Lost Time Chapter 1
Dec. 19th, 2012 02:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Lost Time
Wordcount: 6,982
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of Abusive Relationship
Notes: This is very AU.
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.
“I can clean it up.” She almost looked defiant and Sam had to suppress his urge to smile and instead solidify the look of disapproval on his face.
“The sink is blue. Not a little blue. A lot.” He pointed towards her head. “And your hair is blue now too. So there’s the culprit. Why is your hair blue?”
She grabbed a thick hunk of her own hair and tilted it up to glance at it before she smiled wickedly. “Why son of a bitch. It is blue. That’s new.” She downed the rest of the beer and then dropped her slice back onto the plate in front of her. There was a half-second pause as she studied Sam to see if he was amused. He was, but he could hide it well enough that her expression changed to questioning. “Is it bad? Be honest Sam.”
He finally broke down and started laughing before taking a seat and his own slice of pizza. “It looks good. I just thought you’d decided on brown.”
She made a noise that expressed frustration and happiness before going back to her meal. “So you slept late, your hair is a bird’s nest, and you closed your door last night. You want to explain or should I just put the pieces together myself?” She was careful not to meet his gaze when she said it.
“Ope.” It was a warning. She knew better than to try to dig. At least she usually did. Sam knew that this wouldn’t always stop her, but she was considerate enough to listen when he warned her. She crossed the kitchen and pulled out another beer, offered it to him, and grabbed herself one. She opened them casually and threw the caps in the sink.
“I’m just saying that if you needed comfort you could have woken me up Sammy. I wasn't fucking sleeping anyway.” She didn’t meet his eyes when she said it, and he was bizarrely touched that she’d offer. They’d known each other for a long time, and Ope was always good about keeping just the right amount of space between them. It was one of the reasons he was so comfortable with her.
“I appreciate that. Wanna tell me what the drastic color change is all about?” He accepted the beer gratefully and used it to wash down his second slice. She took her relaxed position across from him and considered the stereo on the countertop.
“Alan saw a picture of the brown. Said he liked it.” She sipped her beer and tilted her head as if the stereo held a secret she could discern if she only looked from the right angle. “So I changed it to blue, 'cause fuck that noise.”
Sam chuckled and went back to eating. They sat together like that as he ate, and if she was watching to make sure he got enough pizza to make up for missing breakfast and lunch he didn’t comment and neither did she. When he was done she stood and left the room without breaking the comfortable silence.
---
Sam considered his stack of textbooks and then pushed them aside and opened his laptop. He spent fifteen minutes determinedly ignoring the bookmarks tab before he gave up and opened it. The family search site was still there at the bottom of the list. He hovered the mouse over it and then snapped the laptop shut again and headed out to the living room. She was sitting on the couch sketching out a design that seemed to include runes and thick lines around a man's face. She looked up just long enough to take in his expression before dropping her pen and standing.
“Where do you want to go Sam?”
He bit his lip and considered the question. Back to the beginning honestly. Back to the time when he was judged wanting and left on the hospital steps. If he could do that maybe he could find out why, or dole out a serious beating and then find out why. Since that wasn’t an option he shook his head and looked away from her carefully blank expression. “The ledges.”
She left for several minutes and then came back in sneakers and jeans instead of her pajama pants and bare feet. “Well let’s go dude. It’s going to be dark soon.”
She had MSI in the stereo and Sam left it on and turned it up to discourage conversation. He doubted she would have tried talking even if he hadn’t. The half hour trip was full of twists and orange trees, and Sam was struck dumb again in the face of Maine's version of autumn. He’d been here years and he still couldn’t get used to how gorgeous it could be before the cold set in. In Texas autumn was only a minor relief from the constant heat and even that wasn’t a given. When the car stopped they got out without speaking and crossed the road to enter the park. Sam chose a red trail and headed straight for the Devil’s Icebox.
When they finally reached it Ophelia slumped beside him in the cold and lit a cigarette. She considered the graffiti on the rocks around them as Sam watched the puffs of visible breath coming from his own mouth. Finally she spoke. “Bobby is supposed to coming for a few days. He said he needs a place to hang and he’s got some coworker of his coming.” She inhaled through her nose and then looked in Sam’s general direction. “I told him yes, but I can change my mind and tell him to fuck off. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”
Sam snorted and leaned against the rock behind him. “Yeah it would be. You never tell one of your strays no.” He saw her eyebrows slant downwards briefly before she smoothed her expression out.
“Sam, you are not a goddamn stray. I’ve told you that a hundred times. You contribute to bills and shit. You clean up after me. You make that lasagna.” She glanced over once and then looked back to the entranceway. “You’re my brother.” This last part came out almost hesitantly and Sam felt guilty instantly.
“Yeah I’m your brother. Sorry Ope.” The nickname caused a smile that he was glad to see. He touched one of the trickles of cold water on the rock beside him as he considered her offer. He honestly liked Bobby, even if there was something off about the old guy. He was the only one of Uncle Jeff's friends who still came around. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she extinguished her cigarette, field stripped it, and dropped it into the baggie she’d brought. “Tell him to come. I’m not that fucked up.”
She bit her lip and stared at the sandy ground under their feet. “Do you want me to look Sam? See if they’re alive before you get your hopes up?”
Did he? He’d struggled for years, ever since his second foster family really, with the idea of finding the people who’d abandoned him. Before that he’d been so angry he was sure he never wanted to know. Now he couldn’t seem to decide between having the satisfaction of knowing and the potential catastrophe the knowledge could bring. There were any number of possibilities as to why they would have left him. None of them were very good. He finally settled on an answer that would satisfy himself and her. “If I ever decide I really want to know I’d be happy to let you vet them. You’re a better judge of people than I am.”
She gave him a look and then stood and stretched. It was getting dark in the little cave, and Sam was surprised to realize that much time had passed. How lost in his thoughts had he really been? “Yeah let’s get out of here. I have another thirty or forty minutes of work on that sketch.”
He stood willingly but grumbled softly. “You’ve redone it like a hundred times.”
“Yes, and I’ll probably do it another ten or fifteen. I’ll keep doing it until he likes it. I’m a conformist that way.” She shot the last part over her shoulder as she led the way up the rocks towards the trail and the parking lot.
---
Sam had cycled through last names after he turned fifteen and finally found himself free of the foster care system and all of its pitfalls. He’d considered changing his first name, but it was the only thing he had left of his original family. After a while he’d come to love and hate it. The last name he finally chose came when a young woman with crimson hair pulled him out of what should have been the end of his life and brought him to Maine. Now that young woman was sitting on the floor of his room complaining loudly about ungrateful customers and uninspired tattoos while Sam Burton sat across from her and tried to read an extremely dry history textbook. He listened with half an ear.
In his fourth placement his foster mother, a rather portly woman named Sue, had forced him to undergo testing several times to see if he was mentally handicapped. Each time the tests came back negative, and each time she insisted they try it again. Eventually the school system explained to her that while Sam may be quiet he certainly wasn’t retarded. On the contrary Sam had tested brilliantly, and they’d ended up putting him a grade ahead. Which would have had him graduating, and maybe out of the foster system early, if it hadn’t been for what happened at the end of his time with Sue and her husband. It was strange, but Sam couldn’t remember his name.
What he did remember was that he’d been small back then, and this didn’t end up being a good mixture with a class full of older kids who all knew each other and came from good and stable homes. The breaking point for Sam had been when a boy, whose name also escaped him, had slammed Sam’s head into the urinal one day because Sam supposedly looked at his junk. After almost a full year of bullying Sam simply snapped. He didn’t remember beating the kid. Didn’t remember snapping the kid’s nose or breaking two of his fingers on the older boy’s face, or even pissing on the kid. He just remembered coming back to himself standing over the sobbing mess beneath him with teachers rushing in to pull him away and drag him to the principal’s office. There they had called both the boy’s parents and Sue. Turns out a foster mother that’s not very interested in you in the first place doesn’t fight very hard when you’re accused of something. Certainly not as hard as the biological parents of the boy you assaulted.
Sam was put into counseling, he did after all have a giant welt from where his forehead hit the porcelain, and shipped to another foster home. It was the last time he tried to make nice with the people watching him. It was the last time, for a long time at least, that Sam cared about anything.
---
“So you’re sure she’s going to be cool with us laying low at her place for weeks?” Dean peered through the rainstorm currently plaguing the West Virginia mountains and slowing their northward progress. Beside him Bobby shifted in the Impala’s driver seat and stared out the windshield.
“Boy I told you before she's an old friend. She'll let us stay long as we need. In the meantime shut your fool mouth and conserve your energy." Bobby's face crinkled a bit more and he shifted his ball-cap before settling further into the seat. Dean's fingers twitched as he watched the way the rain slanted sideways. He hated other people driving his baby, but Bobby was right. He needed to stay in the passenger seat. No telling when he'd fall asleep anymore.
Fucking feds. It was always the fucking feds. Local law enforcement rarely caused Dean any trouble at all, but every time the damn feds got involved it was safe house time. Dean hated laying low. It was boring for one thing, and he could almost feel people in need dying as the time ticked away. More importantly somewhere out there was his father and their goal and Dean was pretty sure they were finally closing in.
It had been a month since he’d heard from the other Winchester but Dean knew his father well enough to know that the man wasn’t being idle no matter what had happened in Chicago. They’d been so damn close. Old Yellow Eyes was in their grasp and then that fucking ambush had sent them scattered on the winds, and Dean had gotten himself cursed. Dean had hooked back up with Bobby in Oklahoma City on a Lamia hunt when it became obvious whatever was happening to him was getting out of control. Now they were headed to some town in Maine to lay low at some girl’s house.
Dean wasn’t entirely clear what the deal with this girl was. At first he’d thought this was some old hook-up of Bobby's, but then last night at the bar Bobby casually mentioned that she was in her twenties. At which point Dean had started pressing for details, and all Bobby would give him was that she had some experience in the curse field, and that her uncle was an old hunter friend of his. Apparently the house had been used as a hide-out before. Which didn't give him much hope.
“So what’s her name again?”
There was a rest stop sign and Dean saw Bobby's temptation. Saw it and understood it all too well. There may be a coffee dispenser there. “Ophelia Burton. Like the Shakespeare character. Her parents were teachers.”
Dean raised an eyebrow and then Bobby made his decision. He pulled off on the ramp and headed towards the oddly shaped building. “What does she do?”
“Let you figure that one out on your own. More fun that way.” He stared grimly at the building and then reached for the door handle.
“Ok. So she knows what's going on?”
“She knows we're hunters, and she knows you're in trouble boy. She won't ask a lot of questions past that."
He parked the Impala and got out without waiting. Dean could follow or he could wait for Bobby to get back with coffee. He chose to wait. Dean used the time alone to consider just how many ways this situation was fucked. Sure, she knew what they were, but if she wasn't a hunter then there was no telling if she was really ready for what was rolling onto her doorstep. Bobby had given him explicit instructions not to hit on the girl, and Dean was almost amused at how incredibly intense his uncle was about the whole thing. She must be hot. He had an image in his head though, and he was interested to see how close he'd be. Bobby came back and dropped a cup of road stop coffee in Dean's hand before sipping from his own and backing up the Impala.
Dean frowned at the highway and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of woman doesn’t ask questions about the people staying in her house?”
“Ophelia. Now shut up idjit.”
---
Dean is used to holing up in pits of human despair. When the heat gets too much or there's a serious injury it's not a new experience to end up in some run-down shack where he's stealing water and power just to sneak by. Living off food done on a hotplate and keeping the flashlight pointed low at night in case anyone is close enough to recognize that the abandoned house has a new occupant. Dean's used to that. What he isn't used to is getting a break when it comes to fugitive living, so when he hits the trifecta of fucked there's a certain set of expectations he has about the place Bobby is driving him to
The house is down a mile-long driveway in the middle of dense woods that set him on edge in the dark. At the end of the tree tunnel there's a curve and then the space opens, and there's a huge lawn in the circle of trees that contains one simple house at it's center. It's set into a hill, garage and no doubt basement at the ground level and the rest of the house situated at the top. He can see one truck parked out front of it, and the empty mouth of the garage is for them. Bobby pulls his baby into the garage and then steps out and grips the edge of the door before sliding it down. Dean follows him out. He's got enough weapons tucked into his duffel for a major firefight, but Bobby said that wouldn't be necessary. That this was a safe-house in its own right. He heads up the hill and a motion-sensor floodlight cuts on and blinds him for a second before he blinks the after-burn away and finds the steps onto the cement patio. He follows the line of it around the house and there's the kitchen. There's a big picture window that gives him a view of an island that bisects the kitchen between dining and prep areas. There's no one in the window, but he approaches the heavy door carefully and waits. Bobby turns his head towards it and speaks in a tone Dean is all too familiar with. Trouble brewing.
“She’s got a roommate. Guy named Sam.” Bobby glanced his way and saw his hands tighten into fists. Sam. It had to be Sam. Of course the name was common, but Dean typically avoided anyone that had it if he could help it. For a moment he had a vivid image of a tiny infant being placed in his arms, of his father shouting for him to run, and then the memories were pushed back and Dean focused on the major hoodoo carved into the wood frame around the door. Bobby wasn't kidding when he said the place was equipped for hunters to hide out. It's a supernatural fortress.
“Dean? Talk to me boy. Is that gonna be a problem?” Bobby's voice wasn’t necessarily concerned so much as careful.
“I dunno Bobby. Is the guy an issue?” Play it off. Play it off. Bobby didn’t have to know the exact extent of how much that name bothered Dean. He knew that Dean had once had an infant brother named Sam, and that Sam had died shortly after Dean’s mother had. He didn’t know the details.
He heard the other hunter sigh in relief. “No Dean. He's fine. Tall as hell, shut off, bookish, but a real nice kid. I checked him out when she told me he was moving in.”
That had Dean raising an eyebrow again. "Bobby, what is this girl to you again?”
Bobby's face was troubled for all of three seconds before it turned into a reluctant grin. “A friend. Nothing more.”
The lights in the heavily windowed kitchen turned on.
---
They entered and Dean met Ophelia for the first time. He'd expected glasses, maybe a bun, and a pencil skirt. Something between sexy and mousy librarian. Instead the woman standing on the other side of the door is something between Goth and Punk. Her eyebrow is pierced with a black ring of metal, her hair is a shockingly dark blue that hangs around her angular and pretty face. Her eyes are a blue so bright it's distracting, and contrast heavily with the dark liner and generous crimson lips. Her ribbed tank top is almost translucent, hugs her tight chest, and he gets an eyeful of the intricate sleeve tattoos, and the abundance of ink beneath the shirt. The capper is a set of legs that make up what little height she has tucked into chunky combat boots that look like they could crush a man if she wanted. Her smile suggests the same thing
"You must be Dean. Come on in. Bobby told me you'd be tall." She grins up at him in a way that invites and warns all at once before stepping back and gesturing him inside. Dean looks down and sees the salt line, and then steps in only to glance up and view the Devil's Trap chalked into the ceiling. Safe house indeed. She pulls a chair out for him and then leans against the island across the kitchen while she studies his face. "So, you're in a lot of fucking trouble right? Well this is as out of the search zone as you can get. Bobby tell you the rules?"
Dean shook his head and glanced once at the older man
“Try to be quiet. Sammy just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him up. Do you guys want guest rooms up here or the basement?”
Bobby shouldered his duffel and eyed her for a long time. “Guest rooms. Your basement attracts too many damn spiders.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away exposing an expanse of back covered in an intricate tattoo of a twisting Celtic tree that curled upwards to the base of her neck. “It’s an average number of spiders Bobby. Average for a fucking basement. Come on.” They followed her through another door and she pointed to two rooms across from each other. “Take your pick.” She pointed across the hallway. “Bathroom is there. Fresh towels in the closet next to it. If you’re anything like Bobby the laundry chute is in that closet and you’ll need to throw most of your shit in there.”
Bobby pointed to the one door she had indicated they could take and sent her a questioning look. “This is your room.”
She grinned casually and nodded. “I’m bunking with Sam while you’re here.” She winked once at Dean. “You guys follow me for a second ok?”
Dean and Bobby trailed after her into the living room and she closed the door that separated it from the hallway with the bedrooms. "Ok. Sam doesn't know about the hunter stuff ok? He just thinks I'm really superstitious, and he's ok with that. So keep your mouths shut about it, because he doesn't need the stress. No hunts while you're here 'cause I don't need the extra fucking trouble. You do your own laundry, I'm not your fucking maid. Lastly, nobody else comes in. You guys wanna go to the bar with me and hook-up with some stranger that's cool, but you do it somewhere else. Sam doesn't like new people, and I don't like Sam unhappy. We cool?"
Dean nodded and Bobby grunted an affirmation. Her face split into a wide grin then and she launched herself through the air and onto Bobby. The older man grabbed her up in a practiced looking move and swung her around. "Hey little girl."
"Hey yourself you grumpy old bastard. I missed the hell out of you." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and then he released her and she grinned up at him
"Missed you too. We'll catch up tomorrow. I'm dead tired, and I need a couple hours." Ophelia nodded once, shook Dean's hand, and then led them back out of the living room.
She slid gracefully through the last door in the hallway and left the two of them standing there. Bobby chose the room that wasn’t hers. Dean stepped through the door and looked around him.
The bed was nice. That was his first concern and it was completely eradicated when he felt the firm mattress and the equally firm pillows. A lifetime of sleeping in cheap motel rooms and the backseat of a car has a way of making a man appreciate a good bed like nothing else. The walls were lined with bookshelves wherever there wasn’t a window, and he went around checking salt lines and drawing curtains.
He finished with the curtains and studied the bookshelves. The woman was certainly organized. Everything was put into alphabetical order by author and grouped by genre as far as Dean could tell, and he was surprised to find an extensive occult section almost as obscure as Bobby's tucked in between a section containing fairytales from around the world and mythological and religious books. The dresser held framed pictures, and Dean studied them just as carefully as he had the books. There was one of her very young with jet black hair standing between what had to be her parents. Another with her leaning against Bobby as they both laughed at a tall man with salt and pepper hair.
A shot of the salt and pepper haired man with his arms around her and the sun shining through her bright blonde hair. So she changed the color a lot. The next pictures were all of her and a ridiculously tall young man that must have been Sam the roommate. He had floppy brown hair that hung in his eyes in each shot, sharp cheekbones, plush lips, and warm hazel eyes. The kid looked too serious in most of them, eyes expressing too much pain for someone so young. Dean took in each shot before turning to the bed.
He stripped down and dropped the clothes he’d been wearing for the last two days of running onto the floor. Dean started the process of dividing dirty from clean in his duffel bag. A deep whiff of each article gave away its status, and he wasn’t surprised to find most of it was dirty. He and Bobby weren’t very good about keeping up with laundry. He ended up having to pick a dirty pair of sweats and his last clean t-shirt to sleep in before he slipped quietly out into the hall and dropped the rest through the laundry chute.
When he shut the overhead light off a universe worth of stars appeared on the ceiling and Dean studied them from the angle of the bed. He didn’t know the names of them but he recognized several real constellations in the pattern. Huh.
It didn’t bother him for long. The bed was heavenly and he was exhausted.
---
Sam woke up to an armful of soft girl and the smell of Ophelia’s conditioner. He held very still. He knew she hadn’t slept until they’d arrived and knowing Bobby that was probably not too long ago. The decision for her to sleep in here had been Sam’s offering to help in her never-ending passive-aggressive war with his nightmares. It didn’t bother him much. For the first year that they lived together they’d often slept in the same bed as a consequence of Sam waking her up in the night with his nightmares. With the introduction of Bobby's friend there was little doubt Sam would be having a new set of them.
More times than Sam could count he had woken screaming to find her there, at first simply speaking softly and then stroking his hair and trying to soothe him. Once he’d risen so panicked he’d slugged her before he realized who she was. She’d taken the hit and kept stroking his hair. Sam had almost moved out over the guilt attached to that one despite her assurances that she wasn’t injured or bothered. The bruise on her jaw belied the first part anyway.
The sun had already risen over the trees and the generous windows let the light into Sam’s room. Eventually Sam had to give up on holding still in favor of paying attention to his bladder. He slid out of the bed as quietly as he could and snuck to the bathroom. The guest bedroom and her door were both closed, so Sam took his time with his morning ritual before heading to the kitchen to brew coffee.
He toasted himself an English muffin and then took a spot at the kitchen table and watched the bird-feeder through the window as he loaded his mug with sugar and flavored creamer. It didn’t take long for Ophelia to appear in the kitchen with her blue hair disheveled and blocking most of her face. She groggily accepted the mug of black coffee he poured her and ate half his muffin before looking up.
“They get here late?” He kept the tone light and his eyes on the feeder outside.
“Yup.” She leaned back in her chair and pushed some of the hair out of her face before changing her mind and trying to smooth it down and pull it back into a ponytail. It ended up more of a messy bun when she was done. “The new guy is named Dean. Tall.” Sam smiled softly at her and she grimaced. “Shut up.”
He rose and threw another muffin in the toaster. “Tall like me or tall like a regular person?”
He caught the wadded up napkin she threw at him reflexively and then jumped when a gravelly voice piped up from the doorway. “Good reflexes. Is that coffee?”
So that answered that. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he was minimum six feet and stocky. Sam knew from meeting Bobby that their job demanded good physical condition. His hair was short and just shy of full brown instead of dirty blonde, green eyes, and a chiseled jaw. Sam shot a glance to Ophelia before he answered. “Yeah. Help yourself.”
Sam rejoined her at the table and watched as the guy poured himself a mug before drinking it straight. He seemed unsure if he should stay on that side of the counter or sit at the table until Ophelia used one leg to loudly push a chair back from the table. She gestured at it once and then went back to her own caffeine fix.
They sat like that in silence for several minutes before Ophelia dug out a cigarette and lit it. She glanced once at Dean and then went back to her favorite vice. Sam knew if she’d seen disapproval when she looked she would have put it out or left the room, but Dean seemed uninterested in the smoke. Sam was familiar with the act. Lighting it suggested she didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion on her habit, but the careful look was the truth. He couldn’t help the fond smile it caused.
When he looked back towards their house guest he saw that the guy had cocked one eyebrow and was watching Sam carefully. He cleared his throat and then looked out the window. “It’s nice out here. Isolated.”
Sam considered the description for a moment before nodding. “Quiet. We like it that way.”
Ophelia laughed once and then tapped her cigarette into the ashtray. “You want to really appreciate it? There’s a bench on the porch facing the driveway that will give you a view of all those trees lit by the sun. Sam hates it in the morning, but I’ve always thought it was nice.” Sam gave her a look and she had the decency to seem chastised before she stood and headed for the fridge. “Are you a bread guy in the morning or cereal?”
Dean seemed to consider the question very carefully. “Of those options? Cereal.”
Of those options? Did the guy think she was going to make them a full breakfast when she was already letting them crash at her place? Sam gripped his mug tighter and caught Ophelia’s eyes. She grinned back at him to indicate there was no harm done and then pulled out their two boxes of cereal. “Your choices are Sam’s whole grain berry fest or my sugary shit.”
Dean’s eyes traveled over both boxes and settled on the sugary one. “I’ll take the cavity inducer thanks.” He shot a look to Sam and a cocky grin that Sam instantly hated.
It was one thing for Bobby to take advantage. He’d known Ophelia most of her life and Sam was willing to overlook certain quirks in favor of respecting his friend’s feelings, but this guy was a total stranger. It was obvious he was trying to be charming. It wasn’t working on Sam.
She dropped the bowl in front of Dean and then caught Sam’s eyes as she headed for the doorway. “I’m gonna change. You about ready to go?”
Sam nodded and went back to finishing his breakfast. When she was gone Dean looked up from the cereal he was shoveling in his mouth. “Where you kids headed this early?”
He talked with his mouth full. Sam frowned and looked away before he spoke. “We’re going for a run.”
Dean chewed loudly before swallowing his mouthful and speaking again. “A run huh? No wonder she looks so good.”
Sam bristled and stood to throw out the last few bites of muffin and pour what was left of his coffee in the sink. Ophelia came back into the kitchen and threw Sam his sneakers before she leaned over to stretch out her back. She spoke to Dean without facing him. “The only door you haven’t gone through in the living room is the entrance to the basement. Bobby knows the way to the laundry room. Make yourself at home and we’ll be back in an hour or so.” She did a lunge as Sam tied his second sneaker and then repeated the process with her other leg.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice was suddenly sincere instead of cocky and Sam’s gaze traveled there along with Ophelia’s. “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”
Ophelia smiled once and then waved her hand. “No big dude. We love house guests.”
Sam shrugged his own response and then they headed out the kitchen door and started the warm-up jog along the driveway.
---
When they got back Ophelia was pulling in air like she was dying and flagging a bit behind him. He couldn’t help but pant out, “You’d have more…air if you quit…smoking.”
She slapped him lightly on the back and collapsed onto the bench. “You’d have more…air if you weren’t so…fucking tall.” It was a weak comeback, and her face said she knew it but she was too exhausted to try to better it.
Sam took a position on the boards in front of her and took her left calf in his hands before he started to rub the muscle firmly. She gave him a dark look before he switched to the next one. He pointedly ignored her displeasure as he made sure neither one was seizing or too tight. The runs had been his idea. Ophelia liked to get her exercise from climbing, and Sam was willing to join her but the whole experience was just a little too dangerous for him.
He looked up from his work to see Bobby staring at the two of them speculatively. He offered Bobby a small smile and watched the older man grin back softly. “You still trying to get her healthy Sam?”
She shot him an ugly look but Sam nodded slowly before releasing her calf and standing. “It’s a pointless battle.”
He was almost comfortable with Bobby. Still not comfortable enough to talk in front of him the way he did with Ophelia, but he was getting there. He slapped the man on the shoulder in welcome before heading into the house to steal the first shower. He heard Ophelia’s cry of realization as the door swung shut behind him.
Sam grabbed a change of clothes from his room and opened the bathroom door without thinking twice. It was an old habit, and one that got him an eyeful of their other houseguest before he realized what had happened and slammed the door shut.
His impression of Dean’s build through the soft old t-shirt the other man had been wearing wasn’t wrong. From what Sam had seen through the haze of steam the guy was all muscles and definition littered with scars. Green eyes and a cocky smile met him before he slammed the door shut. Sam rubbed at his eyes as if the vision could be scoured out and then turned to go back through the living room, change of clothes still clutched in one big hand.
Ophelia was just coming into the house sending some shot over her shoulder and her words died at the look on Sam’s face. Her smile was gone in an instant. “What’s wrong Sam? What happened?”
Sam shook his head. “Gonna shower downstairs. Tell him I’m sorry.” He headed through the door to the basement and took the stairs two at a time.
----
Dean pulled his sweats and shirt back on before leaving the bathroom. He wasn’t sure what he thought about this roommate. It was hard to tell from the intimacy of their interactions whether he was banging Ophelia or not. It was hard to tell anything about the guy. With her he was all soft smiles and puppy dog eyes, but with Dean he was closed off and tight. The dude was tall. He had at least four inches on Dean which meant probably 6’4. He had the potential to be big, really big, and it was obvious if Sam lifted weights he’d turn into a behemoth. Despite that, he moved like he was small, tucked himself in to reduce his size. Dean had seen it in victims often enough, but who would have victimized this guy? With those dimples…
The bathroom incident though…what the fuck had that been about? It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was obvious the kid had been too distracted to consider Dean being in there, and Dean certainly hadn’t overreacted when the door had opened. Still the guy had took one look at him and then shut down completely, face becoming a brick wall before he slammed the door shut and stomped off down the hall. The reaction was overdramatic and frankly a little fucking weird. When Dean exited the bathroom he found Ophelia standing in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest and a strange look on her face.
He rubbed the towel against his hair and raised an eyebrow at her. She forced out a smile. “Sam walk in on you man?”
Dean glanced towards the doorway into the living room and saw Bobby watching the whole thing with a blank expression. He moved his gaze back to Ophelia. “Yeah. He ok?”
She nodded once and then took a deep breath. “He’s fine. The two of us are going to go to the store later. You allergic to anything?”
Dean shook his head and then hung the towel over his arm. “Uh look did I upset him? ‘Cause he seemed upset and-“
She held up a hand. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about it. When I get back we'll head out to the workshop and take a look at that curse. Sound good?” When Dean nodded she stepped past him into the bathroom and after a moment he heard the shower kick on.
Bobby joined him in the hallway and gestured towards her bedroom. Dean followed. Once they were inside Bobby shut the door firmly and then glanced once at it before speaking in a low tone. “She’s kind of protective over him. I don’t know the story but he had a hard childhood. Foster system bullshit. Just don’t take it personally ok?”
Dean studied Bobby for a minute before he leaned against the wall behind him. “He molested or something?”
The older hunter shrugged and glanced at her dresser briefly before returning his eyes to Dean’s face. He was avoiding something, and Dean knew it, but he let it go. “Don't know Dean. She doesn’t share that stuff with me. I just know she’s like a momma bear when it comes to that boy.”
Dean wasn’t sure if he should broach the subject, so he did anyway. “They sleeping together?”
Bobby let out a harsh bark of laughter and then shook his head. “No. It’s not that kinda thing.”
Dean pointed to the wall that stood between her room and Sam’s. “But they’re sleeping together.”
Bobby's face contorted briefly in amusement before he got his expression under control. “It’s not like that.”
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Date: 2013-01-08 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-10 05:07 pm (UTC)