Chapter Twelve
-15th April 2000
Almost a month later, Sam was cooped up in Bobby's house, resting and reading and recuperating. The scratches were healed mostly, scabs wearing off to become the scars underneath, and too deep to ever fade away after. But Sam was okay with that, okay with scars that reminded him that he had saved someone's life. Dean's life.
He was resting and reading and recuperating, but most of all, most pathetically, he was missing Dean. He hadn't seen him again since the day after his discharge, the evening he left, and he remembered how Dean had ruffled his hair and smiled kindly at him, patted his cheek and thanked him for saving his life. He almost felt embarrassed at how much he missed him, how much he thought about him, considering Dean probably only even remembered him once a week or so.
But still, he wanted to see him again, wanted him to talk to him and eat with him and laugh with him and watch movies with him and tell him that he wasn't as bad as he thought he was, just in the little things he bothered to do that Sam didn't even know was normal until he observed Dean, like sparing him a glance and a smile, just out of nowhere and for no reason, patting his shoulder and praising him for a good job, or just talking about stupid, pointless things that weren't supposed to even matter but did because his Dad and Rick never did that with him.
Sam missed him a lot more than he probably should, this twenty-one year old man that he had only known for about a week, but he couldn't help but hope, almost achingly, that Dean would come by again. He hoped Dean wouldn't forget about him or get bored of him. He knew he was too quiet, too shy, too scared, knew he didn't make as good company as the hundreds of other far more remarkable people Dean might have come across, but he hoped they could still be good friends.
He couldn't help but think that he never felt as happy as he did then, except when he was with Bobby. But being with Bobby was rare before, something once every few years, and he remembered feeling the same ache of longing whenever the car drove away from the house. He remembered being left in the backseat, watching it until it faded way beyond the road, speed devouring the closeness, shrinking its vision until it became nothing. He remembered the churning sickness of knowing that it'll probably be many years before they came around here again, knowing that he wouldn't be feeling as safe and secure and happy as he had until then.
But his family was gone. They weren't here anymore. There was just him and Bobby, and Dean and John somewhere out there a thousand miles away, but already joined within his world, filling a huge part of it. It was stupid to feel that way, he thought, because they probably didn't feel the same, considering what a short time they've spent together.
But what hit him in full-force in that moment was the pure, absolute absence of his father, and the incomplete absence of his brother (it's always nagging at him in the back of his head, the fear that he'll find him again someday), and he felt like it was finally hitting him hard, but maybe it should have hit him harder than this, and maybe he felt ashamed that it didn't because they were his family, but even then, it was hitting him hard enough.
He realized it wasn't the sadness and loss that hit him most. It was something good, something achingly like hope and a new beginning, melding in with all the sad emotions. He suddenly felt like he had been living in a low-resolution movie ever since he had watched the police drive away with his brother, like all the colors and senses had been dulled down, because it was too fast and too sudden and too much for his brain to completely take in everything it meant.
And it meant no more bruises and cuts and sleeping with a raw, swollen heart. It meant no more of a scraping void of loneliness in his chest and a stone in his stomach and a burn behind his eyes. It meant learning to be painless someday, and it meant learning that something like this wasn't as impossible to imagine when you were living it. But it also meant learning to realize that it wasn't impossible to last (God, he hoped it wasn't impossible to last for someone like him). And he was actually crying a little, without really knowing why, honestly, because this was good. This was good and confusing and unfamiliar and too much to learn, and it was night, and somehow, the lack of light in his room allowed his heart and mind to be open to everything it was too busy to take in during the day. He felt vulnerable and unguarded, and he felt happy and sad in a way he couldn't understand at all.
But he felt happy, most of all. And he missed Dean. He wondered when he'd see him again.
...
The answer turned out to be next morning. Sam heard a commotion going on under the floors of his room, from below, and he didn't know who it was so he didn't check. Sometimes, hunters that weren't Dean and John passed by, staying awhile for an hour or two with Bobby, so he figured it must have been someone like that. He had even met a few once or twice. One of them was named Caleb. Caleb was young, but a bit older than Dean, and he was nice with a rough edge, almost like Dean. There was Jim too, who was a pastor and a hunter, which Sam thought was kind of cool, and he was gentle and soft-spoken, as he imagined a pastor would be, and Sam couldn't help but instantly take a liking to him too. He didn't know them too well considering how recently they have met, and only for a short time at that, but they had talked to him and asked him questions and smiled at him (like Dean had), and he just had this sense that they were good people.
But he hadn't known the muffled, loud noises were Dean's voice until he accidentally looked out and caught sight of the Impala that he knew Dean loved (he remembered how he told him it was his home, but he looked a little sad too when he said it, like something was missing there), and then he was dropping his book, To Kill A Mocking Bird, and climbing out of bed and almost racing down the stairs. He was conscious enough to be quiet, so he wouldn't seem too abashingly and pathetically over-excited about the arrival of a man who would probably just remember of his existence when he saw him.
He found himself down at the bottom of the stairs, found himself staring into the kitchen, at Dean with a beer on the table in front of him.
And suddenly, he didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say. It had been about three weeks, and it was like he had forgotten how it all worked and how it was all supposed to feel and what his role was here. He was staring at the ground, fingers clasped uncertainly around the mahogany rail.
And he felt stupid, and needy, and ashamed of it. And he felt ashamed of why he was so needy, so easily attached, so easily liking anyone who gave him the time of day.
He made to turn, to slowly trod up those stairs right back. It didn't matter. Dean didn't care, and he didn't know what to do around him, so it was good. It made him sad a little (a lot), because of how much he had looked forward to this, but it all made him feel so dumb.
"Sam!"
Sam froze as Dean's voice called out to him, cheerful and echoic in the slight hollowness of a large enough house. He turned his head and looked at the man, who was waving his head over to him. He complied, turning around completely with the rest of him, slowly walking forward, but still feeling the lightness of doubt and hesitance in his knees. He stilled trudged on, walking and walking the distance (it seemed longer than it should) until he was there, sitting right in front of him.
And Sam's eyes fell on the white on his leg. A thick, solid cast all over from the curve around his ankle to a little above his knee. There was also some blood on the side of his shirt, three little flickering smears of red.
"What happened?" Sam asked, words out in worry before he could take them back.
Dean glanced down at his leg, and back up at him. "Oh, this? Ass move on my part. Chupacabra. I let it scratch my side and hurl my ass all the way over to a tree so Dad could get it from behind, heard a snap, saw something was poking out in my leg. Well, Dad was pissed that I just jumped in right in front of the thing like that, but it saw us already, and I wanted to distract the son of a bitch before it could come at both of us and there'd be no one conscious, or alive, to finish the hunt, so I did what I did. Heat of the moment." Dean said all of that pretty casually, taking a sip of his beer after. Bobby was leaning against the counter, staring at Dean silently behind him, and there was something in his gaze that Sam couldn't fathom, but it made him feel like there was something he wasn't understanding.
And Sam raised an eyebrow, jaw slightly agape. "Dean, that's... you shouldn't do stuff like that."
"Why not? It ended the hunt sooner than it would have if I didn't do that."
"Hunting's not a game. You were playing with your life there," Sam said seriously. "It doesn't matter how long it would take. You just have to make sure everyone, including you, comes out alive. And that the monster is dead."
Dean shrugged. "Guess you're right. But hey, listen," he said, leaned a bit forward, and grinned. "My dad dumped me here and went off to do all the fun work. Kind of his way of putting me in the naughty corner so that I could 'think about what I've done." He rolled his eyes. "But I'll be here for a long while, 'til my leg's all good, and it'd be cool to spend some time with my favorite little squirt."
Sam grimaced. "I'm not a squirt," he said, trying not to blush or grin. "I'm an inch taller than you."
Dean squinched his mouth to the side. "Touché. You've got a little meat on you too now. But you're still my squirt." He reached across the table, as far as his leg would allow, which was enough for him to be able to mess up his hair.
Sam smiled, shaking his head and patting it to settle his hair down.
After that, they fell into a period of silence. Sam looked back at Bobby, who seemed lost in grave thoughts, and that worried Sam because he had never seen him so quiet and solemn. Whatever it was, it had been there since Dean arrived.
"How's the stomach?" Dean asked, cutting Sam's stare away from Bobby, and landing on him. Dean looked soft, smiling lightly with his eyes, like he was genuinely happy to see him. Sam didn't quite know what to do with that.
"It's... it's fine. Better now," Sam answered, smiled back at him. He was still quiet in the way he spoke, but he didn't stutter as much anymore, which may have had to do with the ease and comfort he had gotten used to with Bobby over the month. He felt that same kind of trust with Dean.
"That's good," Dean said, nodded. Sam took into account the grimness on Bobby's face, and the dark shadows under Dean's eyes, and couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something he didn't know. It wasn't really his business, whatever it was, but it made him concerned and a little afraid because it seemed big. Big enough to make Dean lose sleep over it and to put that look on Bobby's face.
…
"S'happenin' again, 'sn't it?" Bobby asked knowingly, quiet with sorrow. Memories flashed through his head, hospitals and blood and claw-marks that were too wide and deep because of a lack of retaliation.
Dean's gaze was fixed firmly on the label of the bottle, twirling it around in his hand, like he needed a movement that he could pretend he was more interested in than this conversation. "What?"
"Don't play dumb with me, boy," Bobby breathed, shaking his head slightly. He leaned back against the counter, feeling weariness creeping up his shoulders and back, staring at him. "You know what."
Dean snorted, smiled bitterly. "You mean my little suicidal tendencies to jump right between a monster's teeth?"
"Yeah," Bobby said. "That's exactly what."
Dean remained silent, still never budged his eyes away from the bottle, and Bobby's heart was full, seeing him become the sad, guarded boy from six years ago. "Ya said you were gettin' better, boy," Bobby said tiredly, running a hand over his beard.
"I was," Dean said.
"Then what happened?"
Another silence, and he could watch the flicker of emotions across Dean's face. Contemplation among one of them. Bobby wished he didn't have to think about whether he should tell him about his troubles or not.
Dean sighed, rubbing at his eyes, red and itchy with exhaustion. "Sam."
"Sam?" Bobby asked, confused.
"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, his hand coming to rest over his bowed forehead, elbow on the table, as if it was hard to hold his head up. "Looks nothing like him, but god..." He shook his head a little, huffing. "He smiles like him and laughs like him and... he's everything like him. I mean, he's quiet and smart and kind-hearted and... and good, loves books and fucking salads and research and..."
His voice faded off at the end, shoulders shaking as he ran his hand down his face. And Bobby realized how true it was, how terrifyingly similar both of them were.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" he whispered, his voice trembling and thick. "It's like I was finally just... starting to believe, at least half-way, that I could do this, live the rest of my fucking life without that kid and then Sam just comes along, and reminds me of — of all the things I'll never have again."
Bobby stared at the ground, arms crossed. Dean sounded broken, so hopelessly broken, and the only thing that could glue him back together, that could take that brokenness out of him, was gone. Adam. The boy he loved like a son himself.
But maybe there was another thing that could. Another boy.
Bobby hoped that what he said next wouldn't be taken the wrong way. He could imagine how scared Dean had been, seeing a brother in someone else after having lost one already, feeling those same feelings for Sam and wondering if this was a disloyalty. Or maybe, to feel like he was exploiting Sam. He shifted, readied himself for whatever reaction he'd get, exhaled, and said it, straight and clear.
"Ya could have it with Sam."
And that was what finally made Dean look up, made his head shoot up so fast, he swore he heard it crack. "What?"
"Ya could have it with Sam," Bobby repeated, shrugging, like it was just that easy. He knew it wasn't, though, but he wanted him to understand that he could.
Dean glared at him, angry and incredulous (like he couldn't believe he even suggested it), almost betrayed, almost brittle (and almost trying not to look like he wanted someone to tell him that it was okay to want this). His jaw was clenched, his lips pursed and eyes aflame. For Dean, that meant only two things; forgetting Adam or involving an oblivious kid into his emotional issues, using him as a pain-reliever for the grief of losing his brother.
But they didn't have to be the same things, and he needed to know that.
"No," Bobby said, not having to hear him say anything more than the look on his face, because he knew that boy better than most. "I don' mean ya replace yer little brother. Ya can't do that if ya tried. But what I am sayin' is that ya can love Sam, and ya can love Adam. Ya can have both. I'm saying ya both went through a ton of crap, and ya both got something ya need in the other, and that not everyone gets somethin' like this to help 'em move on. That's what I'm saying, boy. Ya ain't forgetting Adam, not replacin' him or disownin' him, if ya let yaself find a brother in Sam."
He watched as Dean's glare softened, and he looked back at the table, something hopefully contemplative on his face. He was considering Bobby's words, and that was a step forward in his book.
With that, he pushed off the counter and left him to his thoughts, exiting the room.
Author's Note: An update in a week? *gasp* That's new! :P
Thank you so much brihun2388, Engxty Piksy, babyreaper, Ghostwriter, Tobymydog, Souless666, reannablue, Eruthiawen Luin, StyxxsOmega, whatnosheep, Sam J Eller (OMG, HI! I follow you on tumblr! It's me, urcutebutimsammy. I love your blog!), YesteryearsGirl, ArtistKurai, Tie-Dyed Broadway and jensensgirl3 for the reviews. Thank you to all those who tagged me and/or my story! Thank you for all your patience and loyalty up until now. *hugs* I've said this before, and I'll say it again, you're all awesome! Thanks for making me smile so hard with every acknowledgement or praise.
I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)