Author's Note: Here's the concluding part. If it isn't too much to ask, maybe just drop me a word or two in the comments to say if you liked the story. This is the first Supernatural story I've posted here, so I'm curious if there are people who like SPN het here. If so, I would post some of my earlier stories over here in case people might like them. In any event, thank you for reading. I really appreciate your time. (Please also see the end note for anybody who was waiting to read until they got more information about the sensitive subject matter as I mentioned in section one.)
"I thought maybe we could go get a coffee first. I got a newspaper, and then you can pick a movie—"
"Okay."
At first glance Sam was just overwhelmed anew. Every time he thought he'd seen her in a color that had to be the best one possible for her, she proved him wrong by looking even better in another. He knew he was biased, but somehow the rich, dark turquoise of her sweater that he could still see a bit of under the same brown leather jacket she'd been wearing the day they met was already his new favorite, but before too long he realized that they'd covered half the distance to the coffee shop without another word having been spoken. That wasn't like Dacey, and closer attention to her expression revealed drawn brows and eyes that were somewhere faraway from the admittedly-drab Nov. surroundings, but that meant far away from him too. The air that he'd found bracing and crisp only moments before instantly seemed merely cold.
"Is something wrong? Did you get another one of those calls?"
Sam's entire body went tense as he waited for her reply. He had been so hopeful that it amounted to being convinced by Dean's confidence that his warning had been delivered to perfection so that even a guy as vacant of redeeming qualities as Josh would have opted for self-preservation even if he wasn't capable of seeing the error of his ways.
Dacey stopped walking and turned to look at him, her face still difficult to read. She appeared to be doubting the reality of her words before she even said them so that there wasn't any one clear emotion there for Sam to latch onto.
"No, but I did get one that was just as weird, I guess, if not scary in the same way. Eddie called. He was my boyfriend last, I mean, he's that guy I—"
"I know who he is."
Dacey's eyes flashed hurt and anger in rapid succession.
"Of course you do. What was it? Painted on the boy's room wall?"
"No, I just… Dacey, what did he say?"
Sam was now afraid that maybe Dean had been a little too convincing, and then those fears were realized.
"He said the strangest thing. He said that an agent from the FBI told him that a girl at school named Candace was maybe in some kind of danger but that at the time it didn't occur to him. Then later he thought he figured it out, that Candace might be me, Dacey, and he was worried about me and just wanted to make sure I was okay."
So, it was a fool's paradise he'd been living in where the worst thing he'd ever have to tell her was the thing about the transient nature of the Winchester lifestyle. Instead, he was going to have to confess to having set up this charade that had sprung from the best intentions but that he, despite never having really lived there himself, did know would seem completely alien and bizarre to a resident of the normal, everyday world.
And it probably wasn't going to matter that said world was nonetheless a place that had shown her one of its ugliest sides because Dacey was still just such a resident, what Dad and Dean routinely referred to as a "civilian." Oh, how Sam had hoped to never have those boundaries drawn between them so explicitly, not even inside his own mind.
If he had any hopes of even half-way explaining what he'd done, he needed to know the worst first, so he willed himself to push for more information.
"Is that all?"
Her incredulous retort wasn't encouraging to say the least.
"Isn't that enough?"
"Yeah, well, I just meant to see if there was more to tell, but it came out wrong, I guess."
"I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to be so snappish. I'm just still a little freaked out. I told him nobody from the FBI had been in contact with me or my mom as far as I know, and he said maybe they were just following up on a tip and that we weren't really involved. Maybe they had the wrong name or something.
Out of nowhere, that just made me mad, like it reminded me of him being so mysterious and cold when he dumped me back in August. I kept asking him what I did wrong, and he wouldn't tell me. He just kept saying over and over stuff like, 'You know. Don't pretend you don't know.' And then he just walked away and never spoke to me again until today, but now I do know because he finally told me the truth, except it wasn't. Josh, his friend Josh Bennett, told him I hit on him, tried to get him to have sex with me, and Eddie believed it. I almost couldn't say anything else after that, but I yelled, 'He lied,' and slammed the phone down.
That's why I'm such a zombie now, Sam. I can't believe he just took Josh's word for it and didn't even give me a chance to say anything. At least now I know for sure I'm better off without him, and none of it was ever my fault."
As much as he wanted to, Sam couldn't do any less than tell Dacey the whole truth now too, at least about what he'd done and why, even if he couldn't tell her any specifics about the real family business. Almost as strange as that was the fact that Sam and Dean both had instructions from their father on what to say instead when push came to shove, a fake reason for the secrecy and evasiveness that was their default "Plan A" about the subject but that didn't always work to quell the suspicions of a given civilian.
"Plan B" was to swear the person to secrecy and then falsely reveal that John Winchester was a private investigator, which Sam had to admit worked out to be the closest thing to "lying with the truth" that they could possibly use, since the family did investigate things privately all right, just that there was almost never any client paying for their services. So, now that there was no other choice, that cover story was Sam's only option for explaining why it would even occur to him to interfere and try to fix things for Dacey behind her back. Trying to save people was an occupational hazard, just not the occupation he was going to tell her it was, and there was no putting it off a second longer.
"Dacey, I don't think Eddie just took Josh's word for anything. I don't think Josh is even smart enough to think of any of this on his own. Somebody else put the idea in his head, and I'm pretty sure I know who."
"You're home early."
Sam was miserable, epic-French-novel-level miserable and in no mood to be teased, so he reverted to auto-pilot and went to a trick that had worked for him before. Sometimes, if he threw Dean off the track before he could launch an attack, he'd be saved by virtue of the distraction.
"Where's Dad?"
"Um, gassing up the Impala."
He now realized that he'd only thought he was miserable before. Sam should have known things could always get worse. If there was any doubt, Dean's next comment was the clincher.
"Let's finish off the ice cream, Sammy. It doesn't travel."
The hum of the Impala's tires on asphalt and concrete was the only lullaby Sam could ever recall. He knew Dean held the childhood memories of their mom singing or reading to him or just the feel of her hand in his as closely-guarded treasures because he almost never spoke of them. Some of that reticence might be from not wanting to make Sam's lack of the same feel any worse for him, but there was a bit of masculine masking involved too, probably. Certainly, Dean shared and even surpassed him in welcoming their one reliable source of comfort whenever they set off down the road again, but this time not even the low rumble of her engine or her complex perfume of motor oil and aged upholstery and only slightly less aged fast food aromas was taking even the slightest edge off of the empty ache that assailed Sam's heart, a stab of pain effortlessly banishing the familiar first fog of waking up in the Impala's embrace without any idea where he was geographically but this time all too certain that he was lost, or more like that this most recent rekindling of his dream of a normal life was, lost and growing more distant and unreachable with every passing mile.
The stubborn rational part of Sam kept reminding him that at least he and Dacey had parted on good terms, which had seemed highly unlikely at first after she laid into him for secretly butting into her life, and, just as he'd feared, it was the doing it secretly that had misfired on him the most, but, once he'd been hit with the news that he wasn't going to have the chance to slowly and carefully work his way back into her good graces, he'd had no choice but to go for one last ditch effort to get her to accept the apology she'd initially wanted no part of, maybe because his revelation had followed so closely on Eddie's so that the similarities in how the both of them had made decisions that impacted her life without consulting her first weighed heavier than he thought they really should because that viewpoint left no room for the differences in motives and judgments behind what the two of them had done.
Well, at least that was the gist of the rationale Sam had had time to come up with on the walk back over to Dacey's place after leaving Dean, a fleeting flicker of feigned resignation crossing his face at the prospect of finishing the ice cream on his own barely outlasting the first rapturous taste, not that his parting, "Good luck, Sammy. You'll need it," around a goopy mouthful of vanilla fudge swirl wasn't plenty sincere because, after all, he'd done all he could for a girl he'd never laid eyes on all because his little brother had asked for his help. Still, the more Sam rehearsed what he hoped to say, the less convincing it sounded, and then it almost hadn't mattered anyway.
"Dacey's not here, Sam. When she came back in so soon I tried to ask her what happened, but she wouldn't tell me. That girl can be silent as the grave when she wants to, so I let her be. Then, not ten minutes later she was back out the door. Said she'd be back soon if you want to wait. Maybe you two can patch things up."
Dacey's mom, because Sam still had a hard time thinking of her as "Claudia" even if he'd managed to make himself call her that out loud a couple of times since she'd asked him to, looked equal parts curious and concerned, but she didn't pry. She even managed an encouraging smile.
"Thanks, I will wait if it's okay."
"Sure, come on in out of the cold."
"I'd rather wait out here if you don't mind."
"If that's what you want, but don't be proud. If you get chilled, just knock again, and you can come in for a hot drink to warm up. Speaking of, would you like some hot chocolate or a cup of tea, Sam?"
"No, thank you. But it's really nice of you to offer."
"Okay, frozen martyrdom it is. I'll be going out soon myself though. Book club on Sat. night this week to switch things up, or so my friend Abby said. I'm afraid she's really just trying to set me up with her tax accountant. Can you see me with a tax accountant, Sam? "
"I, uh—"
"You don't have to answer that. Who knows? Maybe he's nice. If he's willing to come to a book club meeting though, I'm not sure what to think. Okay, see ya later, Sam."
Sam sat down on the second to the top step of the porch, wincing a little at the similarity to what he imagined it would be like to park his skinny butt on a big block of ice, but then Dacey's mom had hit on it, hadn't she? Did he really think that finding him sitting there when she returned, doing his best imitation of a frozen puppy dog, would make any difference in how Dacey took the news that, not only was he an interfering, albeit apologetic and well-meaning, jerk, he was also about to be a disappearing-into-thin-air-never-to-be-heard-from- again interfering jerk, with impeccable timing no less to be prevailing upon her sympathy all the more pathetically unfairly because of his impending disappearance, the classic Winchester family trifecta.
He would find out soon enough though because there she was right down the street and booking it just about as fast as she had been the first day he saw her. He could hear the clacking of her boot heels quite clearly, but there was no chance he'd get to play any semblance of the hero in this scenario.
"Are you trying to catch pneumonia?"
Dacey was every bit as perceptive as her mother to Sam's utter lack of surprise.
"No, I just didn't feel like I should be in there chatting with your mom like everything was fine when you got back. She's going out anyway."
"Yeah, that's right. Book club. So, if you just want to say you're sorry again, it'll keep until you hear my update because it's a doozy. You were right."
"Right about what?"
Sam was so flustered by the jumble of emotions fist-fighting their way all around his insides that even his curiosity made listening attentively a bit of a struggle. There was the happiness that she was even talking to him again, the dread at having to tell her his own "update", but mostly the keen desire to memorize every inch of her face, since this was going to be the last time he was ever going to get to see it anywhere other than in his memory.
"It's a 'who'. Becca, that's who."
The darkness was welcome because it meant that Dad and Dean up in the front seat wouldn't have any idea that he was awake, not that they'd try to talk to him even if they did. John Winchester wasn't the kind of father to interfere in his sons' romantic lives or lack thereof except for having made it crystal clear to Dean within Sam's hearing that birth control generally and condoms specifically were a requirement because leaving any town with the possibility of also leaving behind an unprotected future Winchester wasn't acceptable behavior, knowing what they did about how the world really worked. In any event, Dean would never tell him the specific reason for how Sam was feeling right about now. As for overall conversation etiquette in the Impala, the driver set the tone, and their dad was the driver, period, so long silences weren't uncommon.
Thus alone with his thoughts, Sam had concluded that, if he strained rationality to the breaking point, he could theoretically perceive the why of Becca having felt the way she must have to even consider setting her plan in motion, but no matter how many lonely years he might spend or how unrequited his love might be for anyone ever, he would never understand or forgive the cruelty of what she had done, the base selfishness of it all.
"I didn't know you two were all that serious, and I just wanted to be sure Eddie could trust you. Besides, Josh had a thing for you too, and I figured if you didn't like Eddie all that much, then maybe you might like Josh better."
"You are such a liar. You thought I wasn't good enough for Eddie, or you wanted him for yourself, maybe both, so you put Josh up to making a move on me."
"Well, you could have told Eddie about it, so you must have thought it was okay to flirt around with other guys—"
"Just shut up before I slap you, seriously. I knew how close of friends Josh and Eddie are, so when he begged me not to tell Eddie I said 'okay', but you know that because you counted on me caring more about Eddie's feelings than to ruin their friendship by ratting Josh out. Then, you went skipping, or maybe flying on your broom, over to Eddie to tell him all your lies. You are one heartless witch."
"As if I care what you think. All I care about is that Eddie dumped you before your trailer trashiness could rub off on him."
"Not that it matters, but I live in a house, and my mom works really hard to make a good life for us. And you may not care what I think, but you do care very much what the whole school thinks and, especially, what Eddie thinks of you—"
"Like anybody would believe anything you say, the slut of East Brockton—"
"It's none of your business who anybody has sex with or doesn't have sex with. In fact, it's nobody's business ever, but I can make what you did everybody's business, and it doesn't matter one bit what they think of me either way."
"What are you even talking about?"
"I'm talking about this…"
Dacey hit the "stop" button and simultaneously held up the little hand-held tape recorder, reenacting the recorded moment for Sam's benefit.
"There's more, but it's just what you'd expect, disbelief, threats, begging, come to think of it, it's like the stages of grief at hyper-speed. She didn't care one bit about what she did to me, not even what she did to Eddie, until I showed her I had it all on tape."
"I'm sure it never occurred to her that you'd be able to expose all her lies."
"Nope, and it never occurred to me either until you came along, Sam."
"Well, Becca set it up that way. She had Josh do her dirty work for her and counted on you being a good person, pretty twisted.
"Yeah, that's the part that kills me. If she really thought I was bad for Eddie, why wouldn't I have just told him what Josh did right away? Really though, that's what I should have done anyway, but I was too shocked at first, I guess, that Eddie just turned on me like that, seemingly out of nowhere. I didn't put the pieces together."
"You couldn't have known."
"No, and, even though it's still not okay that you did it without telling me, I understand it, Sam. You probably thought you couldn't talk to me about it because every time the subject even came up at all I went into attack mode. I just didn't want you feeling sorry for me. You were my first real friend after everybody just turned away from me, and I couldn't take your pity. I'm sorry."
Dacey reached over and laid her hand on top of his, and Sam didn't think he'd ever felt such strongly opposing emotions in all his life: pure soaring joy and gratitude that she forgave him crushed in a leaden fist of pain and regret that he wouldn't be able to stay here and spend the time with her that it would take to build on this new foundation of hope and understanding, not with some looming monster's threat of violence and death calling his family away to their unsung duty of protecting those who didn't even know they were in danger yet and might never even know what the Winchesters had sacrificed on their behalf.
The joy almost made it so he didn't care that Dacey was relegating him to the role of friend rather than the something more he'd so wanted to be, mainly because being her friend was an honor all on its own, not that knowing that did much to mitigate his sorrow at leaving both friendship and anything else that it might have eventually been behind and, oh, so soon.
"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Dacey. I'm the one who's sorry for going behind your back. I guess it's just a hazard of having a P.I. for a dad. You get the idea that secrecy and sleuthing in the name of finding the truth is okay when it's for a good cause."
Dacey smiled.
"And I'm a good cause, huh?"
"The best."
The words were out before he could stop them, and their fervent tone hung in the crisp evening air for a few seconds until Sam chose to just race past them. God, he was so tired of being careful and thinking everything just to death and talking himself out of ever trying to live in the moment because logic and reason said that moments were fleeting and ephemeral and thus had to be resigned to the arc of what was best for the long run. Maybe that was true sometimes, even a lot of times, but not right now. Right now was one of those moments he knew he would never get back, so he just did it: he leaned over and kissed her.
Even if she got mad at him all over again for doing it without having told her his news that was as bad to him as hers was good, it would have been worth it, that split second where she froze at how unexpected it all was before melting into kissing him back, her mouth so warm and sweet, the way it started off soft but then tunneled through him in a rush of sensation, a swooping down the way a bird must feel, that steep drop down the sky before aerodynamics took over and then the rise, the flight back up, sent out waves of dizzy, breathless elation until breathing was only the two of them breathing each other in. Every other touch, his hand under her hair, hers cupped against the back of his neck, thumb grazing back and forth tenderly, these were the outer boundaries of the singular space they shared, the center of it where their lips were joined, all of it every bit as thrilling as on Halloween but better now, better because he had all of Dacey there with him, no distance or dulling from the intervention of alcohol and thus no guilt or ache of restraint.
For once Sam was thoughtless, thoughtless in the sense of not holding back just in case she didn't love him too because if he didn't show her now, then she'd never ever know, and that would be the one thing that really was unbearable, so it poured out of him and into the kiss, no words at all, his low-pitched moan broken and muffled against her throat before he found her mouth again, not wanting this first true kiss ever to end. But the part of him that knew it had to finally struggled to the surface. As wonderful as the moment was, he still had something he had to say, and it might ruin the goodbyes that it would unavoidably entail.
Reluctantly, Sam pulled away.
"Dacey?"
She met his eyes fearlessly, the gaze clearer maybe than he'd ever seen from her and the smile brightening her own even as it brought out that dimple in her left cheek that he knew he would remember the rest of his days.
"Yeah, Sam."
If only he didn't have to dim that beautiful light, but it wasn't like they'd been a couple for a long time or anything, so, no matter how much she meant to him, it didn't mean she would be all that upset to find out that these were their last moments together. Maybe it would be okay for her.
"I did come back over here to say I'm sorry again, but that's not all. I just found out my dad has a new client, and the job isn't anywhere near here, so we have to go."
"What? I mean, where?"
"Someplace in Colorado I never heard of."
"Oh, that is far."
Her tone was flat and unbelieving.
"It is."
Sam felt as if he were shrinking and withering until any time now all that would be left would be the tightening despair that started somewhere in his head and was spreading out and down from there.
"When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow."
So, it was out, finally, that one word stripped bare of all its promise under other circumstances, those where it might instead signal hope and possibility, because in this context it meant there wasn't any at all, not for whatever Sam and Dacey might have wanted this connection they shared to be. He watched as her expression changed, the gentle happiness replaced with something that had all the markings of anger, except for the water welling up that she blinked rapidly a few times to clear away, but maybe that just meant she was really, really mad, and he couldn't blame her.
Claudia chose that moment to open the front door and breeze out onto the porch, and, if she noticed the tension between them, at first it seemed like she was going to ignore it, probably because she thought they were still working on whatever had broken up their earlier plans for the evening, since the only way she could know that there had been a considerable thaw between them only a few seconds ago before he'd destroyed it again is if she'd been spying on them from inside, not something that seemed a Claudia-like thing to do from what Sam knew of her.
"Well, here goes nothin', kids, but I guess all that stuff about 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' has kinda got a point to it."
Sam's unfortunate announcement had already created plenty of space between the two of them for her to fit between, so Claudia stepped through and then descended the rest of the steps before turning to face Sam and Dacey.
"I know this is a 'none of your business, Mom' moment here, daughter of mine, but I am still the mom, so I have to say something, and then I'll butt out. And this is it: people come and go in this life, and a lot of the time there isn't much you can do about it, but friends are worth fighting for, even when, sometimes, it means fighting with them. So, do what you have to do."
"Okay, Mom. Thanks. Have fun."
Dacey probably did sincerely hope that her mom had fun, but Sam couldn't decipher much about whatever else she was thinking except that the rest of what she'd said had come out clipped and seething and purely for Claudia's benefit.
"I'll try. See what I did there? The part about trying."
"Yeah, I got it."
"Thanks, Ms., I mean, Claudia."
"You're welcome, Sam. Oh, and don't wait up, Dacey. We're having wine, and I'm a lightweight, so I don't want to drive after even one glass. I'm staying over at Abby's. Call me if you need me though, and I'll be right home at the speed of, well, a taxi."
Sam glanced at the large purse Claudia was carrying that could easily double as an overnight bag.
"Have a good night then."
"'Night, Mom."
"Good night, you two."
Then Claudia's car was backing down the driveway before disappearing from their view, and they were alone together again, well except for the silence that had apparently been waiting for her to leave to reappear and threaten to engulf them as it grew.
"Wake up, Dean. You too, Sam. Time to stop for the night. I'll be right back. You two wait here."
"Yes, sir."
Sam didn't bother explaining that he wasn't asleep because it didn't really matter. He heard a massive yawn and could see Dean's arms outstretched over his head as their dad headed to the motel office to check them in.
"Where are we?"
Sam rolled his eyes and opened the car door, tossing a reply back over his shoulder before closing it on any possible response.
"What difference does it make?"
Almost immediately though, Dean was popping the trunk and meeting him there to gather the bags with the cache of weapons and other gear that the Winchesters specifically liked to have handy in a motel room in case of the emergency of unexpected and thus, in most cases, unwanted visitors, seeing as how nobody should have any idea of their location unless they were tracking them, and there was almost no chance that would be to drop off a basket of muffins to welcome them to the neighborhood as they passed one night in any given town on the way to their destination.
"Two words, Sam: regional..."
Dean held up one index finger as he nodded confidently.
"… and cuisine."
He added a second finger and an eyebrow waggle to convey the significance of this revelation.
Sam managed the bare bones of a smile.
"What, no belly rub as a final flourish? And 'cuisine'? Really?"
He knew Dean was doing his best to distract him and maybe even cheer him up a little, but he wasn't ready for it yet even if he did appreciate the effort.
"Oh, are we playing charades now? 'Cause I always kick your ass in that game."
Luckily for Sam, their dad wasn't in any mood for idle anything, much less fraternal sparring.
"Meet here 0600 hours, boys. I'm beat, so I got separate quarters. Doesn't mean you stay up yakking and show up late. You can hit the vending machine if you're hungry, but don't take all night about it. Pretty decent diner hereabouts as I recall, so we'll get a good grub before we head out in the morning. Sleep tight."
Sam took the proffered door key from their father and hoisted a couple of bags, but he still caught Dean's eye-bulgingly-significant look that silently said, "See, I was right about the food." without appearing to begin a round of that staying up yakking that they'd just been ordered not to do. A pang of nostalgia somehow found a spot in his heart that wasn't already throbbing as he realized that moments like these were the closest thing the three of them had to those comforting rituals normal families had, things like going to baseball games and big family gatherings for holidays, and it was at just such times that he truly appreciated his brother for his ability to find emotional sustenance in the most barren of environments. He did know that a lot of it was done for his benefit too, even when Dean's incessant teasing got on his last nerve, because at the bottom of it all was Dean trying to protect and love his little brother the best way he knew how. So, Sam threw Dean a conciliatory smirk and unlocked the door of their room.
"Okay, Sammy. Cough up your coins. I'll go get some snacks. Your usual?"
Sam produced three quarters and a dime.
"I'll front ya the rest. Soda?"
"Nah, I'll just drink some water."
"Clearly, you don't appreciate the way the appropriate carbonated beverage combines with artificially-flavored-and-colored salty goodness to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Never mind. I'll getcha a Coke. You'll thank me later. Back in a flash."
"Thanks, Dean."
Sam was expressing gratitude for more than a free soda. His look said that he meant for helping him with Dacey's tormenters and for distracting their dad from Sam's more than usual taciturn melancholy, and Dean's eyes said back that he knew it even if he kept up the light brotherly bantering tone to avoid any semblance of unmanly mushiness.
"Sure thing, kid."
Dropping the weapons bag on the floor between the two double beds, Sam sat down on the foot of the one nearest the bathroom still holding onto his own personal duffel like an unconscious substitute for the stuffed puppy with the soft brown fur and sad black button eyes that had long since been discarded, one front paw partially denuded of all but a little fuzz from a far younger Sam's nightly grip, somewhere along the Winchesters' vagabond way, and his mind returned to the painful, awkward silence that held him and Dacey in its thrall once Claudia's little beater Honda turned the corner out of sight.
Before it could swallow them whole, Sam decided to try changing the subject back to Dacey's richly-deserved moment of triumph over Becca.
"Have you decided?"
"Decided what, Sam?'
Well, that was an iota better than "Shut up, Sam." and infinitely better than "Just leave, Sam."
"What to do with the tape. I mean, even if you don't want to play it over the school intercom, you could at least let Eddie hear it. Josh doesn't deserve you covering for him with Eddie any more if you ask me, which I know you didn't…"
There had been enough wishful thinking and secrecy on his part, and Sam had no choice but to admit to himself that Dacey just might give Eddie another chance now that she knew he'd been lied to, and it wasn't any of Sam's business really if she did, but, even so, now that they were talking about all of this and since she was mad at him anyway, he couldn't hold in any more the part that had pushed him into action in the first place. Maybe it would make a difference to Dacey, and maybe it wouldn't, but Sam had to get it out.
"…and, obviously, I'm the last person to say that people don't deserve second chances after they screw up, but, whatever you decide, I just hope you think about how Eddie's screw up may have only been taking the word of two people he's been friends with a long time over yours, or maybe there's more to it—"
"What do you mean 'more to it'? You don't even know Eddie."
"I mean, what if Eddie didn't just take Josh's word for it that you cheated on him or whatever because Josh is his friend? What if he believes guys over girls just in general? You said he wouldn't even let you ask him what was wrong. So, did he just assume you would lie? And if he did, why did he think that?
Dacey, I'm no psychologist or anything, and I swear I'm not trying to be just as bad, like trying to tell you what to think about him. I know you know him better than I do, and you should do whatever you want, but I lo-, I care about you a lot, and the reason I butted in in the first place is because it killed me that somebody would treat you like that when you deserve to be treated so much better because you're an amazing person. That's it. If you think I'm a nosy, bossy jerk, then at least I did my best to explain."
Sam had stared at the tips of his sneakers the whole time, his voice low, but he'd also had to say all of that because he'd never forget how it felt to hear her crying after that cowardly and disgusting phone call from Josh, the anger and frustration that drove him to act, so if she hated him now, then he was ready to beat a hasty retreat, a valuable hunter skill that he was seeing in a newly-appreciative light, but what he was really hoping for was that Dacey would at least understand why he'd said it even if she didn't agree with him or return his feelings, especially now that he wasn't going to be around to do anything about them.
"Sam?"
Her eyes were boring into him, but he couldn't seem to do anything but brace himself for whatever was coming.
"Yeah."
"Look at me. Please."
He struggled to comply, wincing on the inside because whether she knew it or not, his heart was hers to command, even more than usual.
"Okay."
What he saw there told him that she did understand, and maybe she additionally knew that the leaving would break him even if she didn't, so that left room for mercy. When she spoke though, it was pure Dacey.
"So you're down to the one-word answers now? Use up your whole quota for speeches tonight?"
She looked mostly sad, but there was still a little twitch at the corner of her mouth, and there was that damn dimple again.
"Yeah, I guess so. That was probably more than enough for a month."
"You're pretty evolved for a guy, ya know? Anybody ever tell you that, Sam?"
"Not exactly. You're the first, um, I mean, it hasn't exactly come up…"
Why did every word he was saying now sound like sexual double meanings that made him seem like the geekiest virgin on the planet?
"I don't want you to leave."
Sam sighed heavily.
"I don't want to either. You have no idea. But I don't have any choice."
Uh oh. The dawning sense of relief from letting out all that bottled up stuff and finding out that it at least made some kind of sense to her was giving way to something else, had freed up what he was horrified to discover were tears welling up in both eyes, so he turned away to hide this fresh indignity.
Dean was right. Even now, having just stood morosely brushing his teeth in the bazillionth random motel bathroom of his lifetime with the result that the taste in his mouth was mostly minty fresh, Sam relished the memory of the catalytic fizz from the first icy gulp of a freshly-popped Coke as it amplified the salt and tang of a mouthful of Funyuns. The first godawful collision of toothpaste and Funyun-coated teeth: not so awesome, but that was the price to be paid for snacking right before bed. In any event, here at last he was the closest he'd been to privacy all day, alone in his own bed instead of doubling up with Dean, since their dad had sprung for two rooms, something he was doing more and more now that his sons were almost grown. Well, Dean was essentially grown, physically anyway, and Sam was getting there.
Maybe in the past he would have felt secure enough inside his own head to indulge in a little mental-image-based fantasizing on such occasions when he had his own motel bed and the darkness and when the quiet was broken only by the sound of Dean's sleep breathing, not exactly snoring or anything but recognizable as such through repetition. Dean couldn't even credibly fake it when he wasn't really asleep because Sam could tell the difference.
Somehow, now, tonight, the thought of such peculiar knowledge only magnified the sense of exactly how strange and not-normal the Winchester family's lifestyle was. Pushing such considerations away for the moment, there was something, or rather, someone, else he'd far rather think about now that he was more or less alone. This time the term "fantasy" only fit in the sense of how unlikely, hence fantastical, he would have considered what happened to have been right up to the moment it stopped being so and became a reality, completely inauspicious beginning notwithstanding.
Sam wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees and surreptitiously ducked his head between them long enough to wipe his face against the denim on both sides just in case there had been any spillage.
"You must be freezing."
"I'm okay, but I'm sure you want to get inside and warm up. I guess I'd better—"
"No, Sam. What I meant before was I don't want you to leave tonight in particular, separate from the other that you don't have any choice about. It's our last chance to hang out. Do you think your dad would let you? I mean, if you even want to."
Sam's heart thumped painfully. Oh, he wanted to all right.
"That would be great. I can call and ask, but I'll have to fudge the truth a little, say I'm staying with a friend."
Dacey couldn't resist a line teed up that provocatively.
"So, I'm not a friend, huh? Good to know. Schoolmate then? Or, is it 'tutee'? Is that a word even? Since you did help me ace that algebra test, you and your mathleticism, and I know I just made up that one."
"Nice one. You know what I mean."
Sam was refusing to read into this situation any more than what Dacey had said it would be, a chance to hang out, sit up all night talking most likely, but he was just happy for every moment he could spend with her.
"Yeah, I do know. Come on in and call your dad before he sends your brother out after you."
Dacey was joking, but Sam knew it was a distinct possibility and one he wanted to avoid for the sheer awkwardness factor beyond it ruining his last chance for this night not to be ruined. Sam stood up and reached down to help her to her feet.
"Okay, like your mom said, here goes nothin'."
She was now standing on the porch proper, a step higher than he was, which put them almost at equal height. Pausing to search his eyes, she leaned into him, and their lips met again, warm breath mingling in stark contrast to the chill that permeated even the strands of her hair that Sam reflexively massaged between the pads of his fingertips.
Dacey backed away and turned to open the front door. When he gestured that she should proceed ahead of him, she grinned over her shoulder, "Much better than nothin' if you ask me."
"Thanks."
Sam breathed in the steam from his mug of cider, the heat soothing and the mix of fruit and spices vividly recalling his very first impression of Dacey as an alluring amalgam of feminine mystery and the mythological concept of "home". He knew his perspective was the opposite of most other people's experience, but even to them the rituals of the change of seasons, the hearth and home part, must resonate on a heightened level from time to time. If it didn't, the glory of it was wasted on them, and at least he knew he'd never take such things for granted even if he ever succeeded in escaping the hunting life and finding some degree of normalcy, something more than the tantalizing glimpses he occasionally got from his position on the periphery of other people's lives.
"You're welcome. Thanks for getting the fire going. I know how, but it's nice to come into the room and into the warmth. I just love the smell of wood smoke this time of year."
Sam refused to think about the other kind of ritual uses for fire and flames. Being here with Dacey existed in a different realm, and he refused to taint it.
"No problem."
She sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace.
"You must still be cold. Come sit down here with me."
Sam complied, and they sat side-by-side in companionable silence for awhile, looking at the flames and listening to the cozy crackling, but the warmth that was suffusing him wasn't all coming from that direction. He couldn't stop thinking about that kiss out on the porch. And then she'd kissed him right before they came in here, so maybe it would be okay if he took a turn again. He took a last sip of cider and set the cup down.
Dacey turned in his direction and placed her hand over his that was resting on his thigh. Taking it as a sign, he cupped his other hand at the side of her jaw and pressed his mouth against hers. Blindly, she aimed her cup at the hearth and got it set down before responding, both hands in his hair this time, then, apparently unsatisfied with the little bit of distance between them, she climbed into Sam's lap, one boot heel briefly brushing over his leg as she crooked it past and around his hip.
The weight of her body balanced on his drew all the urgency and want up out of him where he'd kept it hidden for so long, the constant self-talk that she'd never want him like that, that he shouldn't make a fool out of himself, finally silenced and negated by the way her tongue met his in the kiss and in the way she pushed against him as if it just wasn't physically possible to get close enough. It just seemed natural to let their shifting weight take the course of following gravity down, Sam on his back with Dacey coming down to lie on top of him.
Now, there was no way for him not to distinguish between the parts of her stretched over him, the soft swell of her breasts that he couldn't reach, and he ran his hands up and down her back, measuring the curve at her waist and hip, and then she was reaching under his t-shirt, her touch on his bare skin so different and thrilling than any he'd felt before. There was no point in trying to hide the way his body was reacting, no sense from her that he should even try to. Without conscious thought on his part, escalated response seemed called for, so he slid his palms down her back again and kept going until they met and outlined the twin curves at their base, thumbs pressing into and cupping her flesh.
Dacey sighed and sucked down on his bottom lip before finishing the kiss and sitting up. She rested her forearms at the hem of her sweater and pulled it up and over her head while Sam's heart beat so forcefully in his chest that, if it were possible, it should have broken a rib from the inside out.
"Now you. I want to feel you, Sam. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, it's okay. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
With only a little bit of fumbling, he got his sweater and t-shirt off in one go. A tiny part of him hated feeling like every movie cliché ever, but he really couldn't stop eying the blue of her bra, a different blue than the turquoise of her sweater that he'd so admired earlier in the evening before things took this wonder-inspiring series of turns, a pale pastel against her paler skin, the fullness he'd felt against him earlier made manifest. He knew he was staring but looking away abruptly might only be more obvious. Then again, maybe not.
"You can touch me too."
Words seemed superfluous, and what could he even say anyway? "Thank you" seemed appropriate but also completely ridiculous, so he sat up instead and covered some of the awkwardness with a kiss, but he accepted the offer too, hands sliding up from underneath, fingers tracing over the paper-thin fabric, twin bumps in the center of each rounded swell that he knew were nipples, his thumbs once again taking the lead, gently prodding and kneading until he coaxed the little bumps erect and discrete, all the while his mouth taking measure of her responses, the puffs of breath as his touch excited her, his own response accelerating in kind.
Then, Dacey pulled away, and a wave of self-reproach hit Sam broadside, somehow both expected and unexpected.
"I'm sorry."
"No, Sam. Don't be. I just want to say something first, tell you this is what I want, not some just physical reaction taking over thing."
"What are you saying, Dacey?"
"I'm saying I want to remember you this way, for always, and this is how I want you to remember me too. I want to be the one you remember. Maybe it's selfish of me, but that's what I want, but only if you want it too."
He knew what she was implying, so why not just get it out in the open.
"You mean 'cause I'm a virgin."
"And I'm not."
"But I don't care. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I never expected you to even ever like me enough to want to kiss me, much less anything else, and I never assumed the idea that maybe you had done something before, if it was even true, meant anything about what might happen or not. It just never mattered."
"Not even a little bit?"
"Yeah, maybe a little bit, but not that way, just as maybe it kinda made the idea that you knew for real things I only thought about, made you more amazing and maybe exciting, but not in a way that seemed to have any real connection to me as in that it would ever happen to you and me together. And I know that didn't make any sense at all."
"Yeah, it actually did. Thanks for being honest, Sam. I know this kind of stuff is hard to talk about. It's hard for me too. Before you came along all I had was this wall of anger to keep people out, the ones who said horrible things and made horrible phone calls and the ones who won't even look at me, much less talk to me at school."
"They are complete idiots and morons, Dacey, and you're worth a thousand, no, a million of them with their stupid, careless cruelty that they do without thinking, like just breathing. And the ones who know it's wrong to be so mean to you but do it anyway, they're even worse, to me, cowards and losers."
"And that's why I want you to always remember me, Sam, because you're different." ,
"But you don't have to prove anything to me or give me anything for me to remember you. I already will. I always will."
"Exactly."
"But it might make both of us sadder when I go. It's tomorrow, Dacey, and I can't get out of it."
"I know, Sam. I know it'll hurt, but it will anyway. This way, it'll hurt like looking at something beautiful that you know is only for a little while, something corny because it's true, like an incredible sunset or a flower blooming. It makes it worth it. You're worth it, Sam. I just know it in my bones."
"Then, I have to say it even if it sounds corny, but I think I love you, Dacey. No, I know I do."
"I know what you mean. Love isn't the same thing all the time in every situation. Doesn't make it less real or mean less just because we don't get to have it together in the same place for very long. You can take it with you, and I can keep it with me. And really being together like this will only help that happen, so I really do want to be with you."
"Me too."
Maybe they weren't eloquent, but those two words said everything Sam had left to say, so he kissed her again, their weight balancing in her direction this time, so he made sure to cradle her head in his hand as they eased down again, the flicker of firelight casting red shadows behind his closed eyelids the only thing in his inner vision that wasn't filled up and suffused with Dacey, Dacey in flesh and in spirit, soaking in at every point of contact so that he was certain she'd stay with him, a part of him that no journey of time or distance could ever erase.
So, it had been a fantasy come true, but Sam wanted to hold being with Dacey separate from the kind of stuff you'd see in a naked picture magazine, which was what made the vivid images in his mind fit the one meaning of fantasy, as in unbelievably amazing to have ever even happened at all, but not the other more mundane sexual connotation. It wasn't that he was in any way ashamed of what they'd done, but more that he didn't see the sex part as a separate thing like that. The physical had been a method of truly embodying and illuminating the emotional connection he and Dacey had shared and would keep now as memories, the part he could hold on to even though he felt pretty sure that he'd never actually see her again. If thinking of their night together in those terms and feeling so sad about how short their time together in general had been made him a "girl", then Sam didn't care one damn bit right now, and he hoped he never would. The word that kept repeating in his mind was "sacred". That's what seemed to fit best.
And the way he would keep it so would be to do the exact opposite of what Becca and Josh had done. There was no reason Sam would ever tell anyone, and if that meant he'd have to take a year or a few years of being considered a virgin for all anybody knew, and by "anybody" he mostly meant Dean, then it was more than worth it, except Sam was almost sure Dean did know, or at least he suspected.
"Good thing you're one of those disgusting morning people, Sammy, or it would have been my ass if you were late getting back."
Dean hoisted a duffel bag into the trunk of the Impala and then started poking at the other contents and arranging for there to be a little open space in case their dad's last sweep of the apartment turned up anything else that needed to fit in there. It also kept his eyes conveniently occupied so that the curiosity Sam knew must be eating him alive wouldn't be so obvious even if he didn't outright ask the question.
"I know better. Right before an all-day ride as captive audience is no time to piss Dad off if you can help it. Learned that the hard way."
"Me too."
"Right."
"I told Dad you'd do fine. This friend was a geek for studying like you, and you'd probably sit around playing the home version of Jeopardy or seeing which one could recite the most decimal places of pi or something like that."
Sam had heard Dean talking in the background of his nerve-wracking phone call asking for the sleepover permission, and so it turned out he'd put his two cents in to try to make sure Sam got the okay.
"It was a tie."
"Ha. I bet."
"No, seriously. Thanks, Dean. Dacey said she's sorry she never got to meet you, but she sent her thanks too for…what you did."
"No problem. That one punk's lucky he's not playing in the under-three-feet-tall football league now. Dumb ass thinking he's a smart ass was asking for a pounding. Deserved it too."
"Yeah, he did."
Sam almost couldn't believe it. Dean really wasn't going to pry or straight up ask or even drop any innuendo even though he knew full well he'd helped talk their dad into letting Sam spend the night with a girl, the whole night. He didn't know that her mom wasn't home either, but that wouldn't have mattered to Dean because it wouldn't have stopped him from partaking in any activities a like-minded "friend" might be inclined to enjoy with him. Still, this once he just wasn't going to make any "cherry" jokes or say anything that could end up disparaging Dacey even in a roundabout way. It was pretty amazing.
Just then, John Winchester came into view.
"Let's go, boys. Daylight's burning."
Sam was tired but not sleepy, a crummy combination. Well, maybe if he stopped thinking and pondering so hard he'd be able to drift off before too long. Sometimes, a quick prayer to say thanks for letting his family make it safely through another day would be enough to kind of flip the switch on his ever-churning brain and get it to settle down for the night. Tonight though, there was an ache down low, centered wherever his metaphorical heart actually resided, that made summoning up any outright gratitude a bit too much of a challenge.
Instead, that word "sacred" popped into his head again, and he reached over and grabbed the other bed pillow and pressed it to his chest, arms wrapping around and holding on the way he'd held Dacey close to him right before they settled in to sleep for a couple of hours just this morning before he had to get up and away, away from her for good. He could almost see her face, smell the wood smoke in her hair and the lingering fragrance of apple cider spices from the cup sitting on the hearth, but only almost. Taken all together it wasn't exactly a prayer of thanksgiving for getting to have those last perfect moments with her, but tonight it would have to do. And the memories would leave a lasting impression on his soul, which made them something stronger than any single prayer, a secret touchstone that he could keep forever.
You never knew me but I did my best
I'm just lonely inside I guess
You gave me everything you really tried
Thanks...
If we were nothing and we're only the past
Then I'm just living in a dream I guess
A long black dream that takes me down the river to you
Where it's almost over
And we're almost gone
And I can feel the Sweet Illusion coming
Sweet Confusion, honey
Sweet Illusion coming down
And I ain't got nothing but love for you now.
Note about content warning: These paired stories also share a theme: slut-shaming. It's a subject I care a lot about, and I've wanted to write about it for a long time. So, some parts of both stories could be triggering for sensitive individuals from the theme itself as well as a few examples of the abusive language and attitudes so often associated with slut-shaming. Overall, I tried my best to make the theme serve the characterization and story without sticking out too much in didactic mode like one of those "after school specials" from some years back, so there's that. Still, I have to say that if you've ever had it done to you , including the kind that is all lies about behavior you haven't even done, then know that it's wrong and that the only person who has to be all right with your choices sexually and otherwise is you.
If you aren't happy with those choices, then please talk to a friend you trust or a professional who can help you understand them and work towards making your choices align better with your own values and sense of self-worth, and all of that will be what is best for you and not anybody else because this is one of those things that is very individual and unique to you. Just know that there are people out there like Sam in this story, people who will love and value you for you and not think that it's their place to judge your choices. You have a right to be yourself, and that includes your choices about sexuality. Okay, that's enough from me.
If anybody who reads this wants to talk more though, then please send me a PM, and I promise to write back.