July 6th, 2008
Her lids fly open with the sound of tumbling boxes from the first floor. She doesn't know what it is, but something is most definitely in her house and clearly knocking over her already packed items. A hunter's instincts don't just disappear, even when not practiced, and she can just feel that something is highly wrong.
Lizzy quietly moves off of her bed, bare feet standing on cold hardwood flooring. Reaching underneath the bedframe, she pulls out her Glock and takes painstakingly slow steps to the door. She doesn't want the creaky floorboards giving her away. She forgoes the idea of covering up, thinking that just underwear and a tank is enough. Lizzy knows how to kick ass naked if she has to. Whatever decided to invade her space like this is certainly not going to live to tell about it. Her heart beats faster, out of both fear and excitement. It's been a while since she's hunted something and she's elated for the opportunity to dole out some pain instead of feel it for once.
The door opens with a slight squeak and Lizzy pauses, holding her breath and waiting while hoping the mysterious thing in her house didn't hear. She listens as rustling comes from the kitchen and something bumps into the dinner table. The legs of the furniture scrape against the linoleum floor before a voice curses its own clumsy actions.
"Shit."
Ok, she thinks. It speaks English. Huh. Lizzy starts her trek down the hallway, handgun at the ready all the while. Leaning against the wall at the corner of the hall, she takes a deep breath and swiftly turns around to face the top of the stairs with her gun trained straight ahead. Nothing yet, still just her, but it's then that she hears the sloshing of liquid in a glass bottle followed by a disgusted sigh. Whatever it is, it's at the bottom of the stairs. Lizzy creeps forward the few feet it took to get a clear shot down to the first floor. She spies the hulking size of the man sitting on the first step, shoulders slumped and one of her Jack Daniels bottles by his side. She'd know that frame and dark shaggy hair anywhere.
"Sam!" she shouts with surprise. He doesn't turn around, just raises a hand over his head to wave hello before taking down another good chug.
"Jesus fucking Christ, dude!" Lizzy yells at him as she leans forward, hands on her bent knees, and breaths deeply. "You scared the shit outta me, man! I was gonna shoot you!"
"Oops," Sam responds flatly while still remaining in his seat. She's pissed off at him for this, but clearly something is wrong if he's come to see her. Saving her huge growing anger for later, she makes her way down the staircase, still dressed in the bare minimum, and sits down next to Sam, dropping her gun on the step behind her since it isn't needed. She forgoes getting more clothes on. It's just Sam after all and he looks too drunk to leave alone even for the couple of minutes it would take to go back upstairs. She isn't fearful of him either. The guy had to walk through a salt line and a devil's trap to get in, plus she's made it a rule to put a little holy water in every bottle of booze she keeps in the house just in case (great idea, Bobby). And oh yeah, the anti-possession tattoo he has kind of proves it. He's clear and she feels safe enough to relax.
"What the hell brings you here?" she questions while grabbing a sip of whiskey for herself.
"I've been a bad brother," Sam says while staring at the floor. Oh boy. His tone of voice and demeanor tells her he's sloshed.
"What?" Lizzy wonders with confusion. "Sam, you've been out on the road looking to get Dean back this whole time… or at least I assume that's what you've been doing. Kinda been hard to reach you for a while now so who knows really."
"I've tried everything. Spells, séances, everything. Even tried to fucking take his place."
"Sam!" She snaps her head to stare at him in anger. She's ready to strangle him for what he's told her.
"No one while bargain with me, don't worry."
"Fucking idiot," she says while punching him in the shoulder which she gets an annoyed look from him in return.
"I let him down. Dean always did everything to make sure I was safe and protected. He's saved me so many times and I can't do shit to help him the one time he needs it."
"It's not fair, Sam, but you've done what you could and Dean would be proud of you for that. Don't be so damn hard on yourself." Lizzy sighs loudly with everything the poor guy is going through. "Well, at least now I know you're still breathing."
"That's what I mean," Sam says once again to the floor.
"Mean about what?" Lizzy asks before taking another sip.
"About being a shitty brother," Sam states simply. "I've been awful to you, just like Dean was for a year. You don't deserve that. Been a bad brother from a another mother. M'sorry."
Lizzy huffs a laugh at the shocking reason he came by.
"That's why you're drunk and breaking into my place at two in the morning?"
"Kinda," Sam admits while taking back the glass bottle and going in for one more long pull.
"Hell, I'll take what I can get, Sam-I-Am," Lizzy tells him while leaning into him, her head resting on his sagging shoulder. It's so good to see him, to know he's still kicking that it doesn't matter the shape he's in at the moment.
"I've done some bad shit, Lizzy." It's put simply and he unnerves her with his words.
"What've you done?" Lizzy asks while lifting her head up. He doesn't answer, just keeps his gaze locked on the floor. She reaches out and brushes his too-long hair to the side so she gets a clear shot of his face. "What did you do?"
Sam finally looks over to her, locking eyes, and she sees the confused torment he holds inside. It hurts her to see it and she wishes she could wash it all away for him. She places a hand on his cheek and Sam closes his eyes, leaning into her palm.
"Sam, are you ok? I mean relatively speaking of course?"
He closes the space between them and brings his lips to hers. The movement was quick, and Lizzy certainly didn't see it coming at all. He blindsided her with his actions. Lizzy brings her other hand to his chest and very lightly pushes him back, ending his attempted kiss as gently as possible. Sam looks back down at his feet with what she's sure is embarrassment.
"Hey," she sooths, running a comforting hand up and down his arm, tying her best to make him feel less ashamed. "It's fine. Momentary lapse of judgment, right?"
"No," Sam answers. "I knew what I was doing."
"Oh," Lizzy responds, not sure what else to say.
"We've lost so fucking much," he explains. "We've lost our family, our friends, our…"
"Better halves?" Lizzy finishes for him.
"Yes," Sam agrees. "I just, I miss her. So fucking much."
"Me too," Lizzy says, knowing he's talking about Lou.
"They say you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, right?" Sam looks over to her with tears threatening. "Well, she's gone and I just want her back. I didn't think it'd be this bad, but it is. It's so fucking bad."
"You're preaching to the choir my friend," Lizzy tries to lighten things up a bit, even though she knows it won't work. Sam rolls his eyes.
"Stop doing that that. You're just fucking like him," he says while shaking his head. "That's why I couldn't stay here, why I couldn't be around you."
"I shoulda known." She didn't know before why he'd left in such a hurry, but his reasoning makes total sense to her. She reminds him too much of Dean.
"But you're so much like Lou too," he explains. "I know I can talk to you, I know you'll listen. I should've called you."
"Yes, you should have," she concurs.
"I just want her back, I want her help so badly, I want what we had or at least could've had."
"But I'm not her, Sam. I can't replace that, you know this." Her heart breaks with his absolute sadness.
"I was just trying…"
"I know what you were trying," Lizzy smiles sadly. "Tempting as it may be, it's not gonna happen. It's too…"
"Creepy," Sam finishes.
"Pretty much," Lizzy smiles wider. "Listen, why don't you head upstairs and take the open room for the night. Then you can puke your brains out all morning and we'll talk once you're done."
"K," he responds while standing up and trudging up the stairs. He doesn't stop walking once he reaches the top, opening the nearest door and diving into the bed in it.
"Um, hey," Lizzy starts, ready to tell him he's in her bed and should take the one next door. She doesn't though. He's already plopped across the mattress, feet hanging off the end, and she doesn't have to heart to move him. He looks like he could use the sleep immediately. Instead she takes his boots off for him and then attempts to remove his coat.
"Thought you said it'd be creepy?" Sam mumbles with his head still on the pillow as she undresses him.
"No, you said it'd be creepy. You know you're kinda funny when you're drunk, smart ass," she responds while briefly smiling because every great now and then she sees Dean coming through in his little brother. She pries his coat off after some struggling. Before leaving him for the night, Lizzy tugs on the leather jacket Sam is partially laying on until she gets it free.
"Night Sam," Lizzy whispers and kisses him on the cheek. She leaves him be and heads to the master bedroom down the hall. She usually preferred the smaller room since she and Dean had shared it before… he left. Tucking herself into the larger bed, she wraps her arms around the worn coat that she slept with every night. It still smelled like him and it gave her comfort. After seeing Sam it made her miss Dean even more. It felt wrong to see one without the other.
"I miss you so much," she whispers into the jacket while closing her eyes.
His face shakes with not pain, but anger. It's been building over the years of torture, his rage becoming harder to deal with than the anguish. Today Alistair went for an old ruthless standby, one of his favorite ways of torment. Skinning a soul alive was always a joy for him and usually it was Dean's least favorite approach. With his bottled up fury, however, the skinning was easier to deal with than ever before. He was distracted.
"Awful quiet today, Dean," Alistair snarls while keeping at his work. "You've barely made a peep. You're taking out some of the fun for me, you know."
"I am gonna kill you," Dean shakily spits out. "Someday, I am going to get my revenge on you, you evil piece of fucking shit."
Alistair laughs sinfully with the absurd statement. "Please, Dean, I can't breathe," the demon says while doubled over. "When did you become so funny?" He continues laughing, taunting the bound soul mercilessly.
"Laugh now, Alistair," Dean calmly responds. "Laugh it up."
"You know, you're getting a little too bold for my liking. I think I need to bring you down a peg or two."
Dean keeps quiet, poker face of anger still in place, and waits for the demon's next move.
"I think I'll being my newest student in to finish this one up," he explains with a grin, wiping his razor clean. "He's really good, you know. Just down right vicious. I have a sneaking suspicion that you two will get along really, really well."
Alistair disappears with a blink of the eye and Dean is left, bleeding and waiting.
"Hey Dean," the deep voice says and Dean screws his eyes shut with it. He knows who he'll see when he opens them, but for the life of him he wishes it wasn't true. This can't be real, he's not really here. Slowly he pries his lids open and sees exactly who he expected.
"Long time no see," the tall man says while wielding an intimidating knife.
"Sam," Dean whispers out. "No way, you're not here. You are not real."
"Very real, actually." Sam steps closer, black eyes staring him down as he does, until he is right by Dean's side. "You know, after you abandoned me, it was easy to just give in to all the evil in me. Didn't have big brother around to nag me to death and watch over me."
"No," Dean says again while looking away. Sam uses the point of the knife against Dean's cheek to turn Dean's head back around to him, green locking with black as night once he does.
"It's your fault you know," Sam says. "It was your job to look after me."
"That's why I'm here!" Dean shouts. "I kept you alive!"
"Just long enough to let me go dark-side, huh bro?" Sam smiles menacingly while raising the knife about Dean's chest. "It's kinda fun, honestly. Letting this side of me win, to stop fighting and trying so hard to be good when I'm not. I never was and deep down, you know that's true. You should have let me die, should have listened to what Dad told you." He drops the knife with force and plunges it into Dean's chest. Dean screams out in agony as he feels the blade slice through his body but he isn't sure which hurts more, the knife or the sight of his brother's current condition.
"Don't do this," he pleads. "Sam, no…"
"Dean, yes," he returns to him. "This is going to be fucking fun. After all those years of being so overbearing, treating me like a child, I'm gonna prove that I'm not that little kid you think I am." Sam twists the knife and smiles with glee as Dean screams once more.
"Ah! You're not Sam! Get away from me you bitch!"
Sam slowly pulls the knife from Dean chest, taking his time as he does.
"Jerk," Sam responds with a wink while continuing where Alistair left off.
The day consisted of his brother tearing him apart, telling him awful things, and successfully breaking him down that much more. Not soon enough, the blackness eventually took over for its usual few seconds of reprieve before he was whole once more.
"So, how was it?" Alistair asks once Dean opens his eyes.
"You're fucking dead," Dean says, eyes dark and anger toppling him. He struggles against his restraints, desperate to get to the demon and deal out some pain of his own. How dare he use his brother's image, his little brother's voice and thoughts against him.
"Relax, darling. You know you aren't going anywhere," Alistair laughs. "Unless, of course, today is the day?"
"NO!"
"Are you sure?" he questions. "This is still just the tip of the iceberg, my friend. I know what makes that damaged brain of yours tick, what will get to you the most. I know how to fuck with you in ways you'd never consider. I went easy on you this last time."
"Shove it up your fucking ass!" Dean shouts for the millionth time to Alistair, making sure his promise to Lizzy is still in tack. She told him to never let hell win and he'll be damned if he does.
"Alright, Dean. I see it's gonna take a lot more than I thought to wear you down. But you're really beginning to piss me off so why don't we pause for a few weeks so that I can take out my frustrations, shall we?"
The light of the new day warms his face as it shines through the window and Sam starts coming to. He feels little a sick but the illness is manageable. He's grown accustomed to hangovers these days, finding them easier to cope with the more he experiences them.
He tries to blink away the sleep before attempting to lift his head off the pillow. Shit, he thinks briefly when his sights fall on the nightstand next to the bed he's in. The antique lamp, the doily underneath it; he's at Lizzy's. The memory of the night comes back to him slowly. He drove out to Massachusetts, desperate and finally knowing he should go see her. Once he was there however, he found a bar instead of her house. It's been so long and he'd avoided her the whole time and now he wasn't ready to deal with the guilt. After a few hours of boozing, the liquid courage in his system falsely told him he was prepared. The next thing he knew, he was picking the lock on her front door and searching the kitchen for more liquor. God damn it.
It's then that his eyes focus and he sees the three pills and bottle of Gatorade waiting for him by the lamp. She's so caring, and he totally doesn't deserve it. She's understanding and forgiving and he recognizes how lucky he is to have that in his life. No matter how badly he treats her she'll always be there for him.
After downing the pills, Sam makes his way to the kitchen downstairs with his Gatorade in hand.
"Hey," Sam sheepishly greets as he walks into the room, Lizzy with her back to him at the counter, and takes a seat at the table.
"Morning," she smiles with a laugh over her shoulder. "Hungry?"
"Surprisingly, yes," Sam tells her, searching his memory for the last time he's been actually hungry.
She turns around, plate in hand, and puts it in front of him. "Here. Eat up."
Sam looks down at the sandwich, the food he's sure she made for herself, and smiles. "Sandwich for breakfast?"
"Ah, no," Lizzy laughs. "It's past noon, dude. This is lunch."
"Oh," Sam replies, surprised to hear how later he'd slept. "Well, thanks."
"You're welcome," Lizzy responds while starting to make a second sandwich. "So, breaking into people's houses now, are we?" She jokes, but it's a serious question at the same time.
"Sorry about that," Sam apologizes with a bite in his mouth before washing it down with more Gatorade. "I got here so late, I didn't want to wake you."
"Just give me a heart attack instead, right?" Lizzy asks over her shoulder and Sam doesn't answer. "Look, just saying, call me next time. And for what it's worth, I am really, really happy to see you."
"You too," Sam admits. He thinks that this must be what it's like to come home, to have a home, and a family waiting for you. It's kind of nice.
"So what brings you here?" Lizzy asks, second sandwich in hand, as she takes a seat next to him. "Anything I can help with?"
"Not really," Sam says with another bite.
"What is it then? I mean, you mentioned something last night," Lizzy looks over to him cautiously. He sighs, their conversation still foggy but he remembers almost telling her what he's been up to. "Said you did something bad."
"Eh, I was drunk," he explains while chickening out. He can't bring himself to tell her. Drinking demon blood would freak even her out and the shame it bring him is too much to bear. "Again, I'm sorry for the whole thing."
"Are you in trouble, Sam?" Lizzy questions, clearly getting a vibe from him that he's holding back.
"No, not at all," Sam explains untruthfully. "I've done some shitty things to you and Bobby. I was talking about that."
"Ok," Lizzy nods, accepting his explanation while biting into her sandwich.
"What's with the boxes?" Sam asks, changing the subject away from himself.
"Moving," Lizzy says through her bite. "Can't stay in such a huge place alone. Got an apartment across town. I'll give you the address."
"Shit, good thing I popped by before you moved."
"Ha, no kidding. Breaking in on an unsuspecting family coulda been even more awkward than me almost shooting you, or you kissing me." Lizzy smiles but it quickly fades as Sam shares a questioning face.
"You remember that?" Sam questions with alarm. He's always assumed she forgot the kiss they'd shared months ago.
"Yeah, of course I do, it just happened. And I wasn't the drunk one." She pushes him on the shoulder playfully but Sam remains confused.
"Yes you were. You were hammered. And you got me completely wasted too."
"Wait," Lizzy shakes her head. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"When you kissed me, like months ago right after Lou... You were drunk, I got drunk with you by the fireplace, and you kissed me."
Lizzy's eyes grow extremely wide with what Sam tells her. "We kissed that night?"
"Yeah, well you kissed me, really," Sam tells her, realizing now she clearly blacked out that night.
"Oh shit," Lizzy drops her head in her hands with her elbows on the table.
"What?" He remains highly confused.
"Sam, you full blown kissed me last night. This has happened twice?" She's alarmed at the revelation.
"I guess," Sam says, searching his brain for the memory he's lost. He almost always remembers everything when he's been drinking, always has. He must have been really drunk last night.
"Well, this is awesome," Lizzy jests. "And so fucking wrong."
"And uncomfortable," Sam adds.
"And seriously not good."
They sit quietly and let the information settle in as Sam watches Lizzy fiddle with the Hand of the Etruscans pendant on a silver chain, a nervous habit she picked up once she started wearing the thing twenty-four hours a day. What the fuck is wrong with him, Sam thinks. This is so wrong. Lizzy is Dean's girl, hell or no hell. What is he doing?
"So I say we chalk it up to two lonely, fucked up individuals being drunken idiots." Lizzy looks over to gage his response.
"I can go with that," Sam quickly agrees while holding his hand out to her. They shake on it.
"Ok then," Lizzy gets up and walks around the room, suddenly stifled by the moment. "So, I have an interview at four..." she starts.
"Interview?" Sam interrupts.
"Yes sir," she tells him while picking up her plate and wrapping her barely eaten sandwich in plastic wrap. "Need to do something with my life now that I'm currently not hunting besides wallow, drink, and be miserable. You know, at least pretend to be normal… like I promised…" she practically chokes out.
"I see," Sam smiles sadly, remembering Dean telling him he made her swear she'd attempt a common life. Sam respected that Dean would try to do this for her and he knew Lizzy would try in earnest, for him.
"It's just a bartending job, something to re-acclimate myself with the real world since I've kinda been out of it for so long. You're welcome to stick around as long as you like… or until Monday. I'm moving that day. Then you're more than welcome to stay at my new place."
"Thanks, Lizzy," Sam says to her and picks his sandwich back up. He'll be gone before then, he knows that. Ruby will make sure of it. He has some training to do anyways.
Knee deep in research, Bobby's enjoying his few days of not being a depressed mess. Granted he's just waiting for that next wave to hit, but for now he enjoys the rare break.
There's got to be something they've missed, a spell or a loophole… or something. He has to pull that kid out of the pit, he has to. And not just for Dean's sake, but Sam's too. That kid has deteriorated into something scary since Dean's been gone. He isn't dealing with the loss at all. Bobby suspects he's using the pain to drive himself toward revenge instead and it breaks his heart. This solitary and harmful road is not what Dean would have wanted for him, not in the least.
He hears the ringing and thinks briefly about ignoring it completely, but once he realizes it's his cell that's going off, he practically sprints across the house to grab it from its place on the coffee table and flips it open. Holy shit, he thinks as his heart fills with optimism when he sees the name he hoped he would.
"Sam!" he practically shouts into the phone.
"Hey Bobby," he hears his son respond quietly.
"Where the hell've you been, boy?" Bobby asks angrily. He knows he should be nicer and not scare the guy who so easily disappeared for so long, but he can't hold himself back. He didn't need the added reason to be a worried, depressed mess.
"Everywhere, really," Sam tell him. "I'm at Lizzy's right now and she told me how pissed you are with me."
"Damn straight!" Bobby shouts. "Been worried sick 'bout yer dumb ass. Lizzy, too."
"I know and… I'm sorry. Bobby, I really am."
"Well at least yer alive, ya' idjit," Bobby says in a calmer voice. It is good to know the kid is still kicking.
"I've been hunting," he practically trips over his own words, blurting the information out.
"By yourself?" Bobby asks with alarm. He prays Sam isn't hunting Lilith, but knowing that kid it probably is.
"Kinda," Sam says.
"What's kinda mean?" Bobby questions with annoyance. He isn't working with Lizzy, so who the hell's been helping him.
"Look, I'm not gonna change what I've been up to. I'm just calling to let you know I'm alright." He knows the tone of voice Sam's using. It's the one he pulls out when he gets defensive and shuts down. Crap.
"Because Lizzy asked you to?" Why Sam needed to be told to call Bobby is beyond him. That kid should have wanted to keep tabs. And Bobby now knows something is up. Sam is up to no good and the rock in his stomach makes him know that he's right.
"Well, yeah," Sam admits.
"Well, Sam, when ya' feel like talkin' to me because you want to and because you actually care enough to ease an old man's mind once and a while, I'll be waitin' for the phone to ring again."
With that, Bobby hangs up. He's pissed. How could Sam be so secretive with him like that, so careless? He's got little left in this world and he's throwing it away for revenge. God damn that kid.
Once Bobby sits for a few minutes, he regrets the way he went about the conversation. It'll probably be months before he hears from Sam again. Why would he want to call Bobby after being talked to that way?
Shit, Bobby thinks as he lifts the glass of whiskey to his lips. He'd poured it absentmindedly when his conversation with Sam took a turn for the worse. The depression blankets him once more and he decides that research is done for now.