Authors Note: Thank you everyone for your patience. This chapter was a challenge as I felt like I was re-covering much of what I tackled in the last chapter. Plus, my brain came up with a half dozen other story ideas that it seemed to want to focus on. That being said, this wraps up this birthday series. I'm looking forward to the upcoming season. Special thanks to LilyBolt, DearHart, Dreamsnake, Kathy, writingtrainingwheels, and everyone else who read and enjoyed this little series. I don't feel like such a newbie anymore and the welcome has been gracious and warm.
January 24, 2014
Sam liked working out. It was a way of being in control. He could force his muscles to do as he asked, demonstrating over and over to himself that HE was the one calling the shots over his own body. Besides, the focus needed for deliberate exercise was a great stress reliever. Sometime the physicality of the movement and the sweat and the repetition helped to quiet the constant workings of his brain. Usually when he was doing pushups or planks or running he could forget the things that bothered him for a while. But not today. No, today working out seemed to make his mind wander even more.
Today he seemed to hear his own words play on repeat in his head. "Please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?" As Sam pulled his body weight up to the bar above his head again and again, he thought about those words. He had been ready to die. Sure he didn't actually want to be dead, but ending his life for the Trials would have given his pathetic existence some meaning. It seemed like his whole life had been controlled in one way or another by someone else. The angels arranged for him to be born, his mother had committed his life to Azazel, his father had moulded him into a Hunter, and Lucifer...well the fallen archangel had taken and used everything left. His life was never his own - but his death, that could be his. It could be his decision. Dying could mean something, at least he had thought so, until Dean stole even that from him.
Sam's arms and shoulders were aching as he dropped to the mat in the modest Men of Letters gymnasium. He focused the anger he felt and began sets of sit-ups, leg lifts and crunches. Dean had not only stolen his death, but had sold his body to a damn angel. And that angel had used him like a puppet, ultimately once more stealing his autonomy and worse, using his hands to kill his friend. How could Dean have betrayed him like that? His brother was the only person that Sam had thought he could trust, and Dean had tricked him and lied to him for weeks. And for what - just so that he wouldn't be alone. Sam would never do that to Dean, he would never take away his brother's chance at redemption, would never trick Dean into being possessed. God knows how terrible his life would be if Dean were gone, but he would rather find a way to live without his brother again, then steal from Dean a peaceful death and afterlife.
His workout over, Sam made his way to the shower, his muscles quivering and his thoughts still churning. As he methodically stripped out of his clothes, he remembered with a twinge of regret the look on Dean's face when Sam had told him that he wouldn't save Dean in the same circumstance. Sam had hurt his brother, and if he were truly honest with himself, he had known that his words would wound. He had wanted Dean to suffer a bit too. But Kevin - or at least his ghost, had asked them to "get over it." Sam was conflicted, maybe he should try and fix things between him and Dean. Running his hand through his sweaty hair Sam sighed. Then he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror. The glaring absence of his anti-possession tattoo stirred the flames of his anger again. One more thing his brother had taken from him. "Screw Dean," he thought as he stepped into the warm spray of water, "he deserves to feel bad for a bit."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Dean sat in the kitchen with his laptop in front of him on the table. In theory, he had been up all night trying to find a lead on Abbadon or more information on the First Blade. But all he had found was the bottom of a bottle of Jack. He stared into the glass in his hand and swirled the last of the amber liquid. The harsh words his kid brother had said echoed through Dean's brain. "No Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't." The green eyed hunter had mulled this over and over for the past few days. It hurt to hear the most important person in his life say that he had no problem letting him die. But he knew that Sammy was angry and was lashing out. Sam had chosen his words to hurt Dean because of how much he was hurting. Still, Dean wasn't stupid, he knew that there was more to what Sam was trying to say then just the heat of anger. He understood that Sam was feeling betrayed. No matter how much Sam's words had been painful, he had faith that his kid brother still cared. He'd been hoping that he and Sammy could hash things out after ghost-Kevin had asked them to "get over it." But Sam wasn't ready to make nice and Dean wasn't going to push.
From the hallway, he heard Sam return from the gym and head to the bathroom to shower. He figured he had about 10 minutes before his brother came to the kitchen in search of coffee. Dean closed his laptop and pushed to his feet. Putting the empty bottle in the trash, he filled and turned on the coffee maker. The same appliance that Kevin's ghost had used to communicate with them a few days ago. Dean sighed deeply, he had failed the young prophet and he had failed Sam. The weight of his failures was compressed and twisted into a sense of frustration. Sam needed time, and Dean was eager to stay out of Sam's way and avoid a fight or more hurtful words. Grabbing his computer and the glass of whiskey, Dean went back to his room.
Closing the door softly behind him, Dean wearily sank onto the bed. He was exhausted, but he couldn't seem to sleep lately. His emotions were all over the place. Normally he could push his feelings down and pull them out only when he was able to deal, but right now, no matter how hard he tried to bury his feelings, he felt overwhelmed. He was trapped on a damned merry go round of guilt and worry and anger that he couldn't seem to stop or control. He only hoped he could keep some of this crap hidden from his brother. Sam had enough to deal with.
Dean felt horribly guilty over what he had put Sam through with Gadreel. He knew that Sam wouldn't have wanted to be possessed, even if dying meant the end of everything. For both of them. But this situation hadn't been like when Sam had jumped into the Pit with Lucifer, there was no purpose in Sam dying. Although maybe from Sam's perspective it wasn't so different. "I don't know" groaned Dean to himself, too tired to think it all through.
Dean swigged down the last contents of the glass he still carried. Pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a fresh bottle and refilled his glass. Easing back against the headboard, he sipped the burning drink. His intense guilt was not so easily swallowed. He also felt terribly guilty over what he had done to Cas. The angel had needed them after Heaven had closed and the angels fell, and Dean had treated him like garbage. Sure there was a lot of water under the bridge that made up the relationship between Cas and the Winchesters, but Cas was family, and Dean had let him down.
He tipped back another swallow of whiskey. Dean couldn't forget what he had let happen to Kevin. The prophet was just a kid, a teenager who had his whole future ahead of him. Kevin hadn't asked for what to be a prophet, and he had suffered terrible losses yet still did his best to help with whatever Dean and Sam had needed. The kid was supposed to be under Dean's protection and he had let Kevin had die on his watch. Knowing that the youngster was stuck in the Veil until they could solve the Heaven problem, made Dean feel even worse. Finding Ms. Tran didn't really change how bad he felt, she was just one more person whom Dean had failed. The constant gnaw of guilt was something that Dean had thought he'd learned to live with a long time ago. Life as a hunter meant you had to toughen up quick. Those who couldn't, quickly found themselves dead. But he didn't know how to live with what he was feeling now.
Thinking of death switched Dean's brain over to the whirl of worry that stormed like a tornado through his mind. Dean worried about Sam. The kid seemed way too eager to die. Like dying was something he wanted. Despite what Sam had said to hurt him, what really frightened Dean was when Sam had asked "what is the upside of me being alive?" Did his brother really believe that the world would be better if he were dead? How could Sammy not know his value? Sam was a great hunter and a valuable resource to the hunting world. More importantly, his kid brother was a good man, strong and kind and amazingly smart. Dean had never tried to be Sam's hero, it's just that it had been, was, and always would be Dean's job to protect Sam, but Dean couldn't protect Sam if the kid wanted to be dead.
Finishing yet another glass of liquor, Dean stared into the crystal bottom of the glass. The older hunter also worried about the situation with Heaven and Metatron. All those souls stuck in the veil, all the fallen angels roaming the earth doing God knows what. Then there was Gadreel. If he did nothing else, he was going to track down that son of a bitch halo and make him pay for what he had done to Sam and Kevin. The Mark on his arm pulsed enthusiastically at his anger and he dropped the empty glass to grip it with his left hand. Like an itch that he couldn't scratch the red mark on his arm seemed to burn under the surface of the skin. Slowly the burn eased off.
He was worried about the looming battle between Crowley and Abaddon for control of Hell. Neither ruler was good news, but Abaddon was determined to bring Hell to earth. As much as Dean hated having to play nice with Crowley, the hunter had to take out Abaddon before she destroyed the world in her quest for power. Crowley, the limey bastard, had lied to Dean, orchestrating the whole fiasco at Cain's home. As he looked at the Mark and thought about how it had got there, Dean had to admit that he had acted before thinking. It had seemed necessary at the time, but afterwards it had been clear that Crowley had manipulated him right from the jump.
Suddenly, Dean's anger flared to life again, like gas thrown onto a fire. The ugly thing burned and itched and he knew that he hadn't looked beyond ganking Abaddon when he had taken the mark from Cain. There were repercussions to this thing that he didn't understand. Already he could feel it. The mark was making him agitated and restless. He felt overly sensitized, his skin crawling like and an addict who had gone too long between hits. What the mark was craving didn't feel like anything good. Dean was no biblical scholar, but he knew the story of Cain and Abel.
Still gripping his right forearm tightly, Dean surged to his feet and began pacing his small room. He was pissed at Sam for being bitchy and hurtful when Dean had saved his fucking life. He was livid at Gadreel and his betrayal. He was furious at Crowley for getting him into this mess and for being a slimy little asshole. Mostly he was mad at God, or the universe or whatever fucking destiny that once again put the Winchesters squarely in the path of oncoming disaster. Why did everything fall to them? Mostly, if he was honest, he was furious with himself. His own failures and stupid decisions had brought a lot of this crap rolling downhill towards them.
Breathing deeply to calm his surging emotions, Dean flopped back onto the bed and pulled his headphones over his ears. Listening to music loudly, helped quiet his brain. It was the only thing that seemed to bring him even a modicum of peace. Lately when everything was too much, he'd retreat into some Zeppelin, Metallica or AC/DC. The music drove everything else out of his head for a little while. Dean reached over, hit play on his Ipod and leaned back against his headboard, arms crossed against his chest.
o-o-o-o-o
The smell of hot coffee greeted Sam as he walked into the kitchen, but Dean was not in the room. His brother had obviously made it fresh for Sam as there wasn't even a cup taken from the pot. He poured a mug and wandered to the cupboard. A box of Lucky Charms was sitting front and centre on the middle shelf. Feeling a little nostalgic, Sam grabbed the box, snagged a bowl and spoon, and went to the fridge for some milk. As he sat and ate his cereal, Sam felt his mood shift back again. Dean was always doing little stuff like that - making fresh coffee, stocking Sam's favourite foods. It reminded Sam that his brother had taken care of him his whole life. Although Sam knew that he deserved to be treated like an adult and have his choices respected, maybe it was also true that it was unrealistic to expect Dean to simply let go of a lifetime of being Sam's big brother. Sam pondered that while he chewed, but he truly couldn't find an answer. He loved Dean and felt loved back in the way that the older man cared for Sam. No matter how pissed he was as his brother, he knew that to his very bones. But he also sometimes hated Dean, how stifling his care-taking could be, how arrogant he was in assuming he knew what was best for Sam, how Dean's dominant personality made Sam feel weak and somehow lesser.
Putting his bowl in the sink, Sam refilled his coffee and made his way on stocking feet to the library. If he couldn't solve his problems with Dean and their current estrangement, he could put his brain to work. They were tackling more than the usual number of crises. Sam's list of things to research was jointly topped by finding Metatron and a way to re-open Heaven, and tracking Abaddon and figuring out how to gank the evil bitch. But instead, Sam went to the shelves and searched for books on biblical lore. He needed to understand more about the Mark of Cain that currently disfigured his brother's arm. Sam pulled a couple of large leather bound books from the shelves and settled in at one of the wooden tables.
After a few hours had passed with little to show for his work, Sam leaned back and stretched his aching back and rubbed his tired eyes, Leaning over to read the small type certainly didn't do any favours to his spine. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was just after lunch time. He realized that he hadn't actually seen Dean yet today. Usually Dean would wander into the library around noon with a sandwich or soup for Sam. Not that the tall man expected it today, after all since Kevin had left with his mother, the brothers had barely spent 45 minutes in the same room. To say that things were strained between them was an understatement. Sam sighed, he was still really angry, but he did miss the day to day interaction with Dean.
Wanting to focus on something else, Sam pushed the books aside and pulled his laptop over. Booting up he checked his email accounts, perused his Google alerts, and then opened up his usual new feeds. His eye was drawn to the date at the top of the web page he was scanning. It took a few seconds, but he gasped when he realized that today was Dean's birthday. His brother was 35 today and he'd been so pissed off that he hadn't even remembered until he saw the date. Not that the Winchester family ever really did much for birthdays. Of course, when he was a kid, Dean had always tried to do something for Sam's birthday whether it was a small gift, or a cupcake with a candle. As they got older and both were more involved in hunting, birthdays were usually ignored, or if it fit in around the current case, celebrated with a beer and a pizza. Since Stanford, Dean's birthday had been bittersweet for Sam because January 24th was also Jessica's birthday. In college, he always considered it a strange coincidence that the two people he loved more than anything were born on the same day, albeit five years apart. He knew better now, it wasn't a coincidence. He'd learned over the years how his entire life had been engineered and manipulated since before his birth.
Once again Sam felt a peculiar combination of sad and angry, but he knew he had to do something for Dean. Hell, his older brother hadn't even expected to live this long. Sam had lived in a world without Dean before, and despite his anger he never wanted to do that again. So they had to celebrate his birthday in some way. Sam was determined that he would not be the one to extend the olive branch for their relationship, but maybe there was still some way to let Dean know he cared. One handed he typed in a few ideas into the browser. Maybe he could research this like he did everything else. Just then Dean stepped up from the map room.
o-o-o-o-o
Dean jerked awake, his headphones fallen beside him on the pillow. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and he didn't feel particularly rested. In fact he felt edgy and anxious. Checking his watch he saw that it was almost noon. He ground his knuckles into his tired eyes and turned off his Ipod. His last half-full glass of whiskey sat on the side table, and Dean tossed it back hoping the burn of it would help him get more alert. He needed to work. This sitting around stewing in his thoughts was driving him crazy. Hunting would at least give him something to stab, shoot or otherwise kill, which hopefully would settle his agitation.
Flipping open his laptop and sitting it across his legs, he began scanning his usual news sources for leads. He needed something, anything to get out of the bunker and clear his head. Finding a promising story about a supposedly impossible murder in a locked room, he clicked on the accompanying picture. Apparently the image was a leaked photo taken just before the murder. In the background of the teen-aged girl's selfie was a dark, sinister figure. Dean hit print on the story and the photo. It looked like a simple case of killer ghost caught on film. Pulling his duffle from beneath his bed, he began to pack while the small wireless printer on his desk whined.
It was a 21 hour drive to the town in Washington and Dean considered just leaving a note for Sam. As much as he would like the back up on the hunt, he wasn't sure he could handle a trip of that length if it meant a sullen and bickering little brother riding shotgun. Dean wasn't sure if he hoped that Sam would stay behind or join him. Everything was so confusing right now. He didn't know how to talk to Sam, and seemed to have no idea what would set off his brother. But with a sigh, he realized that it wouldn't be fair to Sam to just slip away, so once he was done packing he made his way to the library where he figured his brother would be.
o-o-o-o-o
It was actually kind of nice to be behind the wheel of Baby. Sam in his usually place at shotgun reviewing information on his laptop, classic rock was playing on the radio, and Dean could lie to himself and pretend that everything was normal. Well at least their kind of normal. Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel Dean knew that a handful of peaceful hours on the road wasn't going to fix things between Sam and him, but it was surprisingly comforting. The only thing that threatened to spoil the trip was the growing burning on his right arm and the building nausea that had begun churning in his gut.
"Hey get this," said Sam, obviously excited by his research. "P.T. Barnum was one of the early debunkers of spirit photography. I guess he didn't like anyone else fleecing the naive but him."
"Wasn't he the guy who said there's a sucker born every minute?" Dean asked.
"Actually, there's no evidence that Barnum ever said that. It was common phase at the time used by gamblers and confidence men," the younger man said from the passenger seat.
Dean had to smile. Sam always was in a good mood when he could expound upon some useless factoid. "So do you think this case is a hoax?" Dean wondered, hoping they weren't driving clear across country for nothing.
"Don't know - maybe. But it's worth checking out don't cha think?" Sam asked.
Just then the Mark flared from itchy and irritating to burning hot. Dean hissed in pain and clutched his arm with his other hand. Before the pain could subside, the churning in his stomach surged and Dean realized he was going to hurl. He'd rather not barf in front of Sam much less all over the upholstery, but with his mouth filling with saliva, Dean efficiently pulled the car to the side of the road. Shoving his door open, he took three steps before dropping to his knees. Behind him, he could hear Sam shouting his name and the sound of the passenger door opening, but then his gut heaved and he was spewing the whiskey soaked remains of his lunch all over the dirt in front of him. He felt like he was being turned inside out as he gagged, coughed and spit, panting to try and catch his breath.
o-o-o-o-o
Sam was looking at Dean for a response to his question when he heard Dean's hiss of pain. He watched as Dean clenched his left fist over his forearm and the colour suddenly drained out of his face. Sam closed his laptop and tossed it in the back seat so that he could help his brother, when he realized that the car had rolled to a stop. Dean swallowed convulsively and urgently pushed his way out of the door.
"Dean!," Sam called, his heart leapt in fear. Something was wrong with his brother. Dean never threw up, his iron stomach being able to handle almost anything by this point. The Mark of Cain had obviously done something to Dean. Sam got out of the car just in time to see Dean drop to his hands and knees in the dirt and spew his guts. He walked around the hood of the car and crouched beside Dean. He wondered if Dean might shrug it off in annoyance, but he placed a hand on his brother's back to try and offer some comfort as the older hunter gagged and panted, trying to get his breathing under control.
Seeing Dean being sick tugged at some instinct in Sam to protect and care for his brother. Sam was viscerally reminded that Dean was human - vulnerable and imperfect. He'd been looking up to his big brother for so long that sometimes he forgot. He was so used to Dean the protector, that it was almost painful to be reminded that the man he looked up to, could be flawed. Sam abruptly wanted to forgive his brother, to apologize for hurting him, to find a way to mend the damage between them. Sure he was still angry, but he'd rather be angry with Dean than happy with anyone else. But he just couldn't get the words out and instead stayed where he was, hand on Dean's back, offering his silent support.
o-o-o-o-o
Dean felt Sam's large, warm hand between his shoulder blades as he fought to get his stomach under control. He was surprised by the touch and shocked when tears sprang to his eyes. He'd assumed that Sam was still too mad to give a damn about Dean's discomfort but it felt good to be this close to Sam again. He was grateful for the support. Hoping Sam would blame his damp eyes on his bout of vomiting, he dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel.
"You done?," Sam asked gently from beside him. Not trusting his voice, Dean simply nodded and began climbing to his feet. It was a good thing Sam was so close because a rush of dizziness hit Dean once he got vertical. He swayed and would have fallen if Sam hadn't put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Dean felt like a wrung out dishrag, oddly light and woozy, like a strong wind would blow him over. He reached out and gripped Sam's arm.
"All right, let's get you back to the car," Sam murmured, supporting and balancing Dean as he walked the older man around the car to the passenger side. Dean shook his head to clear it as Sam carefully manhandled him into sitting on the edge of the seat.
Slumping against the seat back, Dean was too exhausted to sit up. "What the hell," thought Dean as he tried to regroup. There was no reason for him to feel so weak and strung out. He'd been completely fine until suddenly he wasn't. It was a little frightening to think how quickly he'd gone from zero to tossing his cookies. An open bottle of water appeared before his face. Looking up he met Sam's gaze. His brother's hazel eyes were filled with unexpected compassion. Dean was used to those eyes being indifferent or angry when pointed in his directly lately. Taking a couple of swigs of water, Dean was pleased to see that the hand holding the bottle wasn't visibly shaking.
"You OK?," Sam asked, still crouched in front of him, one hand on his knee.
"Yeah," Dean croaked, "sorry about that." Sam simply nodded and lifted Dean's feet into the footwell and closed the car door. Dean watched through the windshield as Sam walked around to the still open driver's door and settled into the seat. He wanted to protest and insist on driving, but he wasn't entirely sure that he actually could turn the wheel right now. He could barely turn his head. Sam glanced over at him with a tentative smile. It had been a while since his kid brother had looked so open and comfortable around him. Dean suddenly wanted to apologize again for letting Gadreel possess Sam. He was overcome with the urge to beg for forgiveness and promise anything if they could just go back to being brothers again. But Dean was too droopy to do more than smile back faintly.
o-o-o-o-o
Sam took the car out of park and eased back onto the road. "Seriously man, try and get some rest. You need it," Sam said eyes alternating between the road and Dean. He turned down the radio and the a/c, letting the car warm up in the late afternoon sun. After half an hour or so, he glanced over to see Dean breathing deeply, having finally succumbed to sleep. It was a relief to see Dean's face regain some colour and smooth out. Still, Sam frowned as he freely examined his brother. The lines on Dean's face seemed more deeply etched and the dark circles under his green eyes were like permanent shadows. Dean was 35 today, and even sleeping he looked his age. Bone tired, like he was carrying burdens so heavy that they showed on his body. And Sam was sure that with the trifecta of Heaven, Hell and the Mark of Cain, that those burdens were only going to get heavier. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair to rub the back of his neck.
Kevin was right. The prophet was dead, but they were both alive, and together. Sam didn't know how, but he was going to fix things between them. With one eye on the road, he reached over, and gently pulled Dean's shoulder so that his head was resting at an angle that seemed more comfortable. Dean was so exhausted that he didn't even stir. Giving his sleeping brother's leg a pat, he turned his attention back to the road. As the wheels of the big car hummed along the black top, Sam whispered "Happy birthday big brother, I got this"