Lost Time Chapter 2

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 2/27
Wordcount: 7,278
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
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.

Previous part

Sam stared out the Jeep’s window as Ophelia sang along with the music. Her voice was husky and slightly off-key as she tried to mimic the higher register of the woman on the album. He didn’t recognize the song, but she had a more diverse library of music than he did.



They blew through the Hannaford and after a while she got him talking about what they should make and what they should buy. When it was just the two of them Sam kept up with the meals, Ophelia was a shitty cook and she knew it, but with guests she was hesitant to ask him to prepare meals. She knew damn well he was willing to do it but she kept suggesting pre-packaged dinners that were within her skill level. After the third frozen dinner she flung into the cart Sam took over and started picking out fresh ingredients and arguing about amounts and work involved. She had him laughing in the span of fifteen minutes.



Ophelia was a force of nature. Sam could never properly control his awe of it really. Nothing ever slowed her down and he constantly envied her ability to simply take the blows life threw and walk away from them. No matter what kind of mood Sam was in she was always able to make him smile. It was a dizzy balancing act Sam knew all too well. Public Ophelia was combat boots and chains, tattoos, curse words. Public Ophelia was a local legend for bar fights and anger. Private Ophelia was hesitant, unsure, and gentle, and very few people ever saw that side. Sam was one of those people, and he was grateful for it every day. As they loaded the back of the Jeep she shot him the real smile and slid the last bag in before shoving the cart his way. He dutifully dropped it into the return cage before sliding into the passenger seat.



She flipped through radio stations this time until the opening chords of a song caught her attention. She laughed and turned to him as the wind whipped blue hair around her face. It was moments like this Sam cherished. Held them as close to him as he could because he knew that all of it could be taken away at any time. Happiness always seemed so fleeting. “Had to stop in my tracks for fear of walking on the mines I laid and if I built this fortress around your heart,” she sang along and Sam eventually joined her.



When they pulled up to the house they were greeted with the sight of Bobby's friend half under the car he’d driven up in. He’d moved it to the cement in front of the garage to jack the front end up. Sam walked past him silently loaded down with groceries but Ophelia stopped and leaned down. “You supposed to be doing that?”



From under the car there was a grunt and then that whiskey-rough voice offered, “Sure. Do you know what a crescent wrench is?”



Sam stepped through the door and dropped the groceries on the counter before sifting through them for perishables. She came in a few minutes later with the rest of the bags and dropped them beside the ones Sam already had. He watched her light a cigarette as she put away dry goods. “Sam?”



He didn’t bother turning away from the Tetris game he was playing with the fridge. “Yeah?”



“Are you ok with him being here?” Her tone was purposefully light as she put paprika in the wrong cabinet.



“Wrong spot Ope. One cabinet over.” He pushed the milk into place and then tested to see if the door would close fully. When he was sure it would he went over to the spice cabinet and made sure she’d put everything in the right order. He let the question die in the air.



Was he ok with it? Sure he was. Sam could be ok with anything that was temporary. It wasn’t like the guy was moving in with them permanently. In a few days they’d be gone and Sam would probably never see him again. Bobby had never brought anybody over before and it was unlikely he’d do so again.



She tapped ashes in the sink and then ran water over them. Her face was focused and sharp as she watched him rearranging spices. “Cool man. I've got some shit to do out in the workshop. I'll see you in a few hours?”



Sam nodded and listened to her leave. A few minutes later Bobby came into the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. He popped the cap and leaned against the counter to study Sam.



“How’s she doing?” He took a long pull without meeting Sam’s eyes.



“Have you asked her?” Sam finished with the spices and folded the shopping bags before putting them in their place. Once the kitchen was fully ordered he grabbed his own beer and took a spot across from Bobby.



“She always says the same damn thing. I trust your judgment better than hers.” He looked across the kitchen at the picture windows facing the sloped backyard. “Plus I think she’s hiding something from me.”



Sam grunted at that and followed Bobby's gaze. The grass needed cutting. “Something big?”



Bobby shrugged and swallowed more beer. “Something. Does it matter if it’s big? She never used to hide stuff.”



There was a wealth of information here. Sam knew a good deal about their history together. When Ophelia's parents died she was left with her uncle Jeff, and Bobby had been one of his best friends. The stories she told suggested Bobby had helped raise her almost as much as Jeff did. Still, there was a point somewhere down the line when Bobby's job had him and Ophelia drifting apart.



“She’s ok. You know her. They put her on a new medicine and other than not sleeping she seems fine.” Sam finished his beer and dropped it in the recyclables. He took Bobby's empty bottle and added it.



Bobby looked uncomfortable for a moment. “How'd she handle Jeff changing his mind about coming back?”



Sam considered this as he stared at the stove. Tonight wouldn’t be a bad night for lasagna now that he thought about it. The prep time was minimal if he did it right. “She understood.”



----



Dean laid in the grass and stared up at the sky. It was just at the edge of comfortable, autumn slowly leeching away the last of the summer heat. The leaves would start to turn soon, and then winter would come in. He'd experienced winter in this part of the country once, and he wasn't eager to do it again. Still, there'd been so many seasons he had to spend in areas of the country where the wind could bite harder than any monster ever had. There weren't enough layers in the world to hold that chill out. But for now…

For now the sun shone bright in a sky so blue it was blinding, and the wind was still gentle. The earth beneath him was warm enough from all the sunshine that Dean started to doze, and it was in a half-awake state that Ophelia found him beside the Impala. She nudged him gently and stepped back before he reflexively struck at her. The sun behind her head set her blue hair to a shade just slightly darker than the sky and shadowed her face so that he couldn't make out the expression. "You ready to get started?" She held out a hand and he took it and let her help him up.

"Yeah. Let's go." He followed her after the first bout of nausea slipped away.

Dean let himself be led. In the sunlight the bright grass and the sloping land were even more breathtaking, and Dean let himself be taken in. They swept past a huge old weeping willow, and then came to the curve where the driveway broke from the tree line. Set back into the trees was an old two-story building, and she unlocked the door before stepping through. Dean followed her and scoped out the bottom floor. It was an open workshop with a cement floor, two tarp-covered motorcycle shapes standing in the center and a plethora of well-loved tools hanging off the cork-board covered walls. He studied them for a bit before following her whistle and taking the rickety stairs

The upper floor was bare wood, polished to a gleam and filled with windows. He saw the low altar at the far end, the little intricate prayer rug in front of it, and the series of bookshelves and cabinets. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in bunches, and Dean let out his own whistle when he saw what kinds of books the shelves contained. "You a practitioner?"

She shot a dark grin over her shoulder and opened one cabinet to pluck out a series of jars, a white candle, a yoga mat, and a large quartz crystal. "Yep. Couldn't hunt, but I could offer this much at least." She unfurled the yoga mat and then stepped back and gestured to it. "Lay your hot ass down. Let me see it."

Bobby had told her more than he thought. Dean only hesitated for a second before he pulled his shirt off and took a place on the yoga mat. "Don't you people usually do this naked?"

"The term is skyclad, and I usually wear robes. We're not doing a full ritual though, just a bit of exploratory surgery." She studied him critically and then shook her head. "Goddamn shame for you to wear a shirt."

"Well if your roommate didn't seem so uncomfortable with it…" He adds a flirtatious wink, a smile, and watches her eyes narrow once before her face smoothes out. She's not looking at his grin, or taking in his charm, she's looking at the black veins traveling outwards from his sternum. The ones that are getting a little longer and a little darker every day.

"How long ago did you get hit?" She's kneeling now, placing the candle by his head and lighting it before opening jar after jar. Her motions are mechanical and sure, and Dean keeps his eyes on her hands so he doesn't have to see the sympathy lurking in her own expression.

"A month. I thought I could shake it off, but it's getting worse. Slowed me down enough that I got caught in the middle of a hunt. Almost got my own ass and Bobby's ganked." He grunts once as her fingers trail cold lines over his sternum, and then shivers when she dips those same fingers in one of the jars and leaves a heavily scented trail along the same lines. "Started as that little circle and then grew from there. Bobby seems to think if it covers the heart entirely it'll be bad." Which is an understatement of what Bobby specifically said, but it's enough. Her face says she can make the connections without Dean spelling it out explicitly.

She coats her fingers in more oils and traces sigils into the skin of his chest, and it's strange how her fingers begin to coax sensation out of the dead spots in his skin. He hasn't been able to feel much of anything there since the curse first hit him, and now there's a slight burning coupled with a low vibration. Her mouth is moving, forming words he doesn't know in a soft chant, and she's got an ok singing voice. The heat ratchets up until it's right at the line between uncomfortable and outright painful. She keeps moving her fingers though, keeps chanting, and Dean finds that he's panting to control his reactions to the pain. When her fingers finally stop he takes deep shaky breaths and tries to get himself back under control.

The lines are still there, but a little less pronounced than before, and that's something. "Holy shit I think you-" He stops at the paleness of her face and the way her fingers are shaking slightly. Watches her fall onto her heels and kneel there with her head down. "You ok? Ophelia?"

"I hate that fucking name. Ope. It's Ope." Her hands rub at her face, and then she finally looks up and there's a twisted smile on her face. "I bet Sam would lighten up if you promise to oil up before you strut around."

He lets her take the out, because nobody's ever given him enough of them before. Especially not when he wanted them. "So is it fixed?"

Ope digs in her pockets 'til she finds the pack of cigarettes, but it's a pre-rolled joint that she removes from the pack and lights. Her face is almost placid as she takes the first deep inhale and then holds it for a long time. She offers it silently but Dean shakes his head. The smoke comes out in a directed stream and she sits fully on the floor and looks up at the ceiling. "I'm not gonna ask you for a lot of details, because if Bobby can't figure it out then I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell. Instead let's focus on what we got. The witch that hit you with it, she practiced the kind of magic that requires sacrifices. Cats and shit. Was there a sacrifice there, and was she going for it when you capped her?"

Dean thinks back. He remembers that what made the case last so long was that the matronly lady didn't strike him as dangerous until all other options had been exhausted. More than two false starts on different suspects had eventually led him back to her baked goods smelling house, and that's when he's found her in robes and chanting over a bowl that smelled like nine kinds of ass in an eight ass bag. He'd pulled the gun, shouted a warning, and then she'd jerked at the cage with the ritual knife and Dean had pulled the trigger. It had been a rat in that cage, and Dean remembers very clearly letting it go outside before he drove off. He'd woken the next morning with that dead spot on his chest and the lingering sense that everything was going to get so much worse.

"A rat?"

The ring in her eyebrow dances upwards and then she takes another deep hit off the joint. "Well that's not good."

"What? What's not good?" Dean's almost tempted to accept the offer of the joint, because the unease on her face despite the dank smell of pot suggests that this is going to be very bad. He didn't really need those indicators anyway, because he's a Winchester and it's never good.

"The size of the sacrifice matters. Want to wilt your neighbors crops or lower their sperm count? Spill a little blood. Pop a guy's heart? Rabbit or cat sized needed. So what you got hit with was probably an offensive spell, and it was meant to work quick but you fucked the ending up when you ganked her. Still, with a sacrifice that fucking big-"

"There was no sacrifice." Dean catches her eyes and tries to impress on her the importance of focusing, because obviously the girl is losing touch with the conversation. "I let the rat go. There was no sacrifice."

Ope shifts carefully and then shoots him a pitying look. "When you start something like that there are steps and they have to be followed. So once she got to the point of the ritual where sacrifice was needed the next blood spilled in her circle counts. Which means." She doesn't finish the sentence. Goes with an elaborate hand gesture that has Dean's blood frozen in place almost instantly.

"No." It comes out a growl, but Ophelia's face remains calm and sympathetic.

"You didn't know. Not your fucking fault man. So what we just did here was sort of like testing the waters. It's gonna take a while to get all that shit out of your system, but it's moving slow and it'll move slower now. Just gonna take some time."

"I didn't. I didn't fucking sacrifice her to kill myself." He's having a hard time moving past this point even if it seems Ophelia has already accepted it and moved on. Her bright blue eyes narrow once and then settle on a point beyond his shoulder.

"Dean. Everybody makes mistakes. You saved a lot of people and put down some crazy bitch. You're paying for it, and that sucks, but you didn't do it on purpose and it was a good thing. Suck that shit up man, because guilt isn't going to help you."

He takes a shaky breath and then pulls the shirt on over himself. "So you're either a dominatrix or a therapist for a living."

Ope's laughter sounds surprised and uncontrolled. "Actually, a bit of both."



----

Sam's eyes are gritty and exhausted, and he realizes he's been typing in lines of code for five hours now with no break. He's honestly surprised Ope hasn't come to shake him out of it, but she's got the houseguest, and there's probably some responsibility there Sam is missing. He's never had a houseguest of his own before. In fact, before he moved in with Ope and Jeff he never really had a home he called his own. He saves all the data to the backup drive before logging out of the remote server and shutting the primary system down. His secondary screen is flashing, and he engages the chat window before he can stop himself. The image that pops up on the screen is familiar and welcome.

"Hey Loki. How can I help you today?"

Loki's munching on something, as per usual, and he takes a second to swallow it before licking his lips and leaning towards the camera. "Well if you keep refusing to hook me up with that bondage hottie you live with I'll settle for you finishing the damn program."

He spares a glance for the back-up drive and then turns his attention back to Loki's familiar smiling face. They've never met in person, and it took three years for Sam to trust the guy enough to even agree to the video chats. He still hasn't given him his real name. "It's almost done. You'll have it before the end of the week. Is the payment still on track?"

This is nothing new, and he's never explained it to Ope, but he would if she asked. Then again, that's not exactly fair because Ope has no reason to ask if he's breaking the law in her basement. Our basement she would clarify before she tore him a new one. He loves that about her. As if the mere act of insisting will change Sam's mind. More importantly, it's hard for him to imagine a scenario in which she could ever prove that to him when that muscle-bound stranger is sleeping in the next room and prancing about in tight shirts throwing cocky…

He abandons that train of thought before it gets any further out of hand.

"Yeah, 'course it is Hamlet. Hey, you checked out the new expansion for WoW yet? Pretty sweet stuff." Sam rolls his eyes and Loki leans into the camera again, wicked smile spreading his lips. "You need the social skills kiddo. Seriously. When are you finally going to invite me over?"

Sam fingers the back-up drive as he considers the many implications in the question. "Probably never. You'd spend the whole time trying to get into Ope's skirt." She'd refused a code name, and insisted that her real one worked just fine with his alias anyway. Sam had never been good at talking her into things. Loki's eyebrows wag and Sam points a finger. "Just like that. I'll have the program on its way by Friday. Be ready to pay."

He hangs up before Loki can respond, turns off the monitor, and then heads up the stairs. Hours of coding always leave his fingers and back sore, and he stretches it out as he heads into the kitchen to start dinner.

Sam had just slid the lasagna in the oven when Dean and Ophelia came into the kitchen. She caught his eyes briefly and then headed straight for the fridge to grab a bottled water before slumping into a chair at the table. He glanced at the oven clock and then turned back to her. Saw the size of her pupils. “Ope? Are you stoned?”



“Sammy,” she took a dainty sip and then met his eyes, “nagging is unbecoming of a young gentleman.”

He suppressed his smile and turned back to the stove so that she couldn’t see his expression. “My name is Sam.”



He heard Dean’s heavy boots clump out of the kitchen and then it was just the two of them. He joined her at the table and watched as her fingers dragged along the wood grain idly and she sipped her drink. Finally he broke the silence. “What has you stoned and pale this evening?”



“Dean's staying a bit longer than a few days.” She looked towards the ceiling. “I'm concerned about your reaction to that.”



Sam wanted to touch her, comfort her, and shout at her all at the same time. Instead he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh. “How much longer?” She never asked anything of him. Ever. He could give her this.



“Magic eight ball says ask again later.” She finished the water and threw the bottle at the recycle bin. She missed. “Have you done all your homework Sam?”



He watched her pick up the bottle and drop it in the bin. “Nagging is unbecoming of a young lady.”



She touched her blue hair and the ghost of a smile crossed her lips before it disappeared. “I’m no lady.”





----



Sam watched in a mixture of horror and unwilling amusement as Dean inhaled the lasagna in front of him. Every now and then the green-eyed man would say something through a mouthful, but for the most part he simply shoveled the food into his mouth as if someone was going to take it from him at any moment.



Ophelia kept her eyes on Sam the whole time. At one point she mouthed “Holy shit” and Sam nodded in agreement. Bobby finally had enough of it when he reached out and cuffed Dean in the back of the head. Ope barked laughter as Dean rubbed at his skull and glared at the older man. "Chew your damn food idjit."



“I was chewing until I was getting hit Bobby.This is amazing Sam. Are there seconds?” Sam nodded and Dean shot towards the stove before coming back with another huge slice. He grabbed garlic bread nimbly on his way past and in the process leaned in close enough that Sam got a good whiff of the smell of him. Sam’s head involuntarily turned away and his body leaned towards Ophelia. If Dean noticed he didn’t mention it.



When everyone was done Ophelia collected the plates and began the dishes without comment. Sam left for his room and pulled out his laptop. It started innocently. He was surfing the web, avoiding homework, and then he thought about Dean and Bobby and how suddenly their stay was extended. How odd Ope looked when she came back from the workshop. If asked later what had him opening the search engine he wouldn't be able to say. Fate, chance, a whim. It didn't really matter.



He googled Dean Winchester and waited for results. He heard someone enter Ope’s room and then leave it before the long list of responses popped up and Sam skimmed through them. His eyes landed on the FBI link, and he clicked without hesitation.



The hand-drawn portraits of Dean were very well done. That was his first reaction. His second was to keep his jaw from hanging as he read the laundry list of charges. Credit card fraud, theft, breaking and entering, assault, kidnapping, arson, grave tampering… he scanned through what seemed like too many charges for one person before his eyes landed on the big one. Murder.



Murder? Fucking murder? The guy was high on the wanted list, with a huge reward attached to information leading to his capture, he was a murderer, and he was here in the same house as him. He thought of Bobby first, but then his mind’s eye flew to Dean’s easy smile. That guy a murderer? Sam didn’t trust him, and he was pretty sure he didn’t like him much, but murder?



He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Ope had to know all of this, Sam didn’t doubt that for a minute, and she’d decided not to act on it. He should follow her lead. But Sam couldn’t afford…



He cut that thought off and snapped the laptop shut. Ophelia wouldn’t put him in danger. If she’d judged the risk as minimal then Sam was going to leave it alone. He slipped out to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before returning to his room.



----





They’d been drinking. Bobby and Ophelia were having some sort of terse discussion about her approach to Dean's curse. Dean wasn’t sure he should be out here, but there really wasn’t anywhere else for him to go.



The whole time Bobby argued his point Dean was mulling over Sam’s reaction at dinner. The lean away, the turn of the head, the tight line of his long torso. Something really weird was going on there. Sam’s reactions to Dean were overblown and troubling. It shouldn’t be though. Dean kept having to remind himself it didn’t matter what Sam’s back-story was. It didn’t matter what Sam thought of him. The only Sam that ever mattered was twenty-three years in the grave. As soon as it was safe to take off that’s what Dean planned on doing. He fingered the cell in his pocket and considered calling his dad 'til a snippet of conversation near him broke his daze.



“Little girl you ain't got the sense god gave you.“



“Shut the fuck up.” Her voice was tight and she took a gulp of her whiskey before putting the glass down and leaning back in the patio chair she’d dragged near the bench. Above them the sky was so full of stars it looked fake. “Bobby if you want to mother me tomorrow go ahead, but we’re having a nice time out here under a beautiful sky and I refuse to listen to bullshit right now.”



“Bobby's always loved mothering people.” She jumped and Bobby sent him a glare. Hell Dean was surprised he’d said it aloud. Her face was shrouded in shadow but he saw from the angle she was looking directly at him.



“What?” She ran fingers through her hair and then her voice came through the darkness tight and unsure. “Sounds right. How do you like the sky out here?”



Dean opened his mouth to answer but Bobby cut in. “I want to see the new meds. Check 'em out on the internet.”



Dean watched as the outline of her locked up and then her head turned creakily towards Bobby. “No. Get off my porch Bobby. You’re banned from the drinking circle.” She paused a moment and considered before adding. “Triangle. Whatever. Go to bed Debbie Downer.”



Dean was surprised when Bobby did. It left just the two of them. She refilled her glass and then offered the bottle to Dean.



“What are you on medication for?” He poured carefully and then placed the bottle between them on the porch before taking a drink. Her head turned back to the night sky and he didn’t blame her. It really was beautiful out here.



“A very rare genetic illness called mind your own fucking business.” Her voice was casual and unconcerned when she said it. Dean barked laughter as he downed his glass.



“Oh. I think I've suffered from that once or twice.” It should be awkward but somehow it wasn’t. Instead Dean felt himself relaxing into the bench. “How long you known Bobby?”



“Met him when I was seven after my parents died.” She finished off her glass but didn’t pour more. “Can I ask you something?”



Dean nodded, realized she probably couldn’t see it, and responded with, “Sure.”



“You’re into girls only right?” Her voice was still overly casual.



Dean had to pause here. What the fuck? “Why?” She wasn’t hitting on him was she?



“No reason. In the summer it’s fucking gorgeous out here.” She gestured out to the tree line. “Fireflies blanket these trees from top to bottom. It looks like some crazy bastard gathered every Christmas light they could find and layered the whole forest with them.”



“Sounds beautiful. Why did you ask that?”



“I don’t want you hitting on Sam.” She turned then and the outline of her face said she was watching him.



Hitting on Sam? He thought of the floppy hair and the hazel eyes. The closed off look and the tenseness. Was Sam gay? Maybe gay and attracted to him? That would explain a lot, but it didn’t seem right. Dean went with cocky instead of confused. “I’m not good enough for your friend?”



She waved a hand. “No one is but that’s not the point. It would make him very uncomfortable and I’ve put a lot of work into him being comfortable.” He watched her pour another drink somewhat unsteadily and then down it in one long gulp. Dean was pretty sure she was already drunk. Not enough body mass to handle this much liquor.



He finished his own glass and then collected the bottle. “What happened to him?” It was none of his fucking concern. Not really. It didn’t matter what Sam’s story was. And yet despite telling himself that Dean wanted to know. The kid was a mystery, and Dean lived to solve mysteries.



“He was shuffled through the worst of the foster care system for fifteen years. Treated like shit, made to believe he wasn’t worth anything, and run down so low that when I met him he was letting some asshole beat him to death.” Her voice wasn’t casual anymore. It was deadly. “It’s taken me all this time to give him a sense of self-worth. I could care less if you flirt with me, but Sam couldn’t handle that sort of bullshit.”



Dean thought about it for a second and then gulped straight from the bottle before passing it to her. She followed his lead. “I had a little brother named Sam.” It wasn’t what he meant to say. Honestly if he had any control over his mouth right now he’d shut the fuck up and leave the porch. Leave the whole goddamn state. He could lay low somewhere else. Anywhere else. Still his mouth kept moving. “When my mom died it was just my dad and my baby brother and I. It was my job to protect him. To watch him.”



She handed Dean the bottle silently and he drank for a long time before he gave it back. He wasn’t feeling the burn anymore. “So one night I fell asleep and when I woke up there was all this smoke. It was just like…” He ran a hand over his eyes and then took a deep breath. “Before. It was like before. And dad was there out of nowhere taking me out of the burning building but I didn’t want to go. Couldn’t go without finding Sam. Dad dragged me out and then went back in, but it was too late. Ceiling collapsed. Crushed the bed Sam was on.”



She stood suddenly and Dean watched her stagger. She fell back down beside him on the bench and tilted her head back to look at the stars. He watched her fumble out a cigarette and light it. “How old were you?”



“Five. Sam was one.” Dean took a deep breath and tried to remember when he’d lost all control over what he was saying. Not even Bobby knew this fucking story. Dean had never told anyone of his failure to protect his baby brother. He’d pulled Sam out of the first fire and then left the kid to die in the second.



She was silent for a long time and then she put a hand on his knee. He expected her to mention that he was just a kid himself and not old enough to be responsible for Sam. It was what anyone would say, and one of many reasons he never told anyone. The old guilt was rising up and choking him.



She didn’t try to absolve him though, and there wasn’t a shred of pity in her voice when she spoke. “When I was seven I begged my parents for this necklace they were selling at a booth at this market. Pretty little stone that just called to me. Threw a fucking fit and they said no. Then when I was distracted my dad got it for me. Kept it in a box the whole way home. Three days later they murdered each other. Cursed object. Know what I always thought?”



“What?” His voice is gruffer than normal, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s linked to the dampness he can feel on his own face.



“Life is too fucking cruel to live it properly. If I’d asked for something else, or left it alone when they said no they'd still be alive. Any number of possibilities. But Fate or God or whatever decreed I was too fucking selfish and stupid to let it go. Too much of a spoiled brat. And if that’s the way it’s going to be then fuck it. Fuck all of it.” She patted Dean’s knee once and stood up unsteadily. “I’m going to bed.”



She slid through the door and Dean watched the silent stars.





----



Sam was dreaming, knew it with the hazy logic only these situations had. In the dream he was staring at one of the many campus parking lots as Ophelia walked beside a guy he didn’t recognize. The man was tall, and vaguely reminiscent of Alan with slightly darker blonde hair but the same blue eyes. She’s not smiling at him, and the tightness in her face tells Sam this isn't comfortable for her. It’s nighttime and the two of them are alone as she approaches her car. Sam sees a look of disquiet slide briefly across her face when she sees the car parked beside hers.



The guy grins and gestures at it. “What luck! We’re right beside each other.”



He sees Ophelia throw a fake smile before nodding. “Yeah man, that's awesome. See you around.”



She goes to step away and the guy grabs her elbow before she can. “Hey uh, Ophelia, I was wondering if maybe we could hang out sometime? Over dinner?”



She’s already shutting off. She doesn’t like to be touched by strangers. He sees her gently disengage her elbow before stepping back from him. “That's nice Patrick, but I'm not interested. Thanks anyway.” She’s already digging in her purse for her keys before she finishes the sentence.



Her eyes are downcast, that vague look she always gets when she can’t find something firmly on her face, and so she misses the change in the man’s look. Misses the way his eyes narrow and his lips turn down. “What? You’re too good for me?”



Sam sees her hand stop in its search and he wants to scream at her. Scream for her to run or to keep looking. Swing the heavy bag and hit the guy to buy herself some time. But this is a dream, a nightmare really, and there’s no warning Ophelia. Sam knows what kind of guy this is, knew from the minute he saw him walking beside her. The potential for violence practically oozes off of him. She looks up and catches Patrick’s eyes.



“Dude, it's nothing personal ok? I'm just not interested.“



“It's not personal that you're not interested?” He steps towards her and she takes a half-step back to keep the distance between them.



“I'm with somebody.”



It’s an old lie, one Sam has played along with many times. Often he’ll snake an arm around her and kiss the top of her head to warn off unwanted suitors. That’s if he’s there. But she’s alone in this parking lot with this bastard and the only thing there to hear her is the wind and the darkened buildings. Sam starts hoping campus security will patrol by.



“What that guy that lives with you? The big one with the girly haircut?” His voice is getting progressively lower as he steps towards her again and Sam watches her eyes widen in realization as she starts to dig for her keys again with one hand while holding the other up to stop him.



“You’re starting to freak me out man, and I don't appreciate it. Back the fuck off.”



It goes down in slow motion for Sam, every detail hellishly clear under the bright sodium-vapor lights. She’s stepping back even as he’s closing the distance easily and then his hand is grabbing the back of her neck before he pulls it back and cries out. Sam has time to see that it looks like there’s a thin burn line on his palm, has time to see the look of surprise and panic on her face, before Patrick grabs her skull this time and pulls her in. She’s in motion already, her legs trying to pull her away as she swings her fist up but the arc is bad and there’s not enough power in it. It bounces harmlessly against Patrick’s side even as he’s pulling her around and wrapping his arm across her throat. She gets out one high sound before he’s choking off her air.



“I’m going to show you bitch. Show you how good I am.” Her face is losing color, her lips going grey, and then she’s slumped in his arms and her struggle ends. Sam watches Patrick drop her into his trunk, secure her wrists behind her back with handcuffs, and then slam the lid shut.



He wakes up screaming her name, and has time to hear a loud crash from her room before he realizes she’s right next to him with her arms around him and her small hand stroking his hair while she makes wordless noises of soothing. The door is thrown open and Dean is standing in it wide-eyed and shocked even as Bobby stumbles up behind him.



Sam has to close his eyes, his heart-rate too fast and his breathing uncontrollable, because he doesn’t want either of them to see him like this but the grip of the nightmare is too powerful to escape right away. Her hand continues to move as Dean’s sleep-graveled voice cuts across the sound of Sam’s harsh breathing. “Is he ok?”



Ophelia leads his head to her shoulder, and it’s ridiculous really because she’s the size of a child compared to him, and then speaks lowly over his hair in Dean’s direction. “He’s fine. You’re fine Sam. Everything’s fine. I’m here.”



Her hands are working a pattern across the muscles of his back that is both familiar and sedating under normal circumstances but Sam suddenly has a splitting headache and he pushes past her roughly to get to the bathroom before he throws up. He hears her close the door to give him privacy, and when he’s done there’s a cool damp cloth rubbed over his face and a water glass tilted to his lips.



It’s an old tradition that they haven’t upheld since the first year they lived together. Sam’s nightmares haven’t been this intense since then. Her fingers push his sweat damp hair back and she steps away long enough to dig through the cabinet and find the old sleeping pills before shaking the bottle at him. He nods weakly and she taps two out into her palm and offers them with the glass of water.



He feels her sit beside him, and her bed-warm body is soothing as he swallows the pills. “Was it Brady?”



He shakes his head once and then closes his eyes against the harsh bathroom light. She flicks the switch off and plunges them both into the dark. “Ok. Wanna talk about it or just wait to fall asleep again?”



“Asleep.” It’s barely a croak and he wonders how long he was screaming.



“Ok Sam. Give me just a second.” She steps outside the door and he can hear her voice pitched low but still clear. “Can you guys go back to bed please? He’s gonna be fine and he doesn’t need to be stared at.”



Bobby's voice comes back at her. “You’ve got a hell of a bruise starting on your cheek girl. He hit you?”



Fuck. Sam hurt her again. It’s all he can do not to try to crawl out of the window and slink off into the woods.



“It’s fine. I just need to get him back to sleep ok? Just clear out.”



He hears doors shutting and then she’s back again and the light from the hallway shines strangely through her blue hair and backlights her face so that Sam can’t see her cheek. He manages to get out, “I hit you ‘gain.” His thoughts are already slurring and he’s amazed at how fast the damn pills work when he’s like this. That or more time has passed since he took them than he remembers.



“I've had worse. Don't worry about it. Can you get up?” There’s worry there and he imagines it’s because if he can’t she’ll never be able to maneuver him up and across the hall. He tries to raise himself and slams back down unexpectedly on the floor, his skull colliding painfully with the shower door behind him. He hears a door open in the hall and then Dean is there.



The light cuts just right to highlight one high cheekbone and those pink lips. Dean studies the scene for all of two seconds before kneeling and pulling Sam’s arm around his shoulders. The older man is hot like a furnace, so hot it’s kind of shocking, and the masculine smell of him fills Sam’s nose even as the guy is lifting him up and half-carrying him across the hall.



He’s lowered into the bed softly, and then Dean is pulling the blanket over him and gesturing to Ophelia. She catches Sam’s eyes and smiles hesitantly. “I’ll be right back Sammy. Hang steady ok?”



He can’t even nod. Darkness consumes him, but he doesn’t dream again.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

Ok, I need to read more of this. *pretty please?*

Sam's gotta be Dean's baby brother. And he's not just having nightmares, he's having visions! Are they getting worse because Dean is there - his own family somehow triggering them?

I love the character of Ophelia. And that she's aware of the hunter lifestyle and is a safe house. And poor sweet Sammy. I have to wonder what else happened to him growing up.

There is already an attraction between Sam and Dean, a kind of calling to each other.

I'd really love to read the rest.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Well, the good news then is that there's a fully formed twenty-four chapters. The bad news is there's no end in sight. I appear to be playing fast and loose with the first few seasons, and I just can't stop myself. I'll put more up here, but I'm still not sure about making them anything other than friends only. I want to see where this goes. After this though it'll be posted as "Lost Time", which is the title I've been working with.

You liking it is a big relief btw! Thank you. :)

[locknkey.livejournal.com]

For my two cents, I think it's really good and interesting and I love a good Sam/Dean didn't grow up together story. :) This has a lot of potential - looking forward to more. :)

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Thank you. :) From now on it's going up here under the title "Lost Time". I'll drop a few more up here tonight I think.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Is this Sam/Dean? There wasn't any indication, and I just kind of figured out that Ope really *really* wasn't more than close to him.

So, Sam's getting visions and Dean's cursed in some way. This is going to get way complicated, isn't it? Looking forward to more.

By the way, that reference to Brady couldn't be anything but bad!

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, definitely Sam/Dean. One day I may even give this a proper header, and unlock it. One day...

:)