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So...I kinda stole some dialogue from All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2...but it fits so sue me! Well actually don't!
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Sam’s been searching, spent weeks trawling the internet, 2 weeks and 6 days to be exact, searching for any clue of Dean Winchester. And for all intents and purposed, Dean Winchester doesn’t exist. Except for a couple of arrests the man’s been living off the grid.
Sam sighs as he reads through the arrests records, his skill with the computer not failing him, and “grave desecration and murder” stick out like sore thumbs and he wonders, not for the first time, why he is even bothering to look for a man who obviously doesn’t want to be found.
He rolls his neck for the fifth time and sighs.
“Sam?” Louise was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen again. Sam wondered how long she had been there, watching his forehead wrinkle in concentration as he sifted through the random snippets of information about the man of his dreams. He frowned at that, just because you dream about him doesn't make him the man of your dreams, his mind countered.
“Sam.” Louise was taking a step forward, his name more confident now, no longer a question. “This is getting ridiculous. You need some sleep.”
“I can't sleep.” He counters. She frowns at him and runs her fingers down his cheek. He unconsciously shies away from the touch, turning back to the screen.
“Why not?” She asks, her hand now resting on his shoulder. Brave Louise, his thinks, she has been through so much with him, him guilt over Jessica, his guilt over getting over Jessica, the way he tried to push her away, wanting to be alone in hi misery and Louise had stuck with him, gradually bringing him out of the dark with her gentle smile and coaxing voice and soft hands and sweet kiss.
She leans forward and kisses his cheek when he doesn't answer.
“I wish I could make this better.” She says, and Sam knows she means him, wants to make him better, wants her boyfriend back. Not the one that sits in front of his laptop until the early hours of the morning, trying desperately to find someone he isn't even positive exists. The one that laughs with her watching day time TV, the one that wraps his long arms around her from behind when she's cooking and lays his cheek against the top of her head as his hands splay over her stomach. She wants that one, and Sam would give anything to give her that, give her that Sam he wants to be back.
“So do I Lou.” He sighs, suddenly exhausted. She pulls on one of his hands.
“Come on. Come sleep.” And Sam goes willingly with her. And she draws him to her, cradling his head against her chest as she drifts off to sleep and Sam stays awake, afraid to close his eyes.
“I have to find him, Lou.” He feels Louise stiffen.
“Him?” She asks and Sam suddenly remembers that he never told her about the dreams. “The guy you dream about?” She continues, her face trying to convey impassiveness as she looks at him across the bed, the bed side lamp doing nothing to hide the hurt in her eyes.
"Do you ever dream about me Sam?” She is angry now, hurt and angry and Sam wants to pull her to him, run his fingers through her hair because he knows she likes that, but the barriers she is throwing up make him stop.
“Lou...” He begins, but he stops, not knowing how to continue.
“You dream about Jessica, you dream about your mother who you never knew, and now...a guy who you don't even know exists.”
“Louise, don't...” And he doesn't now what he's asking her not to do, but she visibly slumps and crawls across the bed to him, wrapping her arms around him. He responds and buries his head in her shoulder, inhaling the scent that has become so comforting to him.
“Sammy...” She says and Sam snaps his gaze upwards, meeting her eyes.
“What did you call me?”
“Sammy.” She looks confused and a little embarrassed.
“You've never called me that. No one calls me that, only...” He shakes his head and Louise looks like she comprehends now and she sighs.
“Only him.” She says, Sam doesn't even need to nod because she can read the look in his gaze.
“Go find him Sam.” She says.
“You believe me? That he might be real?” He asks, hoping that she doesn't think he's going crazy, even though he thinks that himself.
“Does it matter what I believe? You wont talk to a doctor, hell Sam, you wont even talk to me. You need to do this. I'll be here when you get back.” She doesn't need to add that she will always be there, waiting for Sam, always waiting. Sam touches her cheek gently and her eye flutter closed for a second.
“I love you.” He says, the look in her eyes says she doesn't believe him.
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Its far too long after he's lost Sammy when Dean turns up at Bobby's front door. A month after Sam was stabbed in the back torn from Dean's life and he lifts his hand and knocks.
“Dean.” Bobby looks surprised to see him and Dean wants to fall into his hard arms and forget everything. But he plasters a smile on his face, the patented Dean Winchester “I'm adorable” smile.
“Hey Bobby.” He grins. Bobby steps aside and Dean takes a step inside.
Dean wonders how long its been for Bobby, never fully understanding how the Deal affected everyone else, not really understanding how its affecting him. By the look on Bobby's face, its been longer than a month.
What can I do for you son?” Bobby's asking, his head in the fridge. He pulls out two beers and hands one to Dean who takes it gratefully, alcohol being the crutch he's used to lean on after Sammy, after half his soul was taken from him.
“I...” He begins, not really knowing what he's doing standing in the kitchen of Bobby Singer, but he needed someone, someone who has known him longer than a day.
“Dean.” Bobby says, “What's going on? I don't see you for a year, not since...” He trails off and Dean knows now. He hasn't seen Bobby in this reality since dad died, since Dad sold his soul, and he wants to laugh at the cruel irony of the Winchester family, constantly sacrificing themselves for each other, fiercely loyal even if they couldn't show it.
Dean runs a hand through his short hair and scratches the back of his head, looking uncomfortable, he knows and Bobby raises an eyebrow.
“Do you remember Sam?” Dean asks suddenly and Bobby frowns.
“Sam?” He says. Dean sighs. He wanted Bobby to remember.
“Nevermind.” He says and takes a pull of his beer. Bobby takes a step forward and takes the beer out of his hand.
“You look like you've been doing that too much. What's going on Dean?” He says, indicating ot one of the chairs in the kitchen. Dean sits.
“Who's Sam?” Bobby asks. “And you better not lie to me boy, I know when you're lying.” He adds with a smile.
Its takes three hours, four beers, a few tears and a lot of say that again, for Dean to explain everything. And Bobby looks pissed.
“You stupid ass! What did you do? What did you do?!” He asks after a few minutes of silence, of Bobby's brain whirring and letting the information sink in before he speaks. Dean flinches slightly at the accusatory tone in his voice and his visage hardens, like all the Winchester's when they are being accused of something.
"You made a deal...For Sam, didn't you? How long did they give you?”Dean stiffens again and Bobby resists he urge to sigh, or punch Dean.
“Bobby.” Dean begins. He can't know how hard it was for Dean to make that choice. Either way he lost, Sam isn't in his life anymore and he still can't understand the dull ache that blossoms across his chest whenever he thinks of Sammy gone.
“How long” Bobby asks again and Dean sighs.
“One year.”
“Damn it, Dean. I could throttle you!” Bobby actually gets up and hauls Dean out of the chair, his fingers curling into the lapels of Dean's jacket, his face inches from Dean's. Dean swallows. He knows he's done wrong but he can't help the sarcastic comment that falls from his lips.
“And send me downstairs ahead of schedule?” Bobby lets him go, pushing slightly and Dean stumbles backwards into the chair he had been sitting on 10 seconds before. His fingers curl around the top of the chair and it feels like he's holding onto anything to keep him from falling, keeping a tentative hold on reality less thoughts, dreams, of Sammy coming flooding back again.
“What is it with you Winchesters, huh? You, your dad. You're both just itching to throw yourselves down the pit.” Bobby is still pissed although Dean can see the worry in his eyes, and the regret, regret at not being able to save John, not being able to help Dean and confusion. He doesn't remember Sam, but Dena is so sure that he exists, so sure, and there was a pleading look in his eyes and Bobby couldn't help but believe him.
“That's my point. Dad brought me back, Bobby. I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? It's like my life could mean something.” Dean is begging again, begging Bobby to understand, he couldn't go through life knowing Sam was dead. Sam was his life, his very breath, and even though there is a gaping hole where his brother used to be, at least Sam is alive.
“What? And it didn't before?! Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?!” Bobby looks like he wants to smack Dean into next week and he feels a swell of love for the man that has been more of a father to him than his own was.
“I couldn't let him die, Bobby. I couldn't. He's my brother.” Dean tries to convey all his feelings into those words, everything he's feeling. How he feels empty when he thinks of Sam, how he sometimes wakes up shaking and unable to stop, how he sometimes wishes he could just curl up and die, let the end of the world come because he doesn't care anymore, he's give enough and he can't breathe without Sam, doesn't want to.
Bobby sighs and cups Dean's cheek in sympathy and says the words that almost breaks Dean's heart all over again.
“And now he wont even remember you.”
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And Dean, always the martyr. But that last line just *ouch*. Poor Dean, he's really hurting over this, even though he thinks he's done the right thing.
Great chapter, sweetie. :)
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*cuddles* Hope tomorrow is better for you poppet!
xox
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I know you love the misery...you misery junkie you!
Right...you asked for it, two personalities coming right up! Don't say I didn't warn you.
xox
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Ok...so can I just now blame things on Margot?
xx
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