Lost Time Ch. 3

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 3/27
Wordcount: 3,695
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.

First part
Previous part





Dean finds that his hands are shaking. He’s too drunk for this honestly. Her cheekbone is already swelling a bit and her fingers tighten into fists and and then go slack in a slow and steady rhythm. “Thanks for the help man. I can’t lift him and that’s not the best place for him to sleep.”

She can’t seem to meet Dean’s eyes and that’s a new development. She’s obviously shaken. “Is this normal?” His voice is low and thick when he finally finds it.



He can’t explain even to himself the urge that overcame him when he heard Sam screaming. He’d fallen out of the bed and slammed into the nightstand before finding his feet and rushing out into the hallway. Bobby had been seconds behind him, but Dean forgot the other hunter when the door swung open and showed him Sam still flailing a bit as Ophelia tried to grip him. She looked so small in comparison to Sam, he had time to register that, and then all of his focus was on the younger man in the bed.



Brown hair tangled into a nest around bright and panic-stricken hazel eyes. The pupils dilated painfully and face ashen as he stopped screaming. The look, Christo, the look of him had set Dean’s teeth to grinding. He’d clenched his fists shut to hold himself back because his first reaction was to go to Sam and grab him. Which was more than a little fucking weird. When he’d heard the slam against the shower door he couldn’t take the suspense anymore and he peeked into the bathroom to see the kid curled up awkwardly in the too-small space of the bathroom looking like he was only half there.



Ophelia’s desperate glance and Sam’s glazed eyes had decided him. It surprised him how cold Sam’s skin was when he pulled the kid up, and he had to lock his legs into place to hold up the taller frame even as his mind ran through possibilities. It settled on shock as he was lowering Sam into the bed and pulling the covers over him. Those hazel eyes caught his one last time, said thank you silently, and then he was gesturing for Ophelia to head into the hallway with him. Now here they stood and she looked just as shaken as Sam even though she was already trying to cover it.  He felt her hesitant touch on his shoulder and grunted when he snapped back into the present fully.



“I said no. Not anymore. Thanks again but I really-“



“What did you do when there was no one to help you lift him?” It’s an odd question. One Dean shouldn’t be asking because it’s none of his fucking business, but he’s asking anyway.



“Maneuvered him onto blankets and sat next to him all night.” Her eyes keep darting back and forth between the closed door and Dean. “I have to get back in there Dean so-“



“Do you really think you can take care of him? A glancing blow on the cheek is one thing, but what if he freaks out one night? He’s a big guy. He could seriously hurt you.” This is all getting out of control again. Lingering drunkenness and the uncomfortable feeling left behind by the look of panic on Sam’s face has loosened Dean’s tongue, and even he doesn’t like what he’s saying. He watches her eyes narrow before they focus on his face.



“I couldn’t give less of a shit. Go the fuck to sleep Dean.”



She’s stepping back through the door and closing it. The sound is final enough Dean takes the hint and goes to bed.





----





When Sam wakes up the sun is shining through the windows and Ophelia is sitting up in the bed beside him with a book in her hands and her reading glasses low on the end of her nose. She glanced over them at him and smiled once. The bruise on her cheek wasn’t as bad as it could have been but there was swelling and it looked ugly. Sam touched just below it and her grin turned apologetic. “I hit my face on your elbow.”



It’s an old joke, and it’s never been funny but it’s comforting to hear it. “I’m so sorry Ope. I’m so much fucking trouble for you.”



She’s shaking her head already and grabbing his hand. The mask slips off completely for once and she buries her face in his big hand before her voice comes out muffled. He can feel her lips moving across his palm as she speaks. “Stop it. Stop. You’re my best fucking friend. You’re the best thing so stop it Sam. I hate when you say shit like that.”



He lets her keep that hand and struggles to get around so he can stroke her hair and try to soothe her the way she always soothes him. “Ok. Sorry Ope. Sorry.” She lets him pet her for several minutes before she gets control again.



“What was it about? You said it wasn’t Brady.” He shivers at the name and the brief flash of Brady’s angular face that crosses Sam’s mind.



“It was a regular nightmare. You getting hurt and I wasn’t there to help you.” He pushes himself upright and looks out the window at the yard. The black Impala parked on the grass twinkles in the sun. “It was just out of control.”



He feels her leave the bed and then she’s rubbing at her face before she drops the book on his desk and heads for the door. “I’m going to fry sausage. Real breakfast. You want to do eggs Sam?”



He has to grin at that. He’s explained scrambled eggs to her a hundred times and every time she makes them she adds way too much water. “Sure. Did you get any sleep?”



She pauses at the door with her hand on the knob and then responds without turning. “Enough.”



He pulls on a different shirt, the one he had smells of sweat and vomit, and then goes to brush his teeth.  When he reaches the kitchen Dean is already there sitting at the table with a mug of coffee. He rubs his stubble covered jaw and gives Sam something that may pass for a grin somewhere less familiar with pleasure or joy. Hell maybe. “Morning. I made coffee.”



Ophelia nods at him once before pulling sausage and eggs out of the fridge. Sam considers his options for a moment and then lowers his eyes before speaking. “Uh hey, thanks for carrying me last night man. Sorry about the noise.” He moves away before Dean can respond and doesn’t bother looking up. He hears the older man clear his throat thickly and then Sam is busy in the process of making scrambled eggs and watching Ope struggle to cut sausage patties.



She growls at the tube of meat before dropping a pan on the burner and turning up the heat. “Why does this shit never cut evenly?”



Sam watches her light a cigarette and loop her hair back into a ponytail before she starts putting the patties in the pan. He can’t help what comes out next. It's some weird internal need to break the tension hanging in the room.



“You can freehand tribal designs flawlessly but you have difficulty boiling water. Are you sure you’re a girl?”



“Sam, careful about assigning gender roles, you’re the one who cooks like a dream.”



He hears the low chuckle across the room, feels the tightening in his lower belly, and ignores it to focus on her amused face.



“It’s okay Ope. I won’t let you starve. Being kitchen handicapped is nothing to be ashamed of.”



She flipped a patty and then changed her mind and flipped it back before pointing blindly with the spatula. “I’ll use this on you buddy. Watch it.”



“I mean it’s not like you burned water once or anything. No big deal.”



The laughter across the room is now rumbling over them and Ophelia glances Dean’s way once before taking a deep drag and flipping all the sausage patties. “Laugh it up pretty boy. You’re still my guest for several weeks and I’m in charge of buying groceries. I could let Sam make salads for the rest of your stay.”

Sam glances over once and sees the look of horror cross Dean’s face. Almost against his will Sam starts laughing even as he whisks the eggs. Bobby enters a moment later and studies the three of them before pouring himself coffee and slumping at the table. “What are you idjits laughing about so early?”



Ope flipped the patties again and then judged them just on the edge of burned before taking them all out. She started making toast as she responded. “Dean seems to be thinking about changing to a healthy diet.”



Dean’s green eyes narrowed in mock outrage and he turned to Bobby. “Hey you never mentioned this lady was a sadist.”



Bobby nodded sagely and sipped from his mug. “’Course I didn’t. It would ruin the surprise.”



Sam drops the scrambled eggs into a bowl as he casts furtive glances around the kitchen. The edge has left Ope's face, and Bobby looks pleased and relaxed. Even Dean seems happy, and it's odd but that little quirk at the edge of his lips makes something in Sam coil and relax simultaneously. If he were normal, and whole, Sam would be able to smile back at all of it. He'd be able to really join in their pleasure, and that would be something. Really just something. But Sam's never been able to be that guy. Never been able to relax and let go.

As if she sensed the down note in his thoughts her fingers stroked once lightly across his hand before reaching over to pull out the butter and jam. She slipped past him and dropped a plate of toast and a plate of sausage on the table. Sam brought the eggs.



Dean devoured breakfast the way he had dinner, as if it was the last meal anyone would ever present him. Sam watched him from the corner of his eye as he picked at his own breakfast. Ophelia kept conversation going as she nibbled at her own slightly burnt sausage.



“I’m going climbing today and I have to drop in at work tomorrow for a few hours. Do you two have something to keep yourselves busy while you’re here?”



Bobby swallowed his bite of sausage and looked at her. “I got some work to do on Jeff's babies no doubt. You been taking care of them? ”



She shook her head and buttered toast. Sam watched her movements and then touched her shoulder. “You shouldn’t go alone. Want me to come?”



She looked up from her toast and then frowned. “You really want to go? You still have a lot of homework.”



Sam nodded once. “I want to go.”





----





Once they’ve left with two bags of gear and Ophelia’s cheery wave Dean turns to Bobby and studies him for a long time.



Bobby's face is tight and serious as he avoids Dean’s gaze. “We should clean weapons while they’re gone. Then I’ve gotta head out to that workshop. How'd your first session go? “



Dean nodded and stood before dropping his plate in the sink. "Fine. She's optimistic." He went out to the Impala and emptied the trunk, patted her side gently, and then went back in to see Bobby had already spread an old sheet across the living room floor.



The motion of disassembling, cleaning, and the reassembling each piece is soothing, and the smell of gun oil reminds Dean of many nights with his father that are as close to happy memories as he has. Bobby doesn’t try for conversation and Dean doesn’t try to fill in the silence. He lets his mind run free in the meantime.



He has to get in touch with dad, needs to find out what’s happening with him, but first he needs to figure out how long it’s going to take before his wanted poster isn’t so prominent. It’s terrible to consider, but he needs someone to fuck up worse than he did so that his face takes a secondary role on the television spots and websites devoted to such things. He has to be able to actually physically perform too, but that's finally under some kind of control. If Ophelia can undo his fuck-up then he can get back to what matters. What he's supposed to be doing.



Finally he speaks as he carefully reattaches a rifle barrel. “There's a lot of pill bottles in that cabinet above the sink. Those hers?”



He doesn’t look up from his work. Puts the rifle down and lifts his father’s old M1911 so that he can begin the process of breaking it down. This is the gun he’s always the most careful with, and the one he knows the best. He remembers his dad presenting it to him with a look of pride. Remembers firing it for the first time at twelve and almost breaking his nose with the recoil, his arms too scrawny to hold it in place and his skill level too low.



“No.” Bobby’s working on his handgun and Dean glances once to see that his face is full of a silent grief. He looks away and gives Bobby his privacy with that even as he prods whatever the wound is.



“Thought you mentioned her being on medication. Whose pills then? Sam?” He takes the slide off and places it gently down. Picks up the rag.



“Boy, that ain't my place to say on either count. You wanna know ask, or read the labels.” Deans hears metal scrape metal and winces at the sound. Bobby's voice is hard when it comes again. “And the problem is the girl ain't taking her damn medication.”



Dean could ask him the obvious. Shouldn't I know what I'm being left to? But what’s the point really? Bobby's made up his mind. It doesn’t hurt that Dean knows in the end he's been left in worse situations. Whatever she and Sam are on must not be too bad if Bobby's willing to leave him here at only a quarter his usual strength. He has to trust Bobby to have his back. After all, in the absence of dad Bobby is the closest thing Dean has to a partner.



Dean stays behind when Bobby heads out to the workshop. Stays behind and studies the house. There are pictures of Ophelia with her parents, both bookish and she has her mother’s slight stature and her father’s blue eyes. There are frames full of arrowheads and souvenirs from multiple countries some of which Dean can identify and some he can’t.



The pictures in her room are old news, but he finds photo albums and scrapbooks that chronicle a life he half understands. There are shots of her and the man who must be her uncle in camo in the woods, pictures of the two of them in rundown bars, but they always have the stability of a home to come back to. He finds the latest scrapbook has pictures of her and Sam, and there are several shots that must be from when she first met the kid. She has vividly bright crimson hair in these, and Sam is gaunt and bruised in some, gaunt and tired in others. It’s strange that she’d want to chronicle it until Dean sees the first shot of Sam smiling.



There is the ghost of the dimples he saw this morning in this shot, as if they are digging their way out of a deep and old grave. Sam’s eyes have upturned a bit, and there’s a hint of crinkle in the corner of them as he reads a card held in one giant hand. The guy has huge hands, proportional to his large frame but still unthinkably big for someone who seems so dexterous. Dean stares at the picture too long, and finally flips the page to see Sam’s ascent to healthy and happy looking. There’s usually a shadow in every smile, but every now and then Dean will find pictures like that first one and the dimples gain strength as they see the light of day more and more.



It’s almost like watching dying in reverse. Sam coming to life before Dean’s very eyes, and Ophelia wandering in the background of it hair color changing and smile always the same. He sees only one shot with that look she gives Sam, clad in a bikini and slung over Sam’s broad shoulder as he carries her to a pool, her fists in mid flail and her face shining. Sam’s grin is so broad it overtakes the lower half of his face and his dimples are deep cut and almost adorable as his eyes shine in the sunlight and the wet shirt clings to his long torso. No trace of shadows here, no sign of the quiet and shy young man he knows, only a strong and handsome guy having a great time at the pool with his best friend.



He slams the scrapbook shut and slides it back onto the shelf before picking one of her occult tomes and taking a spot at the kitchen table.





----





Sam’s soaked in sweat and sore everywhere when they finally collapse back into the Jeep. Ophelia’s sunglasses hide her eyes entirely but he knows by the way she’s slumped into the seat that they’re closed and she’s almost taking a mini-nap as she rests there. He considers offering to drive and then holds it back.



His knee aches where he slipped a bit as they went up and he scraped the hell out of it, possibly sprained it, ripping his jeans and scaring the hell out of himself in the process. She’s already cleaned it and bandaged it as best she can but he’s gonna need some ibuprofen when they get back. Probably an ice pack if the incipient swelling is any indication.



When she starts the car Sam leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. He’s never had a problem sleeping in cars. Always kind of preferred it honestly. He drifts off to some slow and sweet music she’s playing and wakes as she pulls into a gas station for cigarettes and refueling. He offers to pump the gas but she sends one glance at his knee and then shakes her head.



She parks high on the hill sloping next to the house so Sam doesn’t have to climb the stairs, and then he uses her as a rudimentary crutch to climb the low staircase onto the porch and enter through the kitchen door. Dean looks up from the book he’s studying and raises an eyebrow at the two of them. Ophelia answers for them. “Sam lost his grip for a second. It’s good.” She hovers as he lowers himself and then grabs him an icepack before leaving to dig through the medicine cabinet.



Dean closes the book and puts it down before heading deeper into the kitchen and shuffling around in the cabinets. Sam can’t help but stare openly at the cover of the book he’s chosen. Mysteriorum Libri Quinque. Huh. He waits for Dean to come back and is even more surprised when the older man puts a glass of ice water in front of him.



“You’re reading 16th century occult history?” He takes a sip and watches those green eyes weigh him heavily.



“Yes. Did you think I couldn’t read?” It only sounds half-joking and Sam can’t read this guy properly. He also can’t hold Dean’s intense gaze.



He looks down at the table and shifts in his seat. “Sorry. Just asking man.” He hears Dean jerk in his chair and then Ope is back with tablets and checking under the ice pack. She pulls another chair up to elevate his leg and then grabs her cell phone.



“I’m going to order Chinese tonight. The usual Sammy?” He nods and then she turns away from him. “You have a preference Dean?”



“Pepper steak and egg rolls. Mind if I ride along? I’m getting cabin fever out here.” His voice is lower than normal, gruffer, and Sam figures he’s really pissed the guy off.



“Sure. It’ll be ready by the time we get there, and I can check in on Tommy. Let me change clothes.” Sam grabs her wrist and tries to convey that he’d rather not be left alone with Dean. She squeezes his fingers once briefly and then points to the book.



“I’ve got better than that unless you’re interested in base Enochian. Dee was a little crazy really, too focused on abandoning science entirely. Follow me and I’ll point some good ones out while I grab some clothes. Hell you might even get a glimpse of my ass.”

Dean follows her without an argument.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

Oh, Dean going through those photos, I can just picture it and how very sad and sweet! He's so drawn, and can't imagine why.

I honestly wouldn't worry about the editing, this is really good. Enjoy your time with family and the kids and the blizzard - stay cozy!

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I just realized I'd never replied to this. Holy crap that's lax. Sorry!

We definitely stayed cozy, and oh heating is nice!

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I thought the bit with the photos was a very effective way of showing how he'd come from something terrible and has already done a lot of healing, and why Ope and he are close.

I like that part also, where Dean seems insulted by Sam's surprise at what he's reading--still prickly, Dean?

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Always, that man is always prickly. Well...maybe not...ok yeah I'm coming up with maybe one or two examples of not.

Yeah, I'm trying to make it move swiftly without a lot of flashbacks, because it's basically become a re-imagining of the first five seasons, and no one is going to put up with it being that long. Not even me.