Mothman Update
Nov. 27th, 2006 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mf_luder_xfAfter a lot of thought and ponderance...here's part four of Ides of the Mothmen.
Part 1 and the HUGE header can be found here
The next day they both woke up early to visit Elena. Sam's mind was reeling over the knowledge that Dean had seen this thing. It wasn't the first time Dean had seen something he hadn't; Sam hadn't seen the reaper, after all. But what bothered Sam was that Dean was scared. Dean did not scare easily. But asking him about it further would only be dancing on the edge of that kiss and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to face that precipice. They'd managed to avoid it so far and probably would continue to do so as long as they could—possibly forever.
They arrived at a small, charming rust and cobblestone house. The large garden was filled with tall and small flowers and several brown trellises. Simple curtains peeked through windows and a few toys, including a bike, decorated the front yard. When they rang the bell and Elena opened the door, smiling at them, Sam couldn't help but feel out of place. Though her smile included him, it seemed geared towards Dean and his brother even managed a non-leering grin back.
It was only made worse when she grabbed Dean's hand, tugging him inside, and Sam watched Dean's face light up.
Eventually, after a few pleasantries, he and Dean sat down in her richly colored living room, piano music trickling in. It was very obvious that Elena was Russian. She had icons and paintings of Jesus and Mary, those little Russian painted eggs, and nesting dolls. Sam thought Dean would scoff at the religious symbols but instead he seemed to accept them and even pointed out an exceptionally exquisite statue.
Sam shoved all the weird jealousy he was feeling far to the back of his brain to concentrate on the matter at hand. After all, he was only jealous that Dean's attention wasn't on him--in the brotherly sense. He'd simply gotten used to being the only one Dean paid attention to.
“I'm sorry,” Elena spoke up, “Nikolai will be home shortly. He's still at a friend's house right now. He slept over.”
“Not a problem,” Dean said. “How about we talk to you first?”
She glanced over at Sam. And maybe he glared. Just a little bit. But she didn't seem to notice.
Dean did, of course, kicking him under the coffee table. “Don't worry about Sam. He won't think you're crazy. This is what we do. And I won't think you're crazy either.”
She hesitated a moment, clasping her hands in her lap. She had on a knee-length blue and white patterned skirt, with a white blouse. She fiddled with a small crease in her skirt then looked up again. “You've seen it, Dean?”
Dean nodded solemnly and Sam thought maybe this was his opportunity to hear from Dean without having to ask.
Elena blinked slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks and Sam was momentarily reminded of Jessica and how Jess' lashes always seemed to grace her cheeks without ever seeming like she was shy or a tease.
“So you know what it looks like, then? Does it terrify you as much as it does me?” Her voice was small and though Sam thought she might be able to face anything with quiet determination, this seemed to set her back.
Sam caught Dean shooting him a glance out of the corner of his eye and he shifted, coughing, before responding “Yeah, it is a little frightening.”
Sam couldn't be sure if he was just comforting her or if in fact he was toning it down, not wanting to seem weak in front of Sam. That was usually how Dean acted—always needing to play the big brother and protector. Protectors couldn't be scared. Dean had told him that back when Sam was nine and terrified of the thing in his closet. Dad had just given him the gun and, sitting on his bed with it in his lap, Sam had asked Dean why he wasn't scared.
I'm your big brother, Sammy. And I gotta protect you. Protectors can't be scared, or we can't do our job. Someday, you'll see that, too.
Elena continued, “It-it comes in my dreams. Not like Nikolai. He says it speaks to him, comes face to face. But maybe I'm not special enough like him to have it visit me in person. And I'm grateful, actually. I started out telling him it wasn't real, that he was just dreaming, but he's never seemed scared.”
“What do you see?” Dean asked.
“It's like,” she stared out the window into the sunlight. “It's like a giant moth. It has these wings and antenna. Its got these red eyes.” She laughed. “It's very strange, because back home, we have myths about these creatures. I always thought they were fake—the myths, I mean—until I saw it. I never expected one of the legends to be true, understand? They're only stories...” she trailed off.
Dean leaned forward a bit. “Sam and I...let's just say, we know these things aren't just stories. Legends are told for a reason, usually to scare kids, but they tend to come from reality. We've seen a lot of things.”
She patted him on the cheek. “I can't imagine what you two have seen. And I'm glad I haven't.”
“Innocence is bliss,” Sam muttered, too quiet for even Dean to pick up. It must be nice to not have to believe, to imagine they were all just stories. But he couldn't say anymore that not knowing was what he wanted for himself. Boring though it could get, he had fallen into a routine with Dean. It wasn't so bad. Helping people was what he'd planned on doing as a lawyer; now he just did it in a job where there were far fewer representatives for the people.
“So, has it told you anything? Given you messages?” Sam picked up, remembering what the witnesses in Point Pleasant and Abe had said.
She turned to him. “No, not really. I couldn't tell you what it wants, only that it appears. I get this sense of foreboding, but nothing specific.”
Dean looked confused at that, brow wrinkling up and about to say something, but just then, Nikolai came through the door, dirt on his nose and smiling wide.
“Mama!”
“Hello, Nikolai,” Elena said, holding out her arms for a hug which the boy gladly ran to, wiping the dirt smudge off at the same time.
He noticed Dean then. “Mister! You're back.”
“I am,” Dean said, grinning, reaching over to ruffle the black hair. “You want to go play outside?” he asked Nikolai but it was directed to Elena, too.
“Of course,” she said, letting her son go. “Nikolai, go play with Dean in the yard, da? I bet he'd love to see your coloring books. Maybe, if you ask nicely, he'll color with you.”
“Oh, please, Dean, will you?” Nikolai fairly bounced up and down, a shock of hair flopping onto his forehead before he brushed it back. Then he flushed and looked down at his shoes. “I mean, can I call you Dean, Mister?”
Dean chuckled, standing. “Go ahead, kid. None of this 'Mister' stuff. I'm not much older than your mom. Definitely not 'Mister' age yet.”
Nikolai looked up, a grin breaking out across his face and tugged on Dean's hand.
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Sam and Elena stood at the window looking out into the back yard where, indeed, Dean was coloring with Nikolai. It looked like a Superman coloring book from there.
“Your brother is very good with kids, Sam.”
“Yeah,” Sam's mouth lifted a little. “He is, isn't he? I think it's 'cause he had to raise me.”
She turned to look at him but he kept his gaze on the pair outside. “Where was your mother, your father?”
“My mom, she died when I was only six months old. In a fire. Dean carried me out. And my dad...” he let out a breath of air. “Dad was busy with his work. It often dragged him away from us. I know he never really meant for it to, and he'd leave us with friends a lot. But still, it was Dean who made dinner and did laundry till I was old enough to help.”
“That's very sad. I can see he did well, though. You're a good man.”
“Yeah, he did,” Sam smiled sadly, thinking that her words echoed his thoughts from a day or so back. “I was the one who went to college, and he stayed to help Dad. Dean's always been good with responsibility.”
She turned back to the window. “I never got to go to college. I was seventeen when I got pregnant with Nikolai and Sasha and I moved here. I remember, I had these great plans. I was going to become an art history teacher one day. I loved painting and I loved history. It seemed to be the best job ever.”
“What do you do now? I mean, Sasha?” he questioned. She nodded. “Sasha isn't here to help and you have this gorgeous home and seem very happy.”
“Well, we bought the house while Sasha was still alive. But I do paint. And I sell my paintings throughout the state. Oil and watercolors. It pays the bills.”
Sam nodded. “It just wasn't what you planned.”
“No, but it's not bad. There's just not much of a need for art history up north, here. I am happy. And the important thing is, Nikolai is. He brags about me all the time to his classmates,” she smiled. “And so, I wouldn't change it for the world.”
“I know what you mean.” Hunting wasn't what he'd wanted to do with his life, but it made Dean happy and Dean was his Nikolai.
They stood there, shoulder to arm, in silence, watching as Dean slowly chased after the sable-haired boy who was giggling madly.
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They didn't leave until late that night. Dean and Nikolai had played until supper time, Sam even joining in for awhile. Elena had insisted they stay for dinner. She'd cooked halibut and mushroom soup, that Sam was surprised Dean ate, but then again, it was some of the most delicious food he'd ever tasted. Nothing like honest-to-God home cooking. For dessert, they'd had Russian cherry teacakes. Sam had snickered as Dean eyed it like it might grow horns, but he'd taken one bite, and frankly, Sam didn't want to consider just what the expression on his brother's face was.
When they'd finished, Elena had sent them off with the leftovers and a kiss on the cheek of them both, telling them to come back soon, or Nikolai would get bored without his new playmate. To which Nikolai had cheerfully attested to when he didn't want to let go of Dean's hand as they left.
Something had stirred in Sam's chest, a feeling that only made him hate himself more for the disgusting feelings that were slowly invading his mind. Dean deserved something more than Sam, and more than hunting. While Sam had been the only one to ever voice a desire for 'normal', he figured it was something Dean just never thought he could have. But it didn't have to be like that and it shouldn't be like that. Dean deserved his own kids. No one could ask for a better father.
After Elena's, they'd run back to the cabin, paid for another week, and grabbed their laundry. Sitting in the laundromat, the light fading as their clothes whirled round, Sam asked what Nikolai had told Dean.
Dean plopped into a chair, sticking his feet up on a shaky card table.
“Nothing unusual, based on what we've read. He's seen it in his dreams. But also, he says it watches him—watches out for him. That he'll see it in the yard gazing at him at night. Scaring away the 'monsters in the night', as he called them.”
“Do you think these monsters are something else we have to worry about?” Sam asked, leaning against the rumbling machine.
“Nah, I don't think so. I think those really are his dreams. I didn't pick up any readings in their house today, so I don't think there's anything to worry about. Outside though...right by his window. That's where Nikolai said the thing stands and watches.”
“Creepy.”
“No kidding. I think I would have been scared, even knowing what I did at his age.”
Sam noticed Dean didn't comment on just how scared of the thing he actually was, even now.
“According to him it's mentioned that something terrible is going to happen. That one hundred and five are going to die if it's not stopped.” Dean paused, leaning forward in his chair, feet now on the floor. “That's what it keeps telling me. I keep getting that same number, over and over in my head.”
“What do you think it means?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead and when he glanced up, Sam could see he was exhausted. “I don't know, Sam. I don't know.”
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They made it back to their cabin around midnight, both more tired than they should be. Sam wasn't physically tired so much as mentally. He kept watching Dean who seemed to move slowly and didn't react to Sam's half-hearted needling.
“What's the plan for tomorrow?” Sam asked, half-dressed and sprawled on his bed, letting the cool gusts from the air conditioner wash over him.
Dean continued untying his boots, tight tee stretching across broad shoulders and riding up his back. Sam looked away.
“I figure we'll go talk to the cops since we didn't make it over there today. Or maybe, just you, since you seem to actually like law enforcement.”
“What'll you do then?”
“I don't know. Maybe do some of my own research. Follow up on those people who told us they'd seen large birds. See if they really saw this thing.”
“'K.”
They were both silent for awhile and Sam was just about to really get cleaned up and climb into bed when Dean spoke quietly.
“The thing is, this isn't like other monsters we've dealt with. Should we kill it—even if it can be? It doesn't seem to be doing any harm.”
Sam sat up. “Maybe that's part of it, though. Instilling fear...”
“But you didn't see any evidence of that though, right? Not in the past cases.”
Sam shook his head.
Dean scrubbed his face with his hands, silver ring catching on his lip and exposing the slick inside for a moment. “Tomorrow we'll figure something out.” He stood up, sliding off boots and jeans before climbing onto his bed, facing away from Sam.
Sam stared at Dean's back, trying to read it as though it could turn into a writ of certori and Sam would instantly understand, until Dean muttered, “Quit staring and turn out the light.”
Sam hesitated a moment before turning off the lamp. He could see well enough in the dark. He could deal with that. He couldn't deal with seeing Dean feel so helpless.
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He woke later that night when weight pressed down on his bed. He blinked sleepily, eyes not adjusted to the dark.
“Dean?” he asked.
“S-s-s-so...c-c-cold, S-samm-m-y.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam said when he felt his brother, who was ice cold to the touch. He lifted the blankets and maneuvered Dean's shivering body underneath. “What happened?”
“I-I saw it. O-outside...there.”
Sam glanced out the window, but saw nothing. If he could have seen it, it was gone. “Hey, it's ok, it's ok.”
“I know,” mumbled Dean, curling towards Sam, not close enough to be cuddling, but close enough.
Sam rubbed a hand up and down his brother's biceps, trying to infuse some warmth back into him. Eventually, Dean stopped shivering and his breathing slowed, signaling he'd returned to sleep. Sam kissed the top of his brother's head--as Dean had done so many times to him when he was scared--and fell asleep, hand still resting on Dean's arm.
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The next day was uneventful. Sam had talked to the police who'd been more than eager, as Dean had predicted, to be included in a book and had shown Sam dozens of reports of big bird sightings, red eyes, weird things outside people's windows. Sam called Dean with the addresses of the ones he felt were viable and they agreed to meet up at one of the local bars around seven.
When Sam got there, Dean was already nursing a beer and talking to a young woman. Sam sidled up behind Dean, meaning to project 'off limits', but the girl didn't even bother looking at him.
Dean, however, smiled at him and introduced 'Samantha' who was stopping through on her way to camp with some friends in the Boundry Waters. Sam just nodded and ordered a basket of fries and a Sam Adams. Dean excused himself, telling Samantha he'd be over in a bit, he had to talk with his brother.
“What'd you find out?” Sam asked, half-heartedly smacking his brother's hand when Dean snuck a fry.
“A bunch of other people have seen the thing, but nobody's frightened. Most of them, since Abe, have assumed his hysteria was catching and that they never saw anything at all. It seems only the four of us—Abe, Elena, Nikolai, and me—have had more than base contact with it. I'm just not sure where to go from here. If it is a warning, I don't know what to do with it. But how can we kill something if there's a chance it'll tell us what we need to save people's lives? One hundred and five lives, Sam.”
“So what do we do 'till then?” Sam asked, taking a swallow of beer. He noted his brother's eyes watching the gulp go down and he flushed a little, grateful for the dim light, despite knowing his brother had meant nothing by it. He licked his lips.
“I think we just have to wait. It'll tell one of us at some point. Right?” Dean glanced down at his beer and called to the bartender for a shot of whiskey. Sam, knowing the question was rhetorical, didn't respond.
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Several hours later found them stumbling back into the room. Dean had, of course, gone back to flirt with Samantha and her dark-haired friend. Sam had gotten into a conversation with a man who turned out to be a law professor at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.
“Mmmmm, we need to do that more often, Sammy,” Dean slurred.
Sam huffed out a laugh as he tried to keep his brother upright. “Go out or fall into our hotel room?”
“Either. Both. But this is the first time we've done something fun here.”
“Hmmm, I remember you saying there weren't any pretty girls to look at so why bother?”
“I was wrong, though,” Dean nearly fell over as he bent to untie his boots. Sam reached out a hand to keep Dean upright as he rested against the wall. “Cute girls tonight. Maybe I could get Elena to go out with me.”
Sam felt those jealous feelings return and it calmed him a little. He really needed to stop thinking like this. He had no claim on Dean. He'd found Jess; Dean had been with Cassie for some time. He hadn't been jealous of Cassie. What was it about Elena?
Dean straightened and stopped himself from falling over by bracing his arms by Sam's head.
Both men seemed to sober up, instantly. Sam could smell the alcohol on his brother's breath, but it was almost a comforting smell.
“Sam...” Dean's voice was barely louder than his harsh breathing, and it sounded awed and nervous.
Sam just stared, unsure as to what he saw in his brother's green eyes, but knowing his impulses were going to be hard to check in a moment, with his own alcohol buzz singing through him.
As the air grew thicker with heat and something unnamable, Dean leaned in until their hips touched and Sam couldn't help the gasp that escaped or the stutter of his hips back into Dean's. But then Dean was right there with him, pelvis slowly grinding in circles, one hand slipping down to grab at Sam's waist. His fingers dug in and he leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips.
Sam was taken aback, still shocked that it could be—was—happening. But he kissed back until they were both out of breath, hips moving in time.
Dean pulled back and whispered, “Sammy,” this time in a husky voice filled with lust, before his eyes rolled back and he slumped into Sam's arms.
“Great. Just great,” Sam muttered.
Part 5
Part 1 and the HUGE header can be found here
The next day they both woke up early to visit Elena. Sam's mind was reeling over the knowledge that Dean had seen this thing. It wasn't the first time Dean had seen something he hadn't; Sam hadn't seen the reaper, after all. But what bothered Sam was that Dean was scared. Dean did not scare easily. But asking him about it further would only be dancing on the edge of that kiss and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to face that precipice. They'd managed to avoid it so far and probably would continue to do so as long as they could—possibly forever.
They arrived at a small, charming rust and cobblestone house. The large garden was filled with tall and small flowers and several brown trellises. Simple curtains peeked through windows and a few toys, including a bike, decorated the front yard. When they rang the bell and Elena opened the door, smiling at them, Sam couldn't help but feel out of place. Though her smile included him, it seemed geared towards Dean and his brother even managed a non-leering grin back.
It was only made worse when she grabbed Dean's hand, tugging him inside, and Sam watched Dean's face light up.
Eventually, after a few pleasantries, he and Dean sat down in her richly colored living room, piano music trickling in. It was very obvious that Elena was Russian. She had icons and paintings of Jesus and Mary, those little Russian painted eggs, and nesting dolls. Sam thought Dean would scoff at the religious symbols but instead he seemed to accept them and even pointed out an exceptionally exquisite statue.
Sam shoved all the weird jealousy he was feeling far to the back of his brain to concentrate on the matter at hand. After all, he was only jealous that Dean's attention wasn't on him--in the brotherly sense. He'd simply gotten used to being the only one Dean paid attention to.
“I'm sorry,” Elena spoke up, “Nikolai will be home shortly. He's still at a friend's house right now. He slept over.”
“Not a problem,” Dean said. “How about we talk to you first?”
She glanced over at Sam. And maybe he glared. Just a little bit. But she didn't seem to notice.
Dean did, of course, kicking him under the coffee table. “Don't worry about Sam. He won't think you're crazy. This is what we do. And I won't think you're crazy either.”
She hesitated a moment, clasping her hands in her lap. She had on a knee-length blue and white patterned skirt, with a white blouse. She fiddled with a small crease in her skirt then looked up again. “You've seen it, Dean?”
Dean nodded solemnly and Sam thought maybe this was his opportunity to hear from Dean without having to ask.
Elena blinked slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks and Sam was momentarily reminded of Jessica and how Jess' lashes always seemed to grace her cheeks without ever seeming like she was shy or a tease.
“So you know what it looks like, then? Does it terrify you as much as it does me?” Her voice was small and though Sam thought she might be able to face anything with quiet determination, this seemed to set her back.
Sam caught Dean shooting him a glance out of the corner of his eye and he shifted, coughing, before responding “Yeah, it is a little frightening.”
Sam couldn't be sure if he was just comforting her or if in fact he was toning it down, not wanting to seem weak in front of Sam. That was usually how Dean acted—always needing to play the big brother and protector. Protectors couldn't be scared. Dean had told him that back when Sam was nine and terrified of the thing in his closet. Dad had just given him the gun and, sitting on his bed with it in his lap, Sam had asked Dean why he wasn't scared.
I'm your big brother, Sammy. And I gotta protect you. Protectors can't be scared, or we can't do our job. Someday, you'll see that, too.
Elena continued, “It-it comes in my dreams. Not like Nikolai. He says it speaks to him, comes face to face. But maybe I'm not special enough like him to have it visit me in person. And I'm grateful, actually. I started out telling him it wasn't real, that he was just dreaming, but he's never seemed scared.”
“What do you see?” Dean asked.
“It's like,” she stared out the window into the sunlight. “It's like a giant moth. It has these wings and antenna. Its got these red eyes.” She laughed. “It's very strange, because back home, we have myths about these creatures. I always thought they were fake—the myths, I mean—until I saw it. I never expected one of the legends to be true, understand? They're only stories...” she trailed off.
Dean leaned forward a bit. “Sam and I...let's just say, we know these things aren't just stories. Legends are told for a reason, usually to scare kids, but they tend to come from reality. We've seen a lot of things.”
She patted him on the cheek. “I can't imagine what you two have seen. And I'm glad I haven't.”
“Innocence is bliss,” Sam muttered, too quiet for even Dean to pick up. It must be nice to not have to believe, to imagine they were all just stories. But he couldn't say anymore that not knowing was what he wanted for himself. Boring though it could get, he had fallen into a routine with Dean. It wasn't so bad. Helping people was what he'd planned on doing as a lawyer; now he just did it in a job where there were far fewer representatives for the people.
“So, has it told you anything? Given you messages?” Sam picked up, remembering what the witnesses in Point Pleasant and Abe had said.
She turned to him. “No, not really. I couldn't tell you what it wants, only that it appears. I get this sense of foreboding, but nothing specific.”
Dean looked confused at that, brow wrinkling up and about to say something, but just then, Nikolai came through the door, dirt on his nose and smiling wide.
“Mama!”
“Hello, Nikolai,” Elena said, holding out her arms for a hug which the boy gladly ran to, wiping the dirt smudge off at the same time.
He noticed Dean then. “Mister! You're back.”
“I am,” Dean said, grinning, reaching over to ruffle the black hair. “You want to go play outside?” he asked Nikolai but it was directed to Elena, too.
“Of course,” she said, letting her son go. “Nikolai, go play with Dean in the yard, da? I bet he'd love to see your coloring books. Maybe, if you ask nicely, he'll color with you.”
“Oh, please, Dean, will you?” Nikolai fairly bounced up and down, a shock of hair flopping onto his forehead before he brushed it back. Then he flushed and looked down at his shoes. “I mean, can I call you Dean, Mister?”
Dean chuckled, standing. “Go ahead, kid. None of this 'Mister' stuff. I'm not much older than your mom. Definitely not 'Mister' age yet.”
Nikolai looked up, a grin breaking out across his face and tugged on Dean's hand.
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Sam and Elena stood at the window looking out into the back yard where, indeed, Dean was coloring with Nikolai. It looked like a Superman coloring book from there.
“Your brother is very good with kids, Sam.”
“Yeah,” Sam's mouth lifted a little. “He is, isn't he? I think it's 'cause he had to raise me.”
She turned to look at him but he kept his gaze on the pair outside. “Where was your mother, your father?”
“My mom, she died when I was only six months old. In a fire. Dean carried me out. And my dad...” he let out a breath of air. “Dad was busy with his work. It often dragged him away from us. I know he never really meant for it to, and he'd leave us with friends a lot. But still, it was Dean who made dinner and did laundry till I was old enough to help.”
“That's very sad. I can see he did well, though. You're a good man.”
“Yeah, he did,” Sam smiled sadly, thinking that her words echoed his thoughts from a day or so back. “I was the one who went to college, and he stayed to help Dad. Dean's always been good with responsibility.”
She turned back to the window. “I never got to go to college. I was seventeen when I got pregnant with Nikolai and Sasha and I moved here. I remember, I had these great plans. I was going to become an art history teacher one day. I loved painting and I loved history. It seemed to be the best job ever.”
“What do you do now? I mean, Sasha?” he questioned. She nodded. “Sasha isn't here to help and you have this gorgeous home and seem very happy.”
“Well, we bought the house while Sasha was still alive. But I do paint. And I sell my paintings throughout the state. Oil and watercolors. It pays the bills.”
Sam nodded. “It just wasn't what you planned.”
“No, but it's not bad. There's just not much of a need for art history up north, here. I am happy. And the important thing is, Nikolai is. He brags about me all the time to his classmates,” she smiled. “And so, I wouldn't change it for the world.”
“I know what you mean.” Hunting wasn't what he'd wanted to do with his life, but it made Dean happy and Dean was his Nikolai.
They stood there, shoulder to arm, in silence, watching as Dean slowly chased after the sable-haired boy who was giggling madly.
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They didn't leave until late that night. Dean and Nikolai had played until supper time, Sam even joining in for awhile. Elena had insisted they stay for dinner. She'd cooked halibut and mushroom soup, that Sam was surprised Dean ate, but then again, it was some of the most delicious food he'd ever tasted. Nothing like honest-to-God home cooking. For dessert, they'd had Russian cherry teacakes. Sam had snickered as Dean eyed it like it might grow horns, but he'd taken one bite, and frankly, Sam didn't want to consider just what the expression on his brother's face was.
When they'd finished, Elena had sent them off with the leftovers and a kiss on the cheek of them both, telling them to come back soon, or Nikolai would get bored without his new playmate. To which Nikolai had cheerfully attested to when he didn't want to let go of Dean's hand as they left.
Something had stirred in Sam's chest, a feeling that only made him hate himself more for the disgusting feelings that were slowly invading his mind. Dean deserved something more than Sam, and more than hunting. While Sam had been the only one to ever voice a desire for 'normal', he figured it was something Dean just never thought he could have. But it didn't have to be like that and it shouldn't be like that. Dean deserved his own kids. No one could ask for a better father.
After Elena's, they'd run back to the cabin, paid for another week, and grabbed their laundry. Sitting in the laundromat, the light fading as their clothes whirled round, Sam asked what Nikolai had told Dean.
Dean plopped into a chair, sticking his feet up on a shaky card table.
“Nothing unusual, based on what we've read. He's seen it in his dreams. But also, he says it watches him—watches out for him. That he'll see it in the yard gazing at him at night. Scaring away the 'monsters in the night', as he called them.”
“Do you think these monsters are something else we have to worry about?” Sam asked, leaning against the rumbling machine.
“Nah, I don't think so. I think those really are his dreams. I didn't pick up any readings in their house today, so I don't think there's anything to worry about. Outside though...right by his window. That's where Nikolai said the thing stands and watches.”
“Creepy.”
“No kidding. I think I would have been scared, even knowing what I did at his age.”
Sam noticed Dean didn't comment on just how scared of the thing he actually was, even now.
“According to him it's mentioned that something terrible is going to happen. That one hundred and five are going to die if it's not stopped.” Dean paused, leaning forward in his chair, feet now on the floor. “That's what it keeps telling me. I keep getting that same number, over and over in my head.”
“What do you think it means?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead and when he glanced up, Sam could see he was exhausted. “I don't know, Sam. I don't know.”
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They made it back to their cabin around midnight, both more tired than they should be. Sam wasn't physically tired so much as mentally. He kept watching Dean who seemed to move slowly and didn't react to Sam's half-hearted needling.
“What's the plan for tomorrow?” Sam asked, half-dressed and sprawled on his bed, letting the cool gusts from the air conditioner wash over him.
Dean continued untying his boots, tight tee stretching across broad shoulders and riding up his back. Sam looked away.
“I figure we'll go talk to the cops since we didn't make it over there today. Or maybe, just you, since you seem to actually like law enforcement.”
“What'll you do then?”
“I don't know. Maybe do some of my own research. Follow up on those people who told us they'd seen large birds. See if they really saw this thing.”
“'K.”
They were both silent for awhile and Sam was just about to really get cleaned up and climb into bed when Dean spoke quietly.
“The thing is, this isn't like other monsters we've dealt with. Should we kill it—even if it can be? It doesn't seem to be doing any harm.”
Sam sat up. “Maybe that's part of it, though. Instilling fear...”
“But you didn't see any evidence of that though, right? Not in the past cases.”
Sam shook his head.
Dean scrubbed his face with his hands, silver ring catching on his lip and exposing the slick inside for a moment. “Tomorrow we'll figure something out.” He stood up, sliding off boots and jeans before climbing onto his bed, facing away from Sam.
Sam stared at Dean's back, trying to read it as though it could turn into a writ of certori and Sam would instantly understand, until Dean muttered, “Quit staring and turn out the light.”
Sam hesitated a moment before turning off the lamp. He could see well enough in the dark. He could deal with that. He couldn't deal with seeing Dean feel so helpless.
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He woke later that night when weight pressed down on his bed. He blinked sleepily, eyes not adjusted to the dark.
“Dean?” he asked.
“S-s-s-so...c-c-cold, S-samm-m-y.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam said when he felt his brother, who was ice cold to the touch. He lifted the blankets and maneuvered Dean's shivering body underneath. “What happened?”
“I-I saw it. O-outside...there.”
Sam glanced out the window, but saw nothing. If he could have seen it, it was gone. “Hey, it's ok, it's ok.”
“I know,” mumbled Dean, curling towards Sam, not close enough to be cuddling, but close enough.
Sam rubbed a hand up and down his brother's biceps, trying to infuse some warmth back into him. Eventually, Dean stopped shivering and his breathing slowed, signaling he'd returned to sleep. Sam kissed the top of his brother's head--as Dean had done so many times to him when he was scared--and fell asleep, hand still resting on Dean's arm.
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The next day was uneventful. Sam had talked to the police who'd been more than eager, as Dean had predicted, to be included in a book and had shown Sam dozens of reports of big bird sightings, red eyes, weird things outside people's windows. Sam called Dean with the addresses of the ones he felt were viable and they agreed to meet up at one of the local bars around seven.
When Sam got there, Dean was already nursing a beer and talking to a young woman. Sam sidled up behind Dean, meaning to project 'off limits', but the girl didn't even bother looking at him.
Dean, however, smiled at him and introduced 'Samantha' who was stopping through on her way to camp with some friends in the Boundry Waters. Sam just nodded and ordered a basket of fries and a Sam Adams. Dean excused himself, telling Samantha he'd be over in a bit, he had to talk with his brother.
“What'd you find out?” Sam asked, half-heartedly smacking his brother's hand when Dean snuck a fry.
“A bunch of other people have seen the thing, but nobody's frightened. Most of them, since Abe, have assumed his hysteria was catching and that they never saw anything at all. It seems only the four of us—Abe, Elena, Nikolai, and me—have had more than base contact with it. I'm just not sure where to go from here. If it is a warning, I don't know what to do with it. But how can we kill something if there's a chance it'll tell us what we need to save people's lives? One hundred and five lives, Sam.”
“So what do we do 'till then?” Sam asked, taking a swallow of beer. He noted his brother's eyes watching the gulp go down and he flushed a little, grateful for the dim light, despite knowing his brother had meant nothing by it. He licked his lips.
“I think we just have to wait. It'll tell one of us at some point. Right?” Dean glanced down at his beer and called to the bartender for a shot of whiskey. Sam, knowing the question was rhetorical, didn't respond.
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Several hours later found them stumbling back into the room. Dean had, of course, gone back to flirt with Samantha and her dark-haired friend. Sam had gotten into a conversation with a man who turned out to be a law professor at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.
“Mmmmm, we need to do that more often, Sammy,” Dean slurred.
Sam huffed out a laugh as he tried to keep his brother upright. “Go out or fall into our hotel room?”
“Either. Both. But this is the first time we've done something fun here.”
“Hmmm, I remember you saying there weren't any pretty girls to look at so why bother?”
“I was wrong, though,” Dean nearly fell over as he bent to untie his boots. Sam reached out a hand to keep Dean upright as he rested against the wall. “Cute girls tonight. Maybe I could get Elena to go out with me.”
Sam felt those jealous feelings return and it calmed him a little. He really needed to stop thinking like this. He had no claim on Dean. He'd found Jess; Dean had been with Cassie for some time. He hadn't been jealous of Cassie. What was it about Elena?
Dean straightened and stopped himself from falling over by bracing his arms by Sam's head.
Both men seemed to sober up, instantly. Sam could smell the alcohol on his brother's breath, but it was almost a comforting smell.
“Sam...” Dean's voice was barely louder than his harsh breathing, and it sounded awed and nervous.
Sam just stared, unsure as to what he saw in his brother's green eyes, but knowing his impulses were going to be hard to check in a moment, with his own alcohol buzz singing through him.
As the air grew thicker with heat and something unnamable, Dean leaned in until their hips touched and Sam couldn't help the gasp that escaped or the stutter of his hips back into Dean's. But then Dean was right there with him, pelvis slowly grinding in circles, one hand slipping down to grab at Sam's waist. His fingers dug in and he leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips.
Sam was taken aback, still shocked that it could be—was—happening. But he kissed back until they were both out of breath, hips moving in time.
Dean pulled back and whispered, “Sammy,” this time in a husky voice filled with lust, before his eyes rolled back and he slumped into Sam's arms.
“Great. Just great,” Sam muttered.
Part 5
