Lost Time Ch. 12

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 12/27
Wordcount: 5,972
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

When he finally reaches the rendezvous point with Bobby Dean can't hide his nervousness. Can't even pretend.

Dean broaches the subject in the car because he doesn’t want Bobby to find out the truth in front of John. Bobby takes it as well as Dean expected him too. When the shouting finally ends, when Bobby's face isn’t red and twisted with anger anymore, Dean waits for the older hunter to start asking questions. He doesn’t disappoint.

“What did she summon?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it was it sure knew a hell of a lot.” Dean glances Bobby's way one time and sees that he’s turned to look out the passenger window. “I haven’t read it all yet.”

Bobby nods but doesn’t judge him out loud. Knows what had Dean’s attention this last day. What still kind of does. There’s silence for about a hundred miles, and then Bobby asks where the notes are and Dean tells him. Bobby digs them out, starts flipping through them, and there are brief glimpses of fond and soft smiles mixed in with that screwed up look of concentration that always comes with a tug to his cap's brim. Finally he talks again, and the voice carries no trace of anger at all. Instead Bobby sounds hesitant and unsure. “Boy, you really haven’t read all this?”

“Nope. Was a little busy.” Dean takes a turn off the highway and studies the roads. They’re maybe three hours away from John and making damn good time. They should be in the little Wyoming town early, and Dean’s glad for that. It’ll make up for the shock he’s about to give his father’s system.

He feels a finger tap his shoulder and turns to meet crinkled brown eyes. “Pull over Dean.” Dean does, doesn’t ask questions because he knows Bobby doesn't make that kind of request lightly.

Bobby holds out the notes carefully and he taps an underlined passage. This isn’t the part Dean skimmed over earlier, the summary is still several pages away. Instead Bobby has gone to the raw data, her sloppy hand-writing and indecipherable organizational system evident everywhere Dean looks. He finds the beginning of the sentence and reads it slowly and carefully.

“Demon’s target mother or baby? Why either?”  Written beside that in a slant worse than before and a different color of ink Dean finds. “Hel says baby was the target and still is. Laughed at assertion that younger Winchester was dead. Did they find bones? Not accident but demonic kidnapping?”

There’s no blood in Dean’s head, his fingers shake as he holds the notes so tightly he’s dimly afraid they’ll rip. Bobby goes to take them but Dean growls wordlessly and read the words another five times 'til they’ve fully sunk in. His eyes catch one more passage lower on the page. “How could JW miss SW’s body being gone? Somebody's full of shit. Either he knows more or Azazel does. Hel says summoning Azazel too dangerous.”

Dean remembers the night of the fire, the way he pulled against his father’s strong arms and screamed Sammy’s name ‘til his little throat was hoarse and raw. He remembers the burned out look in his father’s eyes as he stared at the wreckage of the place. Watched Sam’s accidental pyre burn to the ground. He doesn’t remember though if there were bones in those ashes, if they even looked, and the thought is odd because they should have looked. If for no other reason than to give what was once the center of Dean’s world a proper resting place.

Bobby clears his throat and brings Dean out of his musings. The other man gently disengages his fingers from the papers and takes them before smoothing them out. He gives Dean time, and Dean has to exit the car and take deep breaths of the cool autumn air before he can find the strength to walk away from the car. He takes several steps, sinks to his knees, and starts to gag up the diner food he had only a few hours before. He knows the thing she summoned was right. It had to be. Because hasn’t he always thought it should hurt more? That he should feel emptier at the memory of Sam? Instead there’s been this lingering feeling, this place in the back of his head that shouted to him that Sam was waiting somewhere for Dean to come to him.

He’s put it off for years as reckless hope, something undying inside of him that started the night they brought his baby brother home. The night his mother said Sammy was his, and goddamn but his eyes want to weep. He bites back the tears, holds them in, and considers the possibility that for twenty-four years his baby brother has been in the hands of demons. Where is he now? Being tortured? Twisted? Is he a broken and weeping thing or has the genetic stubbornness passed through the Winchester blood held him up all these years?

Dean can’t stand either thought, Sam defiant or Sam broken, his baby brother so small and tender that he needed Dean to cuddle against him at night so he wouldn’t scream and wail with fear. He’s pictured what his brother would look like more than once in his quiet, down moments. Shorter than Dean, fragile and lean in his mind’s eye, with their mother’s up-turned eyes and dark blonde hair, dad’s chin. He imagines Sam would be gentle, smile often, and look to Dean with admiration and love because if Dean hadn’t failed Sam then he would have spent his entire life never failing him. That faulty switch in Dean, the thing that made him fuck-up that time and every time after it, would never have been flipped and Dean would have protected Sam against the world he’d been brought into the night of the fire.

Azazel. It’s the name of everything Dean has spent his entire life hating, every monster he’s killed was just a build-up to knowing this name so he could track it and kill it. Now he’s got it, got a name, got a target, but more importantly he has hope. Because Sam is still alive. Still out there somewhere and Dean can find him. Dean can save him. Nothing else matters at this point, Dean’s focus is clear and sharp as he wipes his face with a fist full of grass and spits the taste out of his mouth. His brother is out there and Dean may not be as good a hunter as his father but he’s one of the best. If it moves, if it acts, Dean can find it. So he’ll find Sam first, and then let his little brother watch him kill the thing that took him. He has a feeling, a strong intuition, that if he can find Azazel he can find Sam.

When he gets back in the car Bobby silently holds a water bottle out to him and he uses it to rinse his mouth and then drink deeply. They don’t speak again after he starts the Impala back up.




----




Sam stays on campus all morning and then goes to work with Ophelia. He’s too nervous to let her go alone, and he’s not excited about the prospect of returning to his empty bed. He watches her banter with repeat customers, play the hard-ass with new ones, and mock a local tough guy that cries through his cross tattoo. She argues with Tommy about the music, and demands Sam weigh in. When Ruby shows up and Ope takes her back to the booth Sam can see the tightness in Ope's shoulders. He doesn't get a chance to ask the girl anything before she's gone, and he goes back to his book.

He lets his mind wander even as he occasionally flips a page in his book to look busy. Where’s Dean by now? Sam hasn’t heard from him and it’s starting to make him nervous. There’s a chance Dean is still on the road, it hasn’t been sixteen hours yet, but for some reason he thought he’d at least have gotten a text message by now. Ophelia taps his shoulder when it’s time to leave, and that’s when Sam realizes how distracted he was. Ruby is standing behind her with a broad smile.

“Hey Tiger. Studying hard huh?” Ruby’s tone is warm, overly familiar, and it makes Sam want to duck out. Instead he feels Ophelia’s fingers slide into his even as he stands and uses his other hand to sweep the book closed and into his bag.

“Yeah. Just trying to keep up with it. What are you doing here?” Sam keeps his voice light and distant. It’s a good way to put people off usually but it doesn’t work this time.

“I've wanted to get a tattoo forever. Something that really captures me you know?” She turns and lifts her shirt to show him the butterfly tattoo she's apparently just gotten at the base of her spine.

Sam smiles dutifully even as he feels the smaller hand in his tighten sharply. Ope’s face never changes though. “Because nothing says beautiful and unique snowflake like a uniform tramp stamp.” She leans against his chest and he lets go of her hand to reflexively grip her waist with his arm. She’s laying the act on a little thick and it confuses the hell out of Sam. “But hey, you picked it out of the fucking book and I did it, so who am I to judge right?”

“See you tomorrow Ruby.” Ope is practically dragging him out the door as the blonde says her own goodbye. Once they’re a fair distance outside of the building and headed for the Jeep Sam speaks again. “What was that all about?”

Ophelia doesn’t bother turning around. Lights a cigarette and fumbles with her keys before getting the button pushed to unlock the doors. “She's a bitch.” When she looks up the lights remind Sam of his dream, of her being grabbed and choked, and then the flash is gone and it’s just her placid face as she gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car.

When he’s settled she pulls out of the empty parking lot and Sam fiddles with the strap of his backpack so he has time to consider his words carefully. “She’s not that bad. A little flirty but ok.”

Ophelia drives slowly, smoothly, her eyes cutting to the mirror and back to the road constantly without ever passing over Sam. “She’s after you. Be careful.” There’s a weight here he can’t fully understand.

“Ope, what is this? Jealousy? ‘Cause that would be weird.” He tries to make it light and fails.

Ophelia glances at him now and her tone is dry. “Yes Sam. I am very jealous of the bottle blonde bitch who paid me twice the going rate to put permanent ink on her that she didn't even want. 'Cause I could never dream of having such good decision making skills.” She extinguishes the cigarette in the ashtray and turns on the road that will take them home. Sam absorbs it all for several long minutes.

“What’s going on here?” She glances his way again and there’s a flash of guilt at the sound of his voice.

“Ah Sam, shit man I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day for you and I’m not helping.” Her fingers rub at her temple, and then she turns into the driveway and speeds down it before parking in front of the house and turning to properly face him. “I’m tired Sam. I’m tired and being a bitch and you don’t deserve that. Just got a lot on my mind right now. I don’t like the idea of that girl flirting with you because I like the idea of Dean flirting with you. Does that make any sense?”

She looks so desperate for his understanding and forgiveness that Sam touches her hair once gently before leaning in to hug her. “Ok. I get it. It’s cool.” She allows him to hold her for a little bit, longer than she normally would at times like this, and then she pulls back and opens the door. It’s the first time Sam sees the bandage around her left palm and the ones wrapping the fingers above it. “What happened to your hand?”

She looks down at it for a long moment and then responds with her eyes still focused on the white wrap. “Played the candle game a little too long. Minor burns.”

He follows her inside and makes sure she’s in bed and gone to sleep before he showers and goes to his own empty bed. He stares at it for a long time before he finally lies down and pulls the covers over himself. The house is silent, and Sam stares at his phone until his eyes feel gritty. Finally he types in a small message, his giving in to the need to have some contact. Ope says next time you come make sure your car doesn’t leak on her grass. It’s a dig instead of an endearment, but it has the message he wants Dean to get but can’t make himself say. Come back to me.




----




It’s three days before Dean responds, and Sam feels like he’s crawling in his own skin until his phone vibrates in his pocket in the middle of class. Sam never checks his messages mid-lecture, but the professor isn’t paying attention and he can’t help himself. He flips it open to see Dean’s response. Tell her when I come back she can apologize for insulting my Baby. It’s the best response he could have gotten. Dean got his message and responded in kind. I’ll come back. It’s all he needs, and he can focus on the lecture in a way he couldn’t before. The Cisco test is in a few weeks, Sam’s trudging through the paperwork necessary for graduation, and he’s just now realizing the weight that’s been on his shoulders. The fear that Dean lied about wanting to stay, to come back, about wanting Sam.

He runs into Ruby after class and tries to keep a proper distance in between them. Ruby’s face is bright and joyful at the sight of him. “Hey Sam. I was wondering if you had plans for Halloween? I’m going to this party and I think you should come with me.”

He shook his head as he spotted Ophelia waiting at the end of the hallway for him. Her eyes rested heavily on Ruby. “I have a long standing promise to Ophelia. Sorry.” He moves away and grabs Ope’s arm before leading her out of the hall. She doesn’t say anything about Ruby, doesn’t mention the look on Sam’s face, just lets herself be pulled to the car.

She drives them to one of the many nature trails in the area and they walk for a long time before she breaks the silence. “Dean got in contact?” Her fingers are testing the air, moving slowly but nimbly as she studies the clouds above them.

“Yep.” He leaves it at that. She knows the response was good, knows that Dean’s promised to come back, and she doesn’t seem to need to pry right now.

“Ok. So I was thinking foreign flicks this year. What do you think?” She’s finally gotten the bulk of the work on the back piece that was plaguing her done, and that's cut back considerably on her workload. Sam’s found that she’s not good at waiting for the final product once she gets started. She fidgets sometimes now that it’s outlined on the man's back, moves around a lot, and he keeps sending speculative glances towards the places he knows had the worst cuts.

“Foreign? What kind of foreign?” He turns around and she follows, heading back towards the car.

“Japanese Sam. I’m never making you watch another Korean film in this lifetime.” He grins at her and then speeds up just to watch her half-jog to catch up. She can’t keep up with his long legs easily.

“That movie was terrible.”

“You’re not qualified to make that decision tech geek.”

“I’m qualified to do a lot of things ink junkie.” He feels her small hand slap his bicep and he slows down so she doesn’t strain herself. They fall into step easily, long years of practice, and then he tilts his face up to study the clouds. It’s good to be out here, good to stretch and breathe, and the cold air around him is no deterrence against staying outside. It might snow tonight if the temperature keeps dropping.

They drive back and Sam listens to her sing along with the stereo, voice just as slightly off-key and pleasant as always. It’s all so normal, so familiar, and it holds a promise. I’ll come back.

He feels more untethered with each passing day. It’s strange because life is speeding along well, Sam’s excelling in his classes and having a fine time with Ophelia, but there’s something missing. Something oddly man-shaped, and Sam hates that he feels this way because he should be flying high right now.

It’s a few weeks after Dean leaves that Sam has the first nightmare, wakes gasping and alone in bed with the image of a man with yellow eyes staring at him. He crosses through every room in the house checking the salt lines Dean finally explained to him and making sure each one is perfect. He goes through Ope’s last, knowing he’ll wake her by entering and not surprised when her waking is indicated by her simply gesturing to him to join her in bed and go back to sleep.

The next time he has the nightmare he wakes screaming. The yellow-eyed man pouring Brady’s drug of choice down his throat. Sam’s eyes losing their color again, turning black as they did before, and he wakes to Ophelia’s panic as she tries to soothe him. Each of these dreams is followed by migraines, vomiting, and sometimes they include Dean and Ophelia screaming in pain, tortured and begging, and Sam’s the one doing it. He can’t describe them to her and he doesn’t try. They last for the entirety of November, and then halfway through December they abruptly stop.




----





Dean feels off in his own skin. Stretched so tight and thin he can barely handle it. His father’s reaction to the notes from Ophelia wound him up so tight even now he can’t calm down. He expected anger, despair, something other than getting lectured about asking a civilian to summon a Norse Goddess. John Winchester has never been predictable, but when he takes off in search of a gun Dean’s never heard of and leaves Dean and Bobby to handle a Nixie in Colorado Dean wonders if his father isn’t losing touch.

They’ve thought they were the only Winchesters left for so long that it’s hard to imagine another one. Harder still to imagine John doesn’t want to rush out and find him. Sam is his son too after all, and finding the gun first seems like a waste of time. So after the Nixie is finished Dean starts hunting Sam, and takes Bobby along for the ride.

He can’t help that every second he’s not focused on the hunt he’s playing out scenarios of the reunion between them. He imagines that his brother might be angry, might hate him, and that’s ok. Dean deserves to be hated. He’s ignored the belief, the gut instinct, that Sam is alive for twenty-four years and his gut has proven to rarely be wrong. He plans apologies, explanations, excuses, and ends them all with the image of hugging his little brother tightly to him. After all these years he can still smell the soft little boy he held those nights, the baby powder and plastic of the diapers, the formula and innocence of him. In his fantasies Sam still smells that way even now after all this time has passed.

He wonders what his brother will say when he finds out Dean is involved with someone of the same name. A male someone who is tall and lean and haunts Dean's dreams. He has to work hard to divorce the two names in his head, to think of one as that Sam and one as Sam his brother.

It’s desperation and determination that drive Dean to the city that holds the burned out husk of a house, long since destroyed and now an empty lot full of glass and half-dead grass. He pushes himself hard to be as charming as possible with every witness that he finds, every person involved with the fire and the short stay he had in the hospital due to smoke inhalation. When none of it turns up leads Dean goes to psychics the Winchesters know are legitimate, and gets little more than sad looks and sympathetic pats on the shoulder. The leads are all cold and dead, and Dean realizes there’s only one person who’s crossed that line before and came out with information.

He parts company with Bobby in Kentucky, lets the other hunter out near where his car is stored and promises to keep in touch. He makes sure every few nights he sends Sam, that Sam, a message and now the one he sends is more hopeful than any he’s sent before. Coming back. Every now and then his hand will stray to the gray lines, sensation still dulled but none of the other side effects.

He drives half way without stopping for more than fuel and gas station sandwiches. When he comes out on the other side of the Appalachians he can feel the miles ticking off in his head, his heart torn between excitement to see that Sam and the need to find his baby brother.




-----





Sam’s practically twitching with need when he gets the message. He’s taken his last final, and bought his cap and gown although he’s not excited about the prospect of walking. It’s another milestone that requires family to celebrate and Ophelia’s the closest thing he has to that. Loki swears he's showing up with bells and whistles, and Sam half hopes he will even as he hisses at the hacker not to. Ope is the one who forces him to buy the damn accessories, to reserve his spot in the line-up. He’s graduating with University Honors, summa cum laude, and she keeps telling everyone from the grocery store clerks to random strangers on the street. It’s December, bitterly cold, and Sam’s getting ready for Christmas in style.

He’s happy, almost done with school, he’s about to receive his certification, and Dean is coming back. He decorates the tree with Ophelia, nodding along to the Christmas music she’s playing and reaching up easily to place the star at the top of the tree. She puts colored lights around his shoulders and he laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes. They walk campus together like conquering heroes, her with her "this is my brilliant friend" and him with his certification and honors. He sees Ruby once or twice, but he’s already left the part-time gig at the help desk in favor of looking for career placement. The usual joy on the blonde’s face is slipping with each interaction, and Ophelia begins a campaign of vicious hostility now that Sam no longer works with the girl.

Dean sends a message that states he’s crossed the Maine border, and Sam sits in the kitchen with his fingers tapping the wood and an unread book in front of him. Ophelia flits in and out, cheeks rosy from shoveling the porch at one point and a look of amusement playing over her face. At some point Sam hears her light a fire in the fireplace and mutter at the size of it discontentedly. When he hears the knock at the living room door he gets up, starts to move, and then stops himself. He hears Ophelia laugh, the door open, and then her voice insisting Dean come in out of the cold. “We’re gonna have to get you a key. Good to see you again Dean.”

“You too sweetheart.” The voice is just as he remembers it, low and rough, sex personified. He twitches once towards it, holds himself still, and then gives in. When he crosses into the living room he finds the two of them hugging, and then Dean lets her go and she steps aside quickly.

Dean has a cut in his eyebrow, small but noticeable, and Sam stares at it for several minutes before he realizes that they’re simply looking at one another. Dean is just as handsome as he remembers, breathtakingly so, and Sam knows that what came before is just the prelude to something much deeper. Time and distance haven’t dimmed his attraction to Dean, he wasn’t just romanticizing their time together, this is something real and unavoidable.

There’s a brief flare of fear and then it’s gone and Sam’s crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Dean before the older man can speak. He leans down, buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and inhales deeply of Dean’s scent, unchanged in his time away. He hears Dean laugh softly, and then he’s being pulled in tightly by the older man’s arms. “Did you get bigger Sasquatch?”

“Been working out.” He mumbles it against Dean’s skin and hears the sharp inhale when his lips brush the tender spot beneath Dean’s ear.

“As attractive a sight as this is boys, I’m gonna run to the store. I’ll be gone a long time.” She’s gone before Sam can think of a response. He just keeps his arms around Dean’s solid weight and feels completely anchored for the first time in over a month. The messages have been sparse and each with more time between them, but the subtext of them hasn’t missed Sam’s attention. He pulls back just enough to capture Dean’s mouth, and then the joy of reunion is overwhelmed by lust. He’s pulling and shoving Dean towards the bedrooms, mouth moving constantly and hands shaking as he pushes at the leather jacket almost angrily.

Somehow Sam gets them into the bedroom without permanent damage, although they’ve banged into a corner or two on the way. They’re ripping layers off of each other, Sam cursing the snow for making so many clothes necessary, and then when they’re naked he feels the inferno of Dean’s skin and gasps harshly when Dean goes down on him.

He’s got his fingers tangled in Dean’s short hair, rubbing at the older man’s skull even as he’s trying to remind himself not to push, not to demand. There aren’t words for how good it feels, but Sam tries anyway. His lips feel numb as they spill out a constant stream of helplessness. “Dean-fuck please-missed-oh god please.”

He’s spiraling out of control so fast his legs give out halfway through and he falls backwards on the bed while Dean follows him down. Fingers slicked with saliva slide into him and Sam arches once at the burn of it and keeps pleading, begging for more of Dean’s heat and need and god the man’s mouth is just too much.

Dean pulls back before Sam loses it entirely, wet fingers sliding out of his hole and tracing along his balls before gripping Sam’s hips and rolling him over. Sam shakes his head, fights Dean, but he can’t articulate that he needs to see that face, those eyes, when they come together again. Somehow Dean gets it, struggles through the nightstand to find the lube and takes care of the last of the prep before he’s falling to the bed beside Sam and urging Sam with hot hands to move over, straddle him.

It’s not a position Sam’s familiar with, but when Dean slides into him at this angle his prostate gets hit immediately and he arches his back and practically screams Dean’s name. He can see bruises forming on Dean’s side from where his hands are, and he’s not able to even manage the nonsense from before. Instead he listens to Dean talk while he moans.

“Sam. Sam. Sammy. Missed you too. Missed this. Christ so-so goddamn good.” Dean’s thrusting, hips stuttering, and he keeps going, slapping Sam’s hand away from his cock gently every time he reaches for it. “Like this Sam, just like this. Come on baby. For me.”

It’s too much, the term of endearment and the sound of Dean’s voice, and the feel of his skin, mixed with the smell of him and Sam’s coming undone, eyes full of something like tears as his head snaps back and he hits peak. Dean’s fingers bruising his own hips as he follows Sam over the edge with a guttural cry.

They come down together, Sam breathing against Dean’s collarbone like he’s finished a race, and then Dean squeezing him tight and laughing softly into his hair. “Damn Sam. You must have really missed me.”

The tone is gentle, amused, fond, and Sam can’t help the way he tears up when he nods.”Yeah. A lot.”

It’s everything he hoped for, fantasized, dreamed of. It’s silly, childish and girly, but this is what he was missing all those nights and he’s crying a little over finally having it again. Because in his heart of hearts Sam never really believed Dean would come back.





----




Sam wakes to Ophelia calling the two of them, shouting the word dinner from the hallway. Dean rouses so quick it’s frightening, pulling his clothes back on and catching Sam’s eyes with a wide grin. “Come on Sammy. Dinner time.”

He’s out the door before Sam can get out of the bed, and when he reaches the kitchen he sees that Ophelia has brought back fast food. Double cheeseburgers and fries for her and Dean, grilled chicken salad for Sam and he sits down and digs in. He’s glad to watch the two of them laughing with each other over his food choices, devouring their own meals and talking about the last few weeks. When she tells Dean proudly about Sam’s academic achievements the green eyes land on him, sparkling with mirth.

“Well look at that. Brains and looks. How’d I get so lucky?” It’s said in a purring voice, flirtatious and light, but there’s an undertone Sam can’t miss and he feels his cheeks redden.

Ophelia nods sagely and looks over at Sam. “Our boy has low fucking standards.”

The look Dean shoots her is mock offended, and Sam laughs around a mouthful of water and then receives the lumps on his back from Dean when he chokes.

When dinner is over she looks around the kitchen and then lights a cigarette. She leans back and points to Sam seriously. “You gotta go get that phone call over with Sammy. It’s time.”

Sam looks at her for a long moment, nods, and then stands to take the trash from his meal to the can. Dean’s studying him seriously now. “What phone call is this?”

Sam glances once to Ophelia and then back to Dean. “I have to assure the private investigator that I want my past uncovered. Apparently signing forms wasn’t enough.” He’s hesitant to say it really, because he’s not discussed with Dean his interest in finding the people who abandoned him. It was meeting Dean after all that pushed him to try, and Ophelia’s promised to handle all of it as his Christmas present. He knows from the tree she broke her promise and bought him things too.

Dean’s eyes go soft and then distant. “To find your family?” There a strange note there, distant and wistful, sad, and Sam watches Ophelia’s eyes sharpen in Dean’s direction but she stays silent.

“Yeah. I’ll only be a few minutes.” He slips out of the kitchen and heads for the bedroom. He’s got the number she gave him, and it takes three tries to dial it properly. The phone rings twice before a rough voice answers on the other end. Sam pictures a man with white hair and a grizzled face.

“Thompson Agency. How can I help you?”

Sam takes a deep breath and then answers slowly. “This is Sam Burton. I’m calling because my friend-“

“Ophelia Burton? Looking for your parents?” The voice is clipped, a man of few words, and Sam’s honestly comforted by that.

“Yeah. I was supposed to call and give you permission to start the investigation.”

He hears a clink in the background, liquid being poured, and then the voice comes back deep and sure. “Yes. Are you sure you wanna do this kid? Might not like the answers.”

“I’m sure.” Sam takes a steadying breath and then nods once as if the detective can see it. “I need to know why.”

“Ok kid. Your friend’s dollar and all. I’ll contact her when I have something.” The phone cuts off and Sam puts it down and leans against his desk.

He has no idea how long these things usually take, or what it will do, but he’s both exhilarated and frightened by the prospect of knowing, really knowing, for the first time in his life.

When he comes back out into the kitchen he hears two female voices, one angry and the other smooth and calm.

“I’m just here to see Sam. You can’t-“

“I certainly fucking can. I own this house. In roughly six seconds I'm gonna own this house and your skanky ass.”

He comes around the corner to find Ophelia standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, and Ruby standing across from her with narrowed eyes. Dean’s following the argument with that intense focus of his. Sam steps up, moves Ophelia gently aside, and steps out to speak to Ruby closing the door behind him.

“Hey Ruby, What’s going on?”

“She really hates me huh? Geez, what did I ever do to her?”

Sam has to shake his head. “Ruby? How can I help you? This isn’t the best time.”

Grey-green eyes take him in for a second and then she smiles hesitantly. “I see you have company. Who is that?”

“A friend of mine. Dean. What’s going on Ruby?” He doesn’t want to be short or harsh with her, honestly feels kind of bad because she’s a nice girl, but he needs to get inside and do damage control.

She tilts her head and peers through the glass kitchen door before turning back to Sam and pulling a small box out of her pocket. It’s wrapped brightly, a present, and Sam hesitates to take it. She shakes it once and smiles sadly. “Come on Sam. It’s just a little something for all the times you helped me out on the desk. Merry Christmas.”

He takes it, gives her a hug, and exchanges email addresses with her. He doubts he’ll write back if she writes in the first place, and he knows he’ll never see her again. For a reason he can’t explain that gives him some measure of relief.

When he steps back inside Ophelia is waiting, tapping a foot, and Dean’s eyes are narrowed. Jealous. Sam is stupidly pleased to see it, and a coil of heat in his stomach tells him that this is a really good look on Dean. Ophelia glances once at the gift, once through the door, and then she throws her hands up and leaves the room silently. Sam will fix it later. In the meantime he steps forward and plants a kiss on Dean’s lips, tastes the older man, and drops the gift in his eagerness to coax Dean out of his funk.

It turns out that isn’t too hard.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

Ruby is not to be trusted. She's definitely after Sam, but I get the feeling all isn't quite what it seems there either. I think she's in league with Azazel or past with Brady.

LOVE the reunion, I knew Dean was coming back but yeah, I can see Sam not truly believing that until Dean was physically in front of him.

Did Azazel really kidnap Sam? To get him away into a life he could control? Or did John give him up...maybe finding out about the demon or something. Hmmmm.

Why do I think Ope knows they are brothers? And who is going to find out first - Dean or Sam?

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

Ope's a wily lady, but I don't know how far ahead she can really see when it comes to that.

Azazel will only be getting a short cameo, but your other concerns are going to be more than valid and keep those questions in mind. Some of them will be answered soon. :D

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Ruby is bad news, period. And REALLY fucking annoying because I knew girls like her, hah!

It made my little heart clench when Sam admitted to himself that he never really expected Dean to come back. And Dean, oh my, I can't imagine what's going to happen if he finds out the Sam he's looking for is right in front of him.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

It's...well not that part but a scene shortly following is (imho) probably the best thing I've ever written. It's certainly my favorite.