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For Warnings and Summary, see Master Post
AN: Begins towards the end of the Pilot and goes AU from there. No spoilers for anything unaired.
Part One
The ride back from Jericho was full of laughter and reminiscing over the good times; at least it had been, until about twenty minutes before when Dean had gone silent, an unhappy frown decorating his features.
The silence grew as they pulled up in front of Sam’s apartment building, until it became an almost physical presence in the dark confines of the car. This had been easier for Sam the first time around when his righteous, adolescent anger had pushed him out the door. He’d never looked back, even when regret tore at him, left him lost and empty. He’d run until his family was far behind him, and the constant ache of their absence was easier to ignore.
Sam slowly forced himself out of the car, but couldn’t help turning back, the lure of his brother’s soon-to-be-missing presence too much to resist. Just one more minute, and then he’d be able to let go. Leaning in towards the window to take better advantage of this last opportunity to drink in Dean’s image, he asked, “You’ll call me if you find him?”
Dean nodded without a word, staring forward stoically, clearly determined to punish Sam for his decision to stay. It was working; the silence was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t want to leave things like this either, but… he should leave. Go inside. Jess was waiting for him. Still, he didn’t move.
“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” The words slipped out before Sam could edit them. Fuck.
There was a slight pause.
Dean finally turned to look at Sam, continuing to nod his head in feigned nonchalance, “Yeah, all right.”
Shit. Shit. He’d just blasted the slowly closing door between them back open, and he didn’t know how to back-peddle now - not while the barely concealed hope in his brother’s eyes was tearing ragged holes in his soul.
Sam let his hand slide a couple of times over the time-worn upholstery just inside the open window. Go. He rubbed harder, a rapid one-two-three that warmed his hand slightly before he finally forced himself to push away.
Somehow, this time, he managed to keep his feet moving.
“Sam!” Dean called out when Sam was halfway up the walk.
He stopped, his heart rate speeding up. Slowly, he turned back to find Dean leaning towards the passenger side door, one arm going over the back of the seat, looking every bit the James Dean hero of his memories. His heart went from racing to stopped dead in less than a second, causing a painful twinge in his chest.
“You know,” Dean called out, “we made a hell of a team back there.”
“Yeah,” Sam forced out in response, his muscles strung tight with the effort not to move back to the car, back to the leather and metal that felt like home, not to run forward and cry out when Dean simply nodded slightly and pulled away from the curb.
Sam stood stock still, watching his brother drive back out of his life. Jess, his traitorous brain supplied. Jess and normal were waiting for him back in the apartment, and if nothing else, he had her. He couldn’t regret any of his decisions with her in his life. She was the first, the only person who had ever made him feel less like a freak, like there was nothing wrong with him, like he deserved to be happy. What they had together was simple and right. As much as he loved his brother, it was too complicated to ever cause him anything but pain.
With a sigh, he turned and finished the lonely walk to the apartment.
It was dark inside; she must be in the bedroom. He shut the door and tossed down his keys, calling out, “Jess?” Suddenly filled with a longing to hold and to be held, he moved further into the room, anticipation helping to lift his mood. “You home?”
A plate of cookies on the hall table with a little note in Jess’s handwriting that declared, “Missed you! Love you!” caught his eye and he stopped, grabbing one of the cookies with a happy grin. She started making him cookies after she learned how old he was when his mom died. She was going to make an awesome mother. Just another three years and he’d be done with law school – they could start their family then.
Maybe, once he had kids, he’d be grounded enough to find a way to let Dean back into his life.
He took a bite of the cookie as he snuck into the bedroom quietly. God, they were better than anything – Jess was as good in the kitchen as he wasn’t. He could hear the shower running, and it was going to be nice watching her face light up when she came out and found him home. He shoved the last of the cookie into his mouth and sat down on the bed, almost groaning out loud at how good the familiar softness felt. He did not miss the hotel beds he’d grown up on, not even a little bit.
Closing his eyes, he flopped backward and stretched out. This was so much better than joining back up with his brother. He had a chance to make something of himself now, had a chance to finally cover up the dark stink that had taken up residence inside of him during his teen years with something good.
Something dripped onto his forehead and he flinched instinctively, then smirked a little; it was probably just Jess sneaking out of the shower to tease him. Another drip, warm and viscous. That was… definitely not water. His eyes snapped opened and immediately locked on the horrific vision that greeted him.
Jess was spread-eagle on the ceiling, the center of her white nightgown saturated with red. He could just make out the torn cloth in the middle, like something had slashed her belly open violently. She stared at him, her mouth opening in a soundless cry for help.
“No,” he gasped out, wanting, needing this to be nothing more than another nightmare.
Fear and pain twisted her features as fire, volcano hot, suddenly roared to life around her, wrapping itself around her body like a perverted lover.
“Sam!” The call was desperate and low and male and not Jess and he didn’t have time for anything else right now. He threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the raging inferno as he started to scramble up, readying himself to leap up into the conflagration to pull her from the ceiling, to pull her down to safety.
“Jess,” he cried out. Her name was ripped from his lips, as if calling her name would do any good.
Another call of “Sam, Sam!” was his only answer and he was dimly aware of Dean framed in the doorway, his focus on Sam and not on Jess, where it should be. Sam wasn’t the one that needed saving. He wasn’t the one worth saving.
“No! No!” he screamed in outrage at the universe, at God, at the monsters in the dark, at anyone willing to listen. The flames were already starting to consume her, flowing across and around her body like water. He thrust his hands into the blaze, ignoring the burn. He had to get to her now.
Dean’s arms circled around Sam and pulled him away, shoving him out the door even as he struggled. “Jess!” he screamed, not giving up, but somehow unable to maneuver past his brother. Even if he couldn’t save her, it would be better if he died trying than if he just gave up and did nothing like a useless coward. Didn’t Dean understand that?
“Jess! No!”
Flames engulfed the room with a deafening whoosh, chasing them out the door. It was too late; there was nothing he could do.
~o0O0o~
It was four in the morning before Dean pulled into a motel. Sam sat numbly in the car while Dean left to wake up the proprietor to get them a room. He was only vaguely aware that Dean’s shouting had stopped, and the next instant, Dean was opening the door and looking at him with concern. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go. You need to get some sleep.”
Sam snorted rudely. Sleep was not happening tonight. They needed to start looking for Jess’ killer.
Dean was snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face irritatingly, which was weird. Time seemed to be starting and stopping at odd moments. He shoved his brother’s hand away and got out of the car, only to have his legs almost go out from under him.
Dean reached out and gripped Sam's shoulder, pulling him into a full-body embrace. Sam shuddered against Dean, clinging to him as sudden, overwhelming pain threatened to well out and consume everything. He willed Dean to tell him it was all a strange hallucination, maybe an after-effect of having a ghost’s hands feel up your insides, to tell him that everything he thought he remembered about this night was anything but true.
Dean only held him close, though, maintaining a silent vigil against Sam's barely contained anguish.
Jess had always been so vibrant, so alive, and now, all Sam could see was her body pinned to the ceiling, horror and pain twisting her beautiful features into something he couldn't recognize, flame enveloping her, flame so hot that it burned his eyes.
He moved closer to Dean, and suddenly that sick need he'd almost forgotten flashed through him, making him flush. He shoved Dean away before... He couldn’t allow Dean to know, not about this. This wasn’t… there was a reason he’d left, and it wasn’t to let his brother walk right back into his fucked up fantasies.
Except that pushing Dean away was going to end up hurting him all over again, and he’d never even know why. Maybe… No. No. There were no choices here. Fury suddenly washed over him, fury at Dean, at Jess, at his fucked up cursed life, at himself, fury enough to block everything else out. He welcomed it, drew strength from it. “This is your fault, Dean. You did this!” he yelled. “Fuck! If you'd never come back here, this never would have happened!”
Dean went still with shock for a moment, opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again almost as fast. Fierce hurt blazed a path across his face, making his skin look sallow in the dim light. “I'm sorry, Sammy,” he whispered. “This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I didn’t…”
“Things were fine, Dean!” Sam interrupted, “No supernatural shit for years. Years. Then you show up, drag me into a hunt, and…” Sam felt the grief threatening to spill up and out, and he had to change the path of his thoughts quickly or he’d lose it right here in front of his brother. “You know what, go find Dad. Don’t come back. I need to try to salvage what’s left of my life.”
Dean looked stricken, like Sam had just sucker punched him.
It didn’t matter. Sam couldn’t let it matter.
He pushed Dean aside and walked out; he needed to do this on his own, needed to stay with someone else. He couldn’t let Dean stay with him. Jess was dead. Sweet, safe, generous Jess had bled out and burned on the ceiling because of him… and the very same night he was letting himself fall back into…
No. No, he couldn’t be that person. He needed to get the hell out. He needed to make Dean leave him here in Normalville to grieve for Jess like she deserved.
Besides, Dean would thank Sam for running if he knew what Sam thought about in the dark.
He turned around, forced his feet to start moving him away from the only good thing left in his fucked up life. It was a cold night, and Sam only had the one light jacket to his name. Everything he had was gone. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth and tried not to let the chill that he couldn’t really do anything about fuel his misery.
Instead, he let his brain chew on the problem of where to go. He definitely didn’t want to go to any of their female friends; didn’t think he could stand soft eyes full of sympathy right now. Zach had flown home the day before Dean had shown up because his grandmother had died, and he still wasn’t back. Luis was already sharing a tiny apartment with three other guys. Brady was… God, Sam wasn’t sure he could face the guy who’d introduced him to Jess right now, but Brady’s skeevy roommate had O.D.’d last week and he knew Brady was pretty desperate to find a new person to share the rent.
Jess had talked Sam out of offering to help when they got the frantic call in the middle of the night. Brady was headed down the same path as his newly deceased friend, and he wasn’t asking for help with his addiction - all he really wanted was money. She was right, of course, as long as Brady insisted that he didn’t need to be saved, there wasn’t much Sam could do... but it still hadn’t sat well. Sam had had enough of turning his back on friends while he was growing up.
Maybe if he was around all the time he could help his friend finally turn things around. Having somebody who was more fucked up than he was to focus on right now… was probably not a bad idea either. It was worth a shot anyway. If nothing else, until he could find another option, it would keep him from having to sleep on a freezing park bench.
“Sam!” He’d already made it across the street when Dean’s voice echoed across the parking lot.
Sam halted, but he didn’t turn back.
“I know you’re upset, okay? I just… I’ll be here if you change your mind. Just… We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
No. Sam was never coming back. He couldn’t do that to Dean... or to Jess. Keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, Sam took one step, and then another. Made himself keep walking until he was too far away to hear if Dean decided to say anything else.
~o0O0o~
Sam pounded on the door again when Brady didn’t answer right away, and idly contemplated picking the damn lock. He snorted quietly to himself; that would be a fun skill to try to explain away.
It was also probably not the best way to convince his friend to let him couch surf, so he retrained himself, but just barely. He walked to the edge of the porch and rocked back on his heels a few times, toying with the idea of a run. At least he’d warm up, and maybe he’d manage to shake off the lingering adrenaline that was making him want to crawl out of his skin. A massage would help. Jess gave the best back rubs… Shit.
He whipped around and banged on the door again hard enough to make his hand throb in protest. “Brady!” he shouted, not really caring if he woke the neighbors.
The door was flung open. “Sam?” Brady puzzled out sleepily. “What the hell, dude? It’s the middle of the night. Either this better be fucking good, or you better have brought tequila.”
Sam blinked in the face of Brady’s good-natured stupidity. For once his friend didn’t look like he’d spent the last several hours on a bender. “Jess is…” Sam’s throat closed up around the words, and he stared at his friend helplessly.
He was doing fine. Holding up fine. He could do this. Maybe he should have gone back to his apartment instead of coming here. Screw the lingering police and firemen – that little problem could be worked around. He didn’t want to sleep anyway. What had he been thinking?
The haziness in Brady’s eyes slowly slipped away to be replaced with alarm. “What’s going on, Sam?” Brady demanded.
Sam turned around and took a step away. He needed to stay focused.
“Sam?”
Sam turned back around at the full-blown fear he could hear in Brady’s voice. He couldn’t just leave the guy like this. Brady had been a good friend to them both. He could simply tell Brady and take off though. Taking a step backward, he opened his mouth to reply and suddenly panicked that Brady might lose it. Sam didn’t have time for that, he needed… but Brady deserved something for being woken up in the middle of the night.
He should never have come here. He should be back at the apartment, looking for clues. The case comes first. How many times had Dad drummed that into his head? You stayed focused and dealt with the emotional fallout later, or not at all – anything else could get you killed. He was shaking all over, although whether it was from the cold or exhaustion he couldn’t really say. He forced his hands into fists, willing the weakness away.
Now that you’re here, just deliver the news and get the hell out, Sam. Keep your head in the game. He cleared his throat. “Jess is de...”
The words came out in barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Brady went white with shock, and Sam felt the weight of it settle over him like a mantle. Abstractly, he could feel the tears start sliding down his face, but he wasn’t sure where they were coming from. Everything was still slightly surreal, like it was happening to someone else.
Except where before he’d been almost numb, and now it felt like everything was closing in, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t find a way to push the thoughts, the memories, the knowing, away immediately. A jagged, anguished sound clawed its way out of his throat, making the words he forced out that much harder to understand, “There was a fire, and… she…”
Brady shook his head, uttered a quiet, anguished, “No.” It was the final crack the dam needed to break.
Sam took a step forward, needing… it didn’t matter; it was like he’d forgotten how to walk, and he tripped over his feet, thudding to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. Jess was dead, and he’d done nothing to stop it. Nothing.
Strong arms circled him, and he crumpled into the comforting warmth, his harsh sobs shattering the lie of the peaceful night.
~o0O0o~
Sam opened his eyes slowly, cautiously, his head throbbing and the light far too bright. He didn’t remember much besides stumbling into Brady’s box-filled disaster of a living room and Brady shoving a bottle of whiskey in his hands. For once his friend’s solution to everything didn’t seem so stupid. Sam had grabbed the bottle and chugged it, and after that everything became a murky haze.
He was on the floor, his cheek imprinted with carpet fibers and drool soaking the shirt he was using as an impromptu pillow. It felt like most of the moisture that was supposed to be in his mouth had leaked out, leaving a dry cavern in its wake. He swallowed unhappily. What little spit there was tasted rank.
Jess was going to kill him…
Fuck. The pain snuck up on him and clawed at his throat, leaving him achy and empty. Desolate. Jess had made his world come alive again after he’d left the craziness of his father’s obsessive crusade behind, after he’d left behind the only person in the world who mattered to him. Now he was back to nothing, and it was pretty unlikely he’d be able to find a fix for that a second time. Jess had been one of a kind.
Dean was still in town. Sam could feel the weight of their connection, and the ache of their separation was an uncomfortable tingle in the back of his skull. He knew, on some level, that it was just his overactive imagination, but still, it felt so real. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Not with Brady. Sam wanted nothing more than to curl up in his brother’s arms and never… Don’t go there…
Fuck, he was sick of telling himself to let that go, however much he knew that he didn’t have any other choice.
He forced himself to sit up, and the immediate pounding in his head was deafening. Oh, right, that’s why he didn’t usually let himself get carried away with the booze. His eyes fell on an overturned bottle on the floor. Especially not when the booze in question was Brady’s barely drinkable, home-brewed approximation of Wild Turkey. His stomach gave a warning cramp, and Sam forced himself to his knees so he could crawl over to the bathroom down the short hall. He folded his arms across the top of the toilet bowl and rested his head against the cool porcelain. It was going to be a long morning.
~o0O0o~
A rustle in the underbrush nearby startles him as he runs the well-worn trail. He turns, stumbling almost immediately when his foot catches on a root. He goes down on his ass hard enough to slide a couple feet. Scrambling back up, heart pounding, he tells himself that he’s being a fool; there’s nothing out here. It’s been the same noises haunting his early morning run for over a week now, and there’s never been anything to see. Ben’s stupid, juvenile, made-up rituals were just getting under his skin. Fuck that asshole anyway. He doesn’t need those guys anymore.
New movement in the branches nevertheless makes him turn and run full out, as if pursued, which… he forces his steps to slow and gradually comes to a stop, bending forward to place his hands on his knees and catch his breath. He’s being stupid. Best way to get over a fear is to confront it straight on, right? Least, that’s what Mom always says.
The underbrush shifts again off to his right. He straightens and squares his shoulders, forces himself to walk towards it rather than away, wistfully wishing for his dad’s old hunting rifle, even though he’s never really been able to figure out how to shoot it worth crap. Damn it! There’s nothing here, he knows this.
Crouching down to look more closely through the foliage accomplishes nothing; it’s dense this far down the trail. Nothing for it – his brain isn’t going to let it go until he proves to himself there’s nothing in there that doesn’t belong.
His hands shake and he can feel a droplet of sweat slowly tickling down his back as he parts the leaves to reveal…
Nothing, of course. Just like always. Nothing but his own very sick and twisted imagination. The things he imagines will happen to him out here, alone on the trail, whenever he’s let himself dwell… he shivers, cold fingers crawling up his spine. Maybe he should seek medical treatment – he’s heard tell that there’re doctors for this kind of thing.
Finish your god-damned run so you can go get ready for class already. Angry with himself, he starts to turn back, but the hand he’s absently rested on the ground doesn’t come with him. Sharp pain encircles his wrist and twists sharply, and with a yelp he’s spun back around to land heavily on his knees. His other hand goes down for balance leaving him on all fours; he tries to rear back, but both hands are caught now.
There’s nothing there!
He yells out, calling for help as panic crawls down his spine. He pulls frantically on his wrists, but they won’t come free. He tries to flex his fingers, but he’s encased in something hard, and he realizes that he’s sinking, is in fact already down to his elbows in the hard ground. Sharp, stabbing pain rips through him, and he can feel his flesh being torn away in massive chunks, leaving fiery agony in its wake. His yells turn to screams, his feet unable to get any traction as they flail desperately against the ground.
An agonizing jerk on his buried flesh pulls him abruptly deeper, and the ground rushes up to meet his chest, the impact driving all the breath from his lungs. Not that it matters, he doesn’t have time to do more than gasp out one last sob before he’s jerked down once again and this time his head goes under the ground like it’s water. Sand and dirt slice like tiny razor blades into the tender membranes of his mouth and nose as he frantically tries to draw in breath, and with a strange clarity he knows that death is coming to take him…
~o0O0o~
Sam woke up with a sharp, desperate intake of breath, his head pounding. He looked around frantically for something to ground him in the here and now, half fearing dirt and sand and dark, but found nothing but the stark whites of Brady’s dingy, utilitarian bathroom. For once, he found himself grateful for the familiar normality of the grimy room around him. He must have passed out on the floor after he’d tried to puke up his stomach for the fifth time. Fuck. That dream had been… it had felt so damn real… it’d felt just like his nightmares about Jess…
It wasn’t real though. It couldn’t be. Those dreams of Jess… no, they weren’t… they couldn’t have had anything to do with what had happened. His eyes burned and the pressure building in his head was making it hard to think. If they’d been… If there was something he could have done to save Jess if he’d only heeded the warnings… He pressed his fingers hard against fire in his eyes, willing his weakness away.
The paranormal wasn’t something he was, it was what he had been raised to hunt. It’s what came into his life to rend and destroy. It wasn’t what he brought to the party. This had… this had just been some subconscious dramatization of what had happened to his mother working itself out, and that… that had just been some twisted nightmare, spawned from way too much crappy booze and an overactive imagination, nurtured by the fucked up reality of his childhood. Guilt stabbed through him at the thought of some poor schmuck dying out on the woods while he did nothing.
But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.
Dean. He wanted his brother here, needed Dean to joke with him, to laugh it off as just him being paranoid. Sam needed his brother to make him feel stupid for still feeling so fucking freaked out. As agitated as he was at that moment, though, it was really just as well that he’d sent Dean away. He’d probably say too much, or hold on too hard, and Dean would figure out what a sick fuck Sam was. Then, Dean would be the one to leave. No. Better this way, so that he could at least keep hoping he’d grow the fuck out of all of his fucked up fantasies.
Hard, cold bitterness flooded his stomach and chest. He’d wanted normal – had, for years, fought and clawed his way towards independence until it had become his reality. Maybe he hadn’t been happy, per se, but for a short time being content had at least felt like a possibility. Now it was all gone, ripped away in just a few short seconds, and he still couldn’t have his brother in his life. This was worse than if he’d never left.
He tried to sit up, to pry his sorry ass off the floor, but that made his head lurch sideways about five feet and his stomach clench threateningly, so he lay back down on the cold tile and let his eyes drift closed once more.
~o0O0o~
A loud bark of laughter jarred him awake, and he moaned in protest, looking around blearily.
Brady was leaning against the doorframe. “Man, you got wasted last night!” he proclaimed mockingly. “Come on, let’s get you off the bathroom floor.” Strong arms wrapped around Sam and pulled him up, enabling him to stand despite the still fierce pounding in his head.
Hands pull at him, forcing him down into the hard unforgiving ground, filling his mouth with bugs and dirt and death…
“Whoa, steady, man,” Brady muttered, pulling Sam back from the thoughts that still pulled at him hungrily, whatever he’d been dreaming about the second time forgotten.
Fuck. He gasped out a small protest at the sharp lance of pain accompanying the flash of memory.
Brady pulled him in close, chuckling softly. “Okay, let’s get you into the living room so you can sit where the normal people do.”
The laughter, the teasing mood – it all felt wrong, somehow. Wrong that Brady could feel anything but crushing, overwhelming sadness in the wake of Jessica’s loss. Anger flared, and Sam pushed his friend away harshly.
“Hey!” Brady complained, rubbing his chest.
Sam shook his head, the pain making it hard to think. “Sorry,” he muttered. He kept his head down and staggered slowly into the living room, where he landed heavily on the couch between the piles of boxes. Those were new since the last time he’d been here. He’d meant to ask about that. “What’s with the boxes?” he mumbled muzzily.
“I’m moving,” Brady announced happily.
“Well, yeah. I was figuring that out. But I’ve been given to understand that polite people tell their friends when they do that. Where are you moving to, asshole?” Sam growled.
“I got invited to join a frat.”
“A frat. You,” Sam deadpanned. “They kicked you out of Stanford last semester; how the hell can you join a frat? And who the hell would want you?”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, dickwad.” Brady came over to the couch and sat down next to Sam, shifting to put his feet up on one of the boxes. The angle pressed Brady’s body against Sam’s.
Sam couldn’t explain the sudden desire to move away, but his skin itched with it, demanded he give in. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d ignored his instincts, although he wasn’t sure what made him want to stay where he was. Fatigue, probably. Moving would require effort and would make his head pound harder than it already was. He was being irrational anyway. Brady had been his friend since his first day here. Hell, he’d introduced Sam to Jess. Sam knew he wasn’t a threat.
Brady let his head fall onto Sam’s shoulder. “They have a lot of influence. Some of the guys pulled some strings, and I’m back in.”
“To Stanford?” Sam asked incredulously. “What frat is it? And how much money did you have to steal for them to get them to let you in?”
Brady snorted, “Can’t you just be happy for my bit of luck, for once?”
“I… guess. But, dude, you have a tendency to get into things over your head,” Sam muttered, vaguely irritated that his friend was being so evasive.
There was a long pause, and Sam started to drift. Brady’s voice made him jump when it finally came again. “You should come with me.”
“What?” Brady must be talking about food, and Sam just missed it. “I don’t think I’m up to going anywhere right now. You want food, why don’t you just order a pizza.” The thought of all that grease made him uncomfortably aware of his stomach, and he shifted miserably. “I’m not gonna join you, though.”
“I meant, you should move into the frat with me,” Brady replied with quiet force.
Sam snorted; he had no interest in being a pledge, and the thought of moving anywhere permanent wasn’t something he was ready to face yet. Jess…
“I’m serious, Sam. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you’ve got no one else. They’ll take you in if you’re with me.” Brady’s hand dropped casually to Sam’s knee and held Sam’s attention when it didn’t move away.
His friend had never really been the touchy-feely type; Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just froze. He wished the pounding in his head would stop, wished the room would stop spinning long enough for him to make sense of what was happening. He got neither wish, though, and when the hand remained unmoving, Sam zoned out once more, letting himself relax back into the plush couch, not moving, not thinking.
Movement pulled him back slowly, the fog clearing as he fought to make sense of Brady’s hand lazily circling up his leg and running softly over his dick, which had perked up almost immediately under the attention. Brady gripped it tightly through the material of Sam’s pants, pulling him sharply back to reality. Pushing Brady’s hand away with his heart in his throat, he demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Brady sat up, looking a little flustered. “I don’t… Sorry. Sorry. It’s too soon, I know. But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was like his friend had turned into a whole other person. Again. He didn’t know what to do with that.
“Think about it, Sam. You can stay here the next couple months – lease isn’t up till the end of the semester, and breaking it would be more expensive than just paying it. So, yeah, this place is yours.” Brady stood up, grabbing a satchel by the door. “But if you decide you don’t want to be alone, just call me, okay? They’ll take you in if I vouch for you, and I won’t ask for anything you aren’t ready for. I promise.”
Brady turned and walked out of the apartment before Sam was able to come up with a reply.
~o0O0o~
The building was eerily silent, what with all of its occupants evacuated in the wake of the fire. It didn’t sit well. The apartment building wasn’t on campus, but most of the people who lived here were college students, and it seemed like there had always been music or talking and laughter going on somewhere. Now it was like the building had died along with…
His gaze caught on the door into their place. It was busted in, probably by Dean, although Sam didn’t actually know for sure how his brother had gotten inside. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask. He could smell the smoke still, heavy in the air, but there were no visible signs of burning, which made little sense if the fire had been natural. The inferno had been raging by the time the fire trucks had arrived.
The idiots were probably still going to blame faulty wiring. As much as Sam sought out normal, he could never understand how seemingly intelligent people could look at the obvious and just not see.
A silver-framed picture of Jess, the one with the little silver heart that dangled from the corner, pulled his focus. It had been a present to him on their six month anniversary. She’d caught him by surprise – he hadn’t even known you were supposed to do anything for that, but she hadn’t been upset.
For a moment, he couldn’t pull in enough air; it felt like it had all been sucked from the room, just like the fire had done last night.
He stumbled forward and picked up the picture with shaking hands. This was all he had left of her now, and she was the one who had cared about all that stuff, all the bits and pieces that make up a home, instead of just a place to bunk down. He’d tried, but he’d never been able to put quite as much importance on belongings as she had. She’d been the one who’d brought the normal to their relationship, and his curse was the thing that had stripped it all away.
Unthinkingly, he threw the frame across the room. The shattering glass was loud and satisfying in the quiet space. Everything he’d thought he’d found had been stripped from him in a matter of minutes, like it had all been a small, insignificant illusion. Of course, when it came down to it, that’s really all it ever had been.
He didn’t have an EMF reader since he’d cut off contact with Dean, but that wouldn’t stop him from looking for clues in the wreckage. He steeled himself, locking his emotions down tight just like he’d been taught, slipping into his hunter personae like a second skin he’d almost forgotten he owned. It was worth it if it meant finding Jess’ killer. With one final deep, steadying breath, he moved into the bedroom.
He threw himself into the task, going over every square foot of the place with painstaking care, looking for the smallest clue, immersing himself in the familiar chore at hand so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else, but after more than an hour, after going over the entire thing twice with nothing to show for it, Sam could feel the cracks in his emotional armor starting to split apart. He needed his dad’s god-damned book. There was no way he could face Dean right now, though.
It couldn’t be a coincidence, Dad disappearing and Jess dying just like Mom had, both women suspended over his own bed. Which meant that, somehow, both deaths actually tied back to him; Mom’s death hadn’t been an attack on Dad, like he’d always assumed. He’d brought the demon directly to Jess and his mom, which meant… this was about him. Something about him must be drawing these attracts. Fuck, he was either going to have to put a stop to it or die trying.
Suddenly unable to bear being so close to her, he stumbled out of the room only to come up short. Dean was sitting on the couch, looking at him anxiously, expectantly, like he’d been waiting there for a while.
The immediate desire to collapse on his brother, to let Dean shoulder the weight for a while, was overwhelming. His throat tightened with an onslaught of emotion that left him weak.
Dean got up silently, came over to him and, unasked, wrapped him in an embrace. Sam couldn’t hold it in anymore. His first sob was loud and shameful in the still too quiet building. He dug his fingers into Dean’s jacket, grateful for the familiar smell and feel, couldn’t stop himself from clutching at his brother in a futile attempt to keep it all inside.
Dean held him tighter, whispered, “God, Sammy, I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.”
Sam crumbled against his brother, the offered comfort so much better than what he’d settled for last night, the grief pouring out of him in a torrent, but still slower than it filled him. He couldn’t think past that pain, except that… he knew this was wrong; he couldn’t use his brother like this when he was only going to push him away. It wasn’t fair to Dean. Sam didn’t deserve to have him here anyway.
If he didn’t push Dean away, Dean would never leave, at least not until all of Sam’s deep dark secrets were out. Then he’d never see Dean again; his brother would despise him. That wasn’t a possibility he could face.
Sam pushed Dean away with a sudden hard jerk, and Dean stumbled backwards in surprise. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dean?” he bit out furiously.
Dean’s eyes flashed angrily, the hurt clear in the tense lines of his body. “I don’t know. Last I checked there was evil in town. Kinda more my gig than yours of late. Thought maybe you could use some help.”
Dean’s gaze was challenging, daring Sam to refuse his assistance. A part of Sam wanted desperately to take him up on the offer, not just because he wanted his brother around, but also because he knew he was rusty, and this was probably his best bet for avenging Jess’ murder. He’d already been through all the arguments in his head, though. It didn’t matter what he wanted; he couldn’t be selfish, not on this, not when Dean would be the one to pay for it.
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Dean cut him off. “I’ve already been all through the apartment – snuck in last night after you left.”
Self-recrimination hit hard, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth; Dean had been working last night while Sam had been getting shit-faced. Jess deserved more. He swallowed his pain down, burying it in anger.
“I told you to leave,” Sam replied coldly.
Dean just raised his eyebrows. “Wow, little brother goes away to college and now he thinks he’s in charge. You aren’t the one that gets to give the orders. That’s the older brother’s prerogative, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Sam let the bitterness of old hurts fill his voice. “Yeah, you and Dad were the ones that decided that, not me. I’m not a child who needs to be protected anymore. I don’t need that from you. Go look for Dad; I’ll be fine on my own.”
The look of betrayal on Dean’s face twisted a knife in Sam’s gut. Clearly trying to play it off, Dean moved forward to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not after what happened.”
No. No, Sam wanted Dean’s offered comfort too badly. Giving in now would destroy them both. Sam pushed Dean hard enough that his brother stumbled back, taken by surprise. “Don’t you get it?” he demanded, raising his voice, using his rage at Jess’ loss to give his words a bite of conviction and believability, “When Dad said if I walked out the door that I could never come back, I was relieved, Dean. I was glad! I had to fight and claw my way to get out. Then, the minute you waltz back in and try to pull me back, my girlfriend gets murdered by something supernatural. You brought it with you. Whatever it was followed you here. So I don’t want you here, Dean. I can’t even stand to look at you.”
Dean’s face finally hardened into an angry mask; Sam was too furious, too full of grief already, for it to hurt. “I know how you feel, Sam, but I’m not the one that killed Jess. You can’t take it out on me when I’m all you’ve got. Your college buddies sure aren’t going to help you hunt it.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket and shoved him against the wall hard enough to make Dean grunt. He growled into Dean’s face, “Mom died when you were, what, four? You barely remember her. Jess died yesterday. You don’t have any god-damned idea how I feel.”
Dean easily broke Sam’s hold and pushed him back, his face going still and emotionless. “Maybe not, but at least I’m not a selfish bastard. Good luck finding normal while the monsters are hunting you down.”
Dean turned and walked out, and that was finally enough to bring Sam’s crippling grief to the surface. He slammed his fist against the wall, hoping to keep the feelings buried just a little bit longer. The pain was sharp and stabbing and exactly what he deserved. Cradling his hand against his chest, he leaned against the hard, unforgiving surface that smelled like death, let himself slide down the wall to wait until Dean’s footsteps had echoed away.
Only when he was sure Dean was gone did he allow himself to whisper the words screaming in his head. “Don’t go…”
Master Post | Part Two
AN: Begins towards the end of the Pilot and goes AU from there. No spoilers for anything unaired.
Part One
The ride back from Jericho was full of laughter and reminiscing over the good times; at least it had been, until about twenty minutes before when Dean had gone silent, an unhappy frown decorating his features.
The silence grew as they pulled up in front of Sam’s apartment building, until it became an almost physical presence in the dark confines of the car. This had been easier for Sam the first time around when his righteous, adolescent anger had pushed him out the door. He’d never looked back, even when regret tore at him, left him lost and empty. He’d run until his family was far behind him, and the constant ache of their absence was easier to ignore.
Sam slowly forced himself out of the car, but couldn’t help turning back, the lure of his brother’s soon-to-be-missing presence too much to resist. Just one more minute, and then he’d be able to let go. Leaning in towards the window to take better advantage of this last opportunity to drink in Dean’s image, he asked, “You’ll call me if you find him?”
Dean nodded without a word, staring forward stoically, clearly determined to punish Sam for his decision to stay. It was working; the silence was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t want to leave things like this either, but… he should leave. Go inside. Jess was waiting for him. Still, he didn’t move.
“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” The words slipped out before Sam could edit them. Fuck.
There was a slight pause.
Dean finally turned to look at Sam, continuing to nod his head in feigned nonchalance, “Yeah, all right.”
Shit. Shit. He’d just blasted the slowly closing door between them back open, and he didn’t know how to back-peddle now - not while the barely concealed hope in his brother’s eyes was tearing ragged holes in his soul.
Sam let his hand slide a couple of times over the time-worn upholstery just inside the open window. Go. He rubbed harder, a rapid one-two-three that warmed his hand slightly before he finally forced himself to push away.
Somehow, this time, he managed to keep his feet moving.
“Sam!” Dean called out when Sam was halfway up the walk.
He stopped, his heart rate speeding up. Slowly, he turned back to find Dean leaning towards the passenger side door, one arm going over the back of the seat, looking every bit the James Dean hero of his memories. His heart went from racing to stopped dead in less than a second, causing a painful twinge in his chest.
“You know,” Dean called out, “we made a hell of a team back there.”
“Yeah,” Sam forced out in response, his muscles strung tight with the effort not to move back to the car, back to the leather and metal that felt like home, not to run forward and cry out when Dean simply nodded slightly and pulled away from the curb.
Sam stood stock still, watching his brother drive back out of his life. Jess, his traitorous brain supplied. Jess and normal were waiting for him back in the apartment, and if nothing else, he had her. He couldn’t regret any of his decisions with her in his life. She was the first, the only person who had ever made him feel less like a freak, like there was nothing wrong with him, like he deserved to be happy. What they had together was simple and right. As much as he loved his brother, it was too complicated to ever cause him anything but pain.
With a sigh, he turned and finished the lonely walk to the apartment.
It was dark inside; she must be in the bedroom. He shut the door and tossed down his keys, calling out, “Jess?” Suddenly filled with a longing to hold and to be held, he moved further into the room, anticipation helping to lift his mood. “You home?”
A plate of cookies on the hall table with a little note in Jess’s handwriting that declared, “Missed you! Love you!” caught his eye and he stopped, grabbing one of the cookies with a happy grin. She started making him cookies after she learned how old he was when his mom died. She was going to make an awesome mother. Just another three years and he’d be done with law school – they could start their family then.
Maybe, once he had kids, he’d be grounded enough to find a way to let Dean back into his life.
He took a bite of the cookie as he snuck into the bedroom quietly. God, they were better than anything – Jess was as good in the kitchen as he wasn’t. He could hear the shower running, and it was going to be nice watching her face light up when she came out and found him home. He shoved the last of the cookie into his mouth and sat down on the bed, almost groaning out loud at how good the familiar softness felt. He did not miss the hotel beds he’d grown up on, not even a little bit.
Closing his eyes, he flopped backward and stretched out. This was so much better than joining back up with his brother. He had a chance to make something of himself now, had a chance to finally cover up the dark stink that had taken up residence inside of him during his teen years with something good.
Something dripped onto his forehead and he flinched instinctively, then smirked a little; it was probably just Jess sneaking out of the shower to tease him. Another drip, warm and viscous. That was… definitely not water. His eyes snapped opened and immediately locked on the horrific vision that greeted him.
Jess was spread-eagle on the ceiling, the center of her white nightgown saturated with red. He could just make out the torn cloth in the middle, like something had slashed her belly open violently. She stared at him, her mouth opening in a soundless cry for help.
“No,” he gasped out, wanting, needing this to be nothing more than another nightmare.
Fear and pain twisted her features as fire, volcano hot, suddenly roared to life around her, wrapping itself around her body like a perverted lover.
“Sam!” The call was desperate and low and male and not Jess and he didn’t have time for anything else right now. He threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the raging inferno as he started to scramble up, readying himself to leap up into the conflagration to pull her from the ceiling, to pull her down to safety.
“Jess,” he cried out. Her name was ripped from his lips, as if calling her name would do any good.
Another call of “Sam, Sam!” was his only answer and he was dimly aware of Dean framed in the doorway, his focus on Sam and not on Jess, where it should be. Sam wasn’t the one that needed saving. He wasn’t the one worth saving.
“No! No!” he screamed in outrage at the universe, at God, at the monsters in the dark, at anyone willing to listen. The flames were already starting to consume her, flowing across and around her body like water. He thrust his hands into the blaze, ignoring the burn. He had to get to her now.
Dean’s arms circled around Sam and pulled him away, shoving him out the door even as he struggled. “Jess!” he screamed, not giving up, but somehow unable to maneuver past his brother. Even if he couldn’t save her, it would be better if he died trying than if he just gave up and did nothing like a useless coward. Didn’t Dean understand that?
“Jess! No!”
Flames engulfed the room with a deafening whoosh, chasing them out the door. It was too late; there was nothing he could do.
~o0O0o~
It was four in the morning before Dean pulled into a motel. Sam sat numbly in the car while Dean left to wake up the proprietor to get them a room. He was only vaguely aware that Dean’s shouting had stopped, and the next instant, Dean was opening the door and looking at him with concern. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go. You need to get some sleep.”
Sam snorted rudely. Sleep was not happening tonight. They needed to start looking for Jess’ killer.
Dean was snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face irritatingly, which was weird. Time seemed to be starting and stopping at odd moments. He shoved his brother’s hand away and got out of the car, only to have his legs almost go out from under him.
Dean reached out and gripped Sam's shoulder, pulling him into a full-body embrace. Sam shuddered against Dean, clinging to him as sudden, overwhelming pain threatened to well out and consume everything. He willed Dean to tell him it was all a strange hallucination, maybe an after-effect of having a ghost’s hands feel up your insides, to tell him that everything he thought he remembered about this night was anything but true.
Dean only held him close, though, maintaining a silent vigil against Sam's barely contained anguish.
Jess had always been so vibrant, so alive, and now, all Sam could see was her body pinned to the ceiling, horror and pain twisting her beautiful features into something he couldn't recognize, flame enveloping her, flame so hot that it burned his eyes.
He moved closer to Dean, and suddenly that sick need he'd almost forgotten flashed through him, making him flush. He shoved Dean away before... He couldn’t allow Dean to know, not about this. This wasn’t… there was a reason he’d left, and it wasn’t to let his brother walk right back into his fucked up fantasies.
Except that pushing Dean away was going to end up hurting him all over again, and he’d never even know why. Maybe… No. No. There were no choices here. Fury suddenly washed over him, fury at Dean, at Jess, at his fucked up cursed life, at himself, fury enough to block everything else out. He welcomed it, drew strength from it. “This is your fault, Dean. You did this!” he yelled. “Fuck! If you'd never come back here, this never would have happened!”
Dean went still with shock for a moment, opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again almost as fast. Fierce hurt blazed a path across his face, making his skin look sallow in the dim light. “I'm sorry, Sammy,” he whispered. “This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I didn’t…”
“Things were fine, Dean!” Sam interrupted, “No supernatural shit for years. Years. Then you show up, drag me into a hunt, and…” Sam felt the grief threatening to spill up and out, and he had to change the path of his thoughts quickly or he’d lose it right here in front of his brother. “You know what, go find Dad. Don’t come back. I need to try to salvage what’s left of my life.”
Dean looked stricken, like Sam had just sucker punched him.
It didn’t matter. Sam couldn’t let it matter.
He pushed Dean aside and walked out; he needed to do this on his own, needed to stay with someone else. He couldn’t let Dean stay with him. Jess was dead. Sweet, safe, generous Jess had bled out and burned on the ceiling because of him… and the very same night he was letting himself fall back into…
No. No, he couldn’t be that person. He needed to get the hell out. He needed to make Dean leave him here in Normalville to grieve for Jess like she deserved.
Besides, Dean would thank Sam for running if he knew what Sam thought about in the dark.
He turned around, forced his feet to start moving him away from the only good thing left in his fucked up life. It was a cold night, and Sam only had the one light jacket to his name. Everything he had was gone. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth and tried not to let the chill that he couldn’t really do anything about fuel his misery.
Instead, he let his brain chew on the problem of where to go. He definitely didn’t want to go to any of their female friends; didn’t think he could stand soft eyes full of sympathy right now. Zach had flown home the day before Dean had shown up because his grandmother had died, and he still wasn’t back. Luis was already sharing a tiny apartment with three other guys. Brady was… God, Sam wasn’t sure he could face the guy who’d introduced him to Jess right now, but Brady’s skeevy roommate had O.D.’d last week and he knew Brady was pretty desperate to find a new person to share the rent.
Jess had talked Sam out of offering to help when they got the frantic call in the middle of the night. Brady was headed down the same path as his newly deceased friend, and he wasn’t asking for help with his addiction - all he really wanted was money. She was right, of course, as long as Brady insisted that he didn’t need to be saved, there wasn’t much Sam could do... but it still hadn’t sat well. Sam had had enough of turning his back on friends while he was growing up.
Maybe if he was around all the time he could help his friend finally turn things around. Having somebody who was more fucked up than he was to focus on right now… was probably not a bad idea either. It was worth a shot anyway. If nothing else, until he could find another option, it would keep him from having to sleep on a freezing park bench.
“Sam!” He’d already made it across the street when Dean’s voice echoed across the parking lot.
Sam halted, but he didn’t turn back.
“I know you’re upset, okay? I just… I’ll be here if you change your mind. Just… We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
No. Sam was never coming back. He couldn’t do that to Dean... or to Jess. Keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, Sam took one step, and then another. Made himself keep walking until he was too far away to hear if Dean decided to say anything else.
~o0O0o~
Sam pounded on the door again when Brady didn’t answer right away, and idly contemplated picking the damn lock. He snorted quietly to himself; that would be a fun skill to try to explain away.
It was also probably not the best way to convince his friend to let him couch surf, so he retrained himself, but just barely. He walked to the edge of the porch and rocked back on his heels a few times, toying with the idea of a run. At least he’d warm up, and maybe he’d manage to shake off the lingering adrenaline that was making him want to crawl out of his skin. A massage would help. Jess gave the best back rubs… Shit.
He whipped around and banged on the door again hard enough to make his hand throb in protest. “Brady!” he shouted, not really caring if he woke the neighbors.
The door was flung open. “Sam?” Brady puzzled out sleepily. “What the hell, dude? It’s the middle of the night. Either this better be fucking good, or you better have brought tequila.”
Sam blinked in the face of Brady’s good-natured stupidity. For once his friend didn’t look like he’d spent the last several hours on a bender. “Jess is…” Sam’s throat closed up around the words, and he stared at his friend helplessly.
He was doing fine. Holding up fine. He could do this. Maybe he should have gone back to his apartment instead of coming here. Screw the lingering police and firemen – that little problem could be worked around. He didn’t want to sleep anyway. What had he been thinking?
The haziness in Brady’s eyes slowly slipped away to be replaced with alarm. “What’s going on, Sam?” Brady demanded.
Sam turned around and took a step away. He needed to stay focused.
“Sam?”
Sam turned back around at the full-blown fear he could hear in Brady’s voice. He couldn’t just leave the guy like this. Brady had been a good friend to them both. He could simply tell Brady and take off though. Taking a step backward, he opened his mouth to reply and suddenly panicked that Brady might lose it. Sam didn’t have time for that, he needed… but Brady deserved something for being woken up in the middle of the night.
He should never have come here. He should be back at the apartment, looking for clues. The case comes first. How many times had Dad drummed that into his head? You stayed focused and dealt with the emotional fallout later, or not at all – anything else could get you killed. He was shaking all over, although whether it was from the cold or exhaustion he couldn’t really say. He forced his hands into fists, willing the weakness away.
Now that you’re here, just deliver the news and get the hell out, Sam. Keep your head in the game. He cleared his throat. “Jess is de...”
The words came out in barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Brady went white with shock, and Sam felt the weight of it settle over him like a mantle. Abstractly, he could feel the tears start sliding down his face, but he wasn’t sure where they were coming from. Everything was still slightly surreal, like it was happening to someone else.
Except where before he’d been almost numb, and now it felt like everything was closing in, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t find a way to push the thoughts, the memories, the knowing, away immediately. A jagged, anguished sound clawed its way out of his throat, making the words he forced out that much harder to understand, “There was a fire, and… she…”
Brady shook his head, uttered a quiet, anguished, “No.” It was the final crack the dam needed to break.
Sam took a step forward, needing… it didn’t matter; it was like he’d forgotten how to walk, and he tripped over his feet, thudding to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. Jess was dead, and he’d done nothing to stop it. Nothing.
Strong arms circled him, and he crumpled into the comforting warmth, his harsh sobs shattering the lie of the peaceful night.
~o0O0o~
Sam opened his eyes slowly, cautiously, his head throbbing and the light far too bright. He didn’t remember much besides stumbling into Brady’s box-filled disaster of a living room and Brady shoving a bottle of whiskey in his hands. For once his friend’s solution to everything didn’t seem so stupid. Sam had grabbed the bottle and chugged it, and after that everything became a murky haze.
He was on the floor, his cheek imprinted with carpet fibers and drool soaking the shirt he was using as an impromptu pillow. It felt like most of the moisture that was supposed to be in his mouth had leaked out, leaving a dry cavern in its wake. He swallowed unhappily. What little spit there was tasted rank.
Jess was going to kill him…
Fuck. The pain snuck up on him and clawed at his throat, leaving him achy and empty. Desolate. Jess had made his world come alive again after he’d left the craziness of his father’s obsessive crusade behind, after he’d left behind the only person in the world who mattered to him. Now he was back to nothing, and it was pretty unlikely he’d be able to find a fix for that a second time. Jess had been one of a kind.
Dean was still in town. Sam could feel the weight of their connection, and the ache of their separation was an uncomfortable tingle in the back of his skull. He knew, on some level, that it was just his overactive imagination, but still, it felt so real. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Not with Brady. Sam wanted nothing more than to curl up in his brother’s arms and never… Don’t go there…
Fuck, he was sick of telling himself to let that go, however much he knew that he didn’t have any other choice.
He forced himself to sit up, and the immediate pounding in his head was deafening. Oh, right, that’s why he didn’t usually let himself get carried away with the booze. His eyes fell on an overturned bottle on the floor. Especially not when the booze in question was Brady’s barely drinkable, home-brewed approximation of Wild Turkey. His stomach gave a warning cramp, and Sam forced himself to his knees so he could crawl over to the bathroom down the short hall. He folded his arms across the top of the toilet bowl and rested his head against the cool porcelain. It was going to be a long morning.
~o0O0o~
A rustle in the underbrush nearby startles him as he runs the well-worn trail. He turns, stumbling almost immediately when his foot catches on a root. He goes down on his ass hard enough to slide a couple feet. Scrambling back up, heart pounding, he tells himself that he’s being a fool; there’s nothing out here. It’s been the same noises haunting his early morning run for over a week now, and there’s never been anything to see. Ben’s stupid, juvenile, made-up rituals were just getting under his skin. Fuck that asshole anyway. He doesn’t need those guys anymore.
New movement in the branches nevertheless makes him turn and run full out, as if pursued, which… he forces his steps to slow and gradually comes to a stop, bending forward to place his hands on his knees and catch his breath. He’s being stupid. Best way to get over a fear is to confront it straight on, right? Least, that’s what Mom always says.
The underbrush shifts again off to his right. He straightens and squares his shoulders, forces himself to walk towards it rather than away, wistfully wishing for his dad’s old hunting rifle, even though he’s never really been able to figure out how to shoot it worth crap. Damn it! There’s nothing here, he knows this.
Crouching down to look more closely through the foliage accomplishes nothing; it’s dense this far down the trail. Nothing for it – his brain isn’t going to let it go until he proves to himself there’s nothing in there that doesn’t belong.
His hands shake and he can feel a droplet of sweat slowly tickling down his back as he parts the leaves to reveal…
Nothing, of course. Just like always. Nothing but his own very sick and twisted imagination. The things he imagines will happen to him out here, alone on the trail, whenever he’s let himself dwell… he shivers, cold fingers crawling up his spine. Maybe he should seek medical treatment – he’s heard tell that there’re doctors for this kind of thing.
Finish your god-damned run so you can go get ready for class already. Angry with himself, he starts to turn back, but the hand he’s absently rested on the ground doesn’t come with him. Sharp pain encircles his wrist and twists sharply, and with a yelp he’s spun back around to land heavily on his knees. His other hand goes down for balance leaving him on all fours; he tries to rear back, but both hands are caught now.
There’s nothing there!
He yells out, calling for help as panic crawls down his spine. He pulls frantically on his wrists, but they won’t come free. He tries to flex his fingers, but he’s encased in something hard, and he realizes that he’s sinking, is in fact already down to his elbows in the hard ground. Sharp, stabbing pain rips through him, and he can feel his flesh being torn away in massive chunks, leaving fiery agony in its wake. His yells turn to screams, his feet unable to get any traction as they flail desperately against the ground.
An agonizing jerk on his buried flesh pulls him abruptly deeper, and the ground rushes up to meet his chest, the impact driving all the breath from his lungs. Not that it matters, he doesn’t have time to do more than gasp out one last sob before he’s jerked down once again and this time his head goes under the ground like it’s water. Sand and dirt slice like tiny razor blades into the tender membranes of his mouth and nose as he frantically tries to draw in breath, and with a strange clarity he knows that death is coming to take him…
~o0O0o~
Sam woke up with a sharp, desperate intake of breath, his head pounding. He looked around frantically for something to ground him in the here and now, half fearing dirt and sand and dark, but found nothing but the stark whites of Brady’s dingy, utilitarian bathroom. For once, he found himself grateful for the familiar normality of the grimy room around him. He must have passed out on the floor after he’d tried to puke up his stomach for the fifth time. Fuck. That dream had been… it had felt so damn real… it’d felt just like his nightmares about Jess…
It wasn’t real though. It couldn’t be. Those dreams of Jess… no, they weren’t… they couldn’t have had anything to do with what had happened. His eyes burned and the pressure building in his head was making it hard to think. If they’d been… If there was something he could have done to save Jess if he’d only heeded the warnings… He pressed his fingers hard against fire in his eyes, willing his weakness away.
The paranormal wasn’t something he was, it was what he had been raised to hunt. It’s what came into his life to rend and destroy. It wasn’t what he brought to the party. This had… this had just been some subconscious dramatization of what had happened to his mother working itself out, and that… that had just been some twisted nightmare, spawned from way too much crappy booze and an overactive imagination, nurtured by the fucked up reality of his childhood. Guilt stabbed through him at the thought of some poor schmuck dying out on the woods while he did nothing.
But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.
Dean. He wanted his brother here, needed Dean to joke with him, to laugh it off as just him being paranoid. Sam needed his brother to make him feel stupid for still feeling so fucking freaked out. As agitated as he was at that moment, though, it was really just as well that he’d sent Dean away. He’d probably say too much, or hold on too hard, and Dean would figure out what a sick fuck Sam was. Then, Dean would be the one to leave. No. Better this way, so that he could at least keep hoping he’d grow the fuck out of all of his fucked up fantasies.
Hard, cold bitterness flooded his stomach and chest. He’d wanted normal – had, for years, fought and clawed his way towards independence until it had become his reality. Maybe he hadn’t been happy, per se, but for a short time being content had at least felt like a possibility. Now it was all gone, ripped away in just a few short seconds, and he still couldn’t have his brother in his life. This was worse than if he’d never left.
He tried to sit up, to pry his sorry ass off the floor, but that made his head lurch sideways about five feet and his stomach clench threateningly, so he lay back down on the cold tile and let his eyes drift closed once more.
~o0O0o~
A loud bark of laughter jarred him awake, and he moaned in protest, looking around blearily.
Brady was leaning against the doorframe. “Man, you got wasted last night!” he proclaimed mockingly. “Come on, let’s get you off the bathroom floor.” Strong arms wrapped around Sam and pulled him up, enabling him to stand despite the still fierce pounding in his head.
Hands pull at him, forcing him down into the hard unforgiving ground, filling his mouth with bugs and dirt and death…
“Whoa, steady, man,” Brady muttered, pulling Sam back from the thoughts that still pulled at him hungrily, whatever he’d been dreaming about the second time forgotten.
Fuck. He gasped out a small protest at the sharp lance of pain accompanying the flash of memory.
Brady pulled him in close, chuckling softly. “Okay, let’s get you into the living room so you can sit where the normal people do.”
The laughter, the teasing mood – it all felt wrong, somehow. Wrong that Brady could feel anything but crushing, overwhelming sadness in the wake of Jessica’s loss. Anger flared, and Sam pushed his friend away harshly.
“Hey!” Brady complained, rubbing his chest.
Sam shook his head, the pain making it hard to think. “Sorry,” he muttered. He kept his head down and staggered slowly into the living room, where he landed heavily on the couch between the piles of boxes. Those were new since the last time he’d been here. He’d meant to ask about that. “What’s with the boxes?” he mumbled muzzily.
“I’m moving,” Brady announced happily.
“Well, yeah. I was figuring that out. But I’ve been given to understand that polite people tell their friends when they do that. Where are you moving to, asshole?” Sam growled.
“I got invited to join a frat.”
“A frat. You,” Sam deadpanned. “They kicked you out of Stanford last semester; how the hell can you join a frat? And who the hell would want you?”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, dickwad.” Brady came over to the couch and sat down next to Sam, shifting to put his feet up on one of the boxes. The angle pressed Brady’s body against Sam’s.
Sam couldn’t explain the sudden desire to move away, but his skin itched with it, demanded he give in. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d ignored his instincts, although he wasn’t sure what made him want to stay where he was. Fatigue, probably. Moving would require effort and would make his head pound harder than it already was. He was being irrational anyway. Brady had been his friend since his first day here. Hell, he’d introduced Sam to Jess. Sam knew he wasn’t a threat.
Brady let his head fall onto Sam’s shoulder. “They have a lot of influence. Some of the guys pulled some strings, and I’m back in.”
“To Stanford?” Sam asked incredulously. “What frat is it? And how much money did you have to steal for them to get them to let you in?”
Brady snorted, “Can’t you just be happy for my bit of luck, for once?”
“I… guess. But, dude, you have a tendency to get into things over your head,” Sam muttered, vaguely irritated that his friend was being so evasive.
There was a long pause, and Sam started to drift. Brady’s voice made him jump when it finally came again. “You should come with me.”
“What?” Brady must be talking about food, and Sam just missed it. “I don’t think I’m up to going anywhere right now. You want food, why don’t you just order a pizza.” The thought of all that grease made him uncomfortably aware of his stomach, and he shifted miserably. “I’m not gonna join you, though.”
“I meant, you should move into the frat with me,” Brady replied with quiet force.
Sam snorted; he had no interest in being a pledge, and the thought of moving anywhere permanent wasn’t something he was ready to face yet. Jess…
“I’m serious, Sam. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you’ve got no one else. They’ll take you in if you’re with me.” Brady’s hand dropped casually to Sam’s knee and held Sam’s attention when it didn’t move away.
His friend had never really been the touchy-feely type; Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just froze. He wished the pounding in his head would stop, wished the room would stop spinning long enough for him to make sense of what was happening. He got neither wish, though, and when the hand remained unmoving, Sam zoned out once more, letting himself relax back into the plush couch, not moving, not thinking.
Movement pulled him back slowly, the fog clearing as he fought to make sense of Brady’s hand lazily circling up his leg and running softly over his dick, which had perked up almost immediately under the attention. Brady gripped it tightly through the material of Sam’s pants, pulling him sharply back to reality. Pushing Brady’s hand away with his heart in his throat, he demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Brady sat up, looking a little flustered. “I don’t… Sorry. Sorry. It’s too soon, I know. But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was like his friend had turned into a whole other person. Again. He didn’t know what to do with that.
“Think about it, Sam. You can stay here the next couple months – lease isn’t up till the end of the semester, and breaking it would be more expensive than just paying it. So, yeah, this place is yours.” Brady stood up, grabbing a satchel by the door. “But if you decide you don’t want to be alone, just call me, okay? They’ll take you in if I vouch for you, and I won’t ask for anything you aren’t ready for. I promise.”
Brady turned and walked out of the apartment before Sam was able to come up with a reply.
~o0O0o~
The building was eerily silent, what with all of its occupants evacuated in the wake of the fire. It didn’t sit well. The apartment building wasn’t on campus, but most of the people who lived here were college students, and it seemed like there had always been music or talking and laughter going on somewhere. Now it was like the building had died along with…
His gaze caught on the door into their place. It was busted in, probably by Dean, although Sam didn’t actually know for sure how his brother had gotten inside. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask. He could smell the smoke still, heavy in the air, but there were no visible signs of burning, which made little sense if the fire had been natural. The inferno had been raging by the time the fire trucks had arrived.
The idiots were probably still going to blame faulty wiring. As much as Sam sought out normal, he could never understand how seemingly intelligent people could look at the obvious and just not see.
A silver-framed picture of Jess, the one with the little silver heart that dangled from the corner, pulled his focus. It had been a present to him on their six month anniversary. She’d caught him by surprise – he hadn’t even known you were supposed to do anything for that, but she hadn’t been upset.
For a moment, he couldn’t pull in enough air; it felt like it had all been sucked from the room, just like the fire had done last night.
He stumbled forward and picked up the picture with shaking hands. This was all he had left of her now, and she was the one who had cared about all that stuff, all the bits and pieces that make up a home, instead of just a place to bunk down. He’d tried, but he’d never been able to put quite as much importance on belongings as she had. She’d been the one who’d brought the normal to their relationship, and his curse was the thing that had stripped it all away.
Unthinkingly, he threw the frame across the room. The shattering glass was loud and satisfying in the quiet space. Everything he’d thought he’d found had been stripped from him in a matter of minutes, like it had all been a small, insignificant illusion. Of course, when it came down to it, that’s really all it ever had been.
He didn’t have an EMF reader since he’d cut off contact with Dean, but that wouldn’t stop him from looking for clues in the wreckage. He steeled himself, locking his emotions down tight just like he’d been taught, slipping into his hunter personae like a second skin he’d almost forgotten he owned. It was worth it if it meant finding Jess’ killer. With one final deep, steadying breath, he moved into the bedroom.
He threw himself into the task, going over every square foot of the place with painstaking care, looking for the smallest clue, immersing himself in the familiar chore at hand so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else, but after more than an hour, after going over the entire thing twice with nothing to show for it, Sam could feel the cracks in his emotional armor starting to split apart. He needed his dad’s god-damned book. There was no way he could face Dean right now, though.
It couldn’t be a coincidence, Dad disappearing and Jess dying just like Mom had, both women suspended over his own bed. Which meant that, somehow, both deaths actually tied back to him; Mom’s death hadn’t been an attack on Dad, like he’d always assumed. He’d brought the demon directly to Jess and his mom, which meant… this was about him. Something about him must be drawing these attracts. Fuck, he was either going to have to put a stop to it or die trying.
Suddenly unable to bear being so close to her, he stumbled out of the room only to come up short. Dean was sitting on the couch, looking at him anxiously, expectantly, like he’d been waiting there for a while.
The immediate desire to collapse on his brother, to let Dean shoulder the weight for a while, was overwhelming. His throat tightened with an onslaught of emotion that left him weak.
Dean got up silently, came over to him and, unasked, wrapped him in an embrace. Sam couldn’t hold it in anymore. His first sob was loud and shameful in the still too quiet building. He dug his fingers into Dean’s jacket, grateful for the familiar smell and feel, couldn’t stop himself from clutching at his brother in a futile attempt to keep it all inside.
Dean held him tighter, whispered, “God, Sammy, I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.”
Sam crumbled against his brother, the offered comfort so much better than what he’d settled for last night, the grief pouring out of him in a torrent, but still slower than it filled him. He couldn’t think past that pain, except that… he knew this was wrong; he couldn’t use his brother like this when he was only going to push him away. It wasn’t fair to Dean. Sam didn’t deserve to have him here anyway.
If he didn’t push Dean away, Dean would never leave, at least not until all of Sam’s deep dark secrets were out. Then he’d never see Dean again; his brother would despise him. That wasn’t a possibility he could face.
Sam pushed Dean away with a sudden hard jerk, and Dean stumbled backwards in surprise. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dean?” he bit out furiously.
Dean’s eyes flashed angrily, the hurt clear in the tense lines of his body. “I don’t know. Last I checked there was evil in town. Kinda more my gig than yours of late. Thought maybe you could use some help.”
Dean’s gaze was challenging, daring Sam to refuse his assistance. A part of Sam wanted desperately to take him up on the offer, not just because he wanted his brother around, but also because he knew he was rusty, and this was probably his best bet for avenging Jess’ murder. He’d already been through all the arguments in his head, though. It didn’t matter what he wanted; he couldn’t be selfish, not on this, not when Dean would be the one to pay for it.
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Dean cut him off. “I’ve already been all through the apartment – snuck in last night after you left.”
Self-recrimination hit hard, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth; Dean had been working last night while Sam had been getting shit-faced. Jess deserved more. He swallowed his pain down, burying it in anger.
“I told you to leave,” Sam replied coldly.
Dean just raised his eyebrows. “Wow, little brother goes away to college and now he thinks he’s in charge. You aren’t the one that gets to give the orders. That’s the older brother’s prerogative, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Sam let the bitterness of old hurts fill his voice. “Yeah, you and Dad were the ones that decided that, not me. I’m not a child who needs to be protected anymore. I don’t need that from you. Go look for Dad; I’ll be fine on my own.”
The look of betrayal on Dean’s face twisted a knife in Sam’s gut. Clearly trying to play it off, Dean moved forward to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not after what happened.”
No. No, Sam wanted Dean’s offered comfort too badly. Giving in now would destroy them both. Sam pushed Dean hard enough that his brother stumbled back, taken by surprise. “Don’t you get it?” he demanded, raising his voice, using his rage at Jess’ loss to give his words a bite of conviction and believability, “When Dad said if I walked out the door that I could never come back, I was relieved, Dean. I was glad! I had to fight and claw my way to get out. Then, the minute you waltz back in and try to pull me back, my girlfriend gets murdered by something supernatural. You brought it with you. Whatever it was followed you here. So I don’t want you here, Dean. I can’t even stand to look at you.”
Dean’s face finally hardened into an angry mask; Sam was too furious, too full of grief already, for it to hurt. “I know how you feel, Sam, but I’m not the one that killed Jess. You can’t take it out on me when I’m all you’ve got. Your college buddies sure aren’t going to help you hunt it.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket and shoved him against the wall hard enough to make Dean grunt. He growled into Dean’s face, “Mom died when you were, what, four? You barely remember her. Jess died yesterday. You don’t have any god-damned idea how I feel.”
Dean easily broke Sam’s hold and pushed him back, his face going still and emotionless. “Maybe not, but at least I’m not a selfish bastard. Good luck finding normal while the monsters are hunting you down.”
Dean turned and walked out, and that was finally enough to bring Sam’s crippling grief to the surface. He slammed his fist against the wall, hoping to keep the feelings buried just a little bit longer. The pain was sharp and stabbing and exactly what he deserved. Cradling his hand against his chest, he leaned against the hard, unforgiving surface that smelled like death, let himself slide down the wall to wait until Dean’s footsteps had echoed away.
Only when he was sure Dean was gone did he allow himself to whisper the words screaming in his head. “Don’t go…”
Master Post | Part Two
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