn't without a cost and he didn't need that extra stress right now. As backwards as it was, he'd relax more on a hunt than on the beach.
"Okay," he said instead. "Probably not a werewolf, though, the lunar cycle's wrong."
Dean bobbed his head to the side. "Good point. So black dog then. Easy hunt. Let's finish packing and hit the road."
Sam watched him, but said nothing.
He just hoped Shawn was right and all Dean needed was a little time.
Just so you all know, I blame you guys for my total lack of will power when it comes to posting. I really should be waiting longer than I do between chapters. BUT I CAN'T HELP IT.
And just to make sure we're clear: If you want this pace to continue then KEEP REVIEWING. Because that right there is what make my Muse poke me with a sharp stick until I post.
So . . .
Review, please and thanks! :D