Title: November Falls - 2/?
Author: Blueeyedliz
Word count: 2,615 (this part)
Rating: NC/17 for bad language and violence
Summary: They lose Sam in November....
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This is no longer just a two-part story as I reckon it'll run to 3 or 4 chapters. *facepalm* Next time I try to guess the length of one of my WIPs can someone please remind me that I'm about as good at guessing such an outcome as the little old lady who bets her life savings on the Grand National and backs a one-legged donkey with cataracts. A massive thank you once again to gidgetgal9 for saving my ass countless times with her wonderful beta'ing.
November Falls – Part Two
By a babbling brook, where the border of North Carolina kisses lips with the edge of Virginia, there's an enormous boulder surrounded by sugar maples which the locals have nicknamed the hand of God due to its unusual shape. If you stand in the right spot—and tilt your head to one side, maybe squint a little—it does sort of bear a resemblance to a hand reaching upwards towards the sky.
Most of the folks who live in the area genuinely believe the boulder grants wishes if you rub at the side of the rock which looks like five long fingers curled together. It's a fanciful idea at best but the boulder attracts enough tourists to warrant an ice-cream stall being set up there in the summer and on a cool November morning like today the air smells of cinnamon from the stall which is now selling steaming cups of hot chocolate and sweet roasted nuts to day-trippers and other assorted passersby who are feeling the crisp bite in the air a little too acutely.
The Impala roars over the narrow bridge which crosses the brook and the boulder is quickly nothing more than a smudge of grey in the rear-view mirror. Dean doesn't take his foot off the gas, not even to read the roadside signs declaring how the hand of God makes dreams come true. Dean doesn't believe in God and he doesn't believe in a magical lump of stone either, not when he's found Sam only to be at risk of losing him again.
Sam's low moans have amplified into blood-curdling screams during the short amount of time he's been lying stretched out on the Impala's backseat and Dean is caught between concentrating on the road and twisting his head around towards the back of the car so that he can panic over the writhing form of his brother.
A little further down the road, Dean finally accepts that he's trying to get away from something which he can't outrun. He pulls the car over into a muddy shoulder and hurriedly gets out. He opens the passenger door, half-climbing inside so as to let Sam's head rest against his thigh. Sam's eyes are rolling, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish and holy shit...Dean doesn't know what the hell to do.
"Sam? Sammy, what's going on?" Dean begs, his fingers carding through Sam's sweaty hair. It's the night when Sam was taken all over again because Dean was crying over his brother then too. Dean swipes angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, the sense of helplessness is suffocating and worry is clawing his insides into ribbons.
"W—Water." Sam mumbles, slurring enough that Dean immediately starts frantically scrabbling underneath the driver's seat for the bottle he's knows is wedged under there. It's lukewarm and stale but he uncaps it and pushes it towards Sam's lips.
Sam drinks some, coughing and spluttering as the water slides down his throat. "No, Dean. Water."
Dean scrubs at his face confused and frustrated, wondering if Sam's delirious or if he himself is missing something obvious. Slowly his brain starts putting two and two together and eventually he comes up with something far more terrible than four. No. Oh God. No.
He doesn't have much of a choice or even much time, Sam is suffering and Dean simply cannot bear to sit by and watch, doing nothing. At least now he has some small inkling as to what the hell is going on and while it leaves a bad taste in his mouth—the nastiest flavour imaginable coating
his tongue—for the first time since finding Sam he feels like he can do something to help.
A quick scan of their surroundings reveals to Dean that there, right there—only a short distance away from the highway—is the rocky shore of the Mayo River. He pulls Sam out of the Impala half-carrying, half-dragging him away from the road. Sam's arm is floppy, hanging around his shoulder and he's lugging most of the kid's weight as they stumble through the long grass towards the river. It's close to sunset and the water is shimmering with the rich light of a burnt orange sky.
Dean kicks off his boots and then picks Sam up so that he can wade into the water with his kitten-weak brother held in his arms. He wades further and further out, leaving the shallows behind and heading towards the middle where the water is cooler, darker and deeper. Trying not to slip on the rocks and ignoring the mud and slime squelching into his socks and in-between his toes, it's so chilly that Dean has to suck in a deep lungful of air just to catch his breath. Once the water reaches Dean's waist he stops and carefully lowers Sam into the running river until only his head is above the surface.
Cold murky water splashes over them both, soaking their clothes and turning their exposed skin into gooseflesh. "Jesus, Sammy. If I'd have known I was going swimming I'd have brought my bikini." Dean jokes, resorting to his preferred modus operandi in an attempt to bury the fact that all of this is badly scaring the shit out of him.
It's like nothing Dean's ever seen before. The Mayo River isn't mystical, he knows that much at least but there's no denying that the water is starting to take on an almost magical quality as it washes over Sam's skin. There's a pale white glowing light swirling through the water around them which wasn't there moments before. Dean's pretty damn tempted to haul ass right out of there until he notices what is starting to happen.
The dark circles bruising the fragile skin underneath Sam's eyes are beginning to fade and he's only been in the river for a matter of minutes but already he looks refreshed, rejuvenated and appears virtually lucid again. "Dean, what's going on?" Sam asks, groggy eyes blinking open and confusion crinkling his brow as he glances around taking in the fact that he's fully dressed...in the middle of a river...with Dean cradling him like a newborn.
"That's what I want to know, little brother." Dean mutters shakily as he gives Sam a squeezing—never to be mentioned again—hug before finally releasing his hold so that his brother can let his feet touch the river bed. "Enough doggy-paddling, let's get to dry land before the leeches start cottoning on to what an irresistibly tasty piece of flesh I am."
Sam just gives him a bewildered double-take and starts wading towards the bank.
~0~
There are no towels in the Impala just a ratty blanket that bares some rather questionable stains. Still, beggars can't be choosers and that much Dean appreciates as he tries to dry himself off, chatting teeth and shivering hands making the job take twice as long.
When they're both dry and huddled back inside the Impala with the heaters turned up full blast, Dean turns in his seat and eyeballs Sam, waiting for him to break under the full force of his patented big brother glare.
Sam visibly squirms in his seat under such close scrutiny. Dean's clothes are hanging ludicrously big on his smaller, slimmer frame.
He's been eyeing up the scenery like they're driving through the tropical rain-forests of southern Africa and he's spent the last two years living in the dark and fuck, maybe Sam has but that's what Dean wants—needs—to know. He needs to know everything that's happened to Sam, every last painful detail. "Sam? We can have this talk now or later and I'll let you take the lead on how you want to do this, I will...but we need to talk at some point."
"Can we get something to eat?" Sam asks, smoothly diverting the course of the conversation, his face almost desperately hopeful.
"Are you kidding me? Like you even have to ask." Dean's stomach's been under the impression that his throat's been cut for a few hours now. He's ravenous but hasn't really considered eating until Sam brought up the subject. He presses his foot down and urges the Impala to move faster.
~0~
They end up in a Wendy's, sitting side-by-side in a booth and if Sam finds it strange that Dean insists on sitting next to him—so close that Sam's forced into getting intimate with the grimy window overlooking the parking lot—instead of over on the other side of the table, well, he doesn't mention it.
Sam wolfs down his Double Cheeseburger Deluxe like he hasn't eaten in a week and Dean grins around a huge messy mouthful of his own half-chewed flame-grilled dead cow patty. Maybe it's the company but Dean hasn't enjoyed his food this much in a long, long time.
When Sam has finished slurping up the last of his Dr. Pepper through a straw, he keeps his head lowered, staring down at the plastic backed menu on their table. Dean knows the kid isn't pondering the advantages of choosing a Vanilla Frosty over a Chocolate Fudge Frosty Shake. It's because Sam won't, or can't, meet Dean's eyes.
"I'm bonded to him." Sam speaks slowly, as if he's struggling to find the right words. His fingers are tugging at the neck of his t-shirt as though it's too tight, restricting his air supply. "Silas bonded me to him so that he could live amongst humans more easily."
"Silas? His name was Silas? You're going to tell me that that freak of nature had a social security number next." Dean stops talking, jaw clenching and hands tightening their grip on the edge of the table. "Bonded? How? I don't understand..."
"I have to be in the water. I—I have to go swimming or take a bath or shower several times a day otherwise we get sick."
"We?" Dean realizes then that maybe Sam didn't hear him earlier or maybe intentionally ignored the past-tense reference Dean made to the Selkie. "I killed him, Sammy. Silas is dead."
Sam finally turns to look at Dean, the whites of his eyes already turning red, brimming with unshed tears. "He's dead?"
"As a doornail. Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for that evil crotch stain? He took you away, I—I spent almost two years searching, praying to anyone who would listen that you weren't dead already."
"Not sorry." Sam mumbles and Dean reaches out to cup the back of his neck with the palm of his hand when he notices that Sam's shaking. "Not sorry, just relieved." Sam sucks in a breath, trying to compose himself. "After I saw you, at the bar, I didn't go for a swim. I mean, I forgot all about it and Silas was furious...I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel. But, if he's dead now then why did I still get sick, surely the bond must be broken?"
"I don't know, kiddo but we'll find a way to fix it."
"Dean."
"Don't, okay, just hear me out. Me and Dad, we'll fix this…Shit! Dad!" Dean briefly presses his forehead against the sticky tabletop and groans loudly. "Dad is going to tan my hide six ways to Sunday...I haven't called him. He'll be giving Griffin an earful no doubt."
Sam swallows hard. "Dean, who's Griffin?"
Dean shakes his head and turns away, all of his attention abruptly fixing in on soaking up a ketchup puddle with the last of his french fries. It hasn't really hit him until right now that Sam has been gone two years. It's not so much the fact that Sam was kidnapped because that's a nightmarish period in Dean's life which he will never be able to forget, it's the fact that two years is a heck of a long time in anyone's book and a lot can change in that time. It hurts Dean to think that this Sam isn't the twelve-year-old kid he remembers, that person is lost to him forever.
Dean guesses it means he's going to be spending a lot of time getting to know his brother again but considering the alternative Dean is totally fine with that. "Dean?" Dean lifts his gaze and can't help but grin at the concern and confusion he can see duking it out for supremacy on Sam's face. The sight of it brings back a whole heap of memories of the ever-inquisitive, little brother he knew. The one who always had a question poised on his lips even though it used to drive Dad crazy.
"When you went missing, I—I didn't go hunting for quite some time. It pissed Dad off to no end but I couldn't concentrate on a hunt when all I wanted was to find you…so Dad called Griffin. He's someone Dad met in the early days, just after mom...after mom. Griffin taught him a lot about hunting back then and he trusts the guy so I didn't have a problem with it, it meant Dad had someone watching his back at least. I finally started taking on a few solo hunts when I turned eighteen and so now, if I'm ever out of town and Dad needs a hand, he teams up with Griffin."
"Guess I missed a lot then, huh?" Sam asks.
"We missed you a lot, doofus." Dean says, hand hovering close to Sam's head like he's tempted to ruffle his hair but not quite sure how Sam would react. "Look, I don't want Dad running his truck off the road. Let's go meet him in Indianapolis like I'd arranged and then we'll get you fixed and we'll be together again, a family."
"You make me sound like a broken waffle iron, Dean." Sam smiles without humor.
"Sam, you have told me everything, right? Because if that…thing did anything else to hurt you. If it touched you..."
"No. Jesus, Dean. Nothing happened like that. Silas fed me, put a roof over my head and providing I never gave him reason to, he never hurt me."
"Did you ever?"
"What?"
"Give him reason to, Sam?"
"I tried to run a few weeks after I was taken. Let's just say he wasn't best pleased with me."
Dean grits his teeth, eyes darkening. "I'm going to....dig up his corpse just so I can have the satisfaction of killing him all over again." Dean's a ball of energy, fingers twitching with the desire to act. Instead he settles for tearing up a napkin. Picking up another one when he's done with the first and repeating the destruction all over again.
"I just want to go home." Sam says, reaching out to still Dean's fidgeting hands. "I want to see Dad."
Dean nods in agreement and as he slides out of the booth to pay the check he tries to push away the uncomfortable niggling feeling that Sam is hiding something from him.
~TBC~
Thanks for reading, some action and whumping to come next week. Reviews are always warmly welcomed.