Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Synchronicity ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

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Synchronicity

 

Chapter Two

 

The gray dawn light was starting to filter into the room by the time the boys had gotten showered and dressed. There had been no reason for them to go back to sleep after their early morning visitor and besides neither one of them wanted to hang around to see if she would opt for an encore.

Now normally, Dean's tried and true method of dealing with curses was to get the hell out of the way and let it roll on through, but seeing as it was him that was cursed that really wasn't an option. What they needed was a game plan. The last time a witch had hexed him he had been able to talk his way out of it, but Sarah had been a kind soul at heart, and really, it had just been a huge misunderstanding. Who knew she had a sister? Besides she had been more of a hedge witch than a true dyed in the wool sorceress.

However, he really didn't know anything about Eliza—Lisa—Ella? Damn, this is was bad.

“Okay, I'm going to head over to the library and do some research. See if there are any recent instances of local men going missing or unexplained phenomena in the area. I might as well look up your girlfriend's genealogy while I'm at it. These things tend to run in families.”

Sam tossed the towel he was using to dry his hair onto the bed and snatched up a green shirt. He whipped it over his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes when he was done.

“What's her name again?”

“Liza?”

Sam glanced up at his brother as he pulled on his jacket, his eyes narrowed.

“Liza?” he asked incredulously. “You mean you don't know?”

Dean shrugged, looking everywhere but at his brother.

“Well, you know. I had a few, she had a few. There wasn't that much talking involved.”

“She seemed to remember your name, Dean. Your true name. Something that's necessary for a curse of this magnitude, and you just handed it out to her.”

“Well, I guess she was paying closer attention than I was.”

“You had SEX with her. You would think at some point you would want to know which name to moan out.”

Dean cast Sam a wholly disgusted look. “Only women make noise during sex. Real men keep their mouths shut.” It was clear by his tone, that Dean thought Sam was one of those men that not only moaned, but probably screamed, “Oh, God, yes,” while he was at it.

Sam's face turned red, and Dean braced for the bitchery that was about to ensue.

“What is wrong with you Dean? Why do you feel the ever pressing need to nail everything with a heartbeat within fifty feet of you? There are so many, I'm surprised you even bother to hand out your last name anymore.”

“People give out their full name every day,” Dean spat in self-defense.

“Those people don't have the Supernatural hell bent on humping their leg. Hell, Dean, you're the one who taught me that.” Sam was exasperated. He couldn't understand what was going on with his brother lately. Why he was so reckless.

Dean waved him away, turning around to check the clip in his gun.

“What is going on with you? Sam demanded. “Ever since---“ He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even now, four months later he choked on the words.

Dean was going to hell.

Sam shook his head, lost for a moment. He brushed his hand through his long, sandy hair, gathering his thoughts.

“After dad died you were downright scary. You were so intense, killing anything that looked at you wrong, but now it's like you don't even care, like life's one great big party and you're looking to score the best possible crack in town.”

Dean snapped the clip back into his gun, and slammed it down onto the small wooden table by the door. He wished his brother would just drop it. Why couldn't he ever just let things be? It was Dean's life and he had a right to live it any way he chose for the remainder of it.

“Yeah, well, Sammy, we only get one life to live and I intend to cash in on all the perks I can before my bill comes due.”

Sam's face darkened, a rare shimmer of dangerous intensity shinning through. Sam was passionate about a lot of things---finding the key to his destiny, avenging Jess and their dad, research and latte, but when it came down to his brother something switched on inside him that even Dean found a little unsettling at times. He flailed after Dean with the frenzy of a drowning man reaching for a preserver, never noticing how his actions might drown them both.

“That's not going to happen. I won't let it,” Sam vowed in a low voice.

“Sam.” Dean bit out his brother's name before stopping, switching tactics mid-speech. “What are you still doing here, dude?” he asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Old Yeller is dead. You're safe. You haven't had a vision since we ventilated him. You can go back to school, to your life. You can get back to normal, Sammy.” Dean ignored the kick in the gut his words provoked. He didn't want Sam to leave. He didn't want to be left alone for his few remaining days, but he had to think ahead to the future. Sam's future. He had to make the break now, force Sam to go through the process of grieving so it wouldn't be such a shock when the demon collected.

Dean held out his hands in supplication, but to Sam it felt like his brother was pushing him away. Shoving him out the door with the order never to look back and gee, while you're at it, forget that you even had a brother.

“No.” Sam's reply was hard and resolute, matching the hard expression on his baby face that wasn't so babyish anymore. Life had been hard to Sam the last two years, forcing him to grow up in a way that few people but Dean could understand. His little brother was a man, and it was a very rare thing anymore to see the innocent kid he used to be.

“Sam.” Dean tried again, but Sam cut him off with an angry bark.

“No!” Sam leapt forward without warning, pinning Dean to the nearby wall. Dean was surprised, but he didn't protest. He let his brother manhandle him, let him feel in control just this once. Sam would have to relearn to walk on his own, without someone to follow. Something he had mastered years before while away at college, but had forgotten how.

Sam wrapped both his ham-like fists into Dean's shirt refusing to let go even if Dean had struggled. “I'm not going to let this happen, Dean. If I have to march into hell to save your sorry ass then that's what I'll do. I'm never going to leave you again, Dean.” Sam promised, and Dean felt something crack in his chest. It felt like his ribs were breaking, lacerating his heart and lungs.

Dean saw a flash of something dark in Sam's eyes and he swallowed down a dull sense of fear. Since the night he had been resurrected there had been a subtle shift in Sam's attitude. It was easier for him to kill, with shorter bouts of brooding afterwards. There were fewer drawn out conversations of what was right and wrong, sprinkled with liberal amounts of foul language.

Being raised by a transit father with no mother figure in sight, both men knew how to cuss a blue streak, but Sam's rough edges had been smoothed out by Jess, molding him into someone more acceptable in society, while with no one to polish his edges, Dean had no compunction expressing himself with more than a few four letter words. So usually, the F-word was Dean's sole domain, but lately he had noticed Sam using it as a verb, noun and an adjective.

Vaguely, Dean wondered if Sam still prayed every day. That confession, made in church months ago had shocked him, but yet made him feel oddly comfortable. Unable to pray for himself, he had relied on Sam to ask for forgiveness on his part for the countless necessary sins that he had committed over the years.

Dean looked away from his brother's eyes, shoving at him hard.

“Get off me.”

Sam let him go, but kept staring at him with his emo face that demanded Dean's attention. Well, Dean wasn't going to surrender to it this time.

“We don't have time for this right now. Go to the library and I'll head over to her house and find out her name.”

Sam was derailed from his rant, but he quickly righted himself onto a new bitch track.

“You can't just show up on her doorstep, Dean. She'll more than likely turn you into a frog this time.”

“I know how to do my job, Sam. I'm not a fucking moron. I'm just going to check her mailbox for a name. Then I'll head down to the bar and see if there's anyone there after closing that knows anything about her.”

Sam snapped his mouth shut, chastened for the moment. “Fine. Call me when you know something.”

Sam slammed the door on the way out without waiting for Dean's reply. They were within walking distance of the town's library, having settled at a nearby motel a few days earlier after arriving to investigate a local haunting. It had turned out to be something minor, a soldier from the civil war who was searching for his homestead that no longer existed. He hadn't hurt anyone, but he had scared some local children pretty badly. It had taken a fair bit of research to figure what was going on since the death had occurred so long ago, and Sam had spent a great deal of time in the library doing just that.

Dean was scowling at the door when he felt the first twinges of tightness in his chest. He ignored it at first, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants before shrugging on his dark-blue button down. His full lips thinned as the tightness intensified with every passing moment, showing no signs of abatement. He paused, spreading a wide hand across the center of his chest, massaging his heart through the layers of his thick muscles.

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed, a rare moment of panic overtaking him. The weakness in his chest felt exactly the same as it had when he had been electrocuted. Had the witch's curse reawakened his frailties? Was his heart failing again? Was he going to die there, in a crappy motel room while Sammy was still pissed at him?

His heart constricted, and he suddenly couldn't draw a complete breath. His body flushed hot, and then cold as sweat began to pour from his pores. His skin felt like it was stretched to the ripping point over his bones and his lungs were on fire. He slid off the bed, dropping to his knees. He clutched his chest wondering if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack while still achingly aware.

Dark spots began to form at the corners of his vision, and everything around him took on a surreal quality. The motel walls, painted a dark umber began to bleed red, and it felt like the earth was shaking beneath him. He cupped his palms over his face, attempting to block out the reeling sensation behind his eyes, trying to focus on the moment, but it was to no avail. There was a screaming in his head that wouldn't stop, and he realized that it was Sam's voice echoing in his mind.

He knew at that moment he was dying, and heartbreakingly it didn't bring him the peace that he thought it would; only the greatest sense of regret.

 

TBC