Lost Time Ch. 5

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 5/27
Wordcount: 8,249
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

After the fifth time he listens to the message Dean gives up on reaching his dad and finds Bobby. There are storm clouds rolling across the sky but Dean sits in the bench in defiance of the coming rain and stares out at the tree line he’s becoming all too familiar with as he watches Bobby flip pages in an old book

“Bobby. I can’t get dad.”

There’s a low growl and then Bobby closes the book entirely. “Well I’m real sorry ‘bout that boy but I don’t know what you want me to do 'bout it. Your dad ain’t the greatest at communicatin’.”


“Has he talked to you?” Dean listens to the wind pick up and rustle the trees. It's so isolated out here it's almost creepy sometimes.


"Not word one. That man is impossible when he wants to be. You know that." Dean's not sure he believes it.

Bobby would tell him if there was trouble so he lets it go. Prickly old bastard never appreciated prying anyway. “She's making progress with the curse."


Bobby chuckles lowly. “Well take this time idjit and just relax. Going stir crazy ain't the worst thing you ever experienced. She ain't finished with you yet.”


“Yeah I know.” He rubs his mouth for a second and looks back at the tree line. “Hey, he’d have told me if he was in trouble right?”


There’s a long silence and then Bobby responds gruffly. “Probably not boy. He would have told me though and he didn’t.”


"You staying the whole time I'm here Bobby?"

He watches the older hunter adjust his ball-cap and rub his fingers along the embossed title of the book. "Nope. Gotta head back soon. You'll be alright here. They're good people."


Which may be the problem.



----




By the end of the day Sam’s drained and ready to go home. He’s had three papers assigned that are due by the end of next week, one of his professors chewed him out for not paying attention, and he’s finding that any time his mind wanders it wanders to Dean. He’s annoyed, exhausted, and prickly beyond all belief. Ophelia picks up on it and drives them thirty minutes out of their way to his favorite deli to get special cheese. It’s Kryptonite for his anger and she knows it. He holds the package of Baby Swiss and looks at her half-resentfully. “I get to be unhappy sometimes.”


She glances his way once and then turns the car sharply to get back on track towards the house. “Sure you do. Just not in my car and not with a lap full of expensive cheese.” Her grin is tired and hopeful, she wants him to let go of it but knows he won’t.


“I have to work tomorrow.” It’s a statement not a complaint, his small acquiescence to her request. “What do you want to do about dinner?”


“I’ll have Bobby grill. It’s been a while. Want me to bring some by for you?” She’s fiddling with the radio, switching stations instead of putting in a CD, and he suddenly feels bad for not simply pretending everything is fine. Sometimes he can be a petulant child, and she’s told him more than once that it’s ok because she knows he wasn’t one when he should have been. It doesn’t excuse the fact that he knows how ragged she is right now with her duties at the shop, house guests, and taking care of him.


“That’d be great Ope, but I’ll just take something. Want me to make potato soup tonight?” This is his thanks for the cheese and his apology. Her eyebrows raise and he can practically see her mouth watering. She hesitates though.


“Can your knee handle that much standing?”


“I’ll enlist help. You get some work done on that design and I’ll have soup ready for you by the time you burn out.” He gives her an honest smile, and the sight of it brightens her own face.


“Thanks Sammy. That’d be great.”





----



She disappears into the basement and Sam makes his slow progress across the porch. Dean is in the living room with Bobby, and when Sam peeks his head in he sees that Bobby has fallen asleep watching some old Western. Dean glances his way and raises one eyebrow. “Can I help you?”


Sam nods once and then gestures so that Dean will join him in the kitchen. “How much experience do you have with cooking?”


Dean looks at Sam for a long moment, looks around the kitchen as if seeking help or reassurance, and then meets Sam’s eyes again. “Not much. Chef Boyardee and I are good friends, but he does most of the work.”


Sam’s laughter is surprised out of him, and then stolen away when Dean smiles in response. He shakes himself and crutches over to the fridge to pull out the ingredients he needs. He starts the pan with the bacon and then uses a series of hand signals to get Dean set up in front of the cutting board. When he hands Dean the knife he’s fascinated with how easily the older man manipulates it. He has to shake that off too, and any thoughts of what else Dean’s hand would grip so dexterously, and focus on the task at hand.


He puts the garlic and onions in front of Dean, pauses, and then demonstrates how to properly crack garlic and what to cut off before mincing it. Dean winces at the word mincing and Sam laughs a little too hard. He steps away and washes the potatoes, half-peeling each one before throwing them into the microwave in a bowl of water so they can bake. When he turns around again the bacon is ready, and he glances once to see Dean wiping at watering eyes as he tackles the onion.

Sam has just long enough to say, “No-“ before Dean’s fingers come in contact with his eye and the shouting begins.

“Oh son of a bitch-what-fuck-fuck-“

Sam grabs Dean’s hands, he has luckily dropped the knife, and leads him over to the sink. He has time to think that Dean’s fingers are rough, and then he’s gripping Dean’s neck with one big hand and trying to keep his voice soothing. “Lower your head and tilt it. Calm down I’ve got you. Is it both eyes or just one?”


“The right one. Fuck this hurts.” Sam tilts Dean’s head a different way and then turns on the cold water, cupping his hand under the flow before directing the liquid into Dean’s face.


“Open your eye Dean we have to flush the juice out. That’s it. I’ve got you. It’s fine.” He’s talking but his hand on the back of Dean’s neck is beginning to shake. It’s more physical contact with a man than he’s had in years and Sam has to work hard to keep it up. He can see the redness of Dean’s green eye as he pours the water into it. After a few splashes the tension goes out of Dean and Sam releases him and takes a half-step, half-lurch, backwards to put space in between them.


He holds a dish towel out to Dean and watches the other man dry his face. When the towel is gone Dean meets Sam’s eyes for a moment, and Sam finds himself frozen in place. He opens his mouth at the same time as Dean, they close in unison, open again, and then the spell is broken when Bobby's voice rolls across the room. “You boys ok in here?” He sounds amused and concerned at the same time.

Dean turns away abruptly and meets Bobby's gaze. “You’re the new kitchen helper. I got attacked by a damn onion.”

Sam watches Dean hand off the knife and disappear into the living room before he meets familiar crinkled brown eyes.

“You ok Sam?” Sam nods once. Bobby glances back and then shakes his head. “I’ve seen the kid complain less about taking a bullet. How finely are we dicing these?”

“Very. Ope likes them tiny.” Bobby's already nodding and chopping.

“She always hated the texture.” Sam thinks of the texture of Dean’s fingers, the rough pads and callused palms, and then grunts in affirmation and turns back to his work.





----





Sam lets the potato soup cook for longer than is absolutely necessary so that Ophelia can get extra sketch time. When he’s finished one short essay and stirred the stuff more than he cares to think about he sends Bobby to collect the other two. Ophelia’s eyes are red and strained as she sets the table. It’s the only visible indication she gives of how exhausted she is.


“How’s it going with the design?” Sam salts and peppers his soup when she puts it down in front of him. She drops the bread loaf in the middle of the table next to the butter dish and considers the arrangement before taking a spot next to Sam. The house guests sit down and the sound of Dean slurping his soup fills the silence.


“Probably another two or three hours, and then that asshole has to approve it.” She pours pepper into the soup and then begins eating with just as much gusto as Dean. The tired smile she gives him is more than satisfying.


Bobby swallows his own mouthful and looks up from his bowl. “How many hours you got in it already?”


“Ten this time. A total of thirty.” Across the table Dean chokes and Bobby stares with a gaping mouth.


“That’s one tattoo? Damn.” Dean’s shaking his head and he shoots Sam a look, but Sam looks away. After earlier he’s not interested in meeting Dean’s eyes.

Ope shrugs once and stirs her soup. "Well, he's paying really fucking well for it."

The conversation falls flat after that, and Ophelia’s too tired to try to force it. Instead she continues to inhale her soup and then gets up and cracks her back. “Bobby you’re in charge of dishes tonight. I’ve got to check on Tommy again.”

A thread of unease pushes through Sam’s mind and then is dropped when Dean stands and grabs Bobby's bowl. “I’ll do dishes sweetheart. Bobby helped cook.” The word sweetheart, sliding off his tongue and coupled with a warm and sensual smile, has Sam pushing up from his chair and grabbing at the crutches to leave the room before he has to think about it. Ophelia follows him silently and closes the door behind them.

“Sam?”

“You need to head out. I’ve got writing to do.” He’s fiddling with his books, trying to hide his face, and Ophelia steps into his space and stops his hands.

“He’s not-Sam it’s not-“

“It’s ok. He’s into girls. So am I sometimes.” It’s a weak joke, and the smile he couples with it is even worse. He can feel that. Ope makes a noise and then squeezes his hands tightly.

“I’ll send them both away right the fuck now Sam. This is too much for you. I shouldn’t have said yes.” She starts to turn but Sam grabs her hands first.

It’s not Dean’s fault Sam is developing a crush. Not Bobby's either. Plus Ophelia loves having Bobby around and sending him away from one of his rare visits would crush her. Sam holds her gaze. “I’m going to be fine. This is a good sign. Maybe I’m finally ready to start looking around. Let’s treat it as a lesson and let it go. In the meantime you just go do your stuff. I’ll be good.” He tucks blue hair behind her ear and kisses her temple to show he’s really fine.

The smile she gives him is careful instead of real. “Ok Sam. But if it really starts hurting you I want to know ok?”

“I promise Ophelia. Now go to work. Be careful.” She nods once and then looks at his stack of books as she’s turning away.

“Hey Sam, when I get back if you want we’ll go stargazing. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

She disappears through the door and Sam collapses into the desk chair and stares at the mountain of work in front of him, not willing to start and not willing to walk away from it.

He has a lot of time in between stilted paragraphs to consider what he’s going to do. It’s been a long time since Sam has had to subdue his own feelings and he’s honestly out of practice. He’d like to simply bury his growing crush and move on with his life, but there’s something about Dean that is unavoidable. Every time he tries to direct his mind elsewhere he gets a flash of laughter or rough skin, green eyes or pink lips, and damn if he hasn’t let himself wander into it again. He gives up on the paper and heads out into the living room to find Bobby and Dean on the couch watching more Westerns.

Bobby's always been a comedy guy so he has to assume it’s Dean that likes the black and white cowboy dramas. He takes the couch with Bobby and leans back without a word. After several minutes of silence Dean hesitantly asks, “You want a beer Sam?”

Sam nods, keeps it to simple gestures, and then takes the beer when Dean brings it back. They drink together, just three guys hanging out, and for the most part they simply quietly drink and watch. Whenever Sam is directly addressed by either of them he keeps his responses to one-word answers or grunts. Ope comes back during the second movie and takes the spot in between him and Bobby. She takes his beer and drinks the whole thing in one long gulp before licking her lips and slapping his thigh. He follows her silently out on the porch and they lay side by side on the cold surface and stare up at the night sky.

After a while she ventures to speak. “Want me to fish around and see if he’s interested back?”

“Yeah. Pass him a note during math class with check boxes while you’re at it. That’ll impress him.” He takes the light punch to his shoulder with a laugh.

“Last time I try to help you with your love life. Ass.” But she’s laughing too and after a while the silence becomes comfortable. Bobby joins them at some point, and he takes the bench behind them and stares up at the sky.

“You kids wanna tell me what’s going on around here? It’s getting kind of tense.” Sam feels her fingers stroke his for half a second, a silent suggestion that he decide what he really wants. Sam knows if he tells Bobby they need to go elsewhere Bobby will go without an argument and Ophelia will never hold it against him.

He takes a deep breath and then squeezes her cold digits before pushing himself upright. “Ophelia and I are talking about getting married. What do you think?”

Bobby's indrawn breath is harsh and Ope laughs until she’s in tears. Bobby ends up having to help Sam upright.





----





Sam wakes the next day to a knee that will hold weight for short periods of time. The swelling has gone down considerably and he skips the crutches and sticks to limping. Ophelia doesn’t run that morning, instead choosing to work on her design from whatever ridiculous time she woke up until Sam calls her and tells her to come to breakfast. He makes packaged blueberry muffins, and she and Dean eat them like they’re homemade. At some point green eyes meet his and through a mouthful of muffin Dean says, “Damn Sam. Is there anything you can’t make?”

“It came from a box.” Sam refills his coffee and tries to keep his tone light. “No big deal.” He’s absurdly proud of how hungrily Dean eats his cooking, but he saw the way the man downed Chinese food and knows he shouldn’t be.

Dean inhales his third muffin and then peers at Sam silently. Eventually Sam can’t avoid the look anymore, and he raises his own eyes to meet Dean’s. He lets the silence stretch until Dean breaks it. “Can you make pie?” There’s a hopeful note, something strangely childlike about Dean’s look, and Sam swallows hard. Suddenly his mouth is too dry to speak.

“Yeah. I can make pie. Is that a request?”

Dean nods before smiling brightly and shorting out all of Sam’s conversational brain cells.





----





“Hey Dean?” He hears the shout from two rooms over and comes into the kitchen to find Ophelia tenderizing steak and seasoning it. Bobby is beside her wrapping potatoes in tin foil. They've just finished their fourth session and he feels wiped and slow as he stares at her.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He was looking through her scrapbooks again, and he works to keep his face blank and guilt free. She never told him after that first admission he couldn’t, but she never said he could either.

“There’s a grill covered in a tarp in the garage. Could you roll it out on the concrete spot in front and fire it up? Standard propane job.”

“Sure.” He headed down the stairs into the basement and then exited into the garage to find two tarp covered shapes he’d passed by once or twice before without a second glance. He goes to the grill shaped one and pulls the tarp off before dragging it out into the fading sunlight. It lights easily, and he waits for the temperature to get to the right spot before scraping the bars and then closing the lid again.

When he steps back into the garage the second shape catches his eye. He lifts the tarp to find an old Honda touring cycle. It’s obviously well-loved and yet it looks like it hasn’t been touched in some time. Not like the ones out in the workshop. His fingers brush along the smooth blue metal and the slightly dim chrome before a throat clearing behind him makes him spin around on one heel. Bobby is peering at Dean and the cycle. He walks past Dean to drop the potatoes onto the grill and then comes back over and studies the bike with him.

“It was her dad’s. Her mom hated it. Called it a ‘donorcycle’.” Dean’s not as familiar with motorcycles as he is with cars but it doesn’t take much to know this is a classic. He watches Bobby cover it slowly again, and then jump guiltily when Ophelia’s voice sounds out behind them. They’re apparently both losing their touch.

“It’s a CB450. A ’68 K1 to be exact. You gear heads want to take this plate of meat? It’s getting heavy.” Dean silently accepts the large plate of steak and hamburgers from her, and she sits in a lawn chair and lights a cigarette. “Mom hated it, but she loved to see him work on it. Uncle Jeff got it in the estate, but it doesn't get much use.”

Bobby nodded once thoughtfully and then opened the grill to add the steaks. “You ride anymore?”

“Yeah. I’ll take it out eventually, but in the meantime it needs to stay covered. Sam's pretty tense about me getting on any of the cycles.” She chuckled and tapped her ashes. “His legs are too long to ride bitch properly.”

Dean thought of Sam’s legs for a brief instant and then took a seat beside her and watched Bobby grill. “So where is Sam tonight?”

“He has work duty on the help desk. It’s a part time gig but it pays ok and he enjoys it. Good experience for resumes too.” She took a long drag and then looked over at Dean. “You want to pick him up? I’ll let you take the Jeep if you think your car draws too much attention.”

Dean studies her face, carefully composed to look calm and careless, and then nods once. “Yeah. That’d be fine.” What the fuck is she up to? With every passing day Sam seems to want more and more distance in between himself and Dean. Dean’s not sure he’s opposed to the plan.

The moment in the kitchen is throwing him off his game. The cool hand cupping the back of his skull so easily, and Sam’s rumbling voice in his ear were bad enough, but there was this look on Sam’s face when Dean finally got the water out of his eyes that dropped fire in Dean’s stomach like nothing had in a long time. It was about time Dean went out and cleaned the pipes if that was happening from some dude flushing onion juice out of his eyes.

She nodded once and extinguished her cigarette. “I’ll let you guys talk about engines or whatever, I’m gonna get some more work done. Just knock when it’s ready.” She’s off like a shot and Bobby is left sharing Dean’s puzzled gaze.

After a while Dean gives up on trying to figure her out and turns back to Sam. She said he was involved with the son of bitch that hurt him, and so Dean knows that he was at least attracted to men then. So maybe the problem is that Sam is attracted to him. After a relationship that bad it would make sense that Sam would be nervous around a man like Dean.

It wouldn’t be the first time a dude had a crush on Dean, and while he’s flattered it’s not something he’s going to go after. He’s never been terribly picky when it comes to sex, but his one rule is that it stays sex. Dean Winchester doesn’t do relationships, and he never hooked up with anyone who wanted one. Despite all of that he’s comfortable enough in his masculinity to admit Sam’s a good-looking guy. It’s not his looks though that have Dean so off-kilter. Something about Sam puts him on edge, makes Dean feel crazy, and it started before he heard Sam’s tragic story.

Bobby breaks his train of thought by asking him to go get a beer from the fridge. Dean wanders past the basement door and hears the strains of something vaguely familiar beyond the closed door before he proceeds up to the kitchen. He comes back with the beer and holds it out to Bobby.

The other hunter opens the bottle casually and throws the cap into the garbage can. “She’s trying to hook you two up.”

It’s so abrupt and sudden Dean almost drops his own beer. “What? Why would-no Bobby she’s-she threatened me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Told you not to flirt with him right? That he couldn’t do the casual hook-up?”

Dean nodded once and took a long gulp of beer. Bobby's grin was full of tenderness.

“She’s warmed up to you since then. Takes her a little while.” His voice is casual and disinterested, as if it really didn’t matter one way or another. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing now.

“I’m not.” Bobby raised an eyebrow at that and tilted his beer.

“Great. I'm heading out tomorrow. Ophelia’s gonna get me a rental. She’s got that client coming in so it’ll be just the two of you. Try to avoid trouble ok Dean?”

Dean shot him an ugly look and wandered away.



----



Sam’s knee was aching beyond belief and he was beginning to wonder why he’d turned down Ophelia’s offer to wrap it. Why he’d left the damn crutches. His limp had become more pronounced as the day continued. It was finally time for him to get off the desk and the new girl wanted to walk him out. Sam wasn’t up for the argument so he just let her walk beside him, carrying his backpack and touching him more than he liked.

He saw the Jeep waiting at the curb and waved before he realized it wasn’t Ophelia sitting behind the driver’s wheel. It was Dean. Ruby stroked his forearm once to get his attention and he took in the small smirk she was wearing. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

He was fairly certain he’d never told that lie to Ruby, but he couldn’t remember. “She must be working. That’s a buddy of ours. I’ll see you Friday ok?” He took the backpack from her hands and nimbly avoided her attempt at a hug as he limped towards the car. The door popped partially open and he pulled it the rest of the way before leveraging himself into the seat.

“You should wrap that.” Dean didn’t look his way, waited for the door to close and then put the Jeep into drive. Sam leaned back in the seat and watched as Dean took his time exiting campus. It was probably a little confusing, and Sam certainly could have made it easier, but Dean didn’t ask for help and he didn’t offer it.

“Ope will. I’m no good at it.” He watched Dean’s jaw work for several seconds before the older man sent a brief glance his way.

“Sam can we discuss something?” Dean’s voice was raspy and hesitant. It put Sam on edge immediately.

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” Sam paid close attention to the dashboard. Had it been that dusty this morning?

“Ophelia is apparently trying to hook us up. I’m not-“

Sam clenched his fists on his thighs. “I’m not either. I’ll talk to her.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean startle and then settle back down. “Look kid-“

“How old do you think I am?” It came out tight and hard through Sam’s clenched teeth. He was fine with rejection, shit he hadn’t even asked a question to have rejected, but he was tired of the condescension.

“I-uh- twenty-one?” Sam could tell this wasn’t going the way Dean had expected it to. What did the cocky bastard think? Sam was some lovesick puppy following Dean around hoping for a bone? Maybe Sam was supposed to cry and then Dean would be sweet and everything would be good after Poor Sam got over his heartbreak? Fuck that.

“I’m twenty-four. A fully grown adult man. I’m not some wide-eyed girl or a twink looking for some burly guy. I think you’re attractive, but I’ve found other people attractive so that doesn’t make you special. Even if I did think you were more than a hot piece of ass I wouldn’t go after you because to be honest? I don’t know much about you and I don’t fucking trust you.” There was a brief flash here of Dean lifting him out of the bathroom and he squashed it ruthlessly. “Stop treating me like a kid and stop acting like telling me you’re not interested in me will break me. You’re not equipped to break me.”

There’s silence for a full second, and Sam is breathing hard trying to get his temper under control. Dean whistles once lowly and then Sam finally looks his way. The older man is gripping the wheel with a look of forced levity on his face. “Ok. Holding that in long?”

“Holding what in?” Dean’s reaction is only making Sam even more irrationally angry. When Dean doesn’t respond he risks another glance and sees that Dean is staring at the mirror and his expression has gone tight and cautious. “Dean. Dean what’s wrong?” All the anger leaves him so suddenly he’s a little dizzy.

“We’re being followed. I need you to tell me two turns I can take that will lead us away from the house. They need to be close together and soon.” Dean’s voice is all business but his hands are gripping the wheel like they want to strangle it.

“Followed?” Sam pictures Brady and all the blood leaves his head. Eight years. He had eight years, almost nine now, of peace and joy. Now they’ve all come to an end. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Dean’s warm fingers are touching his hand.

He looks up to see the green eyes torn between understanding, sympathy, and annoyance. “Sam I need you to focus and help me get us out of this. Tell me the route man, I don’t know the area like you do.”

Yeah, ok. He can do this. He can. “Three streets down, make a left and then take the second left after that. You’re going to come around a curve under a bridge and cross railroad tracks. Do you want to leave civilization or stay in it?”

Dean’s hand strays to his jacket pocket for half a second and then goes back to wheel. “Out. Isolated as you can get me.”

“Ok. Stay straight after the second turn and then go through the light.”

Dean waits until the last second before the left turn and swerves through it without signaling. Sam’s watching the headlights behind them now and he sees that they turn with them squealing tires and hitting the curb to keep up. Dean takes the next left turn after signaling right and the Jeep loses traction for half a second before it grips the road again. Sam has a death grip on the armrest, and he’s fighting to breathe normally.

Dean can’t handle Brady. It was a piece of luck that Ophelia could, and Sam knows that Dean’s headed into this blind. He’s never even told Ope the extent of his sins with Brady, never told her how fucking evil the guy was, how evil Sam is. Dean speeds up and runs the red light at the last second. The car behind them stops at it and Dean picks up speed. They get deep into the country moments later and Sam leads Dean through a twisting series of directions until they’re sure the car isn’t behind them anymore.

All of Sam’s earlier defiance is gone. He’s shaking too hard to focus on anything Dean is trying to say to him, and when they finally pull into the driveway Sam leaves his backpack in the car and lurches his way up the porch steps and into the house. He hears Dean slam through the door behind him, and he stumbles past Bobby's questioning face practically screaming for Ophelia. If Brady’s back she’ll be the first one he kills to get to Sam. He’s got revenge to take out on Sam’s tiny friend and Sam can’t let that-

His thought process slams to a halt when two strong arms grab him from behind to stop him from falling down the basement stairs. He can hear Ophelia shouting his name from downstairs, but that’s secondary to the roaring sound of Dean’s heartbeat as Dean holds him tightly against his chest. Finally Dean’s voice breaks through the haze of panic.

“I’ve got you Sam. You’re safe now. Breathe ok? Breathe big guy I got you. No one’s gonna hurt you here.” Sam hears Ophelia clatter up behind him and then Dean’s burning heat and strong arms are replaced by Ophelia’s cooler and slimmer ones.  Sam bends down and buries his face blindly into her neck and inhales the smell of her conditioner and shampoo, her nicotine and ink scent.

Now it’s her voice surrounding him, and Sam was already slowing down but that takes him the rest of the way. “Ok Sammy. Let’s get you cleaned up honey. It’s ok now. I’ve got you and Bobby and Dean are gonna stay out here and watch the doors alright? Come on Sammy your face is a mess.” Dean slips under one of his arms and Ophelia gets the other one. The two of them get him to the door leading to the bedrooms and the bathroom, and then she’s turning him sideways and the three of them are through the door. Dean disappears and Ophelia takes him into the bathroom. A cool cloth washes his face, two pills and a glass of water are in his still shaking hands, and the whole time her voice is soothing him. “Ok Sammy take the pills and drink ok? I got you honey. You’re fine. No one’s coming for you or me ok?”

He swallows the pills and the water, lets her lead him into the bedroom, and falls asleep under the steady stroking of her hand and the gentle sound of her voice.

----

She comes back out the bedroom looking like a bomb aching to go off. Laser focused blue eyes sweep the two of them and then she reaches out to the coat hook and grabs her jacket. "Watch him. I'm going out."

Bobby grabs her arm and Dean takes a half step towards both of them. "Not alone you ain't. Too dangerous like this." She eyes his hand and then looks up to Bobby's face.

"Somebody's got to be here if he fucking wakes up Bobby. What are you suggesting?" Her voice is worse than the look on her face, but Bobby is unimpressed.

"Take Dean." When her head shakes Bobby squeezes her arm once. "Show him. If nothing else give the boy something." Dean doesn't want to be taken. He's not sure what's going on, but he needs to be here. The look on Sam's face… He needs to be here. Instead he nods once when she looks at him, grabs his jacket, and then follows her out to the Jeep. The wind whips coldly through the car and the stereo blasts some hard metal music Dean doesn't recognize. No more classic rock tonight apparently

They end up at a bar slightly nicer than the ones he's used to. The bartender greets her by name, and several of the patrons nod in recognition. There are a good number of older barflies here, the kind of people Dean's used to, and a group of young college types at the end of the bar drinking and being loud. Dean knows the score without having to think about it. Up and up types slumming it to brag to their friends. What he doesn't know is why they look over at himself and Ophelia and get tense. Quiet.

"So you come here a lot?" Her laugh sounds surprised and almost frantic, but her face says she gets it. He's glad. They drink for a while in silence, and then the guys from the end of the bar make their move. They send a blonde, the kind of hot that covers a wealth of daddy issues Dean's all too familiar with. She's barely even subtle about it when she slips in beside Dean and leans against his shoulder

"Ophelia, did you finally trade up?" There's a wealth of information in that simple phrase, but Ophelia's response is tight and cuts off any chance of Dean learning more.

"Chelsea, you have roughly eight fucking seconds to stand up and walk away. At the end of those eight seconds I'm going to try my hand at scarification. I've never done it before, but I hear it's much fucking easier than tattooing and I'm a quick goddamn study." She has that voice again. The one she used to tell Bobby she was headed out and logic be damned. The blonde pulls up and back quickly

"You can't just threaten people."

"Four, three, two-" The girl's off like a shot, and Ope downs her next drink and then stands. "We're about to have some company. Get your shit." She drops a wad of cash on the table and then pulls her jacket on. Dean's already up, blood thrumming and fists loosely clenched. It's not really a bad thing, because if he's honest he's been itching for a fight since earlier tonight. Better these guys than her or Sam. When the group of frat-looking sons of bitches get even with them he's already loose-legged and in the proper stance. He cocks his best grin at them even as he feels Ophelia step up close to his side.

"Sorry boys. The lady and I were just leaving. You'll have to wait 'til next time to get a dance."

The tallest of them steps forward, and Dean knows instinctively it's the guy standing right behind him that's the real threat. Body posture is stronger, eyes colder, and the others keep a certain distance from him that Dean knows all too well.

"Where's the freak Ophelia? Still hiding in his room and spouting off lies about real men?" Dean glances her way and watches how her head cocks to the left. He takes it for the signal it is. The combat boot he was studying the other day snaps out without hesitation and cracks the guy in the knee, and when his face is level she punches it twice with mechanical precision. Eye, nose, and then she's stepping back as Dean swings for the leader and takes him in the jaw. The guy staggers once, and the fight is officially on. Dean loses track of who he's hitting or where she's gone. Too lost in the brutal and familiar push-pull of the bar fight. The smell of cigarettes and booze, the sound of fucking "November Rain" of all songs, and the feel of flesh under his knuckles. The bright bursts of pain only fuel that rage and movement. It's all there; dad's silence, the bullshit with the curse, the terrified look on Sam's face earlier, all of it loose and moving through his fists.

He catches a glimpse of Ophelia kicking the leader in the ribs and shouting, "Who's the bitch now motherfucker!" But then he's hitting one of them in the solar plexus and reminding himself that this is about crippling injuries not potentially lethal ones. It's tempting to go for the throat, but these are humans. Then the regulars are surging forwards and breaking up the fight, and Dean is being half-carried by two older men as he watches another guy scoop Ophelia up almost tenderly and turn her away from the guy she's been working over. It occurs to Dean that this probably wasn't a pleasing coincidence from the way she focused on that one man. That this may have been planned. At least she'll finally owe him some goddamn answers.

Their tab is covered and they don't have to do anything else but leave quietly. The bartender winks at Ope on the way out the door and she laughs carelessly and waves to him like it's a social function instead of the end of a brawl. She starts the car up and backs out of her space before lighting a cigarette, and Dean can see in the parking lot lights that it's not her lipstick, but actual blood smeared around her mouth. She's got another laceration on her cheek, and one of her fingers is popped at an odd angle as she inhales through her nose and catches him watching. She lets out a primal noise and slaps his shoulder with the injured hand before focusing on the road. Dean wonders briefly how drunk she is that she can't seem to care one of her fingers is dislocated.

"So we blew off steam. Wanna tell me what tonight was all about? What you're supposed to show me?" She glances his way in the dark, face illuminated green by the dashboard lights, and there's a manic grin there that would scare Dean if he wasn't immune to the sort of bloodthirsty madness she's giving off right now.

"That was a Thursday night in Maine. Damn but I love a good fight. Motherfuckers never saw us coming!" She lets out that noise again and Dean taps her shoulder and points at the side of the road. She takes the hint and pulls over, her face fighting a look of sobriety. He takes her wrist gently and then starts the countdown, popping her finger back in at two instead of one. She never makes a sound.

"You wanted that fight. You wanted to get away from Sam. Why'd he freak out? Who was that guy?"

The smile is rapidly deflating, becoming something more like a snarl, and Dean is briefly overwhelmed with the urge to lick a finger and clean some of the blood off her face. She's a pretty girl, but right now she looks barely human.

"He thought the car tailing you was Brady. He always thinks trouble is Brady. As for that guy? Some closeted douchebag. Flirted with Sam then outed him to the fucking public. Called Sam a homo slut and a bitch." She takes a deep breath and then lets it out, pitching her cigarette out the window without a second look and rubbing at her face. "You're pretty handy in a bar fight." It's an apology and a thank you, and Dean recognizes all of that even as his head reels. Lies about real men.

"So that was Sam's last attempt at a relationship? Ok. Makes sense. What I don't get is why you haven't just told Sam the truth if it freaks him out this bad." It's easier to control the anger now that he's let off so much steam.

"Yeah. Fuck that's-uh-" She looks momentarily lost, and then her hand sweeps brutally across the view in front of them. "Because I don't know if he can handle it. I don't fucking know what knowing I'm a murderer would do to him." There's a brutality to the line of her mouth that Dean knows all too well, and suddenly he knows exactly where she's coming from. It doesn't make it any easier.

"You've gotta tell him." Her eyes cut his way and then she puts the car in drive and gets back on the road.

----



At some point in the night Sam wakes up to hear Dean’s hushed voice cutting through the darkness. He can smell a cigarette burning, whiskey and blood, and if he weren’t so comfy and sedated he would lecture her about smoking in bed. About getting into fights. He's too familiar with these smells attached to her. Instead he listens in. “-and tell him.”

Her voice is tight and thick when it responds. “We'll discuss this in a few minutes. Outside.”

Dean’s tone comes back raspy and harsh. “You didn’t see his face sweetheart. He was-you gotta make it fucking priority one.”

Her hand comes over and strokes his hair once softly before she responds. She sounds vicious and bloodthirsty despite the softness of her touch. “Sam is always my first priority. Lecture me when he’s yours. Go the fuck away now.”

When he’s gone Sam hears her out the cigarette and then shift around to take the ashtray off the bed. “When’d you wake up?”

“Few seconds.” His voice sounds slurry and thick, but he’s more aware than he was.

“Gonna remember this in the morning?”

Sam nods once and she either sees it or senses it because she slides down so her face is right across from his. There's a cut in her lip and one on her cheek. She puts one small hand on either of his face and speaks firmly. “Sam it wasn’t Brady. I swear it wasn’t.”

“You don't know.” He’s slipping away already but he needs her to really understand how much of a mess he’s gotten her into. She strokes his cheekbones lightly.

“No Sammy I know. Go to sleep now honey. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Sam obeys.

---

Dean's sitting on the porch with Bobby, eyes trained on the woods and a shotgun propped in his lap. "This is pointless."

Bobby grunted once and shifted in his own seat. "Well it won't hurt to keep an eye out for a little bit."

"This is supposed to be a safe house Bobby. What the hell is going on? What was she showing me by starting a bar fight?" The older man shifted uncomfortably, and then Ophelia came out onto the porch and sat in front of them. She already had a cigarette burning, but Dean watched her light a new one off the end and throw the first away.

"I can-uh-I can answer that. Sort of." Bobby threw her a dark look that Dean just caught.

"What am I missing here?" He felt that old sense of foreboding. It was always something. Always something, and there was Dean expected to go along with it.

She took a deep breath and then stood and stepped away. Dean could just make out half of her bruised face in the porch light as she leaned against the railing and tapped ashes off her cigarette. "Sam was fifteen. Fifteen when that fucker found him and preyed on him. For a year Brady did a total mindfuck on Sam. Worked him over from every angle, shot him full of drugs, just fucking everything you can imagine. So it made sense to me that Sam couldn't tell the difference between reality and nightmare when I got him out."

Dean glanced Bobby's way as the slow realization began to dawn on him. The concern for her medication, Bobby's insistence they travel so far out of their way because she was the only practitioner that could help, and their combined efforts to get him alone with Sam. To entice him. Then tonight. Having him defend Sam's honor. Learn Sam's enemies.

She was waiting, and all he could do was nod and hold her gaze to the best of his ability in the dark.

"He was gone. Totally gone. I drove him back here and Uncle Jeff and I took care of him, but it was a struggle. A fucking fight every step of the way. Then I went away with Jeff for that salt and burn. When I got back I found Sam on the floor overdosing. He thought Brady was coming back for him. Believed it. He can't-" She sucked in a harsh breath and then looked away. "I haven't told him the truth because he's not ready, but he has to be and soon. Because I don't want him to confuse what happened to him with what's out there, but he can't be fucking alone. Do you get it? He needs someone who can assure him they know the dangers and they'll protect him."

Dean's eyes narrow tightly. "You're dying."

Her fingers jerk hard in the air, and then she really looks at him. The light is unforgiving in her face. "We're all fucking dying dude. Get more specific."

"You're dying soon."

"It's not-" She stops suddenly and looks at Bobby before looking back to Dean. He feels a surge of anger directed right at her and the situation they've placed him in. "Fuck man. Glare harder I might die right now."

"Not fucking funny." Bobby growls it out before settling back into his slightly shamed posture.

"Yeah I know it isn't. Listen, Dean, it's not a sure thing. I just-uh-statistically people with my condition live to be about thirty. Sometimes longer, but usually not. I'm doing really well though, and there's a possibility I'll live to be a ripe old age. But I don't like taking fucking chances when it comes to Sam. I need to know there's somebody who'll look out for him. Come if he needs help." She shrugs once and it's the most unnatural shrug he's ever seen. "I need to know Sam has protection. Bobby promised, but I need more than just Bobby. You guys don't have the best life expectancy either."

Dean looks to the older hunter and watches how he stares at his feet and shifts his ballcap. "I'm sorry son. It wasn't honest of me I know that. I just…I like the kid, and I wanted to be sure you know?"

He half stands, but there's nothing here to take his aggression out on. Anything he says will be held against him, and there's nothing he can do. Nowhere to go with it, so he just stands there jiggling his legs and clenching his fists.

"So you brought me here 'cause if she fixes my curse I'll owe her big time, and that translates into me coming back every time he thinks some dead dude is chasing him? And just in case I'm not grateful enough, make sure I'm into his ass right? Whore him out a little to protect him." It's not fair. Not fair to Dean, which he's used to, but also not fair to Sam. Which, for some reason Dean can't put his finger on, is un-fucking-acceptable. That the root of Sam's problem was some violent crazy guy, so they'd stick him with another one. Apparently though, Dean isn't the only one who's angry.

Ophelia is in his face before he can blink, fist colliding with his jaw and sending him careening backwards into the wall of the house. Bobby's up in a flash but she's against him with her arm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"You don't get to fucking judge me. I told you not to flirt with him. That was your call not mine. I just wanted you to think of him as a fucking friend you egotistic piece of shit. You wanna get fixed and walk away? Fine. I'll fucking do that, but I've seen the way you look at him. Don't act like being asked to be a part of his life is doing anybody a favor you fucker."

She's gone then, two steps back and shaking as she lights another cigarette. Bobby reaches for her but she's slipping out of his grasp and heading for the door. "Fuck this Bobby. This was a terrible idea. Fucking Winchesters."

Comments

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I loved the food prep bit. It was so...kind of romantic without being gaggy.

Sam's fear made me afraid! That was so well depicted it had me on the edge of my chair and I *knew*! so, who was it????

And Ope is seriously cool.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

All will be revealed with time. :D

Also, yeah I like the food prep part too. I'm so glad Ope is getting positive reception, because she features heavily and it would ruin the story if she was sucky. Which is a terrible word to use there...