Archive of Our Own

The water is cold. Cold and deep and murky. His clothes are heavy and they drag him down and for a moment he lets them. Lets himself sink towards the dark, beckoning depth. Then his instincts kick in and he dives, looking, searching, praying that with the next stroke he will see him. See the dark cloud of his hair in the water. One more stroke and another one, but still there is nothing. His lungs are burning and even as he forces himself to go deeper yet he can feel his own body fight him, forcing him to turn around and come back up for air. He will be no good for anyone if he manages to drown himself, now, will he? So he tries to follow the last bubbles of his breath back to the light, back to the surface but suddenly there are cold unrelenting fingers wrapped around his ankle, pulling him back down. He fights it, kicks and twists but the hands of the dead are stronger than the struggles of the living. His burning lungs are screaming at him now and he can see dark and red spots dance before his eyes and then all the fight leaves him and he surrenders. Surrenders to the cold, merciless death in the water.

 

Sam gasps and flails, fighting against the jacket that Dean must have draped over him as a blanket-substitute some time during the night. He draws in deep shuddering breaths and tries to calm down enough to convince his lungs that he is not in fact drowning but perfectly safe and sound if a little cramped and sore from spending the night asleep in the passenger seat of a car.

It’s not the first time he has woken up somewhere unfamiliar and uncomfortable. It’s not even the first time this week and really the feeling of intense disorientation is almost starting to feel familiar. As are the damn nightmares. God, he is such a giant girl it’s not even a little funny anymore.

He chances a look over to the driver’s seat and is eternally grateful that it’s empty. It’s already pretty light outside so Dean is probably around somewhere brushing his teeth or doing whatever, waiting for Sam to wake up.

Thank Christ for small mercies, because as much as Sam hates those nightmares, he knows that Dean hates them even more. It makes him feel guilty and it makes him question his decision to take Sam with him all over again. Oh, Dean doesn’t exactly say that anymore, but it’s still obvious in his eyes and on his face. His beautiful expressive face.

As much as Sam hates his nightmares he hates this stricken look even more. The look that says that Dean thinks he has done something terrible, unforgivable, like killing Bambi’s mother with his bare hands.

The ridiculous part is that Sam is not even having nightmares of things that happened to him. Not really. Of course he is still somewhat haunted by the memories of Erica Waters and her fate and his family’s involvement in it all but the dreams that really make him shake and cry out are always about Dean. About some hunt Dean had to face before they even met or during the time they were apart. It’s almost as if he is inside Dean’s head, inside his body, reliving his terrible memories.

He coerced Dean into telling him about the cases he worked. Ostensibly because he wanted to learn as much as he could form Dean’s experiences and encounters but really more because he just needed to know. He needed to. It was a little like a bad tooth that you kept poking and prodding because you just had to feel the pain. Only in this case it was Sam’s sore heart that was stabbed every time he thought about Dean’s past and all the times he almost died all alone and without anyone there to have his back.

After a while Dean had cottoned on to what Sam was doing and more precisely what it was and still is doing to Sam and stopped telling him. He even offered to take Sam back all the way to Stanford or to try and find some Hoodoo priest and erase his memory. Sam yelled at him then. So loud that the occupant of the motel room next to theirs had started banging his fist against the wall.

That right there is what Sam hates most. That Dean still thinks that Sam would be better off if he never met Dean. It makes him so so very furious and broken-hearted. Back then, after they had both yelled themselves hoarse and Sam had started to cry frustrated tears Dean had wrapped his arms around him and held on and after that it was never mentioned out loud again. But Sam can still tell every time Dean thinks it and it’s killing him.

They have been together for almost two months now and they have done some hunting but so far everything has been fairly low key: a female apparition that lurked by the side of a stretch of road at the ass end of California, a man-eating Wendigo in Colorado and finally yet another fairly absurd haunting somewhere in Iowa. And while there were some tight spots and narrow escapes Sam has mostly been assigned to fetch and carry and do some background research while Dean was out there risking his stubborn neck time and again.

And Sam honestly has it with that. Besides, he is pretty sure the only way to make those nightmares stop will be to make sure Dean never ever is alone on a hunt ever again. And he will damn well make sure this will come to pass even if he has to kick Dean’s ass into shape first. And today is just the day to set this plan in motion.

After all, they just finished with the Iowa-thing and Dean has told Sam that an old family friend lives somewhere reasonably close by, so they decided to go to South Dakota without any looming hunts right round the next corner. It also means they don’t have anywhere they need to be right the fuck now and since they already slept in the car by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, so today is kind of ideal to teach Sam the basics of the physical part of hunting.

When all is said and done, Sam is a big guy and pretty fit as it is. He is sure he can handle a couple of lessons in handling weapons and maybe also in hand to hand combat.  It might even give him the opportunity to get his hands on Dean for once.

And that right there is the second problem. Dean is not touching Sam anymore. Well, not not at all. But certainly not as much and in the way Sam wants him to. It’s almost as if now that Sam is living full time in Dean’s world Dean is responsible for his well being. And you don’t fuck around with people you are responsible for. At least Dean Winchester doesn’t, apparently. And it’s not because Dean doesn’t want to. At least Sam hopes it isn’t. He still sees Dean looking at him with the same longing in his eyes as before but now it has taken on an even more hopeless quality. It’s like Sam is off limits now because he is not a partner or an equal but something that has to be protected. If necessary even from Dean himself. And it drives Sam completely up the walls because he wants. He wants Dean, wants to hold him and kiss him and feel him. But instead he feels like Dean’s little brother he has to cart around and look out for. It’s so fucking frustrating!

And today is the day all this bullshit is going to stop!

Sam yanks the door open so determinedly that he almost manages to make all his musings and self-pep-talking mute by braining Dean irreparably with the edge of it. Luckily for both of them Dean manages to jump back a step just in time.

“Woah, hey, slow down, buddy. I was just coming to wake you not kill you. No need to get all aggressive.”

And for some reason Dean’s placating hands and his slightly condescending tone is just what it takes to stoke the fire of Sam’s anger anew.

“I am not your buddy. And I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of.”

“O-kay. Not a child. Point taken. Just throwing a bitch fit like a five-year-old in a tutu.”

Sam takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. This is not the grown-up, rational but stern argument he wanted to make. Dean will never see him as an equal if he lets his emotions get the better of him.

“Look, Dean, it frustrates me that you obviously think so little of my abilities and my general usefulness.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? Is this some kind of parallel universe thing? Last night we go to sleep and everything is ok and today you wake up and have turned into a giant, pissy girl?”

“Fuck you, man. You know full well that everything was not ok. You allowed me to come with you, but you won’t let me be with you. You don’t even let me really hunt with you. All I ever do is push paper.”

“But Sammy, you have been a great help as is and I can’t risk your life before you know how to handle a gun properly. Or at least know the basics of hand to hand fighting.”

Dean’s tone is placating again, but Sam will not be distracted this time.

“Well then. Here we are with no pressing matters to attend to. Show me how to use a bloody gun! Show me how to drop someone on his ass with my bare hands.”

“What? But… right now?”

“Yes, right now. Unless you have a reason you don’t want me to learn how to defend myself?”

 

All in all Sam decides to count the day as an overall win.

Sure, Dean complained and grumbled and fretted all the way through, but in the end he had started to teach Sam how to use a shotgun. They started with cleaning and loading the rifle. Then Dean showed him how to make the proper spiced-up hunter-shots. And then Dean put up some targets and told Sam to do his best.

Unfortunately, his best turned out not to be all that great. And on top of the humiliating experience that he probably wouldn’t be able to hit a dead elephant if he was standing right in front of it, Sam now sports a very not impressive bruise on his right shoulder. Who knew shotguns could kick like that? He is sure that at one point he heard Dean mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'Jeez, Sammy, and I thought you were from Texas'. And that? Such bloody stereotypical bullcrap, really. But he was not going to start a discussion about prejudices and the pros and definite cons of the second freaking amendment.

Sam tried not to show it but he obviously wasn’t doing a very good job of that because Dean’s still pouty expression softened a little and he sounded almost apologetic when he told Sam about recoil and the best way to compensate for it. After that things went a little more smoothly and after about two hours Sam actually managed to repeatedly hit the dead tree stump Dean had chosen as their target. The first time Sam managed to hit at least somewhat close to where he was supposed to, Dean had actually cheered for him and smiled and Sam, carried away by the little rush of triumph and the adrenalin that firing a gun caused for him, tried to go for a hug. Big mistake, because the second his arms wrapped around Dean the man froze in place like a pillar of salt. Sam backed off quickly after that but the damage was done and the mood was shattered.

Sam forced all his concentration back on the task at hand, trying to get his anger under control, and the next time he shot at the dead tree it seemed fitting that it almost exploded into a cloud of wood chips. Even Dean looked stunned at that.

Either a shotgun had way more umph than Sam had anticipated or the tree had been really nothing more than sawdust and punk.

After that Sam had even managed to badger Dean into some lessons in hand-to-hand combat. He felt almost giddy with delight about the idea but soon found out that when Dean meant business he meant business. Sure, Sam has a few inches on Dean and sure he is not in bad shape and well muscled but when Dean needed about two seconds flat to drop him unceremoniously on his ass Sam realized that meant about jack squat.

It isn’t that Dean’s style of fighting and technique is all that superior. It’s more that the bastard is really fucking quick and well, a bastard who knows how to spot and exploit your every weakness. Sam is sure he must be grateful that Dean does not really want to hurt him.

His backside has already made more contact with the earth than strictly necessary and he will surely have the bruises to prove it.

Still, all in all it was a good day.

 

They finally get back on the road by late afternoon so they decide not to drive all the way into South Dakota just yet because this Bobby Singer guy they are about to meet would not appreciate having his house invaded by two no-good idjits in the middle of the fucking night. At least that’s what Dean says when he turns off the road and into the parking lot of a rather shabby looking motel.

They get a room with two queens amidst an unfortunately completely unfounded amount of leering from the sleazy guy at the front desk and as soon as they enter their room Dean proceeds to hide in the bathroom.

If he is angling for Sam to be asleep when he comes back out he might just get lucky because Sam feels completely strung out. Apart from his sore shoulder and the various aches and pains brought on by a day of running and fighting and shooting even if it is just for practice, the added strain of his emotional turmoil have left him really pretty fucking exhausted. Still, he won’t let Dean get off the hook this easily, so he busies himself by taking of his shirt and gently poking at the black and blue skin of his shoulder. It really hurts like a motherfucker but opposed to everything else it is a good pain for once. The kind of pain that means you got something done.

When the door of the bathroom opens Sam doesn’t look up but he can hear Dean’s steps falter and the sharp intake of breath that indicates that Dean has seen Sam’s bruises. For a moment Sam is overcome by the urge to hide, to put his shirt back on just so that Dean doesn’t see that he is hurt. So that he does not have yet another thing he can feel guilty about. One more thing to justify telling himself how wrong it was to take Sam along. But bloody fucking hell, yes, he is bruised and sore and in pain. Let Dean see that. And let him also see that he is fucking handling it.

Therefore Sam raises his head defiantly and feels all his breath leave him in one great whoosh of air. Dean stares at him and his eyes are intense and dark, but also filled with so much pride and tenderness that it literally steals Sam’s breath. Makes him lightheaded.

This state he is in is not exactly helped by Dean coming closer, standing in front of him where he sits on one of the beds, still damp from his shower, dressed in worn, soft clothes and smelling warm and so very very inviting. Sam does hardly dare to move when Dean reaches out and traces gentle hands over his bruised skin, leaving it hot and tingly.

“You did good today, Sammy.”

It is hardly more than a whisper but Sam allows himself to slump forward, to rest his forehead against Dean’s stomach. It’s a risk. It’s closer and more intimate than they have been for weeks. Ever since Sam woke up one morning shortly after their reunion and Dean had apparently decided that touching Sam was some kind of mortal sin.

He feels the muscles in Dean’s stomach quiver under his shirt and then Dean threads his fingers into his hair. Sam nearly moans at the contact but catches himself before the noise can escape him. Instead he raises his head back up even though he knows his eyes must be terribly pleading.

“Dean.”

“No, Sam, please. I know you want to talk about … this. But I can’t. Not right now, okay, Sammy. Please, just… not today.”

And Sam can’t do anything but nod and try to enjoy the little piece of closeness Dean allows them, even though it will leave him even more alone and confused and hurting when Dean inevitably withdraws again. And withdraw he will because even though Dean refuses to tell him anything Sam isn’t an idiot. He knows that something is going on. Something Dean tries to hide from him. And judging from the way Dean acts, it has to be something bad.

 

When they roll through the gates of Singer Savage Yard early the next afternoon Sam is decidedly underwhelmed. The way Dean described this Bobby Singer, Sam expected some scholar in a tweed jacket maybe smoking a pipe and not a flannel-clad hick owning a junk yard. He is kind of instantly reconciled when the guy’s face shows such obvious delight in seeing Dean and he pulls him into a tight hug that ends with a bout of very male shoulder thumping.

All in all it takes about ten seconds for Sam to absolutely and completely adore Bobby Singer however girly that makes him sound. And not only because that’s about how long it takes before Bobby threatens to take his shotgun, hunt down John Winchester and make sure he can’t sit down for weeks. A man right after Sam’s own heart.

And while he kinda does eye Sam suspiciously he seems to trust Dean who trusts Sam.

“Well, come in. You want a beer? Dean? Sasquatch?”

And that’s that.

 

As soon as they are through the door and sitting in Bobby’s living room that is stacked full with books and papers and weird crap out the wazoo an invisible weight seems to lift off of Dean’s shoulders and he instantly seems to be years younger. It’s really actually kind of nice.

Dean tells Bobby how Sam and him met and about their last couple of hunts and they talk shop for a while, while Sam nurses his beer and tries to take everything in. Apparently Bobby is Dean’s go-to guy when it comes to, well, pretty much everything from intel to spare parts for his beloved car. He also seems to be a little like a substitute father-figure and Sam can only fully approve of that because half an hour in John Winchesters presence convinced him that that man certainly isn’t doing a good job of it. Of course Bobby isn’t all fatherly and openly caring either. In fact the guy needs to have his own airport conveyor belt for all the emotional baggage he seems to carry around. But for all Sam has seen of the hunting world, that seems to be quite par for the course anyway.

 

After Bobby assigned them both rooms to drop their shit Sam finds himself alone in the kitchen with the guy while Dean takes a shower. It is a little awkward at first but it turns into really terribly awkward as soon as Bobby hands him another beer and then sits down next to him straddling a chair and scowling.

“You know, Sam, Dean is like the son I never had.”

“Uhm, okay. I… that’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is. And I am not going to let some random yahoo take advantage of him and his sodding delicate emotional state. Is that clear?”

“I… I don’t… I wouldn’t… What?”

“You heard me. I want to know that your intentions are honorable. I hope you do plan on making an honest man out of him soon. And no crawling into the same bed while you are here. Can’t have you despoiling him under my own roof. Understand?”

“Okay… what? I mean… I swear I wouldn’t … Oh God.”

Sam can feel the blush. It’s not so much creeping up his body but overrunning his face blitz-style. And Bobby the bastard promptly starts laughing his ass off.

“Jeez, kid, you face. You look like you are about to blow steam out your ears to stop your giant head from blowing up. You can relax, okay. While it’s true that Dean is the closest thing to family I will ever have I really really don’t need to know anything about … whatever it is you guys are doing, all right. Still, if you hurt him, I might find you and chop your head off. I have a lot of practice in hiding bodies. You might want to keep that in mind.”

Sam is still gaping like a fish when Dean wanders back in looking curiously between them.

“Bobby, what did you do? Why is Sam doing his best trout impressions? Do I need to be worried?”

“Nah, no worries. I just told Sam here what a delicate flower you are. We both agree that you need constant supervision in order not to shoot your own foot off. I’m more than happy to share that burden with someone else now.”

“You are hilarious. See this? This is my ‘Bobby is an old sad sack, you have to humor him-face’. You might know it from several other occurrences where you were decidedly not funny. Also, you bloody love me and we all know it. It’s a little pathetic, really.”

“Shut up, idjit. You are a nothing but a nuisance and a pest in my old age.”

But Sam can tell by the badly concealed smile on Bobby’s lips, that Dean definitely has a point.

 

Sam can’t sleep. He knows he should be out like a light and relishing the opportunity to sleep in a real clean bed for once but he just can’t get his mind to shut up. Frustrated beyond believe he finally gets up and decides to raid the kitchen for a little night cap. He usually isn’t much of a drinker, but right now he really really feels like a Tequila shot or a dozen. And obviously he is not the only one who can’t drop off because as soon as he opens the door to his room he hears Dean and Bobby whispering in the kitchen. Or rather arguing with repressed voices, he decides when he gets close enough to hear them properly. He is just about to announce his presence when he hears his name and freezes.

“… really not fair to Sam, Dean.”

“I know, God, Bobby don’t you think I know that? None of this is fucking fair, but Dad said…”

“No offence, son… although, scratch that. Meant with all the offence I could possibly muster, your father is a flaming assfaced dickwad and he doesn’t care about nothing and no one but his stupid payback spiel. He is not the best moral compass one could have.”

“I know but it’s them. You know how he gets when they are involved in anything. And he is right; they are almost as bad as the creatures they are hunting. And if they are sniffing around Sam, that is not a good sign. In fact it’s a really really bad sign.”

“Maybe, but whatever it is, it is not the kid’s fault. He seems like a decent guy and he cares about you. And I am pretty sure you care about him just as much. So why don’t you give yourself a little break and let yourself be fucking happy for a change? You deserve it. And for God’s sake don’t listen to your father. Maybe they are just curious as to why you took him with you. Maybe they think on the same lines you do. There must be something about this kid if Dean Winchester is interested in him. Maybe that’s all there is.”

“Maybe.”

Sam can tell Dean isn’t convinced and if the lump in his chest hadn’t turned to ice already it would certainly have done it at the little quiver of doubt in Dean’s voice. So it’s not just Dean’s noble if silly protective streak after all, not even his penchant for self-flagellation that keeps him away from Sam. It’s something else. Something that makes Dean doubt him. And it all comes down to John fucking Winchester yet again. Sam can even remember the phone call. It was two weeks after Dean had picked him up at Stanford and back then Sam had assumed the stony expression on Dean face was all about his father finding out about them. There were some choice words being said on both sides of the conversation and after Dean hung up they didn’t hear from Winchester senior again. He didn’t even answer any of his phones when Dean tried to call him about the woman in white some time later. At the time Sam simply assumed John tried to bring his son to heel by giving him the silent treatment, but maybe there was more to the story than that. Maybe there still is and John isn’t just trying to yank Dean’s chain.

 

Any attempt at sleeping is completely futile by now, so Sam spends the rest of the night lying in his bed attempting to sort through the panicky mess in his head. Dean thinks there is something wrong with him. Dean doesn’t touch him because he thinks Sam might be bad. And who are 'they' whose interest in him has Dean so terribly off kilter.

Sam knows full well that he won’t get answers from Dean or Bobby for that matter because the man might act all gruff but he certainly is loyal to Dean, almost to a fault. No, he can’t ask them. In fact there is only one person in the world who might be willing to tell him what’s going on. And as little as Sam thinks of John Winchester, in this case he might be the only person who will tell Sam the truth. Probably rather unvarnished and direct. Now he only needs to find a way to get a hold of the guy who effectively seems to have vanished off the face of the earth without Dean noticing. Piece of fucking cake.

 

They next morning Dean is so annoyingly cheerful it borders on creepy and Sam would probably think he has been kidnapped and exchanged against some kind of jolly monster on crack if he hadn’t overheard his conversation with Bobby last night. As it is he can clearly see the badly concealed guilt lurking behind Dean’s eyes every time he looks at Sam. And Sam desperately wants to talk to him, wants to confront him but he knows it wouldn’t lead to anything good. Instead he keeps quiet and tries to smile and then he smiles for real because after breakfast Bobby sits him down in his study and ask, voice gruff as ever:

“So, Dean tells me you would like to learn a thing or two about hunting?”

And Sam can’t help but be excited because maybe this means Bobby managed to talk sense into Dean after all. Maybe they won’t need to discuss it and upend yet another can of mutant-worms over their relationship. Maybe everything will be alright if Sam just manages to soldier on.

“Yes, Sir, I’d like that.”

“Well then, first of all, don’t call me Sir, that’s my father. Or John bleeding Winchester and neither is a flattering comparison.”

“Yes, of course, sorry.”

“No matter. What does matter however is that you are lucky Dean brought you here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he is a good kid and a fine hunter but when it comes to lore and learning he is about as useful as a bull is for origami. And whatever he says, Wikipedia is not a good start for identifying monsters.”

Sam smiles softly, remembering Dean’s disgust when it came to background research. Something Sam is inherently good at. Something he can do to pull his weight.

He is so going to learn the shit out of this. He is going to hang on Bobby’s every word. He is going to be like a damned sponge sucking it all in. He is going to be the king of the goddamn nerds.

 

When they are finished for the day Sam’s head is spinning with werewolves and vampires, ghouls and rugarus and how to kill them. Sam is still a little shaky and confused about the last part (do you have to cut were’s heads of or set them on fire? Possibly both. You can never go wrong with both after all, right?) and Bobby’s knowing remark that a ‘woodchipper trumps everything’ is decidedly not as comforting as he seemed to think.

Still Bobby handed him some books and papers and studying is something Sam can definitely do. King of the nerds and all that.

 

The next couple of days go by in something almost akin to domesticity. Sam and Bobby sequester themselves in the study and Sam absorbs every gruff and sarcastic word the man has to say while Dean is mostly outside, tinkering with the car, doing mysterious adjusting things to his guns or playing with Bobby huge dog. In the evening they have dinner and watch TV or the other two entertain Sam with hunting stories (although you do need a certain warped sense of humor to fully appreciate the story about the college kids who tried to screw with a couple of friends and ended up creating a ghost-like creature called a tulpa that tried to go on a killing spree). It feels nice and also a little like home, but Sam can see that Dean is getting restless. Therefore it’s hardly a surprise when 10 days after they arrived at Bobby’s Dean waves a newspaper under Sam’s nose and tells him it’s time to get a move on.

 

The little costal down of Limerick, Connecticut, they roll into several restless days later is tiny and quaint and pretty. Sam loves it pretty much on first sight but he knows for a fact that it is not the kind of place Dean would ever enjoy. Too quiet, too apple-pie. No way Dean would ever come here without the promise of a hunt. Although Sam is really not quite sure if there really is a hunt to be had in these parts. After all the headline of “Mother of Four Vanishes Without a Trace” does not exactly sound like their cup of tea. And the fact that the newspaper tried to fill some empty space and dug up a supposed eye-witness who swore he saw the woman walk into the ocean buck-naked apart from what looked like a fur blanket was not all that convincing for Sam. Still, Dean told him that he has a gut-feeling about this one, so here they are.

 

The motel they are staying in is run by a sweet little old lady that does not refrain from pinching Dean’s cheek and call Sam the cutest thing ever as they check into their double room (of course they will need two queens, Dean can’t be tortured by sleeping in the same bed with someone like Sam, whatever the fuck the problem is).

The room is rather flowery and it feels distinctly weird to change into their fake-official suits. Outfitting Sam with everything he would need to impersonate anything was the first order of business back before everything went pear shaped.

Today he is Agent Thomas Shaw and he feels like the worst bag of pond scum when Michael Collins the grieving might-be widower opens the door for them.

The man looks horrible, as if he spent the last couple of nights crying. When they introduce themselves and flash their badges the prospect of going through the whole terrible story again causes his face to close off in pain. He looks like he is about ready to slam the door in their faces.

Sam really has no idea how Dean manages to sound so bloody cool and professional when he basically shoulders his way in past the man and lets himself into the living room. Especially when Sam gets a glimpse at three wide eyes, grey-faced children, the oldest of which carries a red-headed toddler, before their father wearily sends them up to their rooms.

“Mr. Collins, thank you for taking the time. We are very sorry your family has to live through this, but I can promise you we will do everything in our power to find out what happened to your wife.”

So calm and smooth.

“Listen… Agents. I am sure you are very good at what you do but I already told everything I know to the normal police and they are not one lick closer to finding out whatever happened to my wife. Therefore I would very much appreciate it if you could leave me and my children alone and instead try harder to bring her back to us.”

“That is exactly what we want to do, but for that we need your help. Please, Mr. Collins. Every detail might help.”

Sam has to smile a little at the familiarity of that phrase but his good humor falters when he looks back at Collins. He looks so utterly devastated. There obviously is not a shred of hope left in him that his wife might just be found in time. It’s as if he already knows that she is lost for him. That he will never see her again. It squeezes Sam’s heart in compassion but Dean’s face is totally unreadable.

“All right. Fine. What do you want to know?”

"Everything. What exactly happened that day? Is there someone your wife was having trouble with? Was she maybe acting different than usual?"

Collins slumps down further into the cushions of his armchair and rubs both hands over his face in a gesture of pained frustration. When he begins to talk his voice is measured and empty. Devoid of any life.

“As I told the police before, I really don’t know what happened. Siobhan was normal, content. As always. She kissed me and the kids goodbye in the morning and when I came back home later that day, she was gone. All her things were still there and at first I didn’t think much about it even though it wasn’t like her to leave the kids alone without telling me. When she didn’t come back that night I started to get worried and called her friends but no one had seen her. Then I called the police. And now, four days later, my wife is still gone. That’s it. End of story. If you want to know more, you can ask those vultures from the newspaper. They seem to have it all down.”

“Thank you, I think that is exactly what we will do. And if you could maybe provide us with the names of your wife’s friends that would be very much appreciated. Also if there is anything else you remember, anything at all, please let us know.”

 

As they leave, Collins slams the door so fast behind them that Sam doesn’t even have time to offer his condolences once more. He turns to Dean confused and still a little achy from all the second hand pain but he just scoffs with a rather derisive sneer on his face.

“He is lying.” Is all Dean says before he starts down the driveway. Sam hurries to follow him and is just about ready to start a reprimanding rant when his eyes fall on an elderly lady that beckons them over to her where she leans against the fence separating the Collins’ front garden from the one next door.

“Good day, Miss. Can we help you?”

“Yes, maybe. Are you with the FBI? Like with the X-Files?”

“Yes, exactly like that. Why? Do you have something to report?”

It is really mind-boggling for Sam how well Dean can slip into any and all character he needs to.

“Yes, in fact, I have. It’s about that Collins-woman. She and the other two. They told everyone they came over from Ireland together to start a new life in America, but that is just not right. They are not right. And whatever happened to this one, I am sure she had it coming.”

“What do you mean, ‘not right’?”

“She wasn’t normal is what I’m saying. Always going on about the ocean. If we were back home in Donegal I would say  it was one of those sea-creatures that finally took her. My grandmother used to talk about the all the time. A Siren? I don’t know. I just know that she wasn’t right, nor are the other two. Always sulking about. Sitting by the water in Rocky Neck, wasting their days away and neglecting their families. And Michael was always such a nice boy, he deserved better. Good riddance to that one.”

“When you say ‘the other two’, do you happen to mean Moira Kelly and Fionnula O’Brian, Mrs. Collins' closest friends?”

“Yes, exactly. They all arrived here some 10 years ago, compelling good local boys into marrying them with their unnatural wiles. It’s wrong, is all I’m saying.”

“Right, Mrs….?”

“Miss. Flanagan, dear.”

“Miss. Flanagan, of course. You can rest assured we will look into that.”

 

“Okay, that was very unpleasant.”

They are back in the car and Sam just can’t keep silent any longer.

“I really don’t get how you can be so cold in the face of this man’s pain and loss. And then listening to that terrible old woman. I couldn’t stand it.”

“Well, Sammy, that is something you will have to get used to if you want to stay with me. You will see a lot of sad, lonely people. Sometimes they are innocent victims or loved ones left behind, but sometimes they know more than they let one. And I believe this was the case with Collins. I told you, he was lying to us. He is already totally convinced he will never see his wife again. You can’t tell me you didn’t see that.”

“Well, so what? He is desperate. The woman he loves is just gone and nobody can find her.”

“No, it wasn’t just that. Until you present them with a body there always is this last tiny little glimmer of hope in all of them. They might try not to let it take hold, they will tell you they have accepted it, but they always hope. That’s people for you, they can’t help it. Unless they already know that all hope is gone. And that is the case with Collins. He knows what happened to his wife. He just didn’t feel like sharing it with the class. And that can only mean one of two things. He either is too scared to say or it’s somehow his fault. Either way, I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“But… are you sure?”

“Yes. And I didn’t even need Gossip Grandma to come to that conclusion.”

“Do you think there is anything to what she said?”

“I don’t know, Sam. All I know is that it’s not a Siren, because that is an entire different can of worms. But apart from that my guess is as good as yours.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“Well, first we are going to talk to the ‘eye-witness’, then we grab a bite to eat and a little sleep and tomorrow we talk to Mrs. Collins’ suspicious friends.”

 

Their talk with Mr. Bradford, the witness unfortunately is not very conclusive. The slightly myopic old man used to be a sailor and tends to spend his days out by the water at the Rocky Neck State Park where apparently he used to come with his late Bernie when he was still young. That’s where he saw Mrs. Collins walking down to the water, naked. Her red hair trailing behind her and something furry wrapped around her shoulders. He remembers calling out to her because he had seen her around and was worried something was wrong, but she didn’t answer. Instead she walked into the water that is starting to get really nasty cold this time of the year. He then got up from his perch on a bench to go after her and maybe stop her but before he could come even close she had already ducked under the surf and vanished.

“That’s the strange thing about it, you know. She didn’t struggle, she didn’t resurface, there weren’t even bubbles. She just dived in and was gone. I called the police and an ambulance but they couldn’t find her. They thought I was just a drunk, lonely old fart who needed a little attention.”

“And? Are you?”

The red on Bradford’s face could be either anger or shame.

“Maybe I did have a wee little sip to drink. I am old and alone and it’s no hair of anyone’s back but my own. But I am not crazy and I know what I saw.”

He deflates quickly after that and shakes his head.

“When you are young, you know, you think there is so much time to do everything. You think everything is easy even if it should be hard. But then you get older and suddenly you realize that time has run out and you are alone. And that is a truly terrible fate. That’s why I come out here and drink. I hope for your sake that you will never end like me, but don’t you dare judging me for this.”

When Sam looks from the old man’s sad eyes to Dean’s, the latter’s face is closed off and impassive. He thanks Bradford coolly for his help and then turns to walk back to the car. Sam instead can’t drag himself away this easily, so he stays where he is, sitting silently next to their witness whose usefulness Dean definitely doubts by now and looks out over the ocean before them. The air smells salty and fresh, there are gulls gliding overhead and there even is a group of seals playing and lazing about on a small bank of sand just off-shore. It’s nice out here, peaceful and Sam can understand how people like Bradford and Siobhan Collins are drawn to this place again and again.

“Son?”

It’s Bradford, whose presence Sam all but forgot in his silent musings. He turns to look at the old man and tries to adopt what he hopes is an open and encouraging face.

“I know it’s not my place to say anything, but don’t let him do this to you.”

“What? I don’t know…”

“Please, kid. I wasn’t born yesterday and Bernie is decidedly not short for Bernice so please give the old drunk at least a little credit. I know this forlorn look very well. I see it on my own face every day when I look in the mirror. I saw it on poor Siobhan Collins face almost as often. Don’t let him put your life on hold.”

“I… wait? What do you mean? About Mrs. Collins, that is.”

“Siobhan? She is … was a good girl, gentle and kind. She and her friends used to come here all the time. Sometimes she would come over and sit with me for a minute. Just to talk. She always said that she understood about missing the days gone by that one could never get back. She understood that sometimes the yearning is so bad that it will never go entirely away. Even if it is useless. She never explained to me what it was she was missing so fiercely but she did. All three of them did.”

“Do you… do you think she really killed herself here?”

“No.”

“You sound so sure, but you said that she ducked under the water and never resurfaced.”

“I know. And that’s what happened, no matter what your … friend seems to think. But that’s not how you kill yourself. It’s not easy to drown yourself in such shallow surf especially if you can swim like Siobhan could. Believe me. Sooner or later your body starts to fight the lack of air. Tries to make you get back to the surface. No matter how determined you are, you can’t just put your head underwater and wait for death.  And even if she somehow managed that, she wasn’t out far enough. Her body would have washed back up on the shore. The current is like this 'round these parts.”

“So, what do you think happened here, really?”

“Really? Well, I know you will not believe a word I say, but I really really think Siobhan went back home that day. And I hope she found what she was missing.”

 

That night after steak and fries in the local diner Sam fires up his laptop and tries to google ‘ocean fur woman ’ and gets exactly nowhere. Dean is silent and broody in a corner playing with his phone, obviously trying to decide if they have enough to call Bobby or if the man will laugh at their tale of vanishing naked ladies with fur kinks. Sam desperately wants to shake him or yell at him or maybe kiss him. Instead he just shuts his laptop and tries to get some sleep.

 

All things considered, Moira Kelly seems to have gotten a better deal than Siobhan Collins. At least that is what Sam can’t help but think when he and Dean stand in front of what can only be described as the Kelly Estate. Capital letters and all.

They are lead into the library by a real life butler and when the lady of the house comes to greet them she does so in style. Expensive clothes, shoes and hat perfectly in place.

“Agents, Vincent tells me you want to talk to me about Siobhan?”

“Yes, actually that’s exactly what we would like to do if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly, please sit down. I will do anything to help you. Dear Sio was one of my closest friends.”

“Well, maybe you could tell us about the last time you talked to her. Did she seem normal, then, or was she maybe worried or scared?”

“Well, if you ask me, she was scared most of her life here and she had a very good reason to.”

“And why is that?”

“Because of that no-good husband of hers. He used her as a breeder and as a maid and never had a kind word for her. Me and Nula tried to talk her into leaving him, but … well, she couldn’t.”

“Do you think that’s what happened? That she finally had enough and just left?”

There is a look of sadness mixed with something else, almost like longing, crossing over the woman’s face. It does look a little like the look in Mr. Bradford’s eyes. Maybe that was the look Sam would have seen in Siobhan Collins’ eyes as well if he had the chance to meet her.

“I hope to God that that is the case. I hope that by now she is somewhere far away where he can’t reach her, but if it is, she never told me about any plans.”

“What do you say to the account of a witness who says he saw Mrs. Collins in Rocky Neck State Park, diving into the ocean and vanishing? Do you think she was so desperate about her situation that she would have contemplated suicide?”

That strange longing look is back on her features but she shakes her head.

“She loved that place. The sun and the ocean. We all did and we went there all the time Sio, Nula and me, but I just can’t believe that she is dead. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”

 

“So, you think she is lying, too?”

Sam has to break the silence as they sit in the car and Dean drives them down the ocean road towards the O’Brians’ apartment.

“No, she was telling the truth but she was doing it in a way that was as good as a lie, maybe worse because it’s much harder to unravel.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s the same with her as it is with Collins. She knows something, or thinks she knows something. And she is not telling.”

“She didn’t seem as hopeless as Collins, though.”

“No, you are right. Maybe there is something about the theory that she just left her scumbag husband after all.”

“So that means no hunt, right? But what about Mr. Bradford?”

“That guy is an old lonely drunk. Who knows what he really saw that day. If anything.”

“I believe him. And he didn’t seem crazy or confused when I talked to him after you stormed off in a huff. He said he thinks Siobhan Collins went home. And I think that the husband wouldn’t look like he did if she just left him and he knew that. If someone you love leaves you without a word you are angry and hurt but I think you were right before. You are only ever this hopeless if the loss is absolute and complete. In any other case you keep on hoping even if it makes you a fool.”

And maybe he isn’t just talking about the case anymore.  And by the look on his face, Dean knows that but of course he deflects like a master and tries to make light of the situation.

“Well, Sammy, you sure you were pre-law and not pre-psych back there at your fancy school? You gotta warn a man if you suddenly become all insightful and deep.”

Sam sighs and decides to ignore the huge depressed elephant in the room for the moment. Whatever Dean’s doubts are, now Sam is sure that there is a case for them to solve.

“So what now?”

“Now we talk to Fionnula O’Brian.”

 

That as it turns out isn’t as easy as talking to the other people they met in Limerick so far. In fact it is almost entirely impossible because the second she opens the door for them she tries to slam it shut with a yell.

“No, I am not talking to you. I am not talking about her. She is gone. She went away. I don’t care what happened to her, because to me she is dead.”

Dean just about manages to wedge his foot into the gap between the door and the frame and wrestles it open.

“No. Nonononono. I am not talking to you. You can’t make me.”

“Mrs. O’Brian, please calm down. We need to talk to you.”

“No, I hate her. When we came here we promised, no, we swore to each other that we would survive this together no matter what. But now, now she is gone. She must have found it and took it and went home into the water without us. She didn’t even tell us. She just went and we have to stay here. We have to…”

“No! Fionnula.”

A burly man appears behind the ranting woman and wraps his arms around her. She keeps struggling a little but then calms down and sobs silently.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here? Can’t you see that my wife is not feeling well?”

“Well, yes. But we really need to talk to her. About Siobhan Collins. And what did she mean with ‘home into the water’.”

“Nothing, that’s what she meant. She’s just confused and disoriented. The disappearance of her best friend has affected her badly. And now you have to leave.”

So they leave, what else can they do, and return to their almost oppressively cozy motel room.

 

“Ok, what do we know so far?”

Of course, the first time in days they have a minute to themselves without being either dead tired or rushed of their feet and all Dean can do is be businesslike and cool.

“Well, we know that Siobhan, Moira and Fionnula all arrived here about 10 years ago, most likely from Ireland. They all married and settled down and five days ago one of them vanished. According to one maybe not so trustworthy witness and the victims confused and aggressive best friend she went into the ocean, not to kill herself but to go home and she may or may not have been dressed in something furry while doing so. Oh, and it’s not a siren.”

“So do you think you can try your research thing again with this information?”

“Yes, yes I can try. But I don’t think I will have any more success than before, when I tried the exact same fucking thing! And what do you want me to look for exactly? Fur-loving, flesh-eating kraken? What would one of those do in Connecticut anyway?”

“Jeez, Sam. You and your fairytale creatures. I have never met a kraken in my life, fur-loving or otherwise. And I hate to break it to you, but there are no unicorns, either."

When Sam just glowers at him, he sighs.

"No reason to get all bitchy again. I was just asking. Just a normal no would have been quite enough.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but in my experience talking to you like a normal person doesn’t accomplish all that terribly much.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That means that for weeks there has been this huge … thing between us and even though I have tried time and again you just won’t bloody talk to me. No, not the manly, emotionally retarded Dean Winchester who turned being a jackass into an art form. He can’t be bothered to simply explain to me what it is I did wrong. Why he can’t bear to touch me anymore. Why he treats me like his fucking replaceable sidekick. You know what? He wins after all. John Winchester wins again because his son is exactly the coldhearted, single-minded bastard he wanted him to be. You should call him and congratulate him, because I am fucking done.”

And wow, Sam really hasn’t anticipated going off like this for next to no reason but weeks of pent up fear, hurt and frustration and it feels… fucking terrible. Especially when he looks at Dean’s stricken face.

“Do you … do you want me to drive you back to Stanford? Or maybe Texas? Or just…the next train station. I have some money, you could maybe even take a plane, then you would get rid of me right now.”

He sounds so resigned, defeated as if this is what he has been expecting all along. As if the sword of Damocles that has been hanging over his head finally decided to drop.

And for a tiny tiny moment Sam feels a mean rush of vindication. Yes, now it’s Dean’s time to feel all the hurt and pain and loss Sam had to deal with for weeks. The air feels electric and charged as if one tiny spark could set Sam of. As if he could reach inside Dean and make him feel it all. But it’s only a moment and then the tender adoration Sam feels for this man - this stubborn, closed-off idiot - wins out and he sighs. He can’t help it but step closer and wrap comforting arms around Dean. He feels the other man stiffen in his embrace and a cold stab of shock runs through him. He knows that if Dean pulls away now there is nothing he can do anymore. If he pulls away, it will be over.

But a second or two later Dean is still in his arms. Sam feels him relax by tiny increments until after what feels like forever Dean’s arms come up and wrap around him, too.

“I… don’t want you to leave.”

It sounds shaky and a little broken.

“And I don’t want to leave. But I don’t want to keep going like this either. I don’t want to be your friend, or your sidekick. Or even your sodding little brother. I want to be with you. And I know that you have issues. God knows, I know. And I know that there is something going on you are not telling me, but you have to make a decision. Do you want to be with me, too, or do you want to be by yourself.”

“I…”

The shrill ringing of Dean’s cell-phone shatters the moment as soundly as if a monster truck would have crashed into their room. Dean stiffens again and disentangles himself from Sam’s arms.

“Yes, Agent DeYoung speaking.”

His voice sounds almost normal, maybe a bit rough.

“Mrs. Kelly. Yes, of course. We will be there in 20.”

Grabbing his jacket Dean hurries out of their room. It only looks a little like a retreat. It looks more like a full on flight.

“Come on, Sam. Moira Kelly wants to meet us at the park.”

 

It is almost fully dark when they arrive at the water’s edge and  it takes Sam a moment before he spots the lonely figure, huddled on a bench and staring out at the darkening water.

When they reach her, she doesn’t turn her eyes away from the sand bank that is only a looming shadow now, steady among the moving ocean waves. She doesn’t even acknowledge their presence and when she speaks it sounds like she is talking to herself.

“You know, when the three of us came here it was all just a little adventure. We were young and a bit reckless and we wanted to experience so many things. And even when we met them it was all just… fun, you know.”

Her voice that had been clipped and efficient the last time they had talked to her had taken on a strange melodic lilt. Almost like a strong accent. Like remembering the time all those years ago made something surface that had long been buried inside her.

“We didn’t mean no harm, really. We just wanted to know what it feels like and now… Now Sio is gone and her children are alone and Nula is almost crazy with anger and grief and I… I can never go home.”

“Mrs. Kelly, if there is anything you can tell us to solve this case…”

That makes her look over, her gaze sharp and keen even in the dark.

“I know what you are, you know. And I know what you want. You can’t bring Sio back and I am happy you can’t and you can’t hurt me anymore than I already am. But Nula… She is not a bad person, but she has it the hardest. My husband is a cheating waste of space and a vindictive bastard and Collins was a scumbag but O’Brian… he is really bad. She is hurting and she has been for the last ten years with no chance of escape. Please look, really look at her and then decide what you have to do.”

“Mrs. Kelly, I don’t think I understand…”

But she has turned her attention away from them and out to the sea again.

“Do you see them? Out there on the bank. That’s where Sio is right now and no one can hurt her anymore.”

Sam can feel Dean moving next to him. Getting up from the bench where they sat down next to Mrs. Kelly but he can’t leave like that.

“Mrs. Kelly, please. Is there anything we can do for you?”

Her eyes are gentler as she looks back at Sam, sad and knowing.

“I think you must learn that you can’t save everyone. Sometimes people can’t be saved and sometimes they don’t want to. He burned mine, you know. When he found out that Sio was gone he burned it. I could feel it wither in the flames and now I am trapped. But it also means that now I can leave him. I can go away, far away from here and try to live. But you need to take care of Nula. Someone has to.”

 

They are silent on the ride back, both obviously lost in their own thoughts. It just doesn’t make sense.

Is Moira Kelly just as crazy as her friends seem to be? Have years trapped in a loveless marriage driven her round the bend? But she didn’t seem crazy; sad and defeated maybe but not crazy.

“So, uhm… Dean, what do you think?”

He just has to break the silence. It is just getting too oppressive inside his own head.

“I think that crazy chick is crazy for trying to tell us her friend has been eaten by a flesh-eating mutant monster seal. And I think that there is something in the water in this town that drives people freaking nuts. I should never have landed us in the middle of this.”

Sam can’t help but smile a little. Leave it to Dean to take the pragmatic approach.

“Oh, I don’t know. So far nobody actively tried to kill us, so it’s not the worst case you have ever dragged me into.”

As soon as it’s out of Sam’s mouth he freezes and curses himself. Way to remind Dean of issue No. 1. But the green eyes still crinkle in mirth when Sam dares to look into them again.

“That’s it, Sammy. Way to look on the bright side of life. And just for that I have a very special treat for you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you monopolize the laptop for the entire night while you brush up your knowledge on Irish folklore, how does that sound?”

Sam utters a token groan at that but really? It sounds absolutely fan-fucking-tastic, because there is a lightness in Dean’s voice and in his eyes that Sam hasn’t experienced there in weeks. And yes, Sam should insist on them having a Talk especially about whatever it is Dean is not telling him, but he has to admit that right now, he really doesn’t particularly want to know. They have a case to solve and maybe the talk they already had is enough to keep them going for a while. It certainly put Dean in a much better mood and Sam does not want to be the one to drag him down once more. No, the rest of the world will just have to wait.

 

Even though he now more or less knows what to look for it still takes Sam an embarrassing amount of time to pinpoint what they are dealing with. Once he does manage to pinpoint it though, it is like a major ‘duh’ moment, because now everything kind of makes sense. They are not looking for something that has killed or eaten or otherwise taken Siobhan Collins.

“Hey, Dean, look at this, looks like Siobhan wasn’t eaten by a mutant monster seal after all. I think Moira was trying to tell us that she is a seal.”

Siobhan Collins is their something. Creature or whatever.

“And I think Moira Kelly and Fionnula O’Brian are as well.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, seriously, Dean. They are called Selkies. It says here:

‘Selkies (also known as silkies or selchies) are mythological creatures found in Faroese, Icelandic, Irish, and Scottish folklore. Selkies are said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land. The legend apparently originated on the Orkney and Shetland Islands.’

Seems like once a man takes away a Selkie’s fur she has to marry him and stay with him unless she can find it again. Only then can she return to sea and will most likely do so immediately.”

Dean has come over by now and is leaning over Sam’s shoulder one arm resting on Sam’s back. It feels good, familiar and Sam feels himself relax into the touch.

“Why Sammy, is that actually Wikipedia I see here? What would Bobby say?”

“Bobby can’t say anything if you don’t tell him. Besides, it got the job done, didn’t it? Ten years ago all three of them came to the park and shed their skin, wanting to experience being human. Collins, Kelly and O’Brian found out and being of Irish origin obviously knew the legend and what they needed to do to get instant wives. They took their furs and hid them and the three poor girls had to marry them and live the next ten years in varying degrees of misery because of it. And then one day Siobhan found her fur and went back to living in the ocean. What are we going to do now?”

“Well, that depends; does it say anything on that page about how to kill those things?”

“But Dean, you can’t … They haven’t done anything wrong. There is no evidence they have ever harmed anything but maybe fish. On the contrary, they are the victims here. We need to help them.”

“God, Sammy. Still the ever bleeding heart. It was supposed to be a joke. I am not going to kill one of them but I don’t see what we can do about this. They should have stayed the fuck away if they didn’t want to end up captured.”

“Well, maybe. But what’s done is done and there is something we can do about it. We can find their furs.”

It’s only then that what Moira Kelly told him finally sinks in.

“Oh No, Dean, Moira Kelly, she said… I think her husband burned her fur. She said he burned hers and now she is trapped. She can never go back home. But we must help Fionnula O’Brian. We can’t just leave her here like that with an abusive husband.”

“Jeez, Sammy, calm down, would you. I am not going over there and accuse a possibly innocent guy of … of enslaving his wife, ok. We need to be sure, first.”

“Well, there is only one way to make sure. We need to get it out of Michael Collins.”

 

That proves not to be all that terribly difficult after all. Sam just sits there and watches, willing Collins silently to finally fess up, while Dean looks at the man knowingly for a while and then all it takes are a few well selected words and the man is crumbling and crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her. I… she was so beautiful and Tristan, that’s Tristan O’Brian, he said they could be ours if we just hid their furs. He said they would love us but… I don’t think that was how it worked. I think she never loved me.”

“Oh, boo-fucking- hoo you scumbag. You took that poor girl and forced her to marry you and have your children and clean your fucking house and generally be your fucking slave and now you are crying into your pillow because she had the audacity to not love you?”

Ok, maybe Dean is not as unaffected by the whole thing as he pretended to be.

“I just thought… I wanted…”

“What happened?”

“Well, it all went according to plan. We married them, Tristan, Ewan and me, and we lived happily ever after, or so we thought, but they just wouldn’t be happy. They would always be at that bloody park and stare at the ocean. They were only ever half way here. But I still loved her. I did, I swear. And then one day my eldest tells me that her mother took the strange fur blanket she found in the attic and went away and I… I knew I would never see my wife again.”

“That’s a tragedy, but not because of your sorry ass, but because of your children. It’s your fault they have to go through this. And now you are going to tell me about the other two. Where did they hide their wives’ furs? And don’t you dare lie to us.”

“I think… Ewan said he would burn his, you know after the… thing with Sio. I think he did it. He would rather have Moira leave him and have to live on miserable and on land than see her return to the ocean and be happy. About Tristan… I really, really don’t know. He said he hid it in a place no one would ever find. You wouldn’t think it just looking at him but he can be quite cunning if he wants to.”

 

They leave a crying Collins alone on his couch and Sam manages to catch one last glimpse of the devastated faces of his children and sighs. This whole thing is really terrible especially for them. They lost their mother, no matter how and why.

 

It takes them about ten minutes to arrive at the apartment building the O’Brians are living in. It looks even shabbier and more run down than Sam remembers. This time Fionnula O’Brian seems a little more pulled together. Well, any less pulled together and she would be an experiment with a life hand grenade gone wrong.

“My husband said I am supposed to talk to you like a normal person if you come back.”

Her voice is devoid of anything even resembling an emotion just as her eyes are when she lets them in. Inside, there is a very small living room, populated by a maybe 8 year old boy and a little girl playing with building bricks.

“Please sit down. It is such a shame that Sio is gone. I hope you manage to find her soon, we are all very worried.”

Her voice sounds dull as if she just recites something she is meant to say without inflection of any kind.

“Mrs. O’Brian, Fionnula. We know. We know what really happened with Siobhan and we know what happened ten years ago. Michael Collins told us everything and we are here to help you.”

That finally gets her attention and sparks something in her eyes. It’s not exactly something good, but Sam figures it is better than the cold, flat expression of before.

“You? You can’t help me. No one can help me. I have… I have looked everywhere for it. It’s not here. Besides, Moira said you are hunters. Aren’t you going to kill me since I am not human? Or rather I am not supposed to be?”

The last words are hissed in a low voice, but her son still looks over to them with a worried frown on his childishly round face.

“Well, we are convinced that you have done nothing wrong. We are not going to kill you for what was done to you, right Dean?”

“Right, besides maybe we are able to find your fur for you. Is there somewhere else he might have brought it? A friend’s house? His workplace?”

“I… maybe. He works as a security guard for Ewan Kelly. Maybe he hid it at the Kelly estate, but that place is huge. We will never find it.”

“Maybe not, but your chances just tripled themselves. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

She just nods a little dumbly, so they leave the bewildered children with a neighbor and drive towards the Kelly Estate where it’s situated prominently close to the ocean.

 

Getting inside is not all that difficult because the place seems to be in quite a state of disarray following Mrs. Kelly’s unexpected departure. Once they are inside is when things get messy. The Estate really is huge and without a clue as to where O’Brian hid the fur it is not looking very hopeful. Neither of them is saying anything, but Sam can read Dean’s face like an open book. A rather grim book, but with beautiful pictures to compensate. He can also see how Fionnula’s state of mind gets progressively worse. Even if she is not the kind of crazy her husband wanted them to believe, she is still not entirely stable either. In fact she is about as stable as Dean’s sense of self-worth.

It starts with her muttering under her breath and then crying silently and finally not crying so silently at all.

And Sam can’t say he really blames her when they round one corner and run straight into Tristan O’Brian himself. He is dressed like a security guard complete with flashlight and holster that unfortunately is empty because the damn SOB has already drawn his gun and aims it right at Dean’s face. So much for no one trying to kill them on this hunt.

“Fionnula, what the fuck are you doing here and who the hell are these two wankers. This is no fecking museum, you can’t just wander in here whenever you feel like it.”

He might be dressed like a security guard but he very obviously isn’t a very good one. Still, he is an obviously violent man with a gun and there is no way Sam will let Dean get killed by an idiot mouth-breather like this.

“Listen, we are not here to steal anything or to do any harm. We are just here to help your wife.”

It is not nice to have a gun directed at him, but it is better than having it directed at Dean.

“Yeah, right. I know that you guys have been sniffing around poor Michael. And you met with that stuck-up bitch, Moira, and after she told poor Ewan she would fucking leave him. How stupid do you think I am? And you, ungrateful little whore, you are going home, right now.”

“That’s exactly what I am trying to do. And do you know where you can go, Tristan O’Brian? Go hifreann leat,Tristan. Go n-ithe an diabhal do mhaghairlí.”

Sam isn’t exactly sure where Fionnula O’Brian just told her husband to go and what should happen to him there, but he is pretty sure it isn’t nice at all and O’Brian seems to agree because he now trains his gun directly on his wife’s head.

Sam isn’t sure if the guy would really pull the trigger on any one of them but he still stares at his every move and tries to make him not do it by sheer force of will.

O’Brian himself seems even less sure of his own abilities and hesitates and frowns, lowering the gun a tiny fraction. And that’s apparently all the motivation Dean needs because he is on the guy in a split second, knocking the gun out of his hands, restraining him with what must be an iron grip, judging by O’Brian’s pained face.

“Right, you worthless piece of shit, this crap ends here. You are not going to shoot anyone and you are not going to raise your hand against your wife ever again. Do you understand?”

O’Brian just whimpers, but Dean doesn’t let up.

“Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good. And now…”
“What the devil is going on here?”

“Ewan, Ewan. They have broken in. These are the guys who talked to Moira right before she left and now they are trying to take Nula away from me. You’ve got to do something.”
Ewan Kelly was a good looking man. Dark haired and tall, but there was a weariness around his eyes and his features that made him look way older than he probably was.

“And what do you think I should be doing, Tristan? What do you think I can do? You have got to accept that we all made a mistake back then and now it has come back to haunt us. And you know what? I think we all got what we deserve. All three of us. And therefore I am not going to do anything.”

“Goddamn it, you owe me. It was my idea. It was my plan that got you your fucking cunt of a wife.”

“Yeah, your brilliant plan got me a fucking divorce and a woman who hates my bloody guts, thank you so much. I owe you fuck-all. No, in fact you are right, I owe you a good kick up the arse but it seems this nice young gentleman is currently handling that quite splendidly.”

O’Brian roars incoherently and tries to buck Dean off but Dean just proceeds to knock his fist against the guy’s temple and knocks him out cold. Sam hastily picks up the fucker's fallen gun hastily just in case. He really does not want it to be pointed at him ever again.

“All right, that was fun. And now, Mr. Kelly, would you mind terribly if we went ahead and teared your house down so we can help this lovely … semiaquatic marine mammal to get her fur.”

Kelly seems to sag even further and he sighs.

“Listen, Fionnula, I am really terribly sorry for what happened to you and for my part in all of that. I hope that you can forgive me one day, even if Moira probably can’t.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care for you, I don’t care for him. I just want to go back home. Do you know where it is? Can you give it to me?”

“Yes, yes I know where it is. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He leads them through a long corridor and up a flight of stair into a garishly decorated room that’s sporting the heads of various animals all along the walls.

“This is the hunting room, furnished by my great-grandfather. Moira hated it and never ever set foot into it. Which is why I figured this would be the perfect place to hide it. And since Tristan did not have an original thought since he decided whisky is the perfect lunch he just did the same thing.”

He reaches up to one of the stuffed deer heads and pulls on the antler. The whole head swings sideways on a hinge and reveals the hollow inside of the head. And inside that there I something that looks suspiciously like a thin fur bedside carped. Fionnulas tears are flowing freely now, running down her cheeks and it looks heartbreaking.

“Fionnula…”

“No, don’t talk to me. Go away. Give it to me and then just leave. I don’t want to see you anymore!”
There is so much guilt in Kelly’s eyes that Sam almost can’t look, but he forces himself to do it anyway. Then the other man just shrugs, hands over the fur and leaves without another word.

 

Fionnula’s eyes are wide and the pupils look blown as she reverently clutches the piece of fur in her hands. She grabs at it almost greedily and presses it to her chest like a treasure. Her features look almost inhuman in a mixture of bliss and yearning. Sam can only stare at her shocked, which is why he reacts too late when Tristan O’Brian suddenly comes up behind them, a rifle in his hand that looks like he just plucked it from the wall of the hunting room. He loads it with deadly efficiency and pushes Sam hard into the wall. Sam's head collides painfully and when he opens his eyes again, everything seems to be hidden behind a haze.

He sees Fionnula snarling at her husband like a ferocious beast, trying to scratch him with her fingernails, while he tries to take the fur from her. He sees Dean moving slowly, sluggishly, most likely still affected by the vicious blow, as he tries to get closer to O’Brian. He sees the man backhand his wife so hard her head snaps back and she crumbles to the ground. Then O’Brian rounds on Dean, gun at the ready yelling, Dean tries to kick him, tries to move out of the way but he is too out of it.

O’Brian fires.

 

Sam is yelling, screaming really, for Dean to move, to get away, but it’s no use. He is too slow. It feels as if time is slowing down. As if everything happens in slow motion. Dean yelling, O’Brian shouting, the rifle firing and the bullet flying towards Dean. Unstoppable and deadly. And then it does stops. Everything just stops.

Only Sam doesn’t stop. He is still lying, half propped up against the wall, panting, but nothing else moves. Not even the curtains in front of the open window behind Dean, not even the bullet that hangs frozen in midair.

Sam can’t do anything but stare.

And then he hears the clapping. It’s slow and rhythmical and terribly sarcastic and comes only from one pair of hands and when Sam whips his head around he sees an old man leaning against the doorframe. There are two or three other guys, obviously heavily armed, milling around in the next room, but Sam’s focus is entirely on the old man. He is wrinkled and bald and there is a scar running across the length of his face. He looks entirely not dangerous but also like the most threatening human being Sam has ever encountered.

“What… Why… Who?”

“Sam, Sam, Sam. Not the most eloquent of people I see? Too bad. But then again we aren’t interested in you because of your verbal skills now, are we? But to your mostly unasked questions: What am I doing here? I am looking for you. Why am I not frozen? Your powers aren’t strong enough yet to affect a wider area, since you only just about unlocked them. And in a rather dramatic fashion I might add. And who am I? Well, let’s just say I am extended family and leave it at that for the moment. There are quite a lot of things the two of us are going to have to discuss, but right now I would advice to get Dean out of the line of fire. I don’t think the field will hold all that much longer.”

That causes Sam to spring right into action. First he drags Dean out of the path of the bullet, then he uses O’Brian’s own rifle to knock him out cold again. At that point, some of the armed guys from next door swarm in and take him away and Sam is forced to refocus on the intruder.

“What are they going to do to him?”

“They are going to deal with him. Please don’t tell me you care about what happens to this piece of shit. We are going to take him and his lovely monster wife…”

“No!”

“What? Oh, for God’s sake. All right, as a token of my good will we will just put the fear of God into the guy and we will leave this… thing for you to deal with as you see fit, ok? But just because it’s you and I don’t want to start our acquaintance on the wrong foot. Still, you might need to toughen up a little if you want to be a hunter. Dean is right. Can’t be a goddamn bleeding heart forever.”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” And maybe a little belatedly “What do you mean about my powers?”

“All in good time, Sam, all in good time. For now I just wanted to say hi and alert you to our existence. There are people out there watching you and your powers. Especially what you are going to do with them now that you have successfully tapped into them. And as for cleaning up after you, well, consider it one of the many things we might do for each other in the future. But now unfortunately I must hurry. Dean is going to unfreeze soon and I don’t think he will be all that happy to see me.”

They are all gone before Sam can so much as sort through all the questions in his head, but when the world comes back with Dean groaning and Fionnula whimpering, Sam’s attention is needed elsewhere.

He helps Dean up but before Sam can answer any of his many questions, Fionnula rises from her perch on the floor and starts to move through the room as if in trance.

She moves through the house like a very determined puppet and Sam and Dean can do nothing but follow her out the door and towards the ocean. It is then, that a little yellow car pulls over next to them and the little O’Brian-boy jumps out of it, closely followed by a very bewildered-looking neighbor/ babysitter. The boy runs towards his mother and flings himself at her, trying to hold onto her and sobbing.

“Mommy, mommy, please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. I promise I’ll be good forever. I love you, mommy.”

But it is as if the woman can’t even see him. She shakes her arms loose from his grip and starts running towards the shore, shedding her clothes as she goes. Dean manages to catch the boy around the waist and hold him, while he struggles and they all watch his mother dive into the ocean, her fur clasped tightly. Fionnula O’Brian never surfaces ever again.

 

Later, they stand by the ocean in a different part of Connecticut. The Impala is parked behind them and Sam stares out at the waves while Dean silently sips his beer.

Sam can still hear the little boy’s screams and sobs as he has to watch his mother leave him and he thinks he will for a very long time still. Moira Kelly was right, maybe you can’t do right by everyone. Maybe not everyone can be saved. But that is not what he wants to talk about, needs to talk about right now.

“Dean, there was a man. At the house, while you were… unconscious. He was pretty old and bald and he had a scar all down his face. He seemed to know you. Do you know who that was?”

Dean is silent for a while and Sam doesn’t dare look at him. Then he hears him first curse viciously under his breath and then sigh, defeated.

“His name is Samuel Campbell. And he is my grandfather.”

 

tbc