Lost Time Ch. 4
Dec. 22nd, 2012 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraWordcount: 6,346
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
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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 doesn’t ride with other people often. Other than Bobby and his dad it just hasn’t been a thing. A part of it is relinquishing the control he has otherwise, but the larger part of it is Dean doesn’t make the kind of connections usually necessary to include riding along with someone. He's too tired to worry much. The creeping numbness in his chest has started bothering him again. When she slides into the driver’s seat he sees that her hands are bruised and her fingers scraped, and he watches as she flexes the digits slowly before pulling out a book of CDs.
“What happened to your hands?”
“You’re a classic rock man right? Nothing before the fifties or after the eighties?” She flips through pages and pages of music without looking up.
“Yeah. How’d you know that?” He’s beginning to suspect she’s using more mojo on him then he knew originally. First she has him opening up to her and then she’s guessing his personality after only knowing him a day.
She glances at him speculatively, sweeps her eyes up and down from the top of his head to his toes, looks out to his car, and then back again. Her voice is dry. “Lucky guess.”
He smiles at that, and then she puts a burned CD in the player and the Allman Brothers “Midnight Rider” starts to play over the speaker system. She puts the volume at just high enough a shouted conversation can be held and then puts the car in reverse. “I caught some rocks wrong during the slide. No big deal. Should have had the gloves on instead of just chalk.”
She drives the windy, hilly roads with ease, and her voice is sweetly off-key as she joins in on the song. Dean eventually joins in too, and the smile she gives him is honest and open. The one from the pictures. It makes him think of Sam’s smile in those pictures, and then the beaten look Sam had when he’d snapped at the kid for asking about the book. His singing stops abruptly and he leans forward to turn the music down.
“You said some guy was beating him to death?” He tries to keep his tone light but he doesn’t succeed.
“You have a good singing voice.” She reaches for the knob and then jerks her hand back when Dean touches it to stop her.
“Is that what the nightmares are about?” Dean watches her face carefully but she gives nothing away.
“Not always. Not last night. Why do you care?”
Dean considers lying, misdirecting here to avoid a potential fallout, and then goes for an approximation of the truth. “I don’t know.”
She nods and then takes a turn and they’re officially so far out in the country that houses are coming every few minutes. “Fair enough.”
“You two worried he’ll show up again? That why you’re so protective?” There’s a twitch to her mouth and then she’s glancing his way before turning back to the road to pass a slower car.
“I am not worried about him showing up again. Sam is.” Dean watches her light a cigarette and then roll the window down all the way. The Allman Brothers are still singing but Dean’s attention isn’t on beloved old songs.
“Why aren’t you worried?”
She peers through smoke and then pulls the car over on the side of the road and turns completely to face him. “What will knowing these answers get you Dean? You don’t plan on coming back. You’ve barely known Sam a day. What can you possibly gain from learning his history? Don’t say you don’t know. That’s not good enough.”
Dean chews on all the possible answers he can give her. He settles on one that isn’t too open. “I saw the pictures of him after you met him. I want to know why someone would make a person look like that. I want to understand. Consider me a chronicler of suffering that way.”
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. Taps the cigarette and then takes a deep breath. “Sam was involved with him. It was a bad relationship, but he was the first person to tell Sam he was worth anything. They did shit together. Bad shit. Eventually Sam was done with him. He told Brady that, and Sam…they argued and Brady started to beat him. They were in the middle of nowhere and I guess the bastard thought no one would see.”
She took another drag and Dean saw the trembling in her fingers. Her face was still controlled and he was honestly fairly impressed.
“I was on a trip at the time. Climbing in North Texas and I’d just reached the top of this pretty hard cliff face when I hear a howl. Human. You know what traditional climbing is compared to other types?”
Dean shakes his head and leans back in the chair his hands flexing open and closed on his thighs.
“You put the anchors in yourself and they have to be removable. Reducing your fucking footprint. I followed the line of the cliff, kept looking down, finally I saw them. This kid my age on the ground and this other guy above him and he’s screaming in pain but he’s not defending himself. Just taking it. My ascent point is a couple yards away and anchorless, and I’m not familiar enough with the area to know shortcuts, but I know where the back side is and I can’t walk it. There isn’t time. So I rappelled. Not the safest option and certainly not the smartest but this bastard is going to town and I’m worried the guy on the ground isn’t going to live long.”
She stubbed out the cigarette, looked at the pack longingly, and then locked her fingers together. Her mouth was twitching again. “I landed on the asshole, twisted my fucking ankle something awful on his shoulder, and then cut the rope and went nuts.” She reached into the backseat and dug through a gear bag before pulling out a knife and opening it. The blade has open spaces for hexagonal nuts, a serrated portion, and one smooth part. It’s tiny, no more than three or four inches, but it’s wickedly sharp and it sits easily in her small hand.
“I cut his femoral artery.” When Dean glanced up she was watching his face, her eyes so intense it was hard to keep the gaze for a second. “Sam was too far gone to notice. I watched him try to run. I watched him drop. It doesn’t take long with the femoral artery. When I knew he wasn’t getting back up I roused Sam enough to offer him my hand and his life. He came with me. Later I told him I just used the knife to scare the bastard off. Sam believed me.”
She fell silent and waited. Dean weighed the information for a long moment. “Bobby doesn’t know this story?”
She shook her head and put the car into drive, signaled, and then pulled out on the empty road and sped up. “Bobby doesn’t need to know this story.”
They took three more turns and suddenly they were in a small town cruising along at a low speed. Dean leaned back in his seat and watched the old buildings roll by. “You feel guilty about killing him?”
“Not in the slightest. You saw those pictures, but you didn’t see Sam lying there all…” Her voice cuts off abruptly and she turns into a parking space and gets out of the car without a word. Dean follows her into the Chinese restaurant and watches as the girl behind the counter shoots her a wary look. He helps her carry one of the bags and they put them on the floor in the backseat.
Dean knows he needs to say something, but he’s not sure what. He’s glad she did it really, brutally and viciously glad she did it because the thought of Sam lying on the ground covered in blood and waiting for death makes something inside him clench tight and scream. He rubs at his hair for several moments as the car starts back up and she backs out carefully.
“I frightened him by snapping at him. I felt guilty.” He doesn’t look at her, but he can feel her glance his way once and then turn back to the road.
“Don’t snap at him then. Problem solved.”
Dean looked at the building for a long time before he slid out of the passenger seat of the jeep. It was impossible to guess from the outside exactly what it was, but the name Confession didn't leave a lot of possibilities. Ope strode confidently forward and pushed the door open, glanced his way once, and then stepped inside. It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. If he had to guess he would have gone with sex shop or goth store, but this was…well Dean could deal. He followed Ophelia into the building and looked around.
A counter stretched out across the front, and behind it there were three enclosed booths. He'd been in tattoo parlors before, and he knew what waited behind those walls. The counter was littered with black binders, and two attractive blondes were flipping through them and cooing over pictures as a huge biker looking guy watched them with a bored expression. The look changed when he caught sight of Ope, and then he lowered the volume on the heavy metal coming from the wall-mounted speakers and rounded the counter to slap palms with her.
"Hey boss. What the hell are you doing here?"
The two girls looked up then, and one nudged the other and whispered something
"Checking to make sure you didn't burn the place down before I got back. Anything good?" She went over to the computer and tapped the keys for a minute before squinting at the screen. "Oh fuck Tommy. I thought we swore we wouldn't book this bitch anymore."
Tommy looked oddly mollified, and he shrugged once and shuffled all his mass in an oddly endearing way. "Well she pays well Ope, and I just thought-"
"She pays well so we won't ban her ass. Which I've done if I remember correctly. Tommy the bitch called your work pedantic."
Somehow this was the moment Tommy seemed to really notice Dean. "Who's your friend?"
One blonde giggled and Ophelia shot her a look before turning her attention back to Tommy. "Not relevant dude. 'Fess up. You trying to bag this bitch or you hurting for cash?" The blonde giggled again derisively and Ope's eyes cut over to her and settled this time. "Hey, Tramp Stamp, pick a design or fuck off. This isn't a goddamn art gallery. We take serious ink people here." The blonde lowered her head and her friend looked away and blushed
Dean was both impressed and surprised. Ophelia pulled Tommy back into a booth, and chatted for a bit before returning and grabbing Dean's elbow. "Let's go."
The ride back was silent, and the woman smoked heavily and tapped out the beat of the Rolling Stones album as they crossed a bridge and approached her secluded driveway. Dean broke the silence, although he wasn't sure he wanted to.
"You always talk to customers that way?"
The sunglasses were dark enough Dean couldn't see what her eyes did, but her lips pulled into a line. "When they're just coming in to stare? Yeah. I had to put up with that shit when I first opened the shop. Girls barely legal that wanted stars and butterflies, and then walked off feeling like badasses. Overly muscled jerks that cried through their tribal designs. Every time I smiled and nodded and listened to them talk about their pain resistance while I pretended they weren't talking shit the minute they left. I promised myself once I had the customer base I would be more picky. I've got that base now." Ophelia's lips twisted in a tight grin. "Tommy's a big old sweetheart that tries really hard to look like he doesn't care. Bitches like that come in and demand more art than they pay for before going back to brag about how he stared at their tits or some shit. I hate that shit. Like Tommy cares about jailbait." She waved a hand angrily and then pulled into the driveway.
Dean took a deep breath and then leaned back. "Sounds reasonable."
Ophelia looked his way, and then laughed once. "Sorry. Soapbox."
He nodded once and then the curve came and there was the house.
“So this was your uncle's house?” Her fingers tighten briefly on the steering wheel.
“Yep. It’s been in the family a long time.” She gives a strangled corpse of a smile and then turns into the driveway. “Can I ask you a favor before we go in?”
Dean nods once and watches the trees roll by. She’s silent until they pull up and she parks the car.
“Be nice to Sam. Make friends. If you have any more questions about his past become close enough with him that you can ask him.” Her smile is soft and sad. “I can’t keep leaking this shit to you. They’re Sam’s stories and he should be giving them or hiding them. Ok?”
Dean nods once and then looks up at the house. “He seems like a good kid.”
Her smile is finally honest and full. “He’s the best.”
----
Bobby returns shortly after they leave and goes into the basement to dig out an old pair of crutches. He offers them to Sam silently and then takes a beer and a position at the table. His face is stern, and his eyes are dark and heavy. Sam wants to comfort him but he knows Bobby well enough to know the man doesn’t want help with this. He wants answers.
“How long has she been off the medication?”
“Since a month after they prescribed it. She said it wasn't working and she didn't care.” Sam runs his fingers over the familiar grain of the wood. It's an old fight of theirs and Sam hasn't started it up in a long time. Too tired or busy with his studying and the need not to have her angry at him. The compulsive need to avoid angering her.
Bobby nods stiffly and looks out the window at nothing, probably seeing something far in the past. “You’ve been really good for her Sam. Thanks.” Sam knows it’s hard for Bobby to admit this, to open up this way. His line of work doesn't allow for much in the way of emotional conversation. Ope's warned him more than once about that.
“You could tell her you know. That you're worried. It might help if it was more than just me.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice because it doesn’t do to judge people.
“Wouldn't do any good son. She's never listened to me either. She's determined to prove something, and she ain't gonna stop until she does.”
Sam leans forward and almost touches Bobby's arm to get his attention. Instead he taps the wood briskly and waits for the older man to turn his way and focus on the present. “I agree. But she can't keep going this way. The climbing especially.” He lets his eyes tell the rest because there’s nothing else that can be said aloud. Bobby grunts once and then nods. He gets it.
When they finally return Sam has finished what he had left of the reading assignment and gone back to studying for his Cisco certification. He’s going to blow it out of the water, he knows it, but it can’t hurt to hedge his bets.
The two of them walk next to each other easily, and she’s laughing about something when she comes in but Sam can see the tension around her eyes and the line in Dean’s shoulders. They’ve had some heart-to-heart, not Ophelia’s specialty, and neither of them is sitting easily after it.
They don’t talk about it, and she doles out Chinese food while Sam breaks her chopsticks and his. Bobby suggests they move this into the living room, and he turns on the World Series. Ope boos half-heartedly at both teams until Dean asks her who she wanted to see in the Series. When she says the Redsox he laughs until he chokes a bit, and Sam reaches over without thinking and slaps his back. The smile Dean gives him is almost blinding, and Sam pulls his hand back and focuses on the screen.
It won’t do to be attracted to Dean, and Sam knows it. There are a world of reasons it’s a bad idea. Sam shouldn’t even be worried about it because he hasn’t been interested in anyone sexually in almost four years. He had begun to think he was asexual honestly and it’s off-putting to be proven wrong. He tries to control his sight line, to keep his eyes from wandering to the green-eyed man and studying the angles of his face, or his full lips, or the coiled strength in that muscled body. Fuck even not looking is starting to bother him.
He knows almost nothing about Dean other than that he’s Bobby's friend and a wanted criminal. Only one of those is a recommendation. Scratch that, he knows the guy is capable of violence. Knows it from the hardened hands and the steely look Dean has gotten once or twice. If there’s anything that can put a damper on Sam’s sudden lust for a stranger it’s the knowledge that if the guy wanted he could break Sam, and he knows Dean can break him. Sam may have the height advantage, he may be pretty built himself, but he’s not a trained fighter and Dean has that look about him.
The game ends with Bobby cheering for the Phillies’ victory and Ope muttering about the lesser of two evils. Which somehow becomes Bobby and Ophelia arguing, which quickly escalates to Bobby and Ophelia yelling. Dean keeps glancing helplessly at him, and trying to insert himself into the argument, presumably to stop it, but when the two of them get going like this the fight isn’t even really about a thing. At least nothing concrete that they can really argue about. The root of it is a mixture of Bobby's worry, Ope's carelessness, and the gap between them without Jeff there. Finally Sam takes pity on Dean and gestures for the guy to follow him. They loop through the kitchen and Dean silently grabs two beers before stepping in line behind Sam’s thumping crutches.
They end up on the porch, Sam in the chair and Dean on the bench, with the stars twinkling brightly above them and a sliver of moon, waxing Sam thinks, hanging in the sky. Sam accepts the beer gratefully and leans back in the chair. Dean’s voice is almost hesitant. “They do that a lot?”
“Oh yeah. That’s how they’ve spent all the time I've known them never talking about anything consequential. Anytime it seems like they’re getting close enough Ope picks the fight and Bobby runs right at it like Charlie Brown at a football.”
Dean’s laugh is husky and warm in the darkness and Sam shivers once and gets himself under control. “You usually just wander off?”
“Yeah. There’s no stopping them. They’ll yell themselves out in a half hour or so and pretend it never happened. They’re mutually dysfunctional that way.” Sam should be asking questions. Being social is not his strong point, and small talk seems useless in most situations, but Sam knows it’s expected here so he tries for it anyway. “So where are you from originally?”
Dean sounds honestly surprised when he answers. “Kansas. A little town called Lawrence. You?”
Hell. “Texas. Abilene.” Sam takes a long pull from his beer and squints at the constellations Ope’s uncle taught him about. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to suggest I thought you were stupid.”
He hears Dean inhale harshly and then he hazards a glance the other man’s way and sees through the dim light that Dean’s jaw is clenched and he’s staring at the tree line. “I’m sorry Sam. I shouldn’t have snapped. Education is a sore point for me.”
That’s interesting. “Why’s that? Reading a book that’s half in Latin suggests you’re pretty well-educated.”
“I have a G.E.D. My dad and I moved around a lot and I never finished high school. At the time I thought it was pointless really, but now I’m beginning to see how it might have helped.”
Sam fights with his interest and loses the battle. “How did you learn Latin?”
Dean’s jaw works in the dim light and Sam can catch glints off of those eyes as they move along the trees restlessly. Like Dean’s looking for something, scanning for incoming danger even as he’s trying to relax. “My dad insisted on it. Well-rounded individual thing. What do you study at the college?”
“Computer Science. I’m working to get my certifications so I can apply for IT jobs, but it’s taking longer than it should.” Sam didn’t mean to say that, but there’s something about sitting here in the dark, knowing Dean can barely see him that makes his tongue loose.
“Why’s that?” He can feel Dean’s gaze shift to him and it makes him squirm a bit in his chair before he gets control of himself.
“I started a little late, and I had to take a semester off due to health issues.” Health issues. It’s a joke really. Not even Ophelia knows the extent of how bad off he was that first year, or how bad it hit him in the second semester. She was there for every step of the process but she didn’t have the context to understand the situation. Sam is determined that she never will.
Dean grunts and let’s that one go. Instead he leans back in the bench and gestures upwards. “It’s freaking gorgeous here. You must love it.”
Sam turns his eyes back to the stars. “Yeah. I do. Uncle Jeff used to take me out here and tell me all the constellations and their histories. I probably remember about half of them, but I still like to look.” He’s relaxing even against his better judgment. “How long have you and Bobby been friends?”
There’s an odd chuckle this time, almost bitter, and then Dean’s beer bottle clinks on the porch and Sam hears the bench shift under his solid bulk. “Practically my whole life. He and my dad are friends, and he helped raise me after my mom died.”
That’s…well that’s either interesting or tragic and Sam can’t decide. After all, a kid could do much worse than Bobby as a surrogate father. He's seen Bobby with Ope enough to know the guy is gruff, but gentle. Still… He shouldn’t push but he does. “So you lost your mom when you were really young?”
Dean shifts again and Sam’s beginning to see the extent of the older man’s restlessness. It’s not surprising, with a body like that he’s probably used to action and sitting still talking like this doesn’t seem to be his thing. At least not fully. Or it could just be the conversational topic. “Yeah, mom and… Yeah. When I was four.” That voice is low and thick as if it doesn’t know if it should be grief-stricken or angry. “My mother and my little brother. Six months apart.”
Sam takes in a sharp breath and then turns and looks at Dean. He’s surprised to see those glinting eyes are aimed directly at him. “I’m sorry. That must have been horrible. Was it an accident or…or something else?”
Dean’s eyes move in the light, his face shadowed and stiff, and then he rubbed his hair briskly. “My mother was murdered. My brother was…it was an accident. I couldn’t save him.” There’s a long silent pause and then Dean adds in a tone that suggests he doesn’t mean to say it, “His name was Sam.”
Sam regulates his breathing and then looks back out at the stars above them. It gets chilly here in October and Sam’s over shirt isn’t thick enough to combat it. Dean notices his shaking and stands abruptly. “Let’s get inside Sam. They should be done by now right?” There’s a forced cheerfulness that’s awful to hear, and Sam struggles with the beer bottle and the crutches until Dean’s warm hand brushes his and takes the bottle so he can focus on the padded grips.
“Thanks. Hey Dean?”
Dean pauses ahead of him and sends it back over his shoulder. “Yeah Sam?”
“I bet your brother would be pretty pissed off if he knew you were beating yourself up about something that happened when you were too young to do anything about it.”
This time the chuckle is a little more honest. “If he was anything like me? Yeah he probably would be.”
---
Dean watches her carefully as she lies still on the yoga mat, robe open to expose the pajama pants and tank top underneath. She's taking long slow drags off of the joint and holding the smoke in for long periods of time before she releases. She's pale again, shaky, but she seems totally at ease. The lines didn't change visibly this time, but there was the same sensation as last time, and Dean is counting that a blessing. It may not be a pleasant sensation, but it's something. He watches the way she rubs at her face before he finds his voice. "So why don't you hunt?"
He watches heavy blue eyes blink twice before they focus on him. "I've got a genetic condition."
There was a pause, and when she didn't offer more he swallowed and leaned harder against the boards. The lingering scents of the oil and the herbs burning on the low altar mixed in with smoke from her joint have him getting a strange contact high. Spacey and tranced out. "Serious?"
Something dark flickers over her face. "Serious enough. Doesn't matter. Out of my fucking hands." He thinks of Bobby's concern about her taking her medication and lets it go
"You ever killed anything though? Other than that asshole?" He's not even sure why his mouth is moving. Drugs. Has to be the contact high.
"Did a salt and burn once with Uncle Jeff when he was desperate for back-up. Sat in on a possession." Her hand moves in a lazy gesture before she takes another drag. The joint is almost gone. "Helped out with a nest in Vermont. Fucking vampires in the cold man. All wrong. You ever killed a person?"
Dean closes his eyes and rubs at the back of his neck. "Yeah. I uh-yeah."
Ope's staring at him when he finally opens his eyes, and the joint is out but she's not quite there yet.
"Carry me back into the house ok? I don't think my fucking legs are working."
----
They’re lying in bed beside each other in silence as the night drags past. Sam’s honestly a little afraid of falling asleep and rejoining the nightmare from the night before, and Ophelia is boneless. She smells of pot and herbs, and Sam wonders what exactly she's getting up to out there with Dean. He finally breaks the silence and pitches his voice low and soft. “What are you thinking about?”
"Mac and cheese." He elbows her once gently and she huffs a laugh. “How much easier life would be if we fell in love with each other.” Her voice is just as low, but it has an undertone of weariness he hates to hear.
“Do you want that?” Honestly Sam’s thought about it himself more than once. She knows more of his story than he’s willing to tell anyone, she’s always there for him, and she’s certainly attractive. If Sam wasn’t so damned damaged he’d probably be interested in her in that way. He could see them growing old together, hell they’re basically doing it now.
“No.” She rolls over and puts her face against his bicep. Takes a deep breath and he feels the warm exhale when she lets it out. “It would ruin everything, but it would be so much fucking easier.”
Sam nods once and then puts his arm around her, drags her head onto his chest and lets it rest there. “You’re too sleep-deprived and high to make sense. I’d be a terrible boyfriend. Too much baggage.” He’s always amazed at how small she feels at times like this. He can remember, hazily and through a red glaze, the way she looked when she held her hand out. The sound of her voice rolling like thunder through the empty wilderness. Come with me or stay here and die. Your choice stranger. She seemed so big then, so colossal, and it wasn’t until his eyes opened again and he could see her clearly without the blood marring his vision that he really got an idea of the size of her.
“You’re an idiot Sam Burton. A complete idiot. One day some nice man or woman is going to sweep you off your feet and when you get the time to remember me I hope you remember me telling you that.” There’s a hesitation here and then she plows forward. “Are you interested in Dean?”
Is he? Yes. Should he be? Fuck no. “I barely know him.”
She shrugs awkwardly in the circle of his arm. “That hardly matters in these situations, or so I am told by love stories.”
“Go to sleep Ope.” He strokes her hair once and then goes back to idly rubbing her back. He can feel her losing the battle to stay awake. “Love stories are for suckers. You’ve said that a million times.”
“I’d like to be wrong for once.”
She falls asleep a few minutes later and Sam continues to hold her and stare at the ceiling of his room silently. His knee aches, and he imagines his arm will fall asleep if he leaves it in this position, but her warmth is soothing and he doesn’t want to let go of it just yet.
Tyson-no Brady- used to say that Sam was corpse cold at night. It wasn’t an affectionate statement but it was certainly true. Sam’s always cold it seems, no matter how many layers he puts on. Has been since he first started…but that’s a dangerous line of thought and he clamps it off before it can go farther.
He thinks of Dean for a minute, with those green eyes and that strong jaw, and then he thinks of all the ways Dean could hurt him. Casually, simply, hurt him without ever thinking twice. He doubts Dean is in to guys anyway. Sam’s preferences have shifted with the winds his whole life, anyone who would show him a little affection is his type generally, and he knows it’s unhealthy but there’s no use lying to himself about it. He spent too long lying to himself. Sleep grabs him with little warning, and if he dreams he doesn’t remember it.
----
When Sam wakes up Ophelia is already gone. She’s probably running without him, and she knows she's not supposed to. He has class in two hours. He rolls awkwardly out of bed and takes three limping steps before grabbing the crutches. His knee is still swollen, but it’s not as bad as yesterday and he’s grateful for that. He limps his way to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and then heads into the kitchen. There’s no one there, and Sam enjoys the peaceful quiet as he pours himself a cup of coffee and makes his own bowl of cereal. It’s difficult to get it all to the table, and he has to put the crutches down and limp with the bowl, but once it’s all there he elevates his leg and reads the paper she’s left him on the table.
He has maybe a half hour of peace before the door opens and the two of them come in sweating and panting. Her face is flushed and she’s laughing breathlessly as she plunks down in the seat across from him and sips her water. Dean takes the chair next to Sam’s leg and collapses into it. His face is full of color, eyes sparkling, lips a darker pink than normal and Sam thinks, fuck, and looks away quickly.
“How the…fuck do you…do that and smoke?”
Ope slides him her water bottle and he gulps noisily and then slides it back. “Practice.” Sam can feel her questioning gaze and then she moves it away and gets up to get herself cereal. Usually she showers before eating but she’s willing to wait for Sam to see she's moving easily without assistance. Sam can smell her and Dean from here, an odd combination of scents to be sure. Hers is familiar and comforting, but Dean’s is overly masculine, almost overwhelming, and Sam really shouldn’t like the smell of sweat.
He swallows the last bite of cereal and before he can get up to take his bowl Dean is sweeping it off the table and carrying it away. Sam hears the fridge open and then close, hears the microwave run, and then Dean is back eating leftover Chinese out of the carton and watching Sam carefully. “How’s the knee kiddo?”
It’s bizarre that it should anger Sam, because Loki calls him that all the time and it never bothers him. But it does because he's not that much younger than Dean. At least he doesn’t think he is. “I’m not a kid.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and waves his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry. Just a friendly term. I take it back. How’s the knee Sam?”
“It’s fine.” The grumble is petulant, and Sam hates it coming out of his mouth. He’s an adult now damn it. He pushes himself up and tries to limp out, leaving the crutches against the counter, but his traitorous knee gives a bit and Dean is there in a flash holding him up. He feels the muscles and sweat and pulls away too hard staggering into the wall before he catches himself. He limps away before he can lose more of his waning dignity.
Bobby crosses his path as he heads to his room, and the brown eyes are amused and bright. “You kids make a hell of a lot of noise in the morning.”
Sam waves a hand, can’t contribute to the conversation at the moment, and then closes his door and takes several deep breaths. He honestly half expects Ophelia to come in any second wanting to know what’s happened, but she’s probably guessed it and is giving him his space. He hears the bathroom door open and close again and sits on his bed to give his knee a break and center himself. Dean will be gone in a few weeks. Sam just has to survive until then.
----
She hums along with Otep as the car speeds along the roads that will take them to campus. Her fingers are drumming and she keeps her eyes on the road instead of glancing his way. It’s her way of offering him space if he wants it. He does.
She doesn’t offer to help him to class but she does open his door and hold out the crutches silently. He takes them with a grunt of thanks and then speeds off to class.
Sam’s an excellent student, knows it and revels in it, because this is a domain he has full control over. He doesn’t offer answers, but early in each semester he makes it known that he has them and the professors often seek him out when the class has become unresponsive. He can’t focus today though, and so he takes a spot in the back and puts a wall up so that he can just cruise through all of it. He’ll be graduating this semester and all that’s left is a few gen ed courses he’s been avoiding since the beginning.
It reminds him too much of the old days, of listening to the History Channel on Brady’s couch with half an ear as he kept himself busy with other things. And if that’s not unpleasant enough he looks out the window and spots Ophelia’s blue hair in the sunshine bobbing beside a man who looks vaguely familiar as she no doubt heads for her car and Confession. Sam tries to follow where he’s seen the guy before, but the professor is asking him a question and his attention gets fragmented as he tries to answer it. He’ll ask her later. There’s always time
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Date: 2012-12-22 06:39 pm (UTC)Sam and Dean having a moment...I love it. It's so honest, so real, not forced and probably stunned them both.
<3 (And having a very long story is not a bad thing...it comes as the muse directs, I personally think it's awesome to have such a developed story and characters)
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Date: 2012-12-22 08:54 pm (UTC)This is not my favorite of their moments, but it's in the top five. My favorite is this scene after they realize...but I digress.
The problem is this is the story I started on the old computer, restarted before the hubby saved the files, and now I'm merging the two. So, for example, in the original Ophelia had no knowledge of hunting, it's an OMC who brings Dean in, and her parents died shortly before the story started. I keep finding spots where I dropped the ball changing that, like in here where Sam thinks about Ope's dad teaching him about constellations instead of her uncle. I'm going to need to scour the thing a third time so I can avoid that. The family is running late, so I may drop another two up here before they arrive. If I can stop working on this other short piece that's my general angsty porn. :)
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Date: 2012-12-23 04:28 am (UTC)And after they realize? You're killing me with the teasers. :p
Ahhh, THIS is the story hubby saved! I'm glad you're giving it another go. I like how you've changed Ophelia's story, and bringing in Bobby. (well, I didn't read the original, but I do like this so far, very intrigued.)
I need to reread it all in one go - I was so excited to read (and was cleaning today only rewarding myself with reading when I got something done) that I might have rushed over some details (like that.)
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Date: 2012-12-23 05:35 am (UTC)Enjoy, and I'm glad I'm a reward!!
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Date: 2012-12-23 05:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-08 05:34 am (UTC)It's such a throw-away thought for Sam to have and yet, it says so much about him.
And I had a moment of "Oh no!!" When Sam catches sight of Ope with a vaguely familiar guy.
Bobby as always is awesome. And kind. And funny.
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Date: 2013-01-10 05:10 pm (UTC)But he's so awesome.
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Date: 2013-02-02 10:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-02 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-11 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-11 01:42 pm (UTC)