I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! This has taken me an inexcusable amount of time to write. I was beset by plotbunnies. I really was. But thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter! You really do make writing this more fun.
Alright, so this is an interlude. This is a part of the story, inbetween parts of the story. The first "era", I guess that's what I'll call it, is over. Dean is back to life, Eloise Mitchell is dead, and the Demon is getting ready to open the gate of hell. I'm not sure whether to post the next "era" as another story, or leave it under this same link. But I'll let you know.
"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." That was what Dean kept saying. It was an empty assurance, Sam could tell, an instinctual effort to comfort his younger brother, more out of routine than out of sincerety. Normally, Sam would have argued, been upset by his brother's baseless optimism, but Dean was going out fast; his father and brother now shouldered most of his weight. As clearly as Sam could tell, this was retribution for all those weeks spent in a physical limbo. It wasn't Dean's body that was giving out, but his mind, craving rest and relief from weeks of pent-up, false awareness it was shutting everything down, forcing sleep, like a self-administered sedative. It would have been funny, at another time, when simply existing wasn't so...hard.
Hard. Grimly, Sam thought back to when he thought 'hard' meant moving around a lot. When 'hard' meant a big paper was due. When 'hard' was trying to find their father. 'Hard' now meant, 'wrapped up in a demonic plot to destroy humanity'. He bit his lip. And now, there was no one to give them answers. Eloise had certainly never been "friend", but she had been "ally". She was heading up a fight against the Demon. She knew things. She'd been like him. She had reassured Sam that he really wasn't in this alone. Dean meant well, but he didn't understand what it was like. He tried, Sam knew, and he was grateful for it, ut it had been comforting to know that there was someone that knew firsthand.
"Sam." The sound of his father's voice was grounding. It brought Sam back to earth, back to the present. From anyone else, it would have been a question. From John, it was a command. Resentment prickled faintly in Sam's thoughts, but it slipped away. Drained, he didn't have the strength to foster it.
"We're almost there," He said, although he knew that hadn't been the impending question. A log tripped him up, just a little. He felt Dean straighten up at his side at that, just an infinitesimal amount, but it was enough. Sam's own despairing thoughts attached themselves to Dean's resolve, like a spinal cord to a backbone, relying on it. It was like that a lot, lately. Even when Dean was in a downward spiral, even if he was hurting, even if he was mostly dead, he always found that last reserve of strength to straighten up at Sam's side and keep pushing. Dean lived by Sam and for Sam.
It scared the younger brother to know he had that kind of power.
It was nice, of course, to know that someone was always there to catch him if he fell. It had always nice, since they were kids. But this was different. Living for Sam had dark implications. Dean wasn't protecting him from bullies or prejudiced teachers, or even black dogs and spirits. This was war. If the protector mentality continued, Dean would be up against the Demon himself. And Sam remembered the last time…
Dean who fell first in a shower of blood, his crimson life pouring from the ribbons of flesh that had once made up the front of his neck. He went down hard and without even blinking, the Demon stepped over his body…
Not again. Never again.
Dean's role as protector aside, what about his role as brother? Suppose that Sam really were captured by the Demon? Assuming that his role of Monarch put him within the Demon's path, what if it also put him in his power? It was a terrible thing. If Sam asked for it, he got it. Once, Pastor Jim had said that if you wanted the eyes out out of Dean's head, your only problem would be convincing Sam to ask for them. It would be so easy for the Demon to get anything he wanted from Dean (which was apparently something, judging by the earlier attack on his mind). All he had to do was use Sam to ask for it.
Dean's love was a priceless gift with an unforeseen cost.
The sun was rising behind them. The dew covered trees lit up, each tiny drop of water catching the sunlight, reflecting it back. What it was, Sam could never tell, but the beauty of sunrise always seemed to erase the ugliness of the night. Whatever death or pain they had witnessed, the sunrise dulled it. Eloise's school came into view. It was a welcome relief.
As they approached, (slowly, Dean was mostly dead weight) the man who had greeted Sam his first few moments at the school came down the steps to meet them. He was wearing another suit, but the first time, every line had been flat and smooth. Now, there were wrinkles on the shoulders, and the pants had creases. It was apparent he had been awake through the night.
They met at the bottom of the stairs. The man clenched his jaw, and said, calmly, "Eloise is dead?"
Sam couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, John nodded. "Witches."
The man's composure slipped a fraction. "You have accomplished your objective?" A surge of anger filtered through Sam's regret. It was obvious that this man didn't believe Dean a fair trade for Eloise. He stared contemptuously at the older brother, oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in doing so. Sam resolved not to like him. He tightened his trip on Dean just a little and said, "My brother's back, yes."
Surprised by Sam's tone, Eloise's obviously zealous follower looked up from his inspection of Dean. He was met with eyes that quickly told him that he was treading in dangerous waters. Two sets. Both father and younger brother looked as though they would rather devour him alive than have him say another word. Silently, he stepped back and gestured to the doorway. Going up the stairs was difficult, but Dean found it in him for another short burst of energy, which made it easier. As they reached the door, they heard a voice behind them, cry, "David!"
Sam turned just enough to see. The man behind them was standing impassively, as a woman in her middle-age came running at him. She slid to a stop, in only a matching pajama top and bottom, barefoot, and grasped at his suit. "Is Eloise back? One of the girls had a meltdown. I need her help."
"Eloise is dead." David replied dully.
The woman stepped back, her face paling. "Dead? How?"
With as much contempt as he could muster, he said, "Ask them." Before the woman could, John pushed both family members inside the school, gave Dean's weight to Sam, and shut the heavy doors. Dean swallowed hard, and managed a dryly amused look.
"I think we made a friend," he said.
Dean melted back against the pillows as soon as Sam let go. As instantaneous as flicking a switch, he was lost to sleep. He made it back to their room before he let go, and Sam was determined to do just as well before he went down too. John, watching Sam pull blankets over his older brother, despite his own exhaustion, felt a surge of pride. They were strong, strong men, his children.
He let the last of the salt fall from the bag onto the semicircle around the door and stood up, annoyed by how loudly his knees popped. He saw Sam reach for the second bag and move toward the window. The pride only surged harder. But enough was enough.
"I got it, Sam. You get some rest."
He literally saw his son's shoulders drop in relief. "You sure?"
"I got it." John repeated. He took the salt bag out of Sam's grasp and went to work on the window. By the time he turned around again, Sam had collapsed on his bed and had joined his brother in unconsciousness.
"Good boys." He said to himself, as he settled back in an armchair. "Good boys."
It was a long night. He slept off and on, but had his cellphone alarm clock on vibrate to go off every few hours to make sure that all was well. Sam rolled onto his side, and then onto his back, but Dean didn't so much as twitch. Both of them slept the night through, which he was glad for. They needed it.
By eight the next morning, Sam was awake, although he stayed in bed another half-hour. John pretended to be asleep, watching. Sam's first move was to raise his head and look over at Dean. John didn't doubt that when Dean woke up, his first move would be to look over at Sam. That was something new they must have developed while he'd been…gone.
He'd missed a lot of new quirks while he'd been…gone.
Before all this, before the Demon had ever come for the three of them, they'd stopped at a diner to eat. Both boys had ordered steak and baked potatoes, but when the potatoes came, automatically Sam scooped out the white part onto his plate and handed the skin over to Dean, who then handed over his own potato for Sam to do the same.
He'd said, "What was that?"
Sam had scrunched up his nose, thinking. "Well, Dean likes the skin, and I don't, so we just switch."
"When did that start?"
Neither son knew. They hemmed and hawwed about how it must have been a few months ago, or a few weeks ago, but neither of them wanted to say it.
Then Sam said, "Dad? Are you awake?" and John had to stop pretending to be asleep.
"I'm up."
His son sat up and stretched, blinking slowly. He swung both legs out of bed and sat facing Dean's still sleeping form for a moment.
"Hey, Dad?" He said, hesitantly. "I'm gonna grab a shower, and then…can I borrow the truck? Just for a minute. There's something I have to do." His expression made him look so adult.
John studied his son. Was it supposed to be like this? Were children supposed to grow up? Was Little Sammy, the baby in their one and only surviving family portrait, always destined to grow into a man? Slowly, John nodded. "Sure."
As Sam quietly left the room, a change of clothes in his hand, John realized, for the first time in a long time, that maybe, he and Sam weren't really enemies.
Sam knew his way around the mansion pretty well, now. His knowledge of the classrooms and offices was still sketchy, but in his "family quarters", it was like he'd always been there. Two turns right, one to the left, big staircase, down the hall, door five. It was a heavy wooden door, with a bronze handle. He put an ear to the door. Nothing. Utter silence. He pushed it open carefully, grateful that the hinges were good and didn't squeak. His brother was sprawled across the bed, tangled in his sheets the way Dean always was, one corner of the bedspread pulled up to spare his eyes the glare from the sun that filtered in through the crack in the curtain. Sam stepped forward and pulled both sides together so the streak of sun disappeared from Dean's face. The middle Winchester made a sleepy sound. Sam whispered, "Dean?"
Dean didn't open his eyes, but he half-responded. "Hmm?"
"Dean?"
"Wha-at?" It was a whiny, petulant answer, but it was possibly the best sound Sam had ever heard. Dean's voice was strong and deep and rushing like a river just meeting the ocean. It was whole again.
"Are you awake?"
"Mm-mmm." In sleeping-Dean language, that plainly meant, shut up before I smack you. Sam slid down the wall to a sitting position and stretched out his legs in front of him. His thighs were still sore from charging through the woods to the coven, not bothering to slow down for fallen trees and overgrown paths, jumping them or pushing through them instead. He rubbed a bruised kneecap absentmindedly. Dean, disturbed by the sudden silence, cracked one eye open and shifted to his side, muttering angrily.
Sam grinned. Somehow, there was always that spark of amusement in him when he got on Dean's nerves that he'd never been able to avoid. Little brother genes, he guessed. "Morning, sunshine."
"What do you want?
It was a good question. "Just seeing if you're awake."
"I am now. What time is it?"
"Twelve-something."
Closing his eye again and groaning, Dean sat up. "Seriously? Dad's gonna kill me."
"Why?"
"He'll want to move out of here as soon as we can."
Sam looked torn. "Yeah, maybe." He shifted the thing in his hands conspicuously. Like he'd hoped, it caught Dean's attention.
Like a bird attracked to something shiny, Dean focused on the black rectangle in his brother's hands. "What is that?"
Controlling a smile, Sam stood up as nonchalantly as he could. He reached the cabinant in the corner and pulled it open, revealing the television he'd "borrowed" from an unoccupied classroom, complete with VCR. "Oh, this? Nothing."
"Sam, what is it?" Sam had to choke back a laugh. His brother could be deadly serious sometimes, but hold out on giving him something and it was like making a four-year old wait at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning.
He opened the video tape box and tossed it toward his brother. Dean reached out and caught it with one hand. It had no lable. Completely frustrated, he hurled it sullenly back at Sam, who sidestepped it neatly. Deciding the game had gone on long enough, Sam pressed play and went back to his brother's bed, forcing him to scoot over so they both could sit, backs against the headboard. The credits started to roll and Dean's jaw clenched. He whipped his head around to stare at his brother.
"Sam?" He said. One word, but the tone meant volumes.
"Godzilla vs. Megladon. This is the one you wanted to watch, isn't it?" Sam met his brother's eyes with a sad smile.
Dean's responding smile had no sadness. Only relief, joy, gratitude. "Where'd you even find this thing?"
"Blockbuster."
"We don't have a Blockbuster card."
Sam looked suddenly uncomfortable. A wicked smile spread across his brother's face. "You stole it, didn't you."
"I didn't steal it!"
"You did!" A giddy laugh. "I have taught you well, young padowan."
"Shut up." Sam pushed his brother in mock sulleness. "Watch your movie or I'll take it back."
They sat (almost) silently. Dean kept making up his own subtitles, mostly dirty, and Sam couldn't resist a few of his own, although they were cleaner. The people were all screaming and running and talking in really badly dubbed English. Sam couldn't resist some critique, though all it earned him was a punch to the arm. For the first time in a long time, there were no witches, no wendigos, no spirits, no vampires, and no demons.
Just each other.
And there it is! Part one of the story is finished! Whoop! Leave a review, please, and come back soon for the next part.