Lost Time Ch. 17

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 17/27
Wordcount: 5,540
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam, Gabriel/OFC
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part

They end up on speakerphone. Bobby sounds even gruffer than normal. "Start from the beginning Sam."

“Brady was a demon.” The words fall flat in the kitchen. Sam expects them to echo ominously, to bring on creepy violins and dim the lights, but they’re delivered and the world stays the way it was only moments before. “I didn’t know when I met him, but I figured it out after I moved in. He fed me this drug, except it wasn’t a drug. It was his blood, and it made me powerful. The dreams started after that, and I could do things. A lot of things. Brady would have me practice them. Telekinesis, honing the visions, and exorcisms. At least he said they were exorcisms. Sometimes the possessed person lived, sometimes they didn’t, but he didn’t really care either way. I drank it for a year, and then I hit my limit after he brought me a little girl and told me to exorcise her. At that point I wasn’t really sure any of it was real, I thought maybe it was a side effect of the drug, all the shit I was seeing, but now I’m sure it was.”

He’d let go of Ophelia’s hand to lean forward and towards the phone. If Bobby was going to kill him Sam could only hope that he’d be given some warning, that Bobby would stick around to care for Ophelia. Someone had to and it didn’t look like Dean would…he cut himself off abruptly. He couldn’t think like that. Dean had to live, whether Sam did or not.

“After Ophelia had me go cold-turkey it all stopped and I thought it was over, but the Shifter dream let me know it wasn’t. The other stuff hasn’t…I haven’t tried but I don’t think it’s come back. Just the dreams.” He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the phone. “So whatever you have to do, can I get things in order first?”

There’s a noise behind him that he can’t identify, and then her chair clattered as Ophelia pushed herself up, grabbed Sam’s shoulder and used it as a guide to move in front of him. She groped upwards 'til she had his face in her hands and then she shook him. “No one’s hurting you. No one. Don’t fucking talk like that. You’re fine, isn’t that right Bobby?”

“Caleb says I need to keep an eye on you, but…” Bobby made a helpless noise and then cleared his throat. “Look Sam, it’s not that I think you’re dangerous just that Caleb says-“

Ophelia’s still got that grip, her face pointed towards Sam like she’s staring at him even though he knows she can’t. He wonders idly if she’s picturing his face right now. “Caleb can take a long fucking walk off a short pier. Caleb is not here, Caleb does not know Sam, but Bobby does. Has he ever been dangerous Bobby? Ever?”

Sam can practically hear Bobby consider it, see him weigh the pros and cons for a long silent minute in his mind's eye, and then his decision is made. “No. He hasn’t.”

Sam keeps his mouth shut. The logical thing, the responsible thing would be to remind them that Sam is a former addict, and that addicts never really get cured. If there was temptation, if he was offered the blood again, he might take it. He may not be dangerous now but Sam has the potential and he knows it. Still if Bobby lets him off the hook then he has a better chance at reunion if, when, Dean gets better.

He’s not sure what he expects from Ophelia really. Bobby is hesitant, wary, and that’s about the best he could have hoped for. Ophelia is standing in front of him still, arguing for him, but Sam’s fairly certain that when she's had time to consider she won’t be so adamant. After all, he’s admitted to being partly demon and she’s become very vulnerable very quickly. She knows he hurt people now. Knows he's tainted to his very core.

“So we don’t listen to Caleb, and we don’t listen to anyone else who wants to stick their noses in our business. We stay here and they stay there.” Her hands are shaking against his skin, and it takes Sam a moment to look from the phone to Ope’s face. Her mouth is twitching spastically, tears leaking from the bottom of the sunglasses, and there are fine tremors moving over her body.

“Ope? You ok?” Sam is standing in seconds.

“Sam? What's happening Sam?” Bobby sounds on the verge of panic.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is uncertain, thick, and it sends chills through Sam’s blood. “Who lit the goddamn match?” Her hands clenched once, twice, three times, painfully tight on the sides of his face and then she let go and her mouth got back under control. “Jesus I’m tired.”

Sam’s pulling her forward before she can slump, holding her up and carrying her into the living room before gently lowering her onto the armchair. “Ophelia are you ok? Do you know where you are?”

The face she makes is one of distaste. “I’m at home in the living room Sam. I’m fine, just fucking tired. Emotionally draining day. Let’s go to bed ok?” He doesn’t miss the plaintive note. They’ve been sharing the same bed since the day she woke up. It’s been the only consistent time she’s let him touch her, because it’s when she’s the most scared. Bad things come in the dark in her thought process, and they can see through it.

Sam gets the phone, explains to Bobby, and then goes back to the living room and tries to sound soothing. “Ok Ope. Let’s go to bed.”

He waits for her to fall asleep as he rubs at her back, and when she’s out he slips from the bed and calls Bobby back. His voice is weary, and Sam can’t imagine he sounds any better. “What the hell was that?”

Sam’s got a suspicion but he doesn’t like it. He heads for the computer set up in the living room and opens the web browser before searching. He gets his answer fairly quickly. “Simple partial seizure. Fuck.”

Bobby makes a noise and then Sam hears somebody call his name in the background. "Ok boy. What do you want me to do next?"

Sam stared at the screen desolately, and then stood and looked around the room. “I don’t know Bobby. She needs a goddamn doctor. We have no idea if this is really related to the ritual. She could have gotten head trauma anytime and that could cause it. There could be a serious problem here.” Epilepsy, neurological condition, cancer Sam’s head helpfully supplies. Most of which had symptoms Ophelia had no way of explaining or recognizing.

He can hear Bobby's hand scraping on his own stubble. The wonder of modern technology. “I’m sorry Sam. I shouldn’t have even considered what Caleb was saying. She’s right, he doesn’t know you.”

“But he knows what I did somehow.” Sam’s still not clear on that part, how they could possibly know any of that when even Ophelia didn’t know the details. “I did a lot of bad shit Bobby. It’s natural not to trust me. I don’t always trust me.”

Bobby grunts noncommittally and then says something Sam can't make out to someone else. “You’d take a bullet for her. You’ve patched her up better than I ever could, and you’ve always taken care of her after she gets herself hurt.” Another muffled conversation and then Bobby is back. “You may be dangerous to others, but to be honest she comes first and she’d die without you. Understand?”

Sam nodded once, swallowed, and then revisited the other part of their earlier conversation. “What are Dean’s chances?”

“Truthfully? Not good Sam. I’m sorry ‘bout that too.”

Sam swallows hard and makes sounds that may or may not be words. Bobby eventually cuts off the conversation and Sam is infinitely grateful. He puts the phone in his pocket and heads for the bedroom. Keeps his eyes closed and counts off forty-five steps in her slow pace. When he reaches the bedroom he pulls her against him, and cries into her hair. If she wakes she’s good enough not to speak.




------




Dean wakes from a nightmare he can’t remember to a tube in his throat and wires attached to every surface of his body. He thrashes briefly, gets himself under control even as doctors and nurses are swarming him to take the tube out.

He looks around to see his dad, beaten and tired looking, standing in the doorway. They’ve killed the demon that killed mom. Vengeance is theirs, and yet there’s a hollow feeling because Dean needs to finally talk about Sam. The ice chips in his mouth melt slowly as he tries to muster up the strength to talk through his ripped up throat, but his father steps forward and commandeers the conversation before Dean can try very hard.

He leans in, the familiar scent of his father’s aftershave replaced by hospital smells and a faint lingering scent of sulfur that raises alarms 'til John’s words penetrate his brain, whispered directly into his ear.

“Dean. You’ve always made me proud and I love you son. I’m sorry about Sam, it had to be done, but now that you’ve found him keep an eye on him. Watch him. Keep him on the straight and narrow boy, because if he falls off, even for a second, you’re going to have to put him down.”

Before Dean can make words pass his pain and incredulity his father is up, meeting his eyes, and then gone. It’s the last time Dean sees his father alive.




-----



Eleven days after Dean has left and Sam is leading Ophelia along the ropes he set up on the porch. He has to watch her carefully here, there’s ice she can slip on, the back of the house faces a slope and if she falls over the railing…

She jerks once and grabs at the rope fearfully when Sam's phone rings. It occurs to Sam that there hasn’t been much in the way of noise between the two of them since the day he confessed his sins. Sam answers the phone and steadies her. Bobby tells him about the sudden death, the waking up, and that they're coming. He adds that Caleb is following them. Sam offers only one sentence in response. “We’ll be ready for you.”

It’s odd, but Sam understands after a moment. When Bobby said his dad was dead he meant John Winchester. John Winchester is dead, but Dean is awake. Dean is alive, and so much weight falls off of Sam’s shoulders he almost stumbles at the relief of it.  “Ok.” His lips feel numb again and when Ope touches him awkwardly he grabs her up and squeezes tightly. “Dean’s alive.”

She hugs him back, and then pats his back twice to suggest he’s crushing her. He lets go and makes sure her footing is secure before he steps back. Everything else can wait, all the other worries and fears can wait, because Dean is alive. The world is beautiful again, the sun doesn’t seem such an affront to Sam’s sensibilities, there’s blood pumping in his veins because Dean’s is going to keep pumping too. It’s stupidly whimsical and romantic but Sam feels like the female protagonist in a musical, like any second ghostly instruments will indicate he has a song cue he’s missing.

Ope’s question is the reality check that assures Sam won’t sing aloud. “Who are we getting ready for?”

That’s when Sam finally buckles down. “Bobby and Dean are coming here. They're bringing Caleb.”

Sam watches the way her face tightens. How she grips the rope and shakes her head once before cursing, low and hard, and then making her slow way inside.




-----




Every time Dean closes his eyes he sees the progression of events. The death of Azazel, the impact of the truck, waking to his father and that fucking horrible set of last words, and then hearing the doctors and nurses scrambling, and the shouts for a crash cart. The finale is always the pyre, Bobby laying one heavy hand on his shoulder and Dean struggling not to shrug it off. Caleb standing silently in the background. It’s strange, but all he wants at that moment is the warm and familiar weight of Sam. The thought isn’t healthy, doesn’t jive with Dean’s determination to make them brothers instead of lovers, but it’s all he can goddamn think about.

He realizes now Sam will never know their father, never see the link between them, and what the hell killed his father anyway? He remembers the fleeting impression of sulfur, and Bobby telling him over and over again how they thought he’d die. He never uses the word miracle, and Dean’s pretty sure he knows why.

So between the weight of being told he may need to kill his baby brother and the possibility that his father sold his soul for him Dean would like to just get blind drunk and never move. When Bobby tells him how badly the Impala is damaged, the only home Dean has ever had, he shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It can’t dent the rest of the tragedy Dean is dealing with. Water off a duck’s back.

Bobby drives them to Maine, and when they turn down the driveway Caleb mumbles, “Pretty damn isolated.” Dean manages to grunt his agreement.

The two of them are waiting on the walkway, and Dean vaguely registers that a long rope has been set up along the length of the porch before Sam is pulling Ophelia forward and muttering, “Two steps, straight forward.”

Her arms move out, and Dean’s shocked to find that he wants this. She grips him tightly, her little body pressed into his and swallowed by him, and he feels the solid weight of her even as she speaks gently. “Dean. Hi.” He realizes that she’s probably the only one here who really understands his mixture of grief and guilt, and no one else knows the depth of that sympathy. Except she doesn't know that, that they're now connected in being the cause of their parent's deaths. He grips her a bit tighter and then lets go.

Sam steps up next, face tight and unsure. They stand there awkwardly, and then Dean reaches out first and pulls Sam forward. They hug for a short time, Dean keeping the contact light and breaking it off once it reaches the point he can barely stay there. He longs for it really, the contact and the warmth, but he can’t have it. Can never have it again. He’s too raw to be tempted by it. He needs his brother to grieve with him now. He’s sure that’s what he needs. When he pulls back again he sees the stark outline of bruises on Sam’s jaw, framing his face. They look like fingers, and Sam catches his gaze and shakes his head once, firmly, eyes cutting to Ophelia.

Bobby's already stepped behind him to hug Ophelia tight and Dean waits for Caleb to step forward before he gives introductions. “Caleb, this is Sam.” Sam nods once, eyes wary, and Caleb nods back at him. Ophelia steps up and tilts her face. Dean’s already warned Caleb about her blindness, so Caleb takes the hand she’s held out even as Dean says her name.

There’s silence for a moment, and then Ophelia frowns slightly. “I want to clear the air Caleb, you’re Dean and Bobby's friend, and you’re welcome to stay here a while. On the other hand if you say one ugly word about Sam, threaten him, hell if you even look at him wrong and I find out I’ll figure out a way to make you suffer to your last fucking breath.”

Dean watches Caleb's eyebrows climb his forehead. “Got it ma’am. Thanks for the shelter.”

Her smile is tight, hard, “You’re welcome.” She finally releases Caleb's hand and turns to walk. Dean notices she doesn’t stumble, hears Sam’s low grunt as she reaches the steps and climbs them carefully, and then her hand trails along the rope as she walks in. Dean catches Bobby's eye and the three hunters fall back.

“She’s doing better with the navigation.”

“Ropes help. Lotta practice. Sam’s system.” Dean doesn’t miss the way Bobby stares, how hard he’s focused on Ophelia’s progress across the porch. Caleb stays silent beside them as Dean takes it all in and decides which question to ask first.

“How’d Sam get the bruises?” He hears the sharp undertone in his voice and sees Bobby wince.

“I don't know. Gonna have to ask him son.” Bobby sped up and left them behind as he joined the other two on the porch. Dean rubbed at his mouth for a second and swept his eyes around the yard, taking in the snow and the diminishing wood pile.

“Nice place.” Dean glanced Caleb's way once and then looked back towards the door. “Sam got tall.”

Dean clenched his fists and kept his jaw tight. If he even looked Caleb's way he was afraid he'd break the hunter's neck.





-----





Sam made dinner and tried to avoid everyone’s gaze. He didn’t miss the way the new guy kept his eyes on him, or how Dean couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted to look at. He tried to focus on the length of time the meatballs needed to bake, how much seasoning he should add to the sauce, and slicing garlic bread. Bobby chatted quietly with Caleb and Dean at the table about hunters they knew, cases they’d heard about, what appeared to be a combination of idle chatter and shop talk so bizarre it made his head hurt.

Even the awkwardness before Dean left to help his father couldn’t compare to this. Sam kept finding himself looking to Dean, eyes downcast and sweeping over the older man, and he didn’t like what he saw.

Dean’s face was pale, bruised, and empty. The green eyes stared dully around, occasionally narrowing and then going back to faking interest, faking care, and Sam didn’t miss the way the muscles in his jaw would clench and unclench. He looked distracted, he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. Had he grieved at all, or was he just locking it all down inside of himself and pretending it was ‘business as usual’? Sam was willing to bet on the second one.

Still, distant or no, he was so damn relieved to see Dean back and alive that he could work through the rest of it. They could talk, they could fight, whatever was necessary for Sam to get through to Dean, to break that shell and help him. The rest of it, their relationship, could wait until after Dean had properly grieved. Dean had taken care of Sam, and it was damn well Sam’s turn to take care of Dean.

Bobby gave the meal a gruff compliment and Sam gave an equally short thanks. They ate silently for the most part, Sam keeping one eye on Dean and the other on Ophelia. When dinner was over, and wasn’t Sam grateful for that, Ophelia stood and laid her fingertips on the guide rope before speaking. “Caleb, you’ve got your choice of the living room or the basement. There are fireplaces in both, but the basement couch becomes a bed and the living room one doesn’t.”

Caleb looked at Dean and then adjusted his cap. “Where’s Dean sleeping?”

“My room.” Sam didn’t miss the way Caleb's eyebrows rose, or the suspicious look he sent Dean. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the man was guessing at, and Dean didn’t give any indication he was wrong.

“I’ll take the basement if it’s all the same to yah. My back ain’t too fond of small spaces.” Caleb stood and caught Dean’s eye. “Night.”

Bobby and Dean mumbled a response, Sam stayed silent, and then Caleb was following Ophelia into the living room. Sam suppressed the urge to follow and make sure she didn’t go down the narrow stairs. He’d set up the couch bed earlier in the day, laid down sheets, and lit the fire down there. They’d figured the man would want the privacy and space.

Bobby looked between Dean and Sam, and then stood and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m gonna make sure the girl is ok. I’ll be back.” He ducked from the room, and Sam briefly glimpsed him crossing by again with Ophelia in front of him.

So now it was just him and Dean. Sam took a seat across from him at the table and watched the beloved face carefully.

“How’d you get the bruises?” Dean’s eyes were on his jaw as he asked, and Sam reflexively touched one of the spots before putting his hands down.

“Ophelia was holding my face and she had-“ He swallows here as he considers the doorway for a second. It’s hard to think about because the more research he does the darker the outlook is. She’s experiencing at least two different types of seizures, and there could be more that he's missing. The arguments about taking her to a doctor have become increasingly loud and ugly. “She had a simple partial seizure. She stayed conscious but her hands clamped down. She doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Dean’s eyes moved to the doorway and he leaned forward a bit, hands still clenching and unclenching as he considered. “Is that better or worse than the one she had first?”

“If she were on medication? If she actually had a condition that caused them? If there wasn't a chance there are other side effects she can't feel? Better, but she isn’t and doesn’t, so it’s a symptom of worse. I’m trying to force her to see a doctor, there could be head trauma.”

“But she thinks it’s the ritual and they can’t help.”

Sam nodded hopelessly and then turned and reached, hesitantly touching Dean’s hand before withdrawing quickly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine Sam. Just fine. How are you?” His voice is odd, tight and distant, and Sam winces at the tone of it before composing himself.

“I’m worried about you. You just got out of the hospital and then you traveled halfway across the country. You look like you haven’t slept, haven’t grieved, and none of that is very good for you.” Sam watched Dean jerk involuntarily and plowed ahead. “You lost your dad Dean, you can grieve if you want to. It won’t make you weak.”

“We lost our dad Sam. Jesus, we did.” Dean’s hands fisted at his hair briefly and then scrubbed viciously over his bruised face. “You know that right? You haven’t ignored it in the interest of fucking me that he was your father too and now he’s dead? Are you grieving?”

Sam kept his eyes on Dean’s face, waited for their gazes to be locked, and then swallowed once. Hardened himself against Dean's inevitable reaction. “I’m sorry for you and your loss. I’m sure he was a good man. But I didn’t know him, and he wasn’t my father.”

For half a second, Sam thought Dean had shut off completely, which was why the fist hitting him in the face took him so off-guard. He crashed backwards off his chair and into the china hutch behind him even as Dean was following him down and grabbing his shirt.

They stayed that way, Dean with his fist cocked back and Sam on the floor looking up at him for a long time. It was when Sam touched his own lip hesitantly, felt the split and the trickle of blood, that Dean’s eyes widened. His fist loosened, he stepped back, and then he covered his face and took several deep breaths. “Jesus Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

Dean spun on one heel, and left the room so quickly Sam could barely follow his progress. He stayed there on the floor, feeling the pain in his lip and his lower back and trying to remember what it had been like when everything was happy.





----





Dean had thought the few times Sam had looked at him fearfully would haunt him forever, but the look Sam had in the kitchen was infinitely worse. It had been fear, yes, but only a small amount of it. The dominant look in Sam’s eyes had been acceptance. As if Sam’s place in the universe was on the floor, under the fists of someone he loved. Dean briefly wondered if that was the face Sam had made in front of Brady, the look he’d had when Brady beat him. Dean was as bad as a demon. Not surprising.

He looked up at the knock on the door, and then gruffly stated that it was open. Ophelia came through and found the edge of the bed. Sat carefully. “Dean where’s the ashtray?”

He found one and put it under her hand. “Here to tell me I’m an asshole? ‘Cause believe me sweetheart, I know it well enough.”

She frowned and lit a cigarette before gripping the ashtray carefully. He watched how she tapped after every drag, how her fingers kept testing the edge, and wondered just how much drilling Sam had put her through to make her function so well.

“Why is Caleb here?” She kept her face pointed towards him, her hands moving constantly.

“To make sure I don’t go off the deep end and that Sam ain’t a demon.” Because if he was Dean would have to put him down, and if Dean couldn’t do it Caleb would. Dean had wondered constantly what he would do if any of Caleb's tests came back positive. If he could actually…fuck. It wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, to put this on Dean. To give him his brother back, make him fall in love with the guy, and then tell him he had to kill him. What the fuck had his father been thinking? Not for the first time Dean wished he'd had just a little more time. Enough to get answers.

She nodded as if that’s what she expected and then tapped her cigarette again, she put the ashtray carefully on her knee and then reached over and groped 'til she found Dean’s hand. The one he’d punched Sam with. He almost took it from her, but he held still as she felt the knuckles. “There’s a limit to the amount of mistakes you can make in the wake of your grief. I’d suggest you not cross it.” She paused here and her head moved around the room for a second before resettling on his direction. “Sam had a nightmare about your crash. I’ve never-he’s never been so broken up.”

Dean thought about that, remembered vividly Sam’s panic when she’d been taken. Sam had one of those episodes for Dean. Had one of those episodes and Dean wasn’t there to calm him down. He’d seen the call from her, the voicemail, and ignored it. If he hadn’t would-his thoughts were interrupted when a sharp slap connected with his knuckles.

“I can hear you making everything your fault. It’s goddamn distracting.” For a moment, just a moment, as her head moved around the room again Dean forgot she was blind and followed her gaze. “Do you remember when you stitched me up after the Shifter?”

Dean read the subtext easily. “Yeah I remember.”

“Other people make choices Dean and we can’t control those choices. Even if they’re made for us. You got me?”

Dean nodded once, remembered she couldn’t see it, and grunted acknowledgement. “You were right. They tricked me. Left Sam at that hospital.”

She nodded once absently and stroked his knuckles softly. “Ok. Well that was shitty of them.”

“Dad wanted-he said if Sam-“ Now it was him gripping her hand tightly.

“If Sam was evil you should kill him. I know you don’t agree with Sam’s choice, but do you think he’s evil?”

“No.” It was a whisper and Dean cleared his throat and forced volume. “No, and no one’s gonna hurt him while I’m around.”

She smiled oddly, and nodded before squeezing his hand once. “That’s good. Let me ask you a question though.”

“Yeah?” Dean watched her bite her lip, hesitate, and then she reached up 'til she found his face. Her fingers stroked his jaw once and then settled on his lips.

“Can you roll a joint?”

Dean didn’t try to stop the laughter that bubbled up inside him.




----




Sam walked into the kitchen to find the floodlight outside on and the kitchen door unlocked. He walked out on the porch to see Dean and Ophelia sitting on the bench, each wrapped in a blanket and laughing softly. He took the patio seat and watched them.

Dean turned his way, eyes bright and shining, and Sam saw how dilated his pupils were despite the floodlight’s brightness.

“Are you two high?”

Ophelia put her finger to her mouth and missed, tried again, and then they both started laughing. “Sam. Sammy. High and drunk.” Ophelia held the bottle up and showed him that it was halfway down, amber liquid rolling in the light.

Dean leaned back and grinned at Sam, open and honest in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time, and Sam felt his heart clench. “Your friend is a lightweight. I’m not close to drunk.”

Ophelia struck out and managed to land a blow to Dean’s chest. “I’m your friend too you huge dick.”

Sam didn’t want to laugh, didn’t want to encourage them, but he did anyway. It was so normal, so good to see them like this. To see them both smiling honestly for the first time in so long. “Was this a really good idea?”

“Best idea she ever had.” Dean leaned forward and slapped Sam once on the knee, hand lingering for half a second and then jerking back. “You’re a good guy Sam. Good guy. Nobody can say different.”

Ophelia shook her head and then leaned forwards and pointed towards the yard. “No one but assholes.”

Dean nodded, over serious, and Sam almost stood up and left. It wasn’t quite what he wanted, but it was close. It was hard to be near. “Well thank you both. Let’s see what you say when you’re sober.”

She waved a hand and pointed again, directions all off, “Shut up Sam. Good guy. Now and forever. Put the match out.”

He felt the smile die on his face, remembered what she had said last time and really looked at her. Her mouth was jerking again, hands gripping the blanket and letting it go spastically. “Ophelia do you smell something?”

“Sulfur. Goddamn sulfur.” Her body started to tremble and Dean looked over in alarm. “If the bond is broken then everything is lost. It was the only way out. The only way and it broke. So fix it.” Her hands clenched and unclenched, nostrils flared, and Dean was in front of her and pulling her sunglasses off before Sam could move.

He watched as her eyes jittered back and forth, mouth moving even without sound and tears leaking down her face. “Ophelia.” Dean’s voice was a bucket of cold water, authoritative and calm. “You’re having another seizure. It’s ok, Sam and I are here.”

It happened so quickly Sam couldn’t quite explain it to himself later. She reached out, hand jerking and shaking the whole way 'til she had a death grip on Dean’s shoulder even as her mouth continued to twitch and spasm. “It’s watching us.”

If Dean hadn’t been there she would have hit the ground, and he managed to spread the blanket over the porch floor as she jerked on it. Her eyes rolled up, whole body involved in the tremors now as her hands drummed helplessly at her sides. It hadn’t been this bad since the first one, and Sam felt the tears on his face as he watched her.

When it was over she covered her face, and Sam saw what had happened in the midst of her seizure. He pitched his voice low and soft. “Ope. Let’s get you inside and change your clothes. It’s bed time ok?”

She nodded, moaned low and thick in the back of her throat, and let Dean wrap her up in the blanket and lift her from the ground. Sam opened doors for them, took her from Dean at the bathroom and stripped her down accepting clean clothes from Dean’s outstretched hand. She stayed pliant, weak, and Sam made sure she was fully clean before holding her soiled clothes out the door so Dean could toss them down the chute.

She gripped him once as he led her into the bedroom. “I’m sorry Sam. Tell Dean I’m sorry. I ruined a good time. I just-“ She stopped abruptly, hands covering her face again.

Sam couldn’t do more than make soothing noises and hold her until she fell asleep.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

That man needs my hugs. Poor Sam, thinking they were going to kill him outright, asking about his affairs.

Ope's seizures are getting worse. :(

John. You know, I would like to say I'm sorry he died, but I just can't be. He sold his soul for Dean, which is the least he could have done. Damn him.

Dean hit Sam! OMG. WHAT IS HE THINKING? I mean, ok, yes, father lost...but Sam never knew his father. Can Dean not get that? Oh boys. The look in Sam's eyes being acceptance, that killed me. He doesn't think he deserves anything better...it puts him right back in to abuse mode.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

The whole time I was writing Dean hitting Sam I was seeing him destroying cars in Bobby's junkyard. Picturing that length of desperation, and then meshing it with what is happening here. Which is no excuse, but he's going to make it better. That I can promise.

As for John...I am always torn regarding John.

catch up time!

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

John's twice the dick here because he doesn't *explain*! No wonder in canon the boys never reveal anything and always speak in half-truths—they learned it from a master.

"I want to clear the air Caleb, you’re Dean and Bobby's friend, and you’re welcome to stay here a while. On the other hand if you say one ugly word about Sam, threaten him, hell if you even look at him wrong and I find out I’ll figure out a way to make you suffer to your last fucking breath.”
Man, she really is the coolest OC ever.

You broke my heart in quite a few places this update, poor *everyone*!

And by the way, I'm totally blaming a house knee-deep in dust on you today. ;)

Re: catch up time!

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

John gets a little face time in the sequel, and he goes a step towards handling that whole explaining thing, but I don't know if it will satisfactory or make him any better of a person. My feelings regarding John in canon are so conflicted I can never make him terribly likable when I write him...

I'm so glad you like Ope. :)

As for the dust? I will take that guilt and nod seriously. Dust and I have been co-conspirators for years.