Watching Mrs. Tran walk out with the ghost of her son following, Dean had felt a weight lift from his shoulders when he had heard Sam promise Kevin that he would “get over it”. With a smile he turned to Sam, only to watch as once again his brother left him without a word. Shoulders slumped smile gone as if it had never appeared on his face and there is was the weight of Sam’s anger once again fell about him as a cold, dark cloud blocking out the light and warmth.
“Of course” Dean muttered as he headed to his bedroom. He had changed to a room further away to give Sam his space. Opening the door he turned and fell back onto the bed reaching for the earphones and placing them on his ears. Closing his eyes, head nodding slightly to the beat, he wanted to forget the emptiness he felt and become that boy who listened to classic rock and dreamed of the day he would join his dad in saving people, hunting things, the family business. Not much of a family but there was plenty of business.
Next morning or at least the next day Dean headed to the kitchen for his morning coffee. Seeing Sam there he continued in toward the coffee pot, pouring out the cold coffee and making a fresh pot. Sam had not spoken and Dean just didn’t have the energy to deal with Sam and his disapproval of all things Dean. Finishing putting coffee and the water in the coffee pot he turned it on and looked for his cup, not seeing it he reached for another one and waited with back toward the room. Once the coffee was made and poured into his cup he turned around. Sam was still in the room reading a journal or book or maybe a novel, Dean didn’t know and didn’t care. He walked past Sam out into the vastness of the Men of Letter’s bunker and knew he needed to get out, just a ride to some place where people would smile and say hello. Where he could just be some guy stopping for a meal, a tank of gas. Where no one knew him.
He grabbed his keys and headed out leaving a note for Sam. Walking out of the bunker he lifted his face toward the sun and felt the weight start to lift. The place he had hoped would be home had become a cage he had to escape. He reached into his jacket pocket pulling out his sunglasses and walked toward the only real home he had, his baby, the Impala. Turning the key and hearing her rumble brought a slight smile to his face. Sunglasses on as he pulled out onto the road and just headed away…..
Sam finished reading the research, getting up he refilled his coffee and headed out to see if Dean had found any hunts. Absently Sam noticed as he walked out into the main area was how quiet it was. Dean sitting still filled up a room more than any other person Sam had ever seen. At the bunker Dean usually had his favorite classic rock, going pencil tapping as he read the papers, laptop, and books looking for a hunt or reading on the latest monster sighting and more importantly how to kill said monster. He walked into the main area and noticed a piece of paper on the table in Dean’s neat writing staying one word. Out. Sam shrugged and walked away, note falling to the floor as Sam thought of something he wanted to check on. As usual Sam got caught up in his research following lead after lead about how to open heaven’s gates and close hell’s. He was startled when he knocked a book to the floor, looking at his watch he realized it was late, almost midnight. He decided to head to bed and get a start on it again tomorrow. He walked to the kitchen, made a sandwich that he ate as he walked to his room. Finishing his sandwich he walked into his room fell on the bed and was soon fast asleep.
Next morning Sam woke up, showered, dressed and headed to the kitchen thinking about new ideas to research. Figures that Dean wasn’t up yet as he poured the cold coffee out and made a new pot. His bother made sleeping an Olympic competition, the one who slept the longest won. Shaking his head, he waited for the coffee while going over the new ideas he could try to find an answer to the angels and gates. Grabbing the coffee he headed off to the library and started reading lost in his research for hours.
The next morning was a repeat of the morning before. No loud rock, cold coffee, and no Dean. Deciding he should check on his brother he headed to Dean’s bedroom, heading to the bedroom nest to his he remembered that his brother had moved to the bedroom farthest away from Sam. He headed in that direction and still the bunker was quiet. Puzzled he called Dean’s name as knocked on Dean’s door. No answer, curious as to what would keep Dean that occupied he opened the door and found it empty. This was the first time Sam had been to this bedroom. This room held nothing more than clothes, a lamp on each of the nightstands, a hatchet on the headboard, the cross lying down and a pair of earphones. The bed was made with nothing on the floor, no towels on the floor in the bathroom. Sam checked and the duffle bag for Dean’s clothes still resided on the floor of the closet, clothes still folded inside, toothbrush and tooth paste, shampoo, razor and all the other niceties still in their place on the counter top in the bathroom. The shower was dry. Dirty dog, Sam thought, he went out and found a willing lady. Leaving the room and closing the door he thought nothing more about Dean. His mind caught up in the strange old book he had found yesterday. He spent the day trying to read the ancient text using translator programs on the computer and the languages he was familiar to try and make sense the oldest book he had found. He stopped and reread the paragraph again. That didn’t make sense, Righteous and cursed how could one man, Sam stopped and thought, didn’t Dean tell him about a mark, what was it he had said, something about Cain and not the wrestler but the original Cain. Surely he didn’t mean Cain as in Cain and Abel. Frantically he searched for a picture, a description something to tell him that Dean was not the one in this old text. Not his brother.