A/N: Quiet Sunday here so I got this chapter checked over already. Sam's pov on Antarctica and flashbacks about his brother.
Howlround (Chapter II) by frostygossamer
Timeline: Huge Attraction Ice-station, Antarctica - Yesterday morning
The deep, pure white drifts of snow entirely muffle the sound of Sam Winchester's heavy snow-boots as he plods doggedly toward the entrance of the administration block, the whistling gale fiercely lashing him with sharp crystalline H2O. Beautiful but cruel.
HOO... OH WOE WOO... WHOO... OOCH!
Dwarfed by the endless snowfield, the prefabricated admin block is the biggest structure in Huge Attraction. Sam sets down his cosmic-ray detector a moment to rub at his stinging cheek before opening the outer door with two heavily gloved hands. An escaping puff of semi-warm air caresses his wind-chapped face and it feels almost good.
Shouldering the detector bag again, he turns and seals the outer door before unlatching the inner. Six foot four in his stockinged feet, Sam's head nearly scrapes the low ceiling of the claustrophobic cabin. And, by unhappy contrast, the foul atmosphere inside slaps his face like a week-old jock-strap.
Home Sweet Home.
Eight sweaty men, housed together in a cramped wood shelter situated on the Antarctic ice shelf, don't exactly lend the place the delectable perfume of a sultan's harem. More like the reek of a wrestler's locker room. The only exception is the one female team member, microbiologist Ellen Harvelle. A handsome woman of forty summers, give or take, she always smells of violets and roses.
Sam makes a mental note to visit with Ellen later and borrow a spritz of her fancy scent for his pillow. Maybe then at least he can sleep sweetly. Although a splash of his brother's favourite cologne would probably be homier.
He shuffles through to the mess hall where several of the guys are sitting around jawing and swigging mugs of the filthy black goop their project leader, no-nonsense Samuel Campbell, calls coffee. Pulling off his snow-goggles, Sam scans the room. He can see Ellen and explosives specialist Rufus Turner remain out on site getting their core samples. Husky and gruff snowcat mechanic Walt took them out there earlier.
Sam notices Ellen's assistant, lab tech Gordon Walker - for some reason that guy rubs Sam up the wrong way - is playing a quiet hand of poker with the other snowcat mechanic, Walt's cousin Roy, a guy with the personality of a Neanderthal. A couple douchebags Sam could live without.
The two caterpillar track vehicles are the team's only means of transport. No sleds or sled-dogs on the base any more, so it is important the snowcats be kept in good working order. Consequently, Walt and Roy spend a lot of their time in the garage, situated in a Quonset hut adjacent to the main buildings.
Physicist Bobby Singer, also the designated radio operator, doesn't seem to be around either. Which isn't surprising since the guy has been kept busy the past week working on their temperamental long-range radio equipment. Nor is old man Campbell, for that matter.
Sam glances around the room, mentally checking off each man. He spots the team surgeon, diminutive Dr. Crowley, hanging out at the coffee corner. He seems to be messing with the fixings.
"You look like you could do with a refreshing drop of Rosie Lee." Crowley grins, as Sam comes over. "Just made myself a brew. Want a cuppa?"
Sam accepts a mug of tea from the abrasive physician, assuming it can't be any worse than the coffee. His first sip makes him splutter uncontrollably. Though good and hot, Crowley's brew is ridiculously strong.
"What we'd call a Builder's, Sam," the sawbones chortles. "Stand your spoon up in it, me laddo. If it doesn't melt the bloody thing, that is. Put lead in your bloomin' pencil."
He laughs, mostly to himself, while Sam humours him with a fake chuckle. The doctor was hired to keep them all fit and sane out here in the middle of icy nowhere. He has his work cut out with the sane part. Even he is showing signs of crumbling under the dreary monotony of life at the frigid South Pole. For example, the bizarre faux-Cockney accent is new. When they first arrived Sam assumed he was Scottish.
"What's gotten into you?" asks Sam. "Been mainlining 'Mary Poppins'?"
Crowley scoffs bubbles into his tea.
At least the guy is getting paid for this. For their sins, everyone aside from the good doctor, and including Sam, is a volunteer. All environmental activists, they have been tasked with probing the ancient ice repository for a worthy ecological project run at arm's length by the University of Tasmania. The doc is in this for cash.
"Think I'll give this a pass. I need a hot shower."
Setting down his mug, Sam shambles off to his quarters to take a shower and maybe get some warmth back in his worn out body. Doc Crowley calls after him.
"And you'll be glad to hear the effing hot water's on the blink again."
Sam groans at his sarcastic chuckle.
~O~
The cramped sleeping quarters are Sam's only private space in the whole research station, aside from a tiny corner of the Project Leader's office where he does his paperwork. Like everyone else he has scarcely enough room for a single cot, a night table for personal items and a locker for clothes. Even so the modicum of privacy that affords is more than welcome.
He exhales a relieved breath as he enters his room. Ripping apart Velcro strapping and closures, he shrugs out of his stiff, wet outdoor wear and strips down to his thermal undershorts. The shorts are damp with perspiration and stick to his flesh like a second skin. He slides them off, balls them in his fist and launches them into a basket in the corner. He can wash them later.
Released from the sweaty confines of heavy and not so breathable layers, Sam's height gains another inch at least. He stretches his long lean body and tired back, rotating his head to flex his aching neck muscles, catching a peek at his own reflection in the mirror on his locker door.
"Hi there, pasty kid."
The mirror shows Sam his all-over tan has already faded. Only his face remains bronzed, burned by the unfiltered Antarctic sunshine reflected starkly from unforgiving whiteness, pale rings around his eyes from the snow-goggles. Sighing, he throws on a robe, shoves his feet into thong sandals and makes his way to the base's shower facility.
~O~
The basic washroom boasts a single shower stall so small Sam's tall, broad frame can barely fit inside. Hanging his robe on a hook by the door, he kicks off his sandals and steps in the cubicle. He turns the creaky faucet all the way on and tries to relax as the pitiful excuse for a trickle of lukewarm water slides over his naked body. At least his feet are warming up a little as it puddles pathetically in the shower tray.
Closing his eyes, he idly rubs a bar of harsh, antibacterial soap back and forth over his achy muscles, across his shoulders, down his chest, over his belly and around the tight globes of his butt.
It tingles, but not in a good way. Too much hygiene, not enough bubbles. How he misses the enveloping steam of his brother's roomy walk-in power-shower back in Kansas. Jeez, how he wishes he could be back there right this minute. But the last time he took advantage of his brother's hospitality is not his greatest memory.
Sam's mind drifts back to that final visit to Lawrence.
~O~
Timeline: Winchester residence - Six months ago
Sam stands at the front porch of his brother Dean's house feeling pleased with himself. He is back a couple days earlier than he expected. Peruvian customs were more accommodating than usual and he even managed to bum a seat on a private airplane part way home. Dean is going to be stoked.
That is how Lawrence feels to Sam, even now. Home.
Lawrence is the town he grew up in and the town where his brother has always lived. Not that Sam has maintained a regular domicile in the USA since college. There isn't much point when he spends most of every year abroad on one ecological project after another. This place is the nearest he gets.
College was Stanford and Stanford was where he got into the eco-warrior kick. Jessica, his pretty college years girlfriend, was very much into the environment and Sam was very much into her. That was almost a decade ago, and he hasn't seen her in years, but a love for Planet Earth has remained with him.
Between gigs, Sam always crashes with his brother. They get along fine, mostly, aside from Dean being kind of a jerk sometimes. The elder Winchester isn't exactly into the environment. As a skilled mechanic and big aficionado of the internal combustion engine, he is pretty much enabling the problem. They have duked it out verbally on occasion, but they pretty much agreed to differ a long time ago.
Sam can't blame his brother though, because the guy was earning a good living from repairing classic cars even before Sam went to college. He started as a teenager working on the Impala their dad gave him, the car he continues to drive to this day. The job fed and clothed Sam after they lost both their parents, before Sam even went green.
Big brother Dean has kept a bed for Sam at his place since he bought his very first two-room apartment. Now Dean owns five repair shops and an awesome house in the suburbs with a pool out back, and he won't hear of Sam staying anyplace else. The younger Winchester anticipates a warm welcome as he buzzes big brother's doorbell.
Today is Sunday so he knows Dean should be home. Sam looks forward to catching up whenever he is passing through, but this year he has something more to discuss with his brother. His big news? He has decided to give it up, pack in the eco-warrior life and start to put down roots.
After almost a decade of dedication to the cause, he thinks he has done his bit. He means to move back to Kansas and he hopes his brother will be glad to have him back for good. But will he?
Dean lives alone. Despite being something of a catch, successful in business and handsome as all get-out, Sam's elder brother has never shown any real interest in getting tied down. He is more of a casual womanizer, suspicious of chicks with their eye on his bank balance, preferring to remain footloose and play the field. Sam suspects he will always be that way and will likely die a lifelong bachelor.
Having never been too lucky in love himself, his relationships generally lasting only as long as his assignments, Sam has come to see old bachelorhood as his destiny also. He only hopes Dean doesn't think having his kid brother around permanently will cramp his carefree lifestyle. Today he means to sound Dean out.
He presses the bell again, noticing his brother doesn't seem to be responding to its summons with his usual speed. To his surprise the door is opened not by Dean but by an attractive brunette in a yellow bikini, a jungle-print sarong slung around her shapely hips.
"Hi." She takes a sip from a highball glass filled with jiggling ice cubes and some neon green cocktail.
Sam stands mute for a second before he stammers, "Oh, hi. I'm, uh, Sam. Dean home?"
He cranes his neck to look inside. He can hear muffled laughter and the clink of glasses coming from the kitchen.
"Sam?" The girl flashes him a smile. "Ah, the wandering brother returns. I'm Carmen. Come on in while I call Dean. He's out back. We're having a staff cookout."
Sam follows her in the house. There seems to be some kind of party going on. Guests are gathered in the kitchen, the back door stands open and Sam glimpses more partygoers outside, gathered around the pool. Carmen leans out the door and calls Dean's name. He comes in directly, wiping his greasy hands on a Batman apron. A joke apron? On Dean?
Seeing his brother, Dean marches right up and slaps his hands on Sam's shoulders, grinning brightly. A little awkward. As a rule there would be a big hug scene after so many months apart, but not now. Not in front of staff. And not with Carmen immediately trying to drape herself all over him.
Sam is taken aback by how suburban this all seems. Dean never does this. Maybe he would buy the guys a couple friendly beers in a local bar, but Sam has never seen him playing genial host to his employees. It seems, frankly, kind of patronizing. So NOT Dean.
Dean notices his befuddlement and guides him toward the stairs.
"Hey, Sammy. You've had a long journey. Why don't you go freshen up then come back down here and join the party?"
"Yeah, you come join in the fun, Sammy," shouts Carmen, over Dean's shoulder.
Sam winces inwardly. Everyone calls him Sam. Only Dean gets a permit to Sammy him. But he nods dumbly, and with a tight smile in Carmen's direction, he makes his way upstairs to the guest bedroom that has always been his when he is in town.
Until now.
~O~
Timeline: Huge Attraction Ice-station - Yesterday morning
After ten minutes the meagre supply of hot water is already gone and Sam's mind snaps back to Antarctica. He is as warm as he is going to get. Grabbing his robe, he hurries back to his room and drags on thermal underwear under jeans. He adds a thick flannel shirt, an official issue one with his name sewed on over his left pec like they all wear.
He hopes the guys have left him something hot to eat and he won't have to make do with cold field rations yet again. Jeez, what he wouldn't give for some of his brother's robust man-cooking? His stomach rumbles at the memory.
Only yesterday Sam sent his brother Dean a wire. Personal messages from the team have to be relayed through the university on Tasmania. This is the station's only means of contact with the outside world.
Not exactly private communication but it IS worth it to reach out, once in a while, to loved ones back home in civilization. Sam has bridges to build with his big brother and he is hoping there will be a reply from Dean waiting in the radio shack. That is, if Dean is speaking to him yet.
~O~
On his way back to the mess hall, Sam calls in at the radio shack to see how Singer is doing with his repairs. He finds the older man hunched over the disassembled radio equipment, along with Project Leader Campbell.
Sam leans in the door. "How's it going?"
Both men groan. Singer tosses some burned-out and damaged beyond repair components on the table and grumbles.
"It's a write-off, Sam. Been acting up since last Tuesday and now it's turned up its freakin' toes. Thought I had it working last night but something inside here seems to have had some kinda meltdown."
"So no personal messages?"
"Nuh-uh. Sorry, Sam. The last successful message to go out was your wire home. Big fat zero incoming since then. Nothing for it but to wait for the regular supply plane from Tassie next week. I radioed them to bring spares before this bunch of crap finally folded. Prayed this crock would hold up till then. Looks like I was expecting too much."
Sam nods. The university sends an airplane over to Huge Attraction from Tasmania every month to bring them food, fuel and other necessities and take away their non-biodegradables, weather permitting. But it isn't due back until next Monday at the soonest.
Campbell humphs and straightens up.
"Yeah, well, seems we're gonna be out of contact with the mainland for a while, Sam. Guess we proceed as normal until we can get the replacement parts. No big deal."
Sam agrees. He doesn't like being out of touch with the world outside, nor does anyone, but there isn't much they can do about it. It WOULD happen though, right when he is waiting on a reply to his wire.
That is if Dean will even reply after the exchange they had before Sam left Kansas.
~O~
Timeline: Winchester residence - Six months ago
Sam opens Dean's best guest room door to discover the room is already in use. A woman's colourful clothing hangs in the closet, panties in the drawer, make-up on the dresser. Carmen's? Probably. Certainly not his brother's. It looks like Sam has been downgraded.
He closes the door quietly and goes instead to the third best bedroom, a smaller room at the back of the house. It is normally used to store Dean's unused crap, but it does have a bed. He picks his way through the inevitable impulse-buy fitness equipment, plunks his duffel bag on the comforter and sighs. There have been big changes chez Dean since he was last around and he suspects Carmen may be the perpetrator. If he isn't careful he will wind up not liking her one bit.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, Sam reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and merges with the crowd around the pool. Dean is manning the big-boy's-toy grill and is thus constantly surrounded by hungry males. Carmen is swanning around playing hostess like she owns the place. Sam realizes she is looking more and more like she is maybe Dean's for-real girlfriend. A first for Dean, since high school anyways. The guy generally likes to play the rolling stone. Carmen must be a very special lady.
He sits down on the backdoor step with a beer and reconsiders his future. If his brother is serious about this girl, serious enough for her to be moving in with him permanently, he is going to have to rethink his plans. He truly does NOT want to be a third wheel. He is better than that.
After a couple hours the party starts to wind down and guests begin to drift off homeward. Dean smothers the grill and joins his brother on the step, beer in hand. He takes a long swig before speaking.
"So how was Peru?" He stares off into the dimming sun.
Sam chuckles. "Excelente. And how's married life?"
Dean blanches. "Dude, Carmen works the front desk at the main shop," he hastily explains. "She's strictly temporary."
"Have you told HER that? She seems to have other ideas."
Dean shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.
"She's new in town. I promised I'd give her a roof till she finds someplace reasonable to rent."
"Man, I'll bet that's not all you're giving her." Sam wriggles his eyebrows.
Dean laughs and sips from his bottle. "She knows the score."
Sam nods. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. He thinks she is sure to have her own views about which way things are likely to go. In her place, he knows he wouldn't be letting a guy like Dean get away too easily. He takes a pull of his own beer.
"Does she?" he murmurs. Is he being a bitch here? "She's a nice kid, Dean. You could do worse."
The girl does seem to be totally into Dean. Maybe it IS time the guy settled down? Maybe this time things will work out for him? Maybe Sam SHOULD be moving on again? He starts picking at the label on his beer bottle.
"Guess I'm gonna accept that Antarctic research station post, Dean."
Sam has mentioned the place on offer at the Huge Attraction ice-station before, but he let Dean talk him out of going so far away for so long. Dean hasn't forgotten his opinion on that. His brows crease into a frown.
"Jeez, Sam, that's eighteen months in the ass-end of noplace. Eighteen months in some freakin' igloo with diddly-squat but a superannuated CB radio for company."
Sam snorts. "There'll be a whole team of dedicated environmental scientists for company, Dean. The facilities are supposed to be 'comfortable'. It's gonna be educational and, uh, rewarding and they want me as deputy project leader. Man, I'm gonna do this."
He is talking himself into it now. Maybe the Frozen South won't be such a bad idea after all.
Dean isn't convinced. "Sammy, Antarctica is the underbelly of the freakin' world. It's a dead continent for a reason. It'll be one helluva long-ass wait till I get to see you back home again. And I can't-"
He catches himself. Dean really doesn't like his brother to know how he counts the days until the big dummy returns from whatever hell on Earth he has been holed up in this time. He doesn't want Sam to know how much he misses him when he is not around.
Sam is the only family Dean has left since their parents died, and he practically brought the kid up himself, but that doesn't give him the right to guilt-trip the guy into staying home. He has always believed Sam needs his freedom and it is his duty as big brother to let him fly, no matter how much it hurts.
Setting down his beer, Sam stands up, pointedly staring off into the distance.
"You're gonna have a good long wait, Dean, 'cause I won't be coming back here when it's over. Time I let you get on with your life and I get on with mine. Not a kid anymore and I don't need you to momma-bear me." He sighs and continues more quietly, "As a matter of fact, I don't really need you at all."
That remark is calculated to sting. Severing old ties is never easy, but at least it can be quick.
Dean is aghast. Did Sam call him a Momma Bear? He is baffled. And what? Get on with his life? What life would Dean have without his brother's visits to look forward too? The idea is impossible. And not need him? Crap! Now that is something Dean has been dreading to hear for a long time, but hearing the words straight from his brother's mouth cuts him to the bone.
"Sammy?!" he gasps, jumping up, his beer bottle rolling forgotten down the steps.
"No, Dean. We both need to grow up and move on." Sam shakes his head. "I'll be leaving tomorrow."
He marches back in the house and up to his tiny room. He leaves Dean open-mouthed, but he is sure he is doing the right thing. Time for a clean break.
Dean continues to stand staring after him. He wants to run after his brother, but yeah, like that would work. Sam can be a bull-headed ass and he is right, after all. Perhaps it IS time Dean cut the cord. It has been getting a tad overstretched lately. And he doesn't want to look needy. He would lose what little respect the kid has for him. If he has any.
"We'll, uh, talk about this," he calls. "Over breakfast, yeah?"
But Sam has disappeared upstairs.
After a fitful and somewhat guilt-ridden night's sleep, Sam re-packs his bag and leaves the house before anyone else stirs. He pauses on the front porch, takes his official key to Dean's front door from his pocket, juggles it in his hand a moment then pops it through the mail slot.
Shouldering his duffel bag, he heaves a deep, sad sigh and walks away without looking back.
TBC
A/N: Oh dear! Sam walked away never to return. No wonder Dean feels terrible. More soon.