SPN fic: Barrens (past Sam/Dean)

[longsufferingly]

Maybe I'll just post one of these every day in November. That's like doing NaNo, but I'm way more likely to do it.

Of course, it's already November 2, but I haven't gone to sleep yet, so I count it as November 1.

Title: Barrens
Author: chash
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Past Sam/Dean.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: AU, non-related Winchesters.
Word Count: 2000 words.
Summary: Sam and Dean head to New Jersey in search of clues.
Notes: Previous parts here.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.


They're about thirty miles out of San Diego on their way back toward Stanford when Sam makes Dean pull the car over so he can throw up on the side of the road.

Dean gets out of the driver's seat and pats him on the back. Sam's head is between his legs and his breathing is ragged.

"He--what the hell happened, Dean? That's..."

"That's what happened to your mom," says Dean.

"Yeah," says Sam, because it's not a lie. It's not. It's just not what he was going to say. Not what he maybe should have said. "But...why the hell did it happen again?"

"I don't know," says Dean. "Are you--" Sam hears him clear his throat. "What can I do, Sam?" he finally says.

"My dad's journal," says Sam. "You have it?"

"Yeah," says Dean. He pops open the glove compartment and roots around, his shoulder brushing against Sam as he goes. When he finds it, he drops it in Sam's lap. Sam rifles through quickly, finds the page he's looking for. "Forty, negative seventy-five," he says, turning the page to Dean.

"Coordinates," says Dean. "Wonderful."

Sam grabs his water bottle from the beverage holder, swirls it around in his mouth a few times and then spits it out on the ground. He wipes his mouth roughly with his sleeve and looks up to see Dean still watching him. "I'll look them up," he says. "Start driving."

"Back to Stanford?" asks Dean.

Sam glares at him. "Wherever this says, Dean."

"What about--"

"My dad's dead. I'm finding out what happened to him."

Dean looks at him for a long time, and Sam looks back with measured resolve. He's sure Dean wants to say something about how he's been a crappy son for fucking years, and Sam's more than ready for the fight. If Dean tries to start something right now, Sam's pretty sure he's going to punch him. But Dean maybe senses that and is smart for once in his life.

"All right," he says, "figure out where we're going."

*

"Riverton, New Jersey," says Sam, ten minutes of googling later. "Great."

"What?"

"Do you know what's there, Dean?"

"Atlantic City?" Dean asks, hopefully.

"No," says Sam, "that's in Atlantic City."

"Shut up," says Dean. "What's there?"

"That's the Pine Barrens," says Sam.

"Fascinating. And?"

"Ever hear of the Jersey Devil?"

"It's a hockey team," Dean tries.

"It's also a legendary cryptid."

"You made that word up."

"No, I didn't. Bigfoot, chupacabra, the Loch Ness Monster--they're all cryptids. Animals that may or may not exist."

"Huh. So does the Jersey Devil eat goats too?"

"Chickens," says Sam. "That's the weird thing," he continues. "The area's right for the Jersey Devil, but...there's almost nothing in the lore about the Jersey Devil going after people. It's all just sightings and dead livestock."

"So maybe it's not the Jersey Devil," he considers for a minute. "Hey, wasn't that on the X-Files once?"

Sam looks at him.

"Right. Asking the wrong nerd."

"I guess we'll see when we get there."

"Yeah," agrees Dean. "He could've sent us somewhere closer."

"If you need me to drive, just say the word," says Sam, smiling a little.

Dean grins back, more than he has to. "Keep dreaming."

*

They're somewhere in the middle of the country--Sam hasn't been keeping up, really--when Dean says, "You think it's got to do with what happened?"

"Hmm?" asks Sam. "He'd been dozing as best he could, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees his father on the ceiling, eyes wide. Sometimes he sees a woman too, blonde and pretty, and he knows it's his mother reassembled from old photographs. Sometimes they're together. Sometimes he feels like he should be up there too. Just take the whole family, if it'll be over.

"This Jersey Devil thing. Or whatever. Think it's what your dad was researching?"

Sam shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense. He could've just called you if he wanted you to know about it. My guess, he was planning to leave."

"Leave?"

"From what I saw on his walls, he was tracking something," says Sam. "He had some signs up. I'd say he knew you'd come looking for him, wanted to leave you a decoy."

"The journal," says Dean.

"His whole life's been looking for this thing," says Sam. "If he found it? That was it for him. So...I'd say he was leaving the journal for whoever came to find him."

"Except the thing found him first?"

Sam shrugs. "Why else would he have written the coordinates?"

"So he wanted us to find them," Dean agrees.

"You," says Sam quietly. "He wanted you to find them."

Dean glances over from the driver's seat, his face unreadable. "He'd be glad you found them too, Sam."

Sam smiles wryly. "Trust me, Dean, I know you were a way better son to him than I ever was. You don't have to sugarcoat it for me."

Dean stares so long he nearly misses his turn, and Sam suggests they turn in for the night with a grin.

"Wouldn't want you driving off the road," says Sam. "And since I can't drive..."

"Hey, it's not my fault you're not man enough for a real car."

"Keep telling yourself that," says Sam.

If he just jokes with Dean, he can almost ignore the ache in his chest, the constant thrumming behind his eyelids that's telling him his father's dead and he could have stopped it. His father's dead, and it's his fault.

His father's dead, and he didn't save him.

*

"I don't know about you," says Dean when they get to the motel, "but I need a drink."

Sam laughs sharply. "Yeah," he says. "I could use a drink. I could use a lot of drinks."

Dean looks over at him. "Don't tell me grad school finally made a partier out of you? Still seemed pretty tame after college."

Sam stiffens but doesn't talk about after college. Dean's clearly not planning to have this conversation with him. Or any conversations about the two of them. "Just on special occasions."

"You really calling this a special occasion?"

"Special doesn't mean good, Dean," Sam points out.

Dean furrows his brow in mock confusion, "So they didn't put me in special education cuz I'm awesome?"

Sam snorts, and he sees Dean start grinning too. "Yeah, Dean," he agrees somberly, "it was cuz you're awesome."

"Knew it," says Dean. "There's a bar down the road. You in?"

"Yeah," says Sam. "I'm in."

*

Dean is flirting with a girl.

This isn't exactly new--Dean's flirted with girls before. Dean flirts like breathing, something he does half the time without even noticing it, Sam's sure.

The first time he saw Dean hit on a girl, he was thirteen. He and his dad had met up with Dean and Bobby by chance, all of them working the same case without realizing it. Sam had seen Dean charm one of the witnesses, a pretty high-school girl who was amazed the dashing transfer student was paying so much attention to her.

Sam saw them kissing outside the apartment and ran inside, jerked off for the first time in his life, thinking of the way Dean's lips moved, the noises he made.

For Sam, it had never been a question, what he wanted.

He hasn't seen Dean flirting like this in years--not since Bobby got hurt and Dean came on the road with Sam and John. Maybe Dean thought it was disrespectful, to hook up with girls with John right there. Sam had always hoped that Dean was already in love with him.

Not that it matters now. Sam morosely sips his gin and tonic--he hates gin and tonic, but Dean makes fun of him for getting drinks that actually taste good, because only girls do that--and glares at anything and everything.

He always knew Dean could be a jerk, but he thinks that hooking up with a waitress at a dive bar three days after his ex-boyfriend's dad died is above and beyond.

And that's stupid, Sam realizes, thinking about his dad, because that just reminds him that he's dead, that Sam should have--could have--done more, and he's embarrassed and angry and stupid when he finds tears in his eyes, blurring the drink in front of him.

This was such a bad idea.

He lurches off the stool, determined to go home and sleep and not think about his dad or Dean hooking up with some waitress, or how many waitresses Dean must have hooked up with in the two years they were broken up, and maybe even the four years Sam was at college.

He sways worryingly and realizes that he's tall and he's got a long way to go if he does fall, and wouldn't that just make his day. But then there's a hand on his arm, warm and solid, and Dean is right there.

"Jesus," says Dean, "for a giant, you really can't hold your liquor, Sam."

"Sammy," says Sam helplessly. "You call me Sammy, Dean."

"Let's get you home," says Dean, ignoring him and pulling Sam's arm up over his shoulders. "Never should have let you drink."

"You just don't want me ruining your game," says Sam. "With the girls."

Dean groans. "God, drunk you sucks. Come on." He starts walking and Sam lurches after him, half-dragged, half-walking.

"I didn't have sex with anyone else," Sam slurs, knowing he's going to regret it. "Never have. Just you."

"Well, that's educational," says Dean tightly. "I'm so glad we're sharing now."

"Never wanted anyone else," says Sam.

"How about water? You ever want some water? Cuz seriously, if I have to hang out with your mopey hungover ass in the car tomorrow, I'm gonna be pissed."

"You'd be a good mom," says Sam, grinning sloppily.

Dean raises his eyebrow. "Thanks, Sam. That means the world to me."

Sam is afraid of what he might say next, so he faceplants onto his bed and is gone in seconds.

*

Something heavy lands on Sam's stomach and he really, really wishes he was dead.

Hell, he feels like maybe he is dead.

His eyes focus slowly and he sees his bag on his stomach.

"Rise and shine, Sam!" Dean says, looking chipper and happy.

"I'm going to kill you," Sam mutters, turning over to bury his face in his pillow.

"Seriously, we've got places to go, man. New Jersey? Unsolved mysteries? Cryptals?"

"Cryptids," Sam corrects. "I'm never drinking again."

"Hallelujah," says Dean. "Should've known you wouldn't be a fun drunk."

Sam rubs his face, trying to will the headache away. He can hear everything he said to Dean in his head and he--he just can't. He screws his face into a sheepish smile behind his hand and pulls it down slowly. "Sorry, Dean. Hope I wasn't too much trouble."

Dean looks at him. "Don't remember?"

"Bits and pieces. But...nothing after the bar. I guess you took care of me, huh?"

Dean snorts. "Dumped you into bed. I deserve a medal--you're heavy, man."

"Thanks, Dean," he says, and it's genuine. "I appreciate it."

Dean waves his hand. "Whatever. Get in the car. We gotta book it if we're gonna make it to Jersey before dark."

"I'm not sure that's physically possible," Sam says, but he gets up and stumbles into the bathroom.

"Nothing's impossible," Dean says brightly. "Want coffee?"

"God, yes, please."

He hears Dean's snort. "Lightweight."

The door to the room closes and Sam leans his head against the cool porcelain of the sink.

This really hasn't been his best week.