Chapter Text
Maeve jumped at the sound of a loud, muffled voice coming over the station PA system, announcing their train’s arrival time. The station had maybe twenty people inside overall, the shops all closed even the McDonald’s and it was silent other than the occasional rustle of clothes and low muzak versions of secular Christmas hits playing over the loudspeaker. Thanksgiving at the Talbot-MacKenna household was usually side dishes and the second most extravagant dessert Maeve could manage. But Thanksgiving was in two weeks and Maeve wasn’t interested at the moment. Bela had been blowing up her phone for the past few hours, leaving voicemails each time. Bela never texted, it was too easy to pretend to be someone else, she had said.
Maeve had put her phone on Do Not Disturb after the sixth call in a row and pulled out her notebook. Maeve never wrote down her innermost thoughts or the trials and tribulations of her day. She wrote random thoughts that crossed her mind, song lyrics that came to her, word associations, jokes both hers and ones she had heard before, doodles and sketches, flavor combinations she didn’t want to forget, ideas for plating, and to-do lists. Sometimes she had too many thoughts she couldn’t write them down fast enough, she bookmarked half-empty pages where she had happened onto a theme that she planned to revisit.
Hadwin had told her that the subconscious was one of the most powerful under-utilized tools of human nature. According to Hadwin, humans took their subconscious, the little voice in the back of their head, their intuition for granted, relying on it only in times of dire straits. But in actuality, it was a skill that could be trained and honed. Letting the mind flow freely without restraint and documenting it was a way to trap the subconscious. Maeve found it helpful to classify abstract ideas into more tangible things. Nostalgia was the smell of old plastic and hot concrete and sounded like children playing under the pops of a vinyl record. Sarcasm was lemonade that was just a tad too tart. She imagined Intuition as a shrewd mouse, small, easy to tamp down and ignore but difficult to catch without cunning. Subconsciousness only remained as such when indirectly acknowledged. It was the perfect challenge in that Maeve had no way of evaluating her progress, it was a challenge for challenges’ sake.
Maeve kept her headphones in albeit with nothing playing because she wanted to be left alone and she had missed too many buses and trains in the past from zoning out. She breathed a sigh of relief when the announcer came on again to tell them their train had arrived. Maeve was exhausted. She had started packing the moment Bela had left and it wasn’t easy. The contents of her bag were a cross between a long-term and short-term stay. She had brought plenty of yarn along with her set of hooks and at least twenty pairs of underwear but only one pair of shoes and three pairs of pants. Maeve wanted to bring as little as possible without needing to come back.
The train was empty as they all boarded, Seattle was the final stop. The attendants and conductor all disembarked with their luggage and the relief crew took their place. Maeve had paid for the privacy of a single room because she had promised herself long ago that she would never subject herself to human contact unless absolutely necessary. The seats in the main car were also painstakingly too small and she had hated the looks of disappointment and disgust when people were forced to sit beside her.
Maeve made her way to her room, Cabin J018. She slid the door shut behind her and the space fell quiet; the hum of the idle train so loud it became background noise was immediately silenced. The room smelled like artificial vanilla but that was better than nothing. The room was complete with a desk, couch, bed, and bathroom with a shower. She would only have to leave for food. Maeve kept odd hours so if she played her cards right, getting food could be a breeze.
Maeve had just begun to unpack when there was a knock at the door. She opened the door to find no one on the other side of it. Strange. The hallway was pretty narrow so perhaps someone had bumped it. Not two minutes later was there another knock. Maeve once again opened the door but his time a man in a uniform was there, an easy smile on his face.
Maeve pulled her ticket out of her pocket. She had the digital version but she found that there was often an illusion of convenience when making something digital. Taking a piece of paper out of her pocket would always be faster than unlocking her phone, navigating to an app, and pulling up the ticket. The man took the ticket and read it over quickly before handing it back to Maeve. She made sure their skin didn’t touch.
“Kansas,” The attendant mused. “That’s a long way.”
Maeve steeled herself to her initial unease at useless chit-chat. “Yep, visiting some friends.” Not quite a lie but not quite the truth either.
The man nodded and hummed as if Maeve had given him the most interesting information. “Excited?”
Maeve nodded. “Yep.” One-word answers tended to let chatty people know she wanted to be left alone. He smiled again and tipped his cap. He bid her goodnight and wished her happy travels.
Maeve went back to unpacking her bag. Not completely, she had a long trip ahead of her but no need to unpack her entire bag. She had just stowed it beneath the bed when there was another knock at her door.
“Ticket check.” A voice said. Maeve rolled her eyes but plastered a pleasant smile on her face before she opened the door, ticket at the ready. It was a female attendant now, her nametag read Chelsea in gold letters. Her uniform was pristine, her pencil skirt and blouse without a single wrinkle. Her stewardess hat sat atop her perfectly coiffed updo.
“You guys take security pretty serious here, huh?”
“We do.” Chelsea smiled bemusedly as he scanned Maeve’s ticket. “But what makes you say so?”
Maeve took back her ticket. “Another attendant came by and looked at my ticket already.”
“Oh,” Chelsea looked pleasantly surprised. “What was her name?”
“He,” Maeve corrected. “His name was…” Maeve tried to recall. Had he even had a nametag? Maeve seemed to remember something with a B or an S.
“There aren’t any male stewards on duty at the moment.” Chelsea politely interjected. “Are you sure they weren’t just another passenger?”
Maeve shook her head. The man had been in a uniform but it was completely different from Chelsea’s, in both material and shade of blue. “Yeah, maybe he was.” Either a stranger had gone through the trouble of pretending to be a steward on a train or the stewardess was mistaken. It was unsettling how neither possibility put Maeve at ease.
Chelsea’s smile was back to full strength. She handed Maeve a small felt pouch, embroidered with the train company. “Inside you’ll find a menu with our food options and order slips. We offer room service so if you’d like you can just fill in your order and we’ll get to it as soon as we see it and bring it right to your door.” Chelsea must have noticed Maeve’s relief. “We come by ten minutes after every stop, we like to let passengers know so we don’t sneak up on them.”
“Sounds good.”
Maeve gave the menu a once over and her stomach growled. She and Bela hadn’t finished dinner. But exhaustion won out and Maeve slipped into bed where sleep took her quickly.
***
Dean woke up groggily, emerging from a dream about trains. As he got up, his clothes felt stiff and skated across his too-warm skin. Dean followed the noise to the kitchen where a tea kettle was whistling and hissing violently. He shut the stove off just as Castiel came in through the back door looking flushed. He grinned when he saw Dean.
After glancing back at the door, Castiel came into the kitchen. He took another mug from the cabinet and held it up in asking. Dean, suddenly feeling parched, accepted. Castiel made the tea as if he’d done it a hundred times, adding lemon and sugar in equal measure. SLEEP WELL? Castiel wrote on a sticky notepad he had pulled from his pocket.
Dean nodded. He did manage to get some rest, a rarity for him. “You know where Sam went?” Castiel shook his head and looked to the back door. “You okay?”
Castiel nodded eagerly but looked out once again. Dean was ready to ask what was outside that had Castiel doing double-takes when Sam came in the house. Dean knew that look. The pleading, holy-fuck-I-don’t-want-to-feel-anything-anymore look. The look Sam gave him when they couldn’t save someone. The look he had when the world had once again let him down. Dean was ready for Sam to pull him to the side and tell him about whatever it was out of earshot. But Sam just avoided their gazes and went straight upstairs.
UPSET? Castiel wrote.
Yeah, no kidding, Dean thought.
Sam didn’t come out of his room until it was time for dinner. They made the walk together to Elba’s house silently, barely acknowledging one another, lost in their thoughts. As soon as Elba’s house was in sight, the most mouth-watering aromas wafted around them. The closer they got to the house the easier it was for Dean to pick out the individual spices; chiles, cumin, smoked paprika, onion, garlic, and rosemary. If the outside smelled inviting then the kitchen smelled divine. At least a dozen different aromatics filled the house and suddenly Dean was ravenous.
Elba’s housemates had begrudgingly introduced themselves and Dean had made sure he looked at them both equally and neutrally. But it didn’t matter. They both seemed to hate the three of them. Jordan had looked like he wanted to snap Dean’s neck just for trying to shake his hand and Jacquelin looked bemusedly disappointed as if Dean had suggested they go count blades of grass. They were huddled in the far corner of the kitchen, speaking in low tones. Dean had a distinct feeling they were being talked about what with the furtive glances the girl kept giving Sam.
The seating arrangement was a bit odd. Elba sat at the head of the table where Castiel was already seated to her right. Jordan took the seat at her left, and Jacquelin sat at the other end of the table. Dean had a choice, sit between two people who hated him or just one. Without overthinking it, Dean took his place beside Castiel.
“Bueno,” Elba said once Sam sat down. Elba blessed the food and they all dug in in hungry silence. No one said a word and it took some time for the awkwardness to make its way in.
“Jordan,” Elba said brightly. “Why don’t you tell Dean about the Thunderbird?”
“You into cars?” Dean asked, thankful for something to talk about.
“Our mother was,” Jacquelin replied. Jordan had his eyes on his plate but his fork hadn’t moved. Dean took the hint and dropped it. Elba tried in futility to get any sort of meaningful conversation started but no one bit.
“So what’s wrong with you?” Jordan asked.
Elba’s eyes widened comically and she spewed out something in Spanish, quick and lashing.
“There’s nothing wrong with him.” This kid could hate them all he wanted but Dean wasn’t about to let him disrespect Castiel, not when he couldn’t stand up for himself. Castiel was the last to look up from his plate. He looked confused and tapped at his throat.
“Right, you can’t talk. How come? Hunt gone wrong?”
Castiel furrowed his brow and shook his head. Dean had made it his mission not to speak for Castiel if he could avoid it and evidently, Sam was under the same mindset. Both of them kept their mouths shut as Castiel wrote out a note.
Hunt?
“You’re not a hunter?” Jordan looked genuinely curious; his tone surprised yet apprehensive.
Castiel shook his head as he wrote on another sticky note.
Angel.
“An angel?” Jacquelin looked at Castiel skeptically. “For real? Like heaven?”
Castiel nodded.
“So angels don’t talk,” Jordan inferred as he helped himself to another helping of rice. His eyes were glued to Castiel as if he were a shiny new toy.
Castiel shook his head and wrote smaller and handed the sticky note to Jordan: We do but I was hurt.
The beginnings of a smile crept onto Jacquelin’s face. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be like seven feet tall and have four faces?”
Castiel grinned and shook his head. Myth, he wrote.
“But you have wings, right?”
Castiel gasped. It was a small noise. The smallest intake of breath, laced with pain and embarrassment. Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes as he was reminded of his shortcoming. Castiel shook his head and got up from the table, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he left the dining room.
Sam sighed, “I’ll go check on him.”
“That’s new,” Dean muttered. Sam had been skating by doing to the bare minimum for weeks. Dean had done his best not to hold it against him but he was only human. Sam pretending Castiel didn’t exist and leaving Dean to make up for it was fucked up and he was tired of pretending it wasn’t. Castiel had to have noticed but he’d never say anything, couldn’t say anything for fucks’ sake.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Dean took a sip of his drink. “It means whatever you want it to mean, Sammy.”
Elba cleared her throat. “Boys–.”
Sam barreled right over Elba’s words. “I didn’t see you getting up to check on him.”
“Yeah, because I know when he needs space. You’d know too if you spent, I don’t know, more than ten minutes a day with him.”
“Boys!” Elba stood up, calling them both to attention.
Sam and Dean’s anger abetted just long enough to notice their audience. Jordan and Jacquelin were staring at them both, wide-eyed and keen. Dean scowled as he pushed away from the table with a screech that had both Jordan and Jacquelin wincing. He expected Sam to be right behind him; he hated arguing but he hated not having the last word even more. But Dean turned around just in time to see Sam leave out the front door. Dean rolled his eyes. This was going to be one of those fights. The type where Dean was going to have to beg for a detailed explanation for whatever it was he did wrong, something that, knowing Sam, could have happened a month ago. With Sam and Castiel gone there was no reason not to go back to dinner, it seemed like the polite thing to do considering he and Sam had ruined the mood.
Dean went back inside to find Jordan and Jacquelin gone and Elba cleaning up the kitchen. Dean wordlessly began to help and Elba barely acknowledged him. Clean-up was simple enough since Elba made use of her dishwasher. Elba consolidated the leftovers and Dean rinsed the dishes she handed him. Once they were finished, Elba put on some coffee from a yellow tin and took a platter of flan from the fridge. Elba cut two slices and poured them both a cup of coffee.
“So what’s wrong?”
Dean shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. The last few days had been good. Nothing in the slightest to complain about. It was hard to get his mind around the fact just a few weeks ago Dean was praying for Castiel to just open his eyes. But suddenly Sam was in a mood and Castiel evidently couldn’t bring himself to talk about the fact that he was no longer an angel and it had Dean’s head spinning.
Elba gave Dean a baleful look. “You hadn’t noticed.”
It wasn’t a question but Dean felt it should have been. Dean thought about what the last few weeks had been like. He realized he had been so focused on Castiel and he had tried to make up for it. Nearly every night Dean had asked Sam to go for a drive, play a few rounds of poker or a couple of games of chess but every time Sam refused. Looking back, Sam’s excuses had been paper-thin. Sam told Dean he was tired when it was barely eight o’clock or saying he had other things to do when just ten minutes before he was reading for leisure. Dean hadn’t seen a reason to push, he enjoyed his space as much as the next person. Dean wasn’t oblivious; he knew Sam had been avoiding him. But Dean had chalked it up to the fact he was nearly always at Castiel’s side. If Sam needed space Dean was more than happy to give it to him.
“He’s hurt,” Elba took a sip of her coffee. “I could feel it coming off him in waves before he got out of the car. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Dean snapped. Which was true enough. It was hard to tell when this had started because he and Sam hadn’t exactly been on the same page since they had found Castiel. Nearly every conversation had turned into an argument or ended with the other walking away. Sam wasn’t giving him the silent treatment; Dean would have noticed that right away. But Dean tried to remember the last words Sam had said to him unprovoked.
He couldn’t.
For a moment Dean was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he had to find out by accident, in front of strangers, and have Elba confirm that he was on the outs with Sam. The embarrassment passed and quickly faded into anger. Sam wanted to throw a little fit and wait for Dean to figure out he was pissed and ask why. Dean would rather focus on Castiel and his real problems until Sam decided to put on his big boy pants and talk to him.
“No,” Elba said. As much as the boy kept things close to the chest, he wore his emotions on his face. Just like his brother, Dean’s emotions couldn’t help but ooze from his pores. “This is exactly why Sam hasn’t said anything. You’ve shown him that how he feels comes second to Castiel.”
“Everything should come second to Castiel.”
“Maybe when he was lying in that hospital bed but not now. Do you think it’s healthy for you or Sam to keep everything pushed down until Castiel is better? That could take years. It’s only been a month and Sam is ready to walk out that door.” Dean gave her a questioning glance and Elba quickly backtracked. “Just a feeling.”
“A feeling or a reading?” Dean scoffed at Elba’s silence. “If Sam wants to leave then he’s good and goddamned welcomed to.”
Elba wanted to scream. Sometimes she had to remind herself that the man sitting before her was little more than a boy. She was twice his age and was due for centuries. It was easier to put things in perspective when millennia stretched out before her. “ Cabrón. Maybe if it were just the two of you he would have. He won’t leave Castiel so he settles for second best; the bare minimum of you.”
“If Sammy’s got a problem he knows how to open his mouth and say it.”
“You just told me that everything comes second to Castiel. He knows you’ll brush him off so he opts for silence.”
“Sam was always a chatterbox.”
“Dean,” Elba chastised. “You need to fix this.”
“And I will.” Dean took a sip of his beer. “When he tells me what’s wrong.”
“Oh really?” Elba challenged. “ No. You upset Sam so you are the one who needs to fix it.”
“Oh, and just screw how I feel, huh? Sam doesn’t get to have the monopoly on hurt feelings. If he wants me to hold his hand through it then he needs to speak up. Sam was the one who wanted the damn spell, he doesn’t like the outcome that’s on him.”
“So you’ll both play this game? To what end? Until it boils over? Until one of you leaves?”
“That’s the difference between me and Sam, I don’t leave when the going gets tough, that’s always been Sam’s forte.”
“And have you ever wondered why that is? All his life he’s been taught that what he feels, and what he thinks doesn’t matter. Why wouldn’t he want to leave?” Dean wanted to tell Elba that she was wrong. Dean had done his damnedest to make sure Sam felt heard and loved but he knew he had slipped up more than once. Their father’s sweet, scarce acceptance was nearly too much to pass up at times. Barring chick-flick moments and the countless times Dean had told his brother, “Not now, Sammy.”
“This thing you share it’s special. But that doesn’t make it any less fragile. You and Sam being on solid ground is just as important as your bonds with Castiel. Without one, you will all fall apart.” Elba folded her arms gracefully. “How can you even think of bringing Castiel back into the fold when Sam can’t stand you and you’re apathetic? Nothing will ever get better if you and Sam aren’t a united front.”
Dean knew Elba was right which pissed him off even more. A sick part of him wanted to see how long Sam would keep up with this charade but Dean was as impatient as Sam was stubborn. Sam would keep this up until they were old and gray and now that Dean noticed he would go crazy waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Fine, I’ll talk to him.”
Elba nodded to herself. “Bueno. Try not to shout; you’ll wake the animals.”
“Ten-four.” Dean finished off his flan and washed it down with the last of his coffee.
Elba cut two more slices and packed them away. She handed Dean the container with a gentle, easy smile and nodded towards the door. “Go on. He’s waiting for you.”
Dean shook his head, “Doubt it.”
Elba’s chuckled. “El amor es lo que queda cuando la lucha ha terminado.” She tapped at Dean’s chin, making him look up at her. Her grin was teasing as it was warm. “You’ll know it’s time to give up when there’s nothing left to fight for, mijo.”
***
From her bedroom window, Jacquelin watched Jordan unlock his studio, the angel following close behind him. She chuckled to herself. Her brother did have the habit of taking in strays.
The smell of resin and sawdust assaulted Castiel’s senses. Jordan shut the door behind them, kicking up a gust of wind that agitated the loose sawdust. A vicious bout of sneezes overtook Castiel and Jordan blessed every one of them with a snort. “Didn’t think angels could sneeze. Never really thought about it though.”
Castiel bowed his head with a small, bitter grin. “Not much of an angel anymore, are you?” Jordan found the man extremely easy to read. Even without his heightened senses, he’d manage just fine. Jordan wondered if Castiel minded being such an open book, was it frustrating to have his thoughts so easily surmised or a relief that his body said what he couldn’t?
Castiel shook his head as he began to walk throughout the room. His shoes slid across the floor, loosened by the sawdust. A dozen or so wood carvings in various degrees of complexity and completion adorned the shelves with twice as many sketches and images pinned to a corkboard beside it. Half-done sculptures and carvings of faces, animals, and planets were stacked on the shelves in no particular order on top of their respective drawings. A carving of a woman’s face stood out to Castiel, the bark from the tree kept as her hair. He reached out to touch it when a hand grabbed his wrist. “Sorry. You don’t want to get splinters.”
Castiel turned and gestured behind him. He knew he could have been writing notes but he found not all his thoughts could be abridged to a three-by-three slip of paper and Jordan seemed to understand him just fine. Jordan nodded, “Just sketches to make sure I don’t lose my idea.”
There was a leather-bound sketchbook on the worktable, begging to be opened. Castiel flipped through it only to find it empty. Jordan chuckled, “I just rip them out once I get them down, better than trying to find the page I was last on.” He watched Castiel as scratched at the paper, testing its grain.
“You can have it if you’d like.” Castiel immediately shook his head but Jordan rolled his eyes, jerking his chin to his left, where his other handful of half-full journals were stacked. Castiel blushed but accepted it with a nod. “You ever drawn before?”
Castiel shook his head. Jordan smirked and gestured for him to take a seat on the stool at the worktable at the center of the room, while he pulled another stool from the wall. Jordan sat it a yard or so away. He turned on his Bluetooth speaker and started his night playlist. Castiel was still standing when Jordan turned to face him. “Pencils are in the cup,” Jordan told him.
Castiel still hadn’t moved. Jordan shrugged and began to get up. “I mean if you’d rather I drew you…” Castiel quickly grabbed a pencil and took his seat, looking perturbed. He reminded Jordan of a cat.
“Make it good,” Jordan ordered. “Can’t go giving me a complex.”
Castiel laughed silently and Jordan sat up straighter, emboldened.
He was just far away that couldn’t see Castiel’s progress, which was for the better, no need to give him any more pressure. “So what’s the deal with you and the hunters?” Jordan asked. He was used to silence but he had so many questions and Elba had not so subtly told him to mind his own business.
Castiel looked up and started to gesture before fishing his pad from his pocket. He scribbled on it for a few seconds. He tore off the sheet and crumpled it before tossing it. It landed in his lap. Jordan unfurled it, moving as little as possible. He read it and looked up at Castiel who turned his finger in the air. Jordan flipped the sheet of paper and cleared his throat. “I don’t hate them. I don’t even know them.” Jordan went back to his original posture and looked out into the distance. “A hunter killed our parents and our sister.”
Castiel gave him a look that Jordan hated, the look of pity but he tamped down his chagrin because underneath was what Jordan never managed to see on anyone else. Anger.
“Are you with the tall one or the short one?” Jordan still couldn’t recall their names for the life of him. Sal and Deacon? It didn’t matter. The point was they both looked like they wanted to break Jordan’s face just for being less than cordial with Castiel. Jordan thought he had a pretty good gaydar but he couldn’t quite get a read on them. The hunters looked at Castiel like he had hung the moon and never let their eyes stray from him too long. But they also were acting as if they were in the midst of a lovers’ quarrel.
Castiel cocked his head to the side and Jordan started to roll his eyes until he realized that Castiel wasn’t feigning ignorance. Jordan shook his head. “Never mind.” He wasn’t about to drop the they’re-in-love-with-you bomb.
Castiel waved a hand, catching Jordan’s attention. He pointed to the speaker. “It’s a group called Mumford and Sons. You like it?”
Castiel nodded eagerly. “You got an iPod?” Castiel’s face scrunched up once again and his head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. Jordan snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He froze. “Fuck, sorry. You…you know him, right?”
Castiel laughed again, longer this time but still, the only sound was the breath he took in. Jordan felt like an idiot. Here he was getting drawn and laughed at by an angel. The question was perfectly valid but Castiel’s laugh was contagious and Jordan found himself unable to keep from joining in.
***
Dean found Sam sitting on the back porch stairs, staring into the night-lit forest. Dean thought about just walking by, not saying a word but Elba’s inevitable disappointment was palpable. There was a lone porch light lit but it was dim compared to the gibbous moon hanging in the sky. The moonlight tinted Sam’s skin a deep blue-gray and reflected in his hair like silver.
Dean set down the container and leaned against the railing, slipping his hands into his pockets. “A little chilly tonight, huh?”
“I came out here for the quiet, Dean,” Sam didn’t even bother to look in his direction. “Not to chat about the weather.”
Dean prayed for patience and took a well-deserved deep breath. His brother could be such a brat it was infuriating. “Alright, lay it on me.”
Dean expected Sam to play dumb for just a bit before laying into him. But instead, Sam shut his eyes as if he was the one who had the right to be frustrated. “Not now, Dean.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Dean couldn’t help but mock. “Everything has to be on your schedule.”
Sam refused to rise to the bait. He said nothing which pissed Dean off even more. Why not just walk away if he was going to keep up the silent, stoic shit. “What is your problem?”
“I don’t have the problem, Dean.”
“Oh, so I’m the one with the problem?”
Sam scoffed. “I’m going to bed.”
Dean sidestepped in front of him, daring Sam to push him out the way. “Like hell.”
“You really want to do this now?”
“If you’re not too busy.”
“I’m always too busy for your bullshit.”
Dean balked at Sam. They were both pissed, that much was obvious, but Sam was furious and going for the throat. Dean sighed. “I don’t get you, Sam. This is what you wanted: Castiel, alive, and all of us one big happy family. But you’ve been acting like a pariah–.”
“Pariah?” Sam interrupted and Dean was just relieved to get something other than curt non-answers. “No, I’ve been giving you exactly what you wanted for the past month. You wanted brothers, Dean, this is what brothers do. Maybe it’s been so long you forgot.”
If life was a cartoon Dean’s eyes would have been going left and right, up and down, and every which way because of all the things for Sam to be pissed about, Dean not paying enough attention not him was last on the list. He tried to close the space between them but Sam stepped back.
“No. You don’t get to pick and choose when to care and when to hold me at arms’ length–.”
“Arms’ length?” Dean derided. “You have been finding every excuse not to spend more than an hour with me or Castiel and I’m the one holding you at arms’ length?”
“What the hell was I supposed to do, Dean? You said you didn’t want to do this without him, what exactly was I supposed to do with that? You’re so…” Sam always failed to find the words when it came to Dean. When the betrayal cut deep and he couldn’t claw himself through it to get his thoughts together. “It’s always all or nothing with you.”
Dean hated having his words thrown back in his face. He wanted to take them back the moment he had said them, saw the way it broke Sam but all he could remember feeling was relief that someone was hurting as much as he was. He had regretted the words but he had meant them; he didn’t want to do this without Castiel. But he would because that was how much he loved Sam. How much he loved Castiel. He loved them enough to tamp down all the voices in his head telling him to crawl into a hole and die, to power through the pain and the guilt to be what Sam needed, what Castiel would have wanted him to be. But he also loved Sam enough to tell him when he was wrong. “And what about when I chose nothing?” Dean stepped back and threw his arms out to his sides in desperation. “I was ready to fold and you made me call. How was that fair?”
“How wasn’t it? You wanted me to put our feelings over Castiel’s life–.”
“No, you did. What Castiel would have wanted should have trumped everything. We were happy and if Castiel had the choice, he wouldn’t have chosen to be here, tormenting us. That’s all he is now, a constant reminder of how things were, how they could have been. How is this better, Sam? None of us are happy. Not you, not me, and Castiel can’t fucking talk .” Dean’s mouth was dry and his throat was hoarse from the shouting. “The worst part is you know it. You were avoiding me but you’re treating Castiel like the plague. I can see it every time you look at him, hoping that he’ll remember, knowing he won’t and scared to get too close.”
Sam scoffed. “Of course, I am. That’s normal. It’s normal to hope for the best, Dean.”
“No, it’s stupid,” Dean bit back. “You’re an idiot to hope and wallow in the disappointment when things don’t go your way. You honestly think it’s better having him here than letting him go, be at peace for God’s sake, knowing that we saved him, knowing that we…” Dean shut his eyes before the wind threatened to shove his tears over the edge. “We loved him. We’re nothing to him now. You think he’ll remember anything without remembering Camael? It’s not–.” Dean pinched at the bridge of his nose; it was getting hard to see now. “You’re hoping he remembers, Sam; I’m praying he doesn’t.”
“How could–?” Sam’s sob caught in his throat.
“Because we’re not worth it, Sammy,” Dean cried. “I’m sorry but we’re not. What he went through was because of us. It’s not our fault but that’s just the fact of it. If Castiel had never met us–.”
“I wouldn’t have you,” Sam finished. It clicked for Sam and it was devastating as it was relieving. All this was because Dean’s self-esteem wouldn’t let him believe how much he meant to Sam and Castiel. “The only reason I can even wake up in the morning is because of you. You think it’s stupid to hope?” Sam coughed out his sob with a watery smile. “I only hope because I have you. I have you because of Castiel. You’re proof that hope and Castiel are all I need.” Dean started to shake his head but Sam closed the distance between them. He refused to let his words get lost in the night and its wind. “We’re worth it.” Sam didn’t quite believe the words himself but he would say them until they both did.
“You, me, and Castiel, what we had, it’s worth remembering. We’re worth hoping for.” Dean let Sam press his forehead to his. It was the first physical touch either of them had in weeks and it was refreshing and tender, the relief of a stretched muscle. “Everything else, we can deal with it.” Dean nodded but he stepped away from Sam and headed back to the cottage. Sam didn’t follow, knowing Dean would have taken him by the hand if he had wanted the company. Sam watched Dean fade into the unlit forest, praying –hoping– that Dean heard him.
***
“Okay, three times is just excessive,” Ruby said the moment she appeared. She noticed Bela’s bags and disappeared immediately before coming back a minute later with her own. “Where to?”
“Kansas.”
“Yeah, that’s a state. Can I get a city?”
Bela blinked. “Uh, Maeve didn’t say. She was gone when I got here so that has to mean she took the train. She avoids flying if she has to.”
Ruby rolled her eyes and took Bela by the hand. Her soft palm wrapped tight around Bela’s and there was a pull in her gut at made their way through the space and time continuum or however it was that Ruby teleported them. Bela turned from the parking lot they were in to face the building behind them. “A hotel?”
“An inn, actually.” Ruby corrected. “It’s about twenty minutes from Union station. If she’s coming by train that’s where she’ll stop.” Ruby took Bela’s bags from her. “It’s going to take at least a couple of days though and I like to be pampered.”
Ruby carried their luggage easily but pretended to struggle the moment they were in sight of the doormen. Four different men tripped over themselves to help and Ruby gave them the fakest smile Bela had ever seen. Ruby raised her voice a couple of octaves and batted her lashes at the bellhop who made sure to grab the most bags. “Oh, thank you so much, boys. It’s hard not having a man around.”
Bela watched Ruby make the men swoon and the women blush while they get checked in. She gets them a free upgrade and discounted room service all with the power of her demeanor. Bela was by no means immune to Ruby’s wiles but it was a bit unnerving to watch the humans succumb to it so easily. Bela wondered if she was just like them, a pawn to get Ruby what she wanted. Bela liked to think that Ruby liked her. Ruby had said as much at the diner but Bela thought it was almost too good to be true. Ruby was over a century old and could easily have her pick of the lot and the idea that she chose Bela was unfounded.
“Ready, babe?” Bela blinked and looked up to see Ruby a few feet away holding up the key card to their room. Bela gave Ruby a baleful look once she processed being referred to as the banal term of endearment. Ruby smirked like she could read Bela’s mind; she had done it to annoy her.
“Absolutely, babe,” Bela replied and cringed at how stupid she sounded. Ruby snorted and made her way to the elevators.
Their room had a lake-facing balcony and a bathroom that took up nearly half the room. Bela had stayed in some nice places but never any this nice. “I like to spoil my women,” Ruby joked at Bela’s clear appreciation of the room.
Bela rolled her eyes. “You wish it were that easy.”
Ruby looked up from unpacking her bag. “No, I don’t actually. I like a challenge.”
Bela didn’t blush. She didn’t. She let Ruby have the bathroom because while Ruby had been kidding, Bela did feel like a bit of a nuisance for summoning her. Bela was sure Ruby had a life. A highly interesting one with friends and acquaintances to share inside jokes and her inner thoughts with. A life that didn’t include Bela. Bela had her job and she enjoyed it. If she didn’t need the money, she’d do it for free. She got to help people and investigate and occasionally deliver a satisfying type of justice. But that was all she had. She had Maeve, who she needed to call at least one more time tonight, and she kind of, sort of, maybe had Ruby. No, she definitely had Ruby. The idea of moving scared Bela because her job was what had grounded her. It was the small piece of the world she had scrounged up for herself and moving would have thrown it all out of sync. Starting over was going to be a bitch but Ruby being by her side made her not-so-clear future that much more discernible.
“Potatoes.” Bela looked up to see Ruby in a bathrobe, handing Bela a menu. She was dripping wet and a dark spot was starting to grow on the carpet. The water was still running in the bathroom. “I don’t care what you order as long as there’s potatoes.”
Bela gawked at her. “Did you get out of the shower just to tell me to order you potatoes?”
Ruby looked at Bela like she was the one who was out of her mind. “Yes. Fried or roasted preferably. Extra crispy. Easy on the salt.” Ruby spouted off as she headed back to the bathroom. “Ketchup, too.” She popped her head out just before she shut the door. “A coke, too. Extra ice…Don’t forget the ketchup.”
“ Alright .” Bela snapped. Honestly, it was like dealing with a three-year-old. Bela ordered their food and made sure the concierge repeated it back to her correctly before hanging up. Bela turned on the TV and unsurprisingly found nothing worth watching. Bela looked around the room and caught a glimpse of her laptop bag stashed by her bed. Ruby’s case suddenly came flooding back to her. Every time she had had the mind to start on it something interrupted and she was sidetracked. But if Bela actually started then she would at least have something to mull over in her downtime.
Bela booted up her computer and started out simple. It was interesting how many cases kicked off with a fruitful Google search. The name Sidney Shaw brought up nothing of notability, as expected. Bela was operating under the assumption that the name was an alias. It was just normal enough to be common and seemed to belong to professors and stay-at-home moms and the like. It also apparently was the name of a protagonist in a romantic comedy from the early aughts. A movie that looked like it was worth a watch…– Focus.
Bela remembered reading that most people choose aliases that are subconsciously derivative of their original names due to their inability to completely let go of their identity. Bela hadn’t had such a problem. Her name and its meaning had disgusted her. Abigail Carlisle, a father’s joy from a walled city. Her father had owned her in more ways than one and nothing had brought her more joy than the day he died and she was free to change her name. Bela Talbot, devouring messenger of destruction, was a name she wore with pride.
The name Sidney referred to an island and Shaw meant dweller of the woods and was a derivative of a Gaelic word Bela didn’t even try to pronounce. Bela would bank on the theory that whoever they were looking for could have the initials SS or knew someone close to them who did.
There was a knock at the door and Bela shut her laptop, done with it for the night. It wasn’t going to help her until she had more information. The waiter rolled in their food on a silver cart and placed it just so on the table well Bela busied herself with calling Maeve. Bela was waiting for the voicemail request to come on when the ringing stopped.
“Stop calling me, Bela. It’s annoying.”
Bela stuttered. She wasn’t prepared for an actual conversation. She glanced at the waiter standing in the middle of the room smiling expectantly. “Uh, hold on, one sec.” Bela couldn’t find her wallet but Ruby’s billfold was sitting on the dresser. Bela blindly rifled through it and pulled out the first bills her hand touched. The waiter’s eyes widened and handed Bela a hundred-dollar bill and quickly left. “Are you still there?”
“No.”
“Right, um. Is it still annoying even if I’m calling to grovel and beg your forgiveness?”
“For what?”
“For being a bitch.”
“You’re always a bitch.”
“Right,” Bela swallowed. “But I was way out of order and you didn’t deserve any of the things I said and I had no right to throw that…incident back in your face.”
Maeve said nothing.
“Does it help that I’m in a hotel room in Kansas? Waiting for you?” Bela winced. Her being here could also come across as a bit stalkerish.
Maeve snorted. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
Bela could hear Maeve blow a sharp breath. The kind she did when she was trying to blow her hair out of her face. “I’ll be there in three days. Union Station at five. Bring tea. Hot tea.”
“Of course.”
Maeve hung up but Bela considered it a win. She’d make sure it was the best cup of tea Kansas had to offer.
Ruby came out of the bathroom with a t-shirt that came down to her knees and her hair freshly blow-dried. “I smell potatoes.” She sniffed as she lifted the chrome lids off the food. Finally reaching the pile of rosemary roasted potatoes, Ruby dug in, her mouth stuffed full in seconds. She looked up at Bela who was staring at her unabashedly. “Whoo’ wa’ tha’ on th’ pho’?”
“Maeve. She’ll be here Monday.”
“Tha’ goo’.” Ruby gulped coke and Bela cringed at the thought of the soda mixing in with half-masticated food. “She decided to forgive your rude ass.”
Bela couldn’t come up with a comeback because, to be honest, that was fair. Bela changed into her sleep clothes and rolled her eyes when Ruby belched and wolf-whistled. The food was good. Warm and well-seasoned and more than enough for Bela’s modest appetite and Ruby’s insatiable hunger. Bela was nursing her coke when she got the courage to bring up the name.
“So who’s Sidney Shaw and why are looking for her?”
Ruby’s expression tightened but she smiled all the same. “Why? Jealous?” Bela gave Ruby a spiteful look. She knew a distraction when she saw one. Ruby wiped her hands and tucked her legs underneath her. “I don’t know who they are. But I think they know something about what happened to a friend of mine. The name is just one of their aliases that I’ve managed to confirm.”
“You keep saying they.”
“I have no idea what they look like. They leave no witnesses behind, just a pattern that’s difficult to follow even if you know what you’re looking for.”
“Are they human?”
“Probably, but I don’t know for sure. Lee was a shapeshifter but she hung around all types; humans, demons, witches.” Ruby smiled to herself. “I met her in a monster dive bar in Detroit. She was the only one picking music from the jukebox to listen to. She started with the hits, crowd-pleasers, and top 40s but once she realized no one was going to dance she just picked the most random shit. Some random pop French shit, David Bowie, Heart.” Ruby recalled the song that had made her take notice. If she concentrated long enough she could play the snippet she remembered in a loop. It had been light and airy and sounded new and old at the same time. Ruby had tried finding the song but couldn’t remember enough of the lyrics, something about moonlight, maybe. Ironic, now that Ruby thought about it. “We made eye contact and she cashed in. We bought each other drinks and hogged the jukebox all night. She was turning twenty-one on New Year’s Day and wanted someone to kiss in case the world ended. I asked her if she really believed that Y2K bullshit. She said she believed everything was going to end, so why not the world? The ball dropped, we kissed, and…nothing happened.”
Bela raised her brow in smug surprise. Ruby snorted. “Well, I shouldn’t say nothing. She immediately puked all over my Docs because she was six sheets to the wind and I held her hair back all night, made sure she got home safe and made her oatmeal in the morning because I had nothing else better to do. Then I found myself in Detroit on the next New Year’s, and the one after that, and the one after that. She was my first friend. She didn’t expect anything and neither did I, I just liked being around her. She was so refreshing. She was dark and mysterious but bright. New Year’s meet-ups turned into Halloweens and Thanksgivings.” Ruby cleared her throat and pulled her hair out of its ponytail. “Then about five years in she just stopped showing up. I called and there was no answer. I figured she got busy but something just didn’t feel right. I asked around and got different names…” Ruby looked at Bela. “Do you ever feel gaslit by reality?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, I felt like I was going crazy. I knew her phone number, her favorite song, favorite movie, and cocktail, she preferred night showers. But I didn’t know her last name or where she lived because she had moved. She was like a ghost. And then…life just got in the way. The Plan, Hell, you. As soon as life got back to normal, I started looking for her, really looking, ran every lead I came across, and went to every place she ever mentioned in passing. There were whispers that she had met someone and moved to Canada. I thought she would have told me but you never really know anyone, do you? Rumors that a hunter got a hold of her but I couldn’t exactly infiltrate the hunter underground; the bastards are paranoid and thorough.”
Bela understood that. A certain surly bearded hunter came to mind and she smiled to herself. “So you figured, hunters are human, why not take a stab at it like a human?”
Ruby nodded. “I managed to…acquire some intel on someone that might know something but it was just name after name and I could barely get a description of them. They’re someone that people like us talk about like the Boogeyman.” Ruby got up and began to rifle through her bag. “If there’s even a whiff of their signature you leave town. Looks like it’s usually a hunt that would take at least three hunters to do. Vampire den, a coven of witches, pack of skinwalkers– they get handled and this is left behind.” Ruby opened a notepad and tossed it on the table. On the bloodstained sheet was a rough sketch of a symbol Bela had never seen before. It was a glyph of some sort, a backward ‘N’ with a line through its center.
“I’ve never seen the signature in person and I don’t even know if it has anything to do with Lee but…” Ruby would keep searching until she had answers. She hoped it was what Lee would do for her.
“Alright then so you want to track down this hunter–.”
“No, not a hunter. An assassin.”
“What?”
Ruby sighed and shut her eyes for just a moment. “Hunters have a code. They kill us when we fuck with humans. The coven of witches? They were four old women who made remedies and tonics for the people in their town. The vampires were feeding on livestock and wildlife and getting blood from banks and butchers. I couldn’t find much intel on the skinwalkers but I figured they were the same; creatures blending in with humans. There were no mysterious deaths, malicious or otherwise that would have put them on a hunters’ radar and no one would have turned them in because they hadn’t hurt anyone. They were killed for what they were, plain and simple.”
***
Sam walked the property until he had to admit that he was stalling. He and Dean were in a better place but Sam hated the aftermath of fighting with Dean. It could take an hour or a few days, but it always took time to get back into sync. They prided themselves on their synchrony; speaking in expressions, walking and talking in unison, and all the other innate idiosyncrasies that went unnoticed.
They were both at fault. Dean’s words were harsh but Sam’s silent treatment was what had them in a stalemate. Sam heard the shower come on which meant Dean planned to go to bed soon. Sam finished his nightly routine. he had brought his book, A Little Life, and hoped to make some progress. Sam put a kettle on while he went upstairs to change out of his street clothes.
The kettle began to whistle just as Sam returned to the kitchen. He let the tea steep before adding honey and lemon. They only kept decaffeinated tea in stock so it was easy to keep track. Coffee was for waking up and tea was for winding down. Sam poured another cup, just on the off chance that Dean came down to join him.
The shower shut off and Sam could see Dean’s movements as sure as he was in the room. Dean would step out of the shower and dry off with his navy blue towel from head to toe before pulling on a pair of worn sweats and maybe an old henley if he was cold. It was getting colder outside and it took a lot more heat to keep them warm throughout the night. A henley, then.
Dean would be turning on the radio about now, the same one every night; a country station that saved the ’50s through the ’70s for the late-night listeners. Sam wondered if the station was available out here. Dean would either crawl into bed or step out of his room to look to see where Sam was. Sam waited. On the off chance that he was wrong and Dean had changed his nightly routine, Sam sat long enough to finish his tea and the second mug to get cold.
Sam cleaned up the kitchen and headed to his room, book in hand. He had chosen one he had read a dozen times before and Dean- at least twice that. The Catcher in the Rye was one of the few books Sam had managed to convince Dean to read. It was a few months after he had dropped out and Holden had reminded Sam so much of Dean, he knew he would like it. Sam remembered the small chuffs of laughter Dean made when he read it.
Sam headed up the stairs and looked up when he saw the hall light flick on. Dean was standing in the doorway of his room. Sam was half right. Dean was in worn sweats but a t-shirt instead of a Henley. “Heading to bed.”
Sam nodded even though Dean hadn’t asked him anything. Dean nodded to himself and his eyes trailed to Sam’s hand. “Hope you didn’t plan to stay up all night reading. I need my beauty sleep.” Dean’s last words were quieter as he turned back to his room. “Don’t forget the light in the hall.”
That was as much of an offer as any and Sam would take it. Dean’s room was warmer than Sam’s, not significantly but enough for Sam to notice. Dean was already lying on the bed his back to Sam, leaving the left side, the side with the lit lamp open. Sam appreciated the gesture but figured that he wouldn’t be getting much reading done tonight.
Sam turned off the light got under the covers and followed Dean’s lead. It was awkward, to say the least. They had never, ever slept back to back and it was unnerving. Sam hated wondering if everything was okay. Was it okay to say good night? Was it okay to encircle Dean in his arms, cradling him close to his chest? Was it okay if Sam stole a kiss from just under Dean’s earlobe?
Sam was seconds from feeling as though he was about to burst when Dean sighed and turned over. “You–.” Dean shook his head. “I thought-.”
“You thought what?” Sam tried to make Dean’s face out but the room was pitch black and the curtains were drawn. Maybe it was better that way.
“That we were forever. I thought…I thought you knew that.”
“I did. I mean, I do.” Sam shrugged. “It’s just sometimes I just can’t help but wonder why. And then we fight and it’s like everything just proves me right. You could have had anyone-.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Dean interrupted Sam quietly, as of he hadn’t even wanted to.
“I’ve never had a good date in my life. I was always worried; no matter how old you were. Would this be the time the motel caught on fire because some idiot forgot to put out his cigarette? Would this be the time some creature got the jump on us? Would this be the time that CPS or the cops came knocking at our door? And conversation? I never gave a fuck about who was fucking who or who broke up with who. But I could talk about you.” Dean chuckled to himself. “I could talk about you for hours, I could turn anything anyone said into something about you.” Dena took a breath. “How I feel about you, Sammy, it’s in my bones and the blood we share, it’s in my DNA, hardwired into my brain, maybe I was born with it. But the way I feel about Cas, it’s in my soul. It’s...profound; it’s old and new at the same time. It’s not less or more or good or better, it’s…they’re just different.”
Sam wanted to say something just as sincere and moving about his love but Dean had said it all and then some so Sam settled for the words they rarely said. The ones reserved for moments such as this. Sam never made it a habit to say it and neither did Dean. He knew it made Dean uncomfortable but he made sure to say it when he felt it the most; when no other words would do. Sam expected Dean’s usual reactions and responses: a softly, chuffed ‘ditto’, a look that Sam could only describe as sad and content, a smirk, and a rolling of the eyes.
“Then act like it.” Dean’s voice was no longer soft it was snapping and earnest. “Talk to me. Don’t stew in your fucking thoughts and hope I get the message. We’re too old for that shit. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, what I mean, or when this ends. I fucked up but you didn’t even give me a chance to fix it. That’s not…” Dean shook his head. Sam heard the rustle of the movement against the sheets. “It’s not fair.”
“You’re right,” Sam agreed. “I’m sorry. Really.”
“I can be a real dick, huh?”
“No,” Sam smirked when Dean cocked a brow at him. “Just a jerk."
Dean rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Bitch.” He muttered. Sam pulled Dean into him and pressed his face into his neck. It had been so long since they had touched and Sam was suddenly starving for it. Sam adjusted so his body was on top of Dean’s, nearly every part of them touching. Sam’s leg was slotted between Dean’s and his head settled on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tucked a hand behind his head and relaxed into the mattress, letting Sam burrow into him even more. He began to run his knuckles up and down Sam’s back, the smallest amount of pressure. Sam’s contented sigh bled into easy breathing. Dean let the sound of it lull him to sleep.