Some of you thought I forgot about this one. I haven't! Hopefully the chapters will start posting regularly until it's concluded.
Chapter 26: Surprises
Dean could barely sleep, he was so excited. Sam's surprise still needed to be set up, but his little brother must have figured something was up because Dean hadn't been able to shake him off all day yesterday. It was still dark outside, but Dean couldn't possibly sleep any more.
Eyes pinned to Sam's still form, Dean slipped out of bed. Not daring to take the time to dress, Dean crept carefully out the door in his t-shirt and sweat pants. Bobby's upstairs could get a little chilly. He stuck by the wall as he headed downstairs, hoping the steps wouldn't creak too much.
When his feet hit the bottom floor, he still couldn't hear anything from upstairs so Dean assumed he had been able to successfully slip out. Yes! He headed for the backdoor when a clearing throat stopped him. Dean turned slowly to find Bobby sitting on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee and watching him.
"Going somewhere?" he demanded, voice rough.
Busted.
Dean's shoulders drooped as he owned up. "I, uh, just had something to do." He motioned weakly towards the door.
Bobby nodded as he stood. "I'll help." His flannel covered shoulders shrugged. "Can't sleep anyway."
Dean snagged his jacket by the door. "Okay, just keep quiet." He pointed up at the ceiling. "It's for Sam."
Bobby gave him a quick nod before following. Dean led the way outside. He wound through a number of the poor rusting stacked cars until he reached a mini-van that still had its doors. Dean pulled open the back door to reveal numerous grocery bags full of Sam's surprise.
Bobby laughed as he gathered as many as he could carry. "You do know Sam's gonna kill both of us?"
Dean beamed at the older man. "That's the plan."
Like clockwork, Sam opened his eyes as the first rays of sunlight struck his window. He laid there for several minutes, running through his morning list. It was Christmas morning, so he needed to take out the three small packages he had hidden in his duffel under his bed. Dean needed to take at least one pain pill this morning so he would be in a good mood since the stubborn bastard had a bad habit of not owning up to being in pain.
Speaking of... Sam sat up, prepared to toss a pillow over to wake Dean, but he wasn't there. Practically jumping out of bed, Sam pulled on the clean shirt he had waiting on the foot of his bed. He rushed to yank his jeans on next, stumbling in his haste. After removing the three small packages from his duffel and grabbing Dean's painkillers, Sam took the stairs two at a time.
Christmas had never been a big deal when he was a kid, except at Bobby's. Bobby had always had a tree and if Sam had been lucky enough to be here Christmas morning there were Santa gifts waiting for him. Usually he wasn't that lucky, but the next visit to Bobby's, even if it was in March, the gifts would still be there.
There was the tree, in the main room, with Dean, Bobby and Dad all sitting on the couch drinking coffee.
"There he is!" Dad called out.
"Get your beauty sleep, princess?" Dean asked with a broad smirk.
Sam sent the pill bottle flying at his brother. "Take one of those," he ordered.
Dean caught the bottle one handed before throwing him a nasty glare. "I'm fine."
Dad snorted. "You heard him, Dean. Take one." Then Dad chuckled. "It's the least you can do."
Now that didn't sound good. Sam's eyes scoured the room until his gaze hit a line of brightly colored boxes under the tree. What the hell? He passed the others to pick up one of the half dozen cereal boxes. Turning to face them with a scowl, Sam held up the Lucky Charms and asked, "Okay, who told Dean?"
Bobby chuckled, raising a hand. "That would be me."
Dean's beaming smile and the gleam in his eyes made this one of the best Christmases Sam could remember. That was, until he walked in the kitchen. Boxes of Lucky Charms lined the counter, end to end. Every cabinet he opened revealed a rainbow of marshmallow fun. How many freaking boxes were there? There was a creak behind him.
Sam spun around to find Dean watching him. "Very funny," he snapped.
Dean's grin broadened. "I thought so," he chuckled.
"You do know Bobby is going to make us eat all of this," Sam informed him.
Dean shrugged. "Well, he said it was better than you rearranging his whole library."
Sam rolled his eyes. "He's never going to let me live that down."
"Can you blame him?" Dean blew him a kiss. "Big boy?"
Sam's head dropped and he groaned. "Another thing I'll never live down."
Dean's laugh rang through the small kitchen. "Come on, handsome. How about some Christmas coffee?" Big brother poured a cup for him and pushed it in his hands.
"Don't call me that," Sam grumbled as he took the chipped mug.
"All right, Sammy," Dean told him with a clap to his shoulder. "Come on, before Dad starts to worry." Dean winked at him. "Don't want him getting any ideas, now do we?"
Sam moaned as he followed Dean back to the main room. Why did Dad want another son? Oh, yeah, because Dad just couldn't let go of anything. Sam took in the scene of Dean sitting on the sofa, patting the space beside him for Sam as he laughed at something Bobby said. Sam realized he and Dad had a lot in common; he didn't like letting go of things either. Sam settled in next to his big brother, their shoulders touching because this sofa wasn't all that big, and a comfortable feeling settled over him. Take Dean for example, neither one of them could give him up.
Dad and Bobby started telling all kinds of stories, some about Sam as a kid, some about reckless hunters they had known, and a few about stunts Dean had pulled when Sam wasn't around. It was shaping up to be Sam's favorite Christmas, despite the excessive boxes of kid's cereal in the house.
One month later...
The sound of his phone ringing woke him. Dean blinked up at the ceiling for a moment to get his bearings before grabbing his phone off the bedside table. He was still at Bobby's and the smell in the room meant they were doing laundry. Today.
Not bothering to look at his caller id, mainly because he wasn't sure his eyes would focus fast enough, Dean answered his phone. "Yeah?"
"Dean, don't get mad," Dad said quickly.
Oh, crap! He shoved himself up to a sit. "Dad? What's going on?"
"Listen to me, son," Dad said. "I've picked up the demon's trail. I think I can find out what it's up to this time. It isn't safe for you and Sam to be around me, or even for us to talk on the phone. I'll call when I know more."
"Dad..." Dean sighed heavily, seriously doubting he would hear from Dad any time soon. "Just be careful."
"And you take it easy," Dad insisted. "Listen to Sammy. He may be a pain in the ass, but it's because he cares."
Speaking of, did Sam have radar when it came to people talking about him? He walked in the room at nearly the exact moment Dad said his name.
"Yeah, I know," he admitted, watching Sam sit on the end of his bed.
"And see if you can figure out what's been eating him. He won't talk to me," Dad complained.
"Already working on it," Dean promised. "Hurry back, Dad."
"Bye, son."
"Dad?" Sam's eyes widened in alarm. "Why was Dad calling? Did he forget to ask you what you wanted from the store?"
Dean closed his cell and set it aside. "Nope. You know why he called."
Sam groaned loudly as he fell back on the bed. "Damn it."
Dean gave him a small kick in the side. "Dude, I'm shocked he hung out this long."
Sam's head rolled to the side. "You knew he was leaving? Really?"
"Duh." Dean shook his head at his little brother. "What? Were you riding his ass to stay?" Some red crept into Sam's face. Dean laughed at Sam's embarrassment. "Oh, come on, Sammy. I know you knew better."
Sam's eyes closed as his face scrunched up, like he was in pain. "Yeah, but I really didn't think he'd leave so soon."
"Soon?" Dean scoffed. "Dude, it's been almost two months. The last month Dad has been climbing the walls. If it weren't for the car, he wouldn't have stuck around this long."
Sam's expression soured as his eyes opened. "Dean, he wasn't sticking around because of the car. Dad didn't want to leave while you were recuperating." He sighed as he rolled on his side to face Dean. "I guess he decided you were well enough."
"Then I must be well enough to take over his part of the work." Dean swung his legs out of bed as he stretched. "So let's get to it."
"After breakfast," Sam insisted. "And I mean food, not just coffee."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Since when have I not eaten?"
"Since your stomach started bothering you two weeks ago," Sam replied, pushing up to a sit. "Not that you'll admit it."
Ah-ha. Here was the perfect opportunity, and Sam had given it to him. Maybe there was a God. "I'll make a deal with you, Sam. I'll fess up about anything bothering me physically, and tell a doctor about it, if you'll answer one question."
The suspicious trapped-in-a-corner look came over Sam's face. "What question?"
"Do we have a deal?" Dean demanded.
Sam chewed his lower lip nervously for a moment before giving Dean a slow nod. "And I can go call your doctor? The second we're done?"
"Yep." Dean mentally patted himself on the back.
Sam pulled his legs up, folding them against his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "What is it?"
Dean watched his brother's insecure and defensive body language. Great. So much for there being an easy way to do this. "Sam, you've been moody for weeks now, and I'm pretty sure it isn't about the stupid oil cap. What's bugging you?"
Sam's entire body tensed, curling into a tighter ball than before. "Nothing," he insisted. "Can I go make that call now?"
Dean glared. "No. I want a real answer Sam. Now." When Sam did not answer right away, Dean decided to up the stakes. "Well, guess I'll go have my coffee now." He stood. "And nothing but."
Sam groaned as he rested his forehead against his knees. "You would, wouldn't you?"
"In a heartbeat," Dean affirmed. He sat back on the edge of the bed. "Come on, Sam. Whatever it is, it can't be this bad."
Sam sighed as he lifted his eyes over his knees. "It's stupid," he mumbled into his legs.
Dean gave him a shove in the shoulder. "More stupid than me beating it out of you?"
A snort-chuckle came from behind those denim-clad legs. Sam stretched out, his long legs hanging over the edge of the bed. "You'd probably hurt yourself," he said, but he looked more relaxed.
"Does this mean I'm getting a real answer?" Dean asked.
He sighed again deeply. "It's really stupid. I've just, uh..." Sam shrugged. "Having Ella around kind of made me start thinking about my mother."
"Oh." Dean had no idea how to respond to this. He knew Sam's mother was dead and that she had died in some kind of horrific way, but he couldn't remember any details. Maybe he never knew the details.
"No, uh..." Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I didn't mean it like that. My mother died when I was a baby, I never knew her. I can't even remember the last time I thought about her." He ran a hand through the mop he called hair. "I mean, what we do? It's all about her, because of her. And how often do I even think of her? When I'm jealous because my big brother's stupid ex-foster mother is here." He rolled his eyes. "See? Stupid."
Oh.
"So you've been moody because you feel stupid about... not thinking of your mother?" Sam was weird. Boy, was he in the right family. Sam replied with a guilty nod.
Dean shrugged as he stood up. "Does she have a grave?"
"What?" Sam stared up at him for close to a full minute before answering. "Yeah. It's just a plot and a headstone, but yeah, she does. Why?"
Dean locked eyes with his little brother. "Feel up to a road trip? The Impala should be ready for a shake-down cruise in a few days."
"Wait. What?" Sam jumped to his feet. Some people might find Sammy a little intimidating, but Dean knew better. Well, honestly, other people should find Sam intimidating. Fortunately, he didn't need to.
"We'll need to give the Impala a real road test. While we're out, we might as well swing by her cemetery. You can tell her what you've been up to." He shrugged. "Leave some flowers."
Sam cleared his throat. His mouth opened a couple of times before any words came out. "I'm calling your doctor," he said softly as he reached into his pocket, his eyes dropping away from Dean's.
Who was the master of deflection? Sam the Man, that's who.
The Impala was gorgeous, Sam had to admit. He had been relieved when Dean allowed his car to leave the salvage yard for a few days to be painted. Now he had something to do! Sam was becoming pretty good at the detail work. If they ever made it to the point where they didn't have to hunt any more, assuming they managed to live so long, he could probably pick up spending money this way. Dean stuck by his promise to let Sam have some say in the upholstery, and Sam regretted it. He had decided to re-cover the seats himself to save money. What a bitch that had been, but now they looked better than ever.
Dean slipped behind the wheel and hit the key. There were grinding noises, then nothing. Undaunted, Dean popped the hood and hopped out. He was moving much better these days, but Sam could see his big brother still wasn't a hundred percent. Dean probably felt good enough to throw himself in the path of a ghost, but Sam wasn't ready to see him battered around yet.
"Sam!" Dean called out from the engine compartment. "Hit the key!"
Sam slid over to try the ignition again. It made the same grinding noise. Sam waited while Dean fiddled around some more.
"Again!" Dean shouted.
Sam twisted the key again and the engine roared to life. His head snapped up in shock as Dean slammed the hood closed. Dean's face beamed, the deep bruising having faded to a sickly light green, so he appeared almost normal. His big brother came back to slide behind the wheel with the same smile plastered across his face.
"Ready?" he demanded.
Sam grinned at Dean's good mood. "Ready!"
Dean stuck a hand out his open window to wave at Bobby before shifting into drive. Sam hoped they would be able to make it to the freeway today. After the rocky start, Sam was shocked when they made it to the interstate without any issues.
"The car will start after we stop, right?" Sam asked, casting a worried gaze on his brother.
Dean grinned and his eyes twinkled as he answered. "Worried, Sammy?"
"No, not worried," Sam protested. "Just, you know, concerned."
Dean chuckled as he shook his head. "Dude, I got it covered. Any tool we need is in the trunk. And the rest..." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "Right up here."
Sam nodded and relaxed in to the seat. He stretched his legs out, trying move into a comfortable position. There wasn't anything Dean couldn't do with a car, so why was he worried? Just because his brother's memory was full of holes didn't mean he couldn't remember how to get the car started. Besides, the engine sounded great.
Most likely he was focusing on the car as a way of distracting himself from the real issue. They were going to Mom's grave. That felt weird. Sam had no idea what to do when they arrived. Dean had suggested flowers. Good idea.
"Think we'll spot a place to buy flowers on the way?" Sam asked.
"Sure," Dean replied readily. "Every town at least has a little old lady on the corner selling roses."
Sam chuckled even as he stared anxiously ahead. "Yeah, you're right. Don't know what I'm worried about."
Dean watched Sam clutch the bouquet as he approached his mother's grave. Feeling like an interloper, Dean stood back while Sam laid the flowers next to her marker. Then Sam kneeled down on the ground, his lips moving as he began to talk. Not wanting to overhear anything, Dean directed his attention to the area around him. He checked out the graves around Sam's mother's, until he ran across one with a huge round dead spot.
"What the hell?" he muttered, tracing the dead outline. It was a perfect dead circle around one grave. None of the other graves had it. With a quick glance at Sam, who seemed caught up in talking to his mother's headstone, Dean headed for the caretaker's shack.
The caretaker was younger than he expected, maybe thirty, with a shaved head and wearing dark green heavy-duty pants and shirt. His heavy work boots clomped noisily along the path.
"Yeah, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?" Dean asked, easily keeping pace with the man's slow stride.
The guy shot him a suspicious glare. "Like special attention for a certain grave? Man, if I had a dollar for every time somebody asked me for that I'd be rich. You know, I ought to be taking bribes."
Dean shook his head. "Nah, nothing like that. See, I'm here with my brother and we're, uh, just visiting. Anyway, I noticed this other grave, near the one we're here to see, has a huge dead spot. What happened there? Your assistant spill some herbicide or something?"
The caretaker grimaced. "I wish. At least then I'd have an excuse. Man, I have no idea what happened there. A week ago it was perfectly fine. I tried putting in some turf, at least enough so it's not a perfect circle, and it died. Instantly. Damnedest thing I've ever seen." He shrugged. "I have an exterminator coming in end of the week."
"What for?" Dean asked.
"Bugs," the caretaker replied. "That's all I can figure it is. Something's killing that grass and we need to get it under control before it spreads. Most people don't take kindly to ground burns in cemeteries, so I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."
"Yeah, me too," Dean said hurriedly. "Thanks for your time."
He ran back to where he'd left Sam kneeling in the dirt only feet away from the dead spot. The supernatural evil dead spot. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of Sammy still talking to the marble headstone. He forced his steps to slow, not to look rushed or worried, as he approached.
"...so I figure it's still a real sore spot with him, but you probably know that," Sam was saying. "I guess I can say Dad gave me a brother for Christmas, huh?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, really, I don't know. I'm not sure why exactly I'm here. I mean, you're the whole reason for this life, and I don't remember you."
Dean waited on the walk, regretting coming within hearing distance but unable to force himself further away.
Sam's long, lean hand reached out to gently trace the edge of the headstone. "We miss you, Mom. We're doing our best so this can't happen to anyone else." His hand rested flat against her name. "Love you."
Sam's head hung low for a moment, his hand still pressed against her name. Dean felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He felt a surge of relief when Sam stood up slowly, hoping this meant they would be leaving. Sam brushed by him, heading for the car. At first Dean followed slowly, still feeling like an intruder. Then Sam paused and shot him a strong look, like 'what the hell are you waiting for?' Dean tried not to look like he was rushing to catch up. When they walked side by side, Sam bumped his shoulder gently.
"Thanks," he said softly. "I think that helped."
Dean just nodded but on the inside he beamed with pride that he had been able to help out his little brother.
John Haynes watched Jerry and that tall guy walk slowly out of the cemetery. With a little persuasion, and a lot of lying, Ella had told him where to find Jerry. She actually believed he wanted to talk things out. The woman never had been very bright.
It had been damn near impossible to sneak on to the property where Jerry had been staying. That Singer jackass had chased him off several times with a shotgun, probably believing he was just after free parts. But when the car went to be painted, John had seized the opportunity. The general manager of the body shop had been more than happy to give him a tour and show off their latest projects, once John had hinted he worked for an auto dealer who was looking for someone new to repaint cars in need of 'freshening up' on their lot.
There the Impala had sat, on the far end. The GM had bragged about being one of the few places in town Singer would deal with. Apparently Singer Salvage had quite a reputation locally, which was rather odd for a salvage yard. John had managed to steer them over to the car. While the GM droned on and on about how flipping honest they were, John had slipped the black disc from his pocket and secured it in the passenger seat area of the car. The magnetic strip on the back kept it attached and, he hoped, would allow it to be painted over.
Clearly it had worked, because Haynes had been able to use the signal to follow them here. Wherever the hell 'here' was. He loved this tracking chip, it had allowed him to stay back a few miles, where he couldn't possibly be spotted, to follow Jerry. He would find Jerry alone, and then the damn kid would pay for breaking his jaw. Ten times over, he would pay.