Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.
You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) This takes place after 'Further And Further Out', so you'll probably want to read that first :)
Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, I love hearing what you guys think of the story so keep them coming! Hope you all had a good Christmas and have a good New Year's, and the next chapter should be up on Tuesday…
Chapter 3
Pastor Jim Murphy hung up the phone, a frown on his face.
Dean had told him about Sam's 'visions', warned him extensively before he left. He had believed he could handle them. Just another strange thing about Sam Winchester, formerly the precocious little boy that followed him around always asking why.
Said former-child was currently sitting cross-legged on the floor, an open expression of worry on his face.
"Pastor Jim? Is Dean gonna be okay?"
"He's going to be fine, Sam, don't you worry." Jim replied absently, thinking through everything Dean had just told him.
"But the lady was gonna get him." Sam said, biting on his lower lip and wriggling around like he couldn't sit still. Jim had to fight the urge to tell him to stop fidgeting. "She was gonna get him, and he didn't know."
Jim sank down in the easy chair, the well-worn cushions moulded to his body from years of use.
"Dean won't find dad. He needs help." Sam's solemn words broke into his reverie. The statement was fact, no second-guessing or assumption involved, and for perhaps the thousandth time since the Winchester boys had landed themselves at his doorstep, Jim wondered exactly what went on in Sam's head.
Earlier that evening Jim had fallen into a light doze while trying to compose the week's sermon, something that happened with increasing regularity as the years passed by. When Sam had woken him with his screams, Jim had thought he was having a nightmare. When the boy started rubbing feverishly at his forearms and stomach, he'd thought he was cold. But when Sam had drawn blood, that had been the motivation Jim needed to get Dean on the phone, middle of the night or not. And then to find out that Sam's rantings about a strange woman had been correct…
If he were to be honest with himself, his reasons for offering his home to John when his friend asked were not entirely altruistic. On hearing of Sam's problems, the old hunter in him had given way to the Pastor, and he'd believed, more than a little piously, that the church was the best place for someone in Sam's situation. That the guidance of the lord would see the boy through. How Sam would be affected by his brother's leaving hadn't been a worry to Jim. He'd listened to Dean's anxiety and responded with assurances that Sam would be fine without him, that Jim could do just as good a job in watching out for the boy. Privately he'd been more concerned by the need Dean had for his brother rather than the other way around.
Except Sam was slowly becoming more introverted, less the cheerful, sweet, easily distracted boy Jim had gotten to know and like over the past months. It seemed that the change wasn't Sam's own doing, that it was occurring as a byproduct of not having Dean around. And Jim was forced to admit to his mistake. Sam needed Dean's presence just as much as Dean needed Sam's, if in different ways.
Sam sniffed loudly, bringing Jim's contemplations to a halt. The boy was playing with the corner of a cushion, half hanging off the sofa. His long fingers twisted it, wrapping it around the knuckles and tugging the material out of shape. His face was a study in childish misery.
Jim sighed and silently prayed for God's assistance in what he was about to do. Then he recanted. God probably wouldn't agree with him on this one. But that was okay. He had been a hunter long before he heard the calling of the church, and the instincts were buried in his bones as deep as any faith. Absently he reached up to his throat, to the reassurances of the white dog collar around his neck. And he pulled it free, letting it drop to the table beside him.
"Sam." Sam looked up eagerly, as if he'd been waiting for Jim to come to the same conclusion that he'd already arrived at days ago. "Go up to your bedroom and get changed. I'll be up in a minute to help you pack a bag. I have to make some phone calls first."
"We're going to find Dean. And dad." There was no doubt in the boy's voice.
Jim found a weary smile, pressed it onto his lips. "Yes. Now go and get ready, Sam. We leave in half an hour." He fingered the phone in his hand; maybe it would be best to call and let Dean know they were coming. But if Sam was right, if this strange woman really was after him, then any distraction might get him hurt. And Sam, he thought as he watched the tall boy practically bounding from the room, was a big distraction.
The redheaded woman hadn't been back to the bar in two nights. Dean had asked around, figuring in a town as small as this someone must know her. But the guys in the local bars, the attendant in the gas station, the owner of the motel, even the old ladies who dressed their tiny little dogs in stupid tartan coats and dragged them around town, none of them seemed to know who she was. And even more bizarre; none of them seemed bothered by the fact that she had set up shop in a town where everyone made a point of knowing their neighbours' business.
Dean slouched down in the front seat of Impala, his eyes trained on the entrance to the bar across the street. Night was falling and the air was turning frosty, pluming out in white clouds as he breathed. He rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.
He couldn't work it out. She wasn't human; that much was clear. Dean could have figured that one out for himself, even without Jim's frantic phone call. He hadn't so much as looked at a woman since Sam, and now so wasn't the time to be thinking through the implications of his desire to remain faithful to his mentally-disabled baby brother. But Sam was always there, sneaking around the back of his mind like a ghost. And the redhead had somehow managed to put any thoughts of his brother and his dad right out of his head.
A succubus, maybe? But she didn't fit the regular patterns, seemed to entrance the women just as well as she did the men. And the behaviour of the people in the bar that night; men drinking until they puked, women acting like they were in heat and crying over the smallest things, none of it added up to a demon out to feed off sexual energy. Instead it was almost mischievous, like she was amping up peoples' emotions and setting them loose to see what would happen.
People were walking in and out of the bar, but there was nowhere near the crowd that had been in on the first night. It was as if the woman had exuded some kind of attraction that pulled people in without their realising it.
God, he wished Sam were here to help him. His baby brother had always been able to see patterns where he couldn't; could seemingly pluck the answer right out of the air with his trademark sulky expression in place that just screamed isn't it obvious? Although, he thought with a huff, the Sam now would be just as likely to lead them on a wild trail to one of the old ladies' yappy dogs. And then Dean would probably have to expend yet more of his valuable patience explaining to Sam why they couldn't keep it.
The winter weather was settling in around the town with a vengeance. Dean had heard three different people in the diner that morning foretelling snow. He hoped they were wrong. Hunting in snow was always a bitch, and irrationally it increased his fear of never finding his dad, like a blanket of snow would cover up any minute trails he might have missed.
He waited another half-hour before reluctantly calling it a night. The Impala coughed to life around him and he flicked the heater on full-blast, warming his hands in front of it for a minute. With a final glance over at the bar, Dean pulled away from the curb and headed back to the motel, disappointment hanging low over his head.
Sam was practically dancing in his seat.
They were going to find Dean. His brother was getting closer with every mile Jim's pickup ate, and he could feel the buzz in his head growing stronger and stronger. The lady couldn't hurt Dean if he was there. He wouldn't let her.
"Sam, can you sit still for a while?" Jim's patient voice filtered through, and it took a second for Sam to comprehend the words.
"Oh. Sorry. D'you think Dean will be happy to see me?"
Jim glanced over and Sam caught the amused smile on his lips. "I think he'll be very happy to see you. He's been missing you a lot."
"Does he know when we're coming?"
"No, I thought it would be better to surprise him." The short sentence was accompanied by an underlying sense of untruth, but Sam didn't say anything, nothing that might get the car turned around and driving in the wrong direction.
Sam smiled to himself, picking at the fraying threads on the vinyl car seat. They loosened the more he picked at them, and a tiny hole appeared, revealing the yellow stuffing underneath.
It didn't even matter that they'd been in the same place for what seemed like years and years. The same car smells, the same muddy footwell. Sam wriggled about until he was on his knees on the seat, facing backward. Through the back window he could see the spare tire in the bed of the truck, rattling in its bracket as they bumped over an uneven stretch of road. His seatbelt dug into his neck, rough material against his skin.
"Sam, do you remember what I just said?" Jim asked, breaking his contemplation of the rusty metal tailgate.
"Dean misses me?"
"No, before that."
Sam frowned, thinking hard. "Sit still? Oh. Sorry." He righted himself in the seat.
The stripes along the side of the road were interesting a while ago, but he couldn't touch them through the glass of the window, couldn't feel their smoothness as they brushed past his fingertips. Beyond them the scenery changed a lot, and sometimes there were interesting things to look at, like cows in fields. But they were far away, and there was nothing new to see right here. He wondered how long it would take to get to Dean.
Maybe he had said the last part out loud, because Jim answered his question with the same gentleness he always used when speaking to Sam. The calm voice Jim used made Sam feel better, feel like he wasn't stupid for not remembering things or muddling up his words. "It'll only take a few more hours, Sam. And then we'll see Dean, and try to find your dad."
Dad. Oh. In the excitement of Dean, he'd forgotten dad. Somewhere, something told him he should feel bad about that. Dad had a prickly beard and a laugh that sounded like a cough. Sam liked it; it made him feel warm. But the first and last thing on his mind was his brother, and he couldn't feel guilty about that because Dean was everything important to him.
The pickup drove on, and Sam waited.
A banging on the door of Dean's motel room had him leaping out of bed, muggy and disoriented. His hunting knife was clutched in one hand and his boxers were twisted uncomfortably around his waist, the seam pressing tight in a very sensitive area. The room was empty; only the sight of old takeout boxes and messy computer printouts arranged in piles in a corner of the room greeted him.
The knock on the door came again, and he righted his underwear before going to answer it, exchanging the knife for a pistol on the way.
"Yeah?" He called through the door, one hand on the knob.
"Dean?" A jolt knotted his belly with tension at the sound of Pastor Jim's voice. What the fuck was Jim doing here, and where was Sam?
He swung the door open wide, lifting the gun as he did so. He was allowed a snapshot glimpse of Jim standing in the doorway before a blur knocked him backwards, clinging onto his chest like a limpet. He staggered, dropping the gun to the carpet. And then a familiar mop of hair was thrust under his nose, and it was all Dean could do to get a good grip on the warm body it belonged to, hands grasping at every snatch of clothing they could find. Shock and sudden ecstasy knocked the breath out of him and his eyes felt suspiciously moist.
"Sammy?"
He was greeted by his brother's brightest smile, so white and startling it seemed to dim the light in the room.
"Dean! I came to find you."
While Sam was busy insinuating himself into Dean's chest, Jim stepped in the room, closing the door behind him. The sound tore Dean away from his sharp scrutiny of Sam's face for a second.
"Jim! What the he-heck are you guys doing here?"
Jim smiled, and Dean noticed that the Pastor had lost his dog collar since Dean last saw him, instead wearing a beaten grey jacket and a wool sweater with holes around the neck. He looked strangely naked without it.
"I thought it was for the best if I brought Sam up here. He seems to know a lot more about this case than anyone else. And," Jim's expression turned sombre "I think Sam needed you around."
Dean was barely taking in Jim's words, so overwhelmed by Sam, his Sammy, here and touchable and beautiful. His hands were working on instinct, one minute carding through Sam's long hair, the next stroking down his back, the next cupping his face. Sam seemed to be eating up all the attention, pushing his face into Dean's touch like a hungry cat.
When Jim excused himself to go book another room Dean waved him off without looking up.
As soon as the door was closed behind the Pastor, Sam's mouth was on his and Dean couldn't tell who had moved first. Their kiss was deep and sloppy and on just the right side of desperate. Dean fisted both hands in the front of Sam's shirt, hauling him up to his full height. Sam went where he guided, malleable and soft under his hands.
"Sam…Sammy, god…I missed you, baby." He mumbled the words between kisses, pressed them into Sam's mouth like Sam could taste them.
Sam's lips left his, trailing to his chin and under his jaw. Dean lifted his head, baring his throat. His hands buried themselves under thick layers of clothing to stroke and pet at the flushed skin of Sam's back. His eyes fluttered closed, letting the texture and smoothness of Sam's skin guide his fingers like it was scribed in Braille. The heavy coat Sam was wearing fell to the floor, swiftly followed by his hoody and tee shirt.
No one had ever been able to turn Dean on as hard or as fast as his little brother, especially after Sam's mind took a walk. It probably said something about his own state of mind that the hottest thing he could possibly imagine was fraternal incest, but Dean forwent thinking about it in favour of being pinned to the mattress by Sam's body.
After a thorough and exhausting reunion Dean wrapped the blankets around them both, tangling them together in the heat their sweaty bodies had generated. Sam snuffled happily into his neck, a contented expression on his face as he closed his eyes. Dean watched him breathe for long minutes. The search for their father worried at his mind, chastising him for wasting time. But the room smelt of sex and sweat, and Sam was where he belonged; skin-to-skin with Dean. He had long ago learnt to take his peace where he could find it.
Dean woke leisurely, a happy ball of warmth in his stomach. For a second he thought he was at Pastor Jim's, that the alarm clock was going to start its persistent ringing any second. Sam wriggled in closer, tongue snatching a taste at his collarbone in his sleep.
The pile of papers in the corner reminded Dean where they were, and why they were here. The warm feeling faded away.
Christ, he'd fallen asleep for – he checked the time on the digital clock by the bed – eight hours. Eight hours in which dad had been missing and he hadn't been searching. He'd been snuggling up in bed with his baby brother instead, which was maybe even worse.
Dean slid out from under Sam's long arm. Sam's long arm that had red scratch-marks crisscrossing the skin.
He frowned, pulling the covers away to see the other arm coursed with the same marks. Fingernail marks. Jim had said that Sam was upset on the phone a few nights back, that he'd…
The covers fell from his hand, dropping in a heap around Sam's bare waist. Dean's eyes were drawn to the thin belly. The matching scratches on the skin there. Except those marks were darker, deeper. Like Sam had been able to get to his stomach at a better angle. Some were dotted with scabbed blood.
"Dean?" Sam's soft voice startled him. "Are you mad?"
He met his brother's eyes, the green of them vivid with sleep. Sam looked afraid.
"Sammy, what did you do?"
"I had to." Sam's fingers started playing at the hem of the bed sheets, tugging them over his stomach like he was embarrassed. "I had to tell you about the lady."
Dean caught Sam's hand in his own, bringing it up and pressing the back against his bare chest. "Sammy, listen to me. Okay? I'm not mad at you, but I don't want you to ever do that again. D'you hear me? Never. If you want to talk to me and I'm not there, you ask Pastor Jim and he'll find me for you."
"But I was scared and the words wouldn't work." Sam's words spoken in a tiny voice made Dean feel cold all over.
"The words wouldn't work?"
Sam shook his head, big eyes meeting Dean's. "There was too much in my head, I couldn't make it all work at once."
Dean took a shaky breath, and then another. "Too much, like…before? Like when you couldn't talk?"
"Not exactly."
He instinctively scrutinised Sam's expression for any tells, anything that might hint to his brother keeping the full extent of his condition to himself. Sam the teenager always had a martyr complex where Dean and their father were concerned. Suffering through injuries without telling anyone was commonplace, as if he was storing up each pain to be used later, when it was no longer important. "But dad, I can't do target practise, I sprained my wrist on the hunt two nights ago. And there's this debate team meet at school…" But of course to Sam now, lying was a completely foreign concept. His face was wide open, all his feelings on display.
Sam tried on a hesitant smile, obviously not sure of the proper reaction to Dean's worry. "I'm okay, Dean. Really."
He softened, stroking a gentle hand over Sam's head and watching as his brother's eyes fluttered shut to enjoy the caress.
The moment was broken by a loud knock on the door.
"Just a sec!" Dean yelled, pulling on clothing and rumpling up the sheets in the extra bed, as if his brother lying naked and looking blissful and sleepy wouldn't be the centre of Jim's attention. "Here Sammy, put these on." Dean threw clothes at him, waiting until Sam actually started dressing before opening the door.
Jim stood under the awning, his back to the door as he looked up at the sky. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean before turning his head upward again.
"Lookin' for God up there, Jim?" Dean asked lightly. He stepped half outside the door to join the older man.
Jim chuckled softly. "Not quite. Looks like snow's coming."
Dean sighed. "So I hear. Hope we can find some leads on dad before it gets here."
Jim turned to face him fully, compassion in his eyes. He reached out a hand, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "We'll find him, Dean. I have no doubt of that."
He tried to smile back, thankful when Sam's messy head appeared in the doorway.
"Hi Jim. Dean, can we eat now?"
