Author's Note: So, Supernatural has finally returned to our lovely Aussie screens, and honestly I can't see what all the who-hah was about… besides the fact that 'In My Time Of Dying' is FREAKING AWESOME! So, in celebration of this wonderful show finally being back (for us Aussies anyways), I'm posting this AU I wrote ages ago.
It is a mutli-chap fic, but in no way a follow-on to Good Samaritan. Nor is it really a celebratory fiction. See Warning for further details. But anyway, this is In The Loneliness Waits, which may not go over so well. Again, see Warning. But read it, and see what you think.
Warning: Major character tweaking, but keep in mind that this is an AU. Very AU. Rating is for excessive swearing and drug abuse. Also, Character Death.
Disclaimer: Even if I owned them, they wouldn't be like this.
In The Loneliness Waits
Dean Winchester walked down the pathway to the front of his house, sighing when he saw the all too familiar shadow sitting on his front doorstep. He coughed, and the shadow stood with a start.
"Hi Sam," Dean greeted solemnly, hitching his leather jacket up a bit to keep the cold New York air from his neck. It continued to amaze his fellow doctors that he actually wore a leather jacket. The nurses loved it.
"Hey Dean. How are you?" Sam's voice was hoarse. Dean sighed again.
"What are you doing here, Sam?" He knew he sounded harsh. He was allowed to be though. He didn't see Sam very often now. Only when his brother all-too-frequently needed money. His little brother hadn't even come to Dean's wedding last year.
"I'm behind in my rent. I just need a bit-." The porch light coming on startled him into silence. Dean watched the shadow of his wife turn and leave. She had only ever seen the youngest Winchester in photos, though she did want to meet Sam. She just maintained that it had to be on his terms. Dean hated it.
"I just need a little money, just so I don't get kicked out."
In the new light, Dean studied Sam. He looked worse than he had last time, but he knew Sam didn't expect any sympathy. Far from it. Those haggard, withdrawn eyes expected anger, and an 'I told you so.' Dean wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"What happened to your job?" Dean asked, putting his fists in his pockets. Sam looked at the ground, at the trees lining the porch, at the plants lining the pathway, anywhere but at Dean.
"I lost it. I came in late, and uh, he fired me."
"Why were you late?" Still Sam wouldn't look at him.
"I just was, okay." Sam was angry now. But then again, he became angry easily. "Fuck, Dean, don't lecture me okay. You're not my father."
"Excuse me?" Dean snapped. "I've been your father for as long as you can remember. And it's been legal ever since Dad…" He trailed off. It was still hard to mention, even seven years later. How could you tell your respectable, decent peers that your father had drunkenly killed himself, jumped off a bridge in the middle of winter, crashed through the ice, and drowned in a freezing river of death? How could he have told his colleagues that his father's mutilated body had been found by hikers three months later?
"Don't you dare fucking give the guilt trip. I never asked you to take over Dad's place. Shit Dean."
He ran a trembling hand through his limp, oily hair. Pushing the hair back showed just how bad Sam was now. His face was pale, there were dark lines under his eyes. And his hands trembled. He looked cold, though that might have been the lack of winter wear. Just a hoodie beneath a thinner jacket. An unwelcome thought crossed Dean's mind.
"Are you using again Sam?" The question was direct, pointed. Sam actually looked up, angry. Angry at being asked, or being found out?
"Whatever." He threw up his hands. "I'm sorry I came to ask my big brother for help. Jesus. Every fucking time I see you, you ask me that fucking question. Why? Just to keep me in my place. Well I'm sorry I came and ruined your fucking perfect life. Have fun."
He started to walk away, brushing past Dean, who turned to avoid being bumped in the shoulder. And as Sam walked away, Dean couldn't help but feel the guilt he felt every time he saw Sam walking away. The guilt of not having looked after his baby brother well enough to stop him from going over the edge. He had tried so hard to keep them together when Child Services had threatened to take Sam away. He knew now he should have let them – his brother was… broken. Well, hindsight had perfect vision. He sighed.
"Sam, wait." The youngest Winchester turned, his pale, tired eyes still angry. Dean pulled out his wallet, walking towards his brother.
"How much do you need?" he asked, shaking his head. He walked forward a few steps, towards Sam.
"Just a hundred, to keep a roof over my head."
Dean began pulling the notes out, intending to give Sam a bit extra. "You know, you could always stay here for a while. Get yourself set up, with a job and everything. Sarah wouldn't mind."
Sam suddenly looked up at the second story, just for a moment, just as he was about to accept the money from Dean. He smiled at something, and Dean frowned. He quickly wiped it off his face as Sam looked back at him.
"No, it's all good. I'm fine. I can find another job." He smiled again, and turned to leave. "Thanks Dean."
The question popped out before Dean could stop it. "Are you using again?"
Sam spun around, nostrils flared. "Jesus Christ Dean! You couldn't leave fucking well enough alone." He threw the money down on the ground as lights popped on in the neighbours' houses. Sam continued shouting. "What's it to you, huh? What do you care? Yes, I'm fucking using again. So glad that's the only thing you decided to ask! No, how are you, what's wrong. Blunt and to the fucking point!" He was screaming now and Dean could hear the street's dogs barking. "I haven't spoken to you in two fucking months and that's all you ask. Shit, Dean!"
"That's right, you haven't spoken to me in two months, Sam. And keep your voice down." Dean had crossed his arms as a guard against his own anger. And his guilt.
"The phone goes two ways Dean." At least he wasn't shouting now. "Do you even have my number? I left it on your answering machine. Jesus."
He turned and stormed off, leaving the money in the middle of Dean's front yard.
Dean sighed, wanting to hit something. Himself, mainly. He picked up his money and went inside. Sarah found him sitting at their small, round dining table pushing a glass of scotch around with his fingertip. She was so beautiful, the love of his life, caring, and smart. He wouldn't ever tell her, but she made him feel better. She fought off the loneliness he had felt since his brother had stormed out with the drugs and problems Dean had failed to both see and solve.
"Why does he have to be so-," Dean began. Sarah cut him off.
"Stubborn? Just like you. Jeez, you can tell he's your brother." The edge to her voice was easy to hear.
"What?" Dean asked looking into her beautiful green eyes.
"He is right." She was unafraid to voice her opinion. That was one of the things Dean loved about his wife, even if it did irritate him. Especially when it came to Sam.
"About what?" Dean wanted to know. He pulled her down to sit on his knee.
"You could call him. It's just that you're too stubbornly angry about him not turning up to our wedding."
"Exactly. He didn't turn up to our wedding. Why should I call him?" He could smell her shampoo on her hair.
"Because he is your brother." She said it slow, as if explaining to a five year old, an action she was used to as a pre-school teacher.
Dean sighed. "I know. He just gets me angry and he turns my emotions on me."
"What do you mean?" Sarah frowned.
"He accused me of making him feel guilty." Dean laughed. "That's exactly what I feel every time he shows up looking like the dead walking."
"Because you think you failed him." Sarah finished his thought. Dean nodded. "You tried your best, Dean. Sam has a say in his life too, you know."
Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Every time I think you're on his side, you turn right around and say something like that."
The timer went off on the oven. Sarah stood, but turned to him before going to the kitchen.
"There aren't any sides to this Dean. It isn't a game. It's life, and he's family."
Sam stopped short as he saw the two men standing outside the door to his apartment. He felt for the knife behind his belt, but then relaxed as he recognised them. Matt and Callum, waiting for him to get back.
"What's up?" he greeted, walking up to them. Callum grinned wildly, already high.
"Brother not so giving tonight Sammy," he said in a voice higher than his usual one. He looked jumpy too. Sam knew the feelings. Of being able to do anything. Of being happy. Fuck, those feelings seemed alien to him at the moment.
"Not as giving as your mum last night," he replied, taking his lock picking tools from his pocket. He had lost his keys. Matt shook his head.
"Damn, Sammy boy, we gotta find a way for you to use those smooth skills for better purposes than breaking into your own apartment."
Sam grinned at him while he turned the handle. Better purposes being breaking, entering, and robbing anything with a lock and valuable items.
His apartment was bare of much. One couch, a wobbly desk against the wall, and an empty kitchen. Two rooms, his bedroom being one, kitchen and lounge being the other. And of course the filthy bathroom that he was afraid to use.
He sat down on the couch. Matt sat next to him while Callum took the floor, his eyes feverish.
"Ready?" Matt asked, like he did every time they used. Sam nodded eagerly, feeling the addiction roar into life.
Matt handed him a needle, which he took gratefully. Leaning forward, he rolled up his sleeve and injected himself with the drug.
Done, he leaned back, smile anticipating already.
"So what did fucker two-shoes have to say?" Matt asked, referring to Dean. Sam shrugged.
"Not much. Asked me if I was using. I told him I was."
This was pretty much the extent of their conversation as the three addicts allowed their use to wash over them. Sam could feel his heart beating quickly. He wanted the first stage over. That stage where he mellowed out, and the thoughts began forming too quickly for him to control. And tonight, no doubt, it would be Dean he thought about. Goddamn perfect brother. Made it through college, and studying to be a doctor all on his fucking own. Did he think Sam liked what he had become? An addicted, half-dead, son of a… No he could never say that word, use that term, not without feeling like he had betrayed his mother.
Did Dean think he liked where their relationship was heading? Fuck no. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and call his brother, just to talk. But it was hard, without feeling pressured and overpowered. His fucking perfect brother, with his perfect life. Had Dean really just given up on him, left him alone with his drugs? For so long Sam had refused to believe so, but maybe his older brother had deserted him. Maybe his older brother had left him alone, even if he hadn't meant it.
And now his wife was pregnant. Not that she knew it yet. Sam wasn't even sure how he knew. He had just seen her staring out the second story window and had known. In eight and a half months, she would have twin girls. He smiled. He would be an uncle. Then his smile dropped. A shitty, fucked up uncle. God, what kind of role model would he be? Would Dean even let him near his little girls? Sam hoped not.
He sagged with relief when the thoughts passed, leaving blissful emptiness. Just how he liked it.
I just wanted to say that some drug related information in this fic may be wrong, seeing as I have never used drugs, nor do I have the intention of doing so. Also, please be aware that this fic was never meant to be used to show a point of view on people who do take drugs. Rather, I wanted to show how out of control Sam's life has become. Just wanted everyone to know.
Thanks for reading.