Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam X Eileen
Wordcount: 4,803
Warnings: Canon Character Death (already happened), Angst (eventual happy ending), Sex mentioned but nothing explicit is shown
Summary: Directly following the events of 14X13 "Lebanon" Sam receives a tip about a restless spirit haunting a particular patch of woods in South Carolina, one who is deaf and has asked for him by name. He must now deal with the thought of putting to rest someone he once cared for a lot, but will things go that simply? And in the midst of all the other problems on his plate, is he even ready to deal with the feelings of loss that he's tucked away for so long?
Author’s Note: This was spawned from a writing prompt given by @becaamm for a Valentine's Day challenge. We had a list of songs and a list of lines, and we had the option of picking one of each or two lines, but I just zeroed in one of the lines which immediately inspired what this fic has turned into. "If this is a dream, I really don’t want to wake up"|
Also, I'm a horrible procrastinator who procrastinates and I didn't get the whole fic written up in time. BUT, I'd say I have enough done for a fairly decent first chapter. It will probably only be 2 chapters in total, though it may extend to 3 depending on how far down various plot-bunny trails I go. (It was SUPPOSED to be between 500 and 7,000 words, but I'm pretty sure it's going to go over that.)
Cross-posted on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796449/chapters/41985947
Artist Credit: @idreamofplaid made the wonderful aesthetic board for me to go along with this. She’s awesome!
Sam's dreams had never really been anything to look forward to. As a child they had often been filled with flames, or shadowy figures moving just out of the field of his vision, or yellow eyes and a voice telling him dark things he didn't want to remember. After Jess there were more flames, but the face within them had become one he knew intimately better, and those persistent feelings of longing, guilt, anguish and anger pervaded everything. Years upon years of fighting evil and not always winning only seemed to add more fodder for his subconscious to torture himself with. Almost two centuries in hell hadn't exactly helped either. So when he sometimes found himself dreaming about one other person he'd failed to save, one other person who'd meant something to him but was now gone forever, well, he honestly hadn't thought too much of it.
Sometimes when he dreamed of Eileen, she was running through some darkened woods, her breathing fast and heavy with more than just her physical exertions. There was sometimes a note of panic, of desperation in every breath that passed her lips, and sometimes another creature's breathing could be heard, or felt; harsh and snarling. Sometimes he felt searing pain across his own back, even as the invisible predator pounced on her. Other times, the forest was still and the moon was full, and he and Eileen sat together, curled in the roots of an ancient tree, talking with hands and lips and eyes to one another about things he could never remember upon waking. And still other times they clutched each other in a tight embrace, hands gliding over sweat-dampened skin and unfulfillable promises murmured from desperate lips in between sharp intakes of breath and tingling surges of sensation that left him gasping awake, disoriented and aching with the sudden loss.
They didn't happen that often. Though every time they did, Sam felt the persistent, hollow pain of her death linger for days. With everything that had gone on since her death though, there were plenty of other nightmares vying for his nightly attention, and if he hadn't really noticed that they never seemed to happen at the Bunker, or anywhere else west of the Mississippi, well, he could probably be excused.
Tonight he probably wouldn't have had to worry anyway, even if he weren't in the Bunker. A crushed pearl and then his father had been fading from his sight, for the second time in his life. Although this time... well, he wasn't exactly happy, but it wasn't the same as before either. Things he'd wanted to tell his dad for a long time had finally been given voice, and a certain feeling of resolution soothed old scars he'd almost forgotten he'd even had. But it didn’t quite take the sting out of the knowledge that they’d had him there for a short while and then had to lose him again, like so many other people in their lives. His brother and Mom had retired to the kitchen some while ago to reminisce over a bottle of whiskey and he'd settled himself back into the library, going through yet more materials on angelic lore. He seriously doubted he'd even be going to bed before the next day dawned.
Once Cas had been filled in on the strange events of that day, he’d offered to heal both him and Dean from the injuries sustained while fighting his alternate self, but they'd both declined, claiming nothing was damaged that wouldn't heal on its own, and their angel's powers had been noticeably affected by Heaven's energy crisis. They didn't want him draining himself on their account when something much more pressing might come up later. Now, Castiel was down in one of the supplementary store rooms, as determined as he himself was to find another way of dealing with Michael than that metal box. He was going through the various books and boxes of relics that Sam hadn't had a chance to get to yet, and would bring him anything that looked promising.
With a heavy sigh Sam thunked another weighty volume onto the "not any help" pile on the table, which was sadly, much larger than the "might be some help" pile. (Which was still larger than the as-yet non-existent "will actually help us" pile. But, he still hoped, and still had a clear spot reserved for it, just in case.)
He took a moment to absently rub at his temples, considering the magnitude of the problem they faced. Thoughts of magic golden eggs, metal boxes (a coffin, really), spells, charms, Enochian sigils and an industrial grade fridge door held closed with a screwdriver all floated through his head. So many directions things could go, and most of them not good. But he'd meant what he'd told Dean, that they would find another way, and he was determined to keep that promise.
Just as he was about to reach for the next book in the "yet to go over with a fine-toothed comb" pile, he was interrupted by a jingle from his phone. With a sigh, he reached into his shirt pocket for it, his brows furrowing when he saw the unknown number listed on the screen. He briefly considered letting it go to voicemail, but then decided against it. Between their Hunters, Jody’s and Donna's contacts, and the few other Hunters they had a passing understanding with, there was too much of a chance it could be someone or something important. (Or just someone they knew who'd had to replace a damaged or otherwise compromised phone.)
So with that in mind he swiped the "accept call" symbol. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end came through a bit choppy, apparently not having a good signal, but he could still make out the gist of the words. "Hello? -is Sam Win-ester?"
"Yes." He responded, still feeling a little guarded. "I can barely hear you."
"-old on." There were some sounds of shifting around, and then a few sharp swears as whoever he was apparently tried to move to a better location. "Can you hear me now?"
"Yeah," Sam responded, still not recognizing the voice on the other end, although it did sound vaguely familiar. "Who is this?"
"It's me!" came the oh so helpful response. "Ed."
Sam waited, hoping for more to go on.
"Ed Zeddmore."
Sam thought his eyes might roll out of their sockets if they weren't attached in so firmly. "Oh... Right. Ghostfacers." He couldn't keep the tiredness out of his voice. "What do you want?"
"Well..." came the hesitant reply, "Not really the Ghotsfacers anymore... Harry left for good. Got back with that girl he was interested in and married her."
Sam couldn't really bring himself to feel sorry for Ed or care about his personal issues, not with the main big problem along with a bunch of other little problems all heaped onto his plate. "Look," he tried. "I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out with you two. But I don't really see how I can-"
"Oh! No, not... not asking anything like that." Ed interrupted then continued on briskly. "I still look up hauntings you see. Solo though. Still interested in the paranormal and all that but... well, I try to stay away from the really dangerous sounding ones."
He didn't outright say it, but Sam could practically hear the unspoken "The ones you guys usually take care of." With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Um, that's probably for the best, you know."
"Yeah." The despondent tone in his voice was clear even over the still somewhat staticy line. Sam really wished the guy would just get to the point of why ever he'd called.
"So..?"
"Right. Yeah." The other man audibly cleared his throat. "So, I was looking into this haunting in South Carolina. Just some sightings really, and a few odd occurrences happening, but no deaths. No injuries even. Just witnesses saying that this ghostly figure would sometimes appear, running in the woods like they were being chased by something. Sometimes screams were heard. Sometimes it seemed like they were trying to communicate with people but it never seemed to work out well."
Sam had already resumed reaching for the next book on the table as Ed was relaying the details of the case. "Okay... sounds like a non-violent, restless spirit. Probably either needs closure of some kind or to be put to rest. You should be able to handle that." Sam had to admit to himself, even if the Ghostfacers HAD been annoying, they had managed to get enough of a real picture of the supernatural to deal with something low-scale like that, even if Ed was going solo.
"Oh, yeah." He agreed readily. "Yeah, I mean, I was going to. Even tried talking to her. But I think this one... well, it's really something you should come down here to help with."
"Why's that Ed?" Sam asked tiredly, flipping through the pages of the old, leather-bound treatise on the intricacies of the angelic hierarchy.
"Well, 'cause she asked for you. By name." Sam's hand froze, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. Something niggled at the back of his head. Like, the various threads of information should already mean something.
"What?"
"Yeah, she was asking for Sam Winchester. I tried talking back to her but it was like she couldn't hear me. And it looked like she might be trying to use sign-language. I mean... have YOU ever heard of a deaf ghost?"
It felt like the edges of the room started to white out as his heart suddenly clenched in his chest.
South Carolina. A wooded area. A deaf, restless spirit, asking for him. By name.
A cold, heavy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach along with a spreading numbness. A numbness that some distant, clinical part of his mind unhelpfully informed him was a typical reaction to sudden shock, intended to help the individual deal with the present situation so they could sort their feelings out later. With a slight tremble, his hand reached for the pad of paper and pencil he had nearby for taking down notes. "Where?" His voice came out rougher than he'd wanted.
"Um, here, I have coordinates." As he rattled them off, Sam wrote them down. And yeah, it was the same area where she'd been found. "So..." Ed ventured uncertainly, having picked up on the sudden shift in Sam's emotions.
"Yeah." Sam said tightly. "I'll take care of it."
"Want some help on it?" The other man offered, seeming all too anxious to team up with someone again, even if he hadn't had the best track-record in the past of working with the Winchesters.
"No." Sam didn't even try to soften it, as the lump in his chest seemed to grow tighter. "No, I'll deal with it. I'm... I'm already familiar with... Just, go on. She... she's not going to hurt anyone." It had been well over a year, but the pain of her loss was already welling up inside him, like an old injury that you thought had mostly healed until you managed to wrench it just the wrong way and it made itself known again.
"Okay. Um.. yeah." Ed stammered, having not expected the emotions he could hear in the Hunter's voice, despite Sam's efforts to keep himself under control. "So, good luck, and all that." Sam ended the call before he said something he'd regret.
His phone fell to the table and his head fell into his hands as he tried to fend off emotions that now assailed him, reverberating through his mind like a damned echo chamber. The certain knowledge that this was Eileen. The gut-wrenching pain he'd felt when he'd gotten that call from Jody, telling him that she'd been found dead. The even worse feeling when they'd gone there and seen her actual body, cold and still like so many others they'd viewed over their bloody careers as Hunters. The knowledge that she'd been trying to reach them but hadn't made it. The questions left unanswered, until the day he'd cracked into that hard drive he'd taken from the BMOL's base and among other things found her case-file and the cold, clinical explanation of what they'd... of what Ketch had done to her.
He'd never directly brought it up to the former assassin, once the man had more or less joined their side. But after the fall-out of Michael’s initial possession of Dean he'd firmly suggested that if Ketch still wanted to help them, to do so overseas. To follow up on leads in Britain and Europe that they had no way of seeing to themselves. Ketch hadn't argued the point.
Even as Sam was still reeling from the news Dean's distinctive footsteps wandered in from the hallway to the kitchen and up the steps into the library. "Hey, Geek-boy," he said by way of greeting.
Sam startled a little, raising his head from his hands and trying to wipe casually at his face, as if he was just tired. "Hey... Mom turn in?"
Dean took in his brother's posture, the quaver he tried to hide from his voice, the extra moisture on his cheeks as well as his red-rimmed eyes and sighed heavily before plunking one of the tumblers he'd brought with him down in front of Sam, filling it half-full from the bottle of Jack he was also carrying. "You know..." he ventured, taking the seat across from his brother, "you coulda joined us. I know-" he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, "well, you and Dad seemed to have kind of worked some stuff out, but it couldn't have been any easier on you than the rest of us."
Sam shook his head a little, not drinking from the glass, though Dean figured from the look on his face that he really needed it. "Dean... it's not- I mean, yeah, that wasn't easy but that's not why-"
"And look," Dean continued, having noticed the various piles of books, "I know you're all gung-ho to find some special archangel fix-it in all this stuff, but man, you gotta sleep too."
Sam's sigh was almost exasperated, though there was still a slight hitch in it. "Yeah... sleep. Cause THAT'S ever nice and-" his head suddenly tilted and his brows furrowed, as he got that look on his face that Dean had become well accustomed to over their lives. It was the look of his braniac brother fitting seemingly random pieces of information together into something that made sense. "Son-of-a-bitch..."
Dean waited a few moments to see if Sam would continue, but when his brother's expression shifted from dawning comprehension to something distinctly more pained, he spoke up, trying to lighten the mood. "Care to share with the class?"
Sam closed his eyes for a long moment before pushing the pad of paper over to Dean, who swiveled it around to take a look at it. He saw notations of book titles and page numbers, a few lines here and there that didn't make a lot of sense to him out of context, a few lines of symbols that looked to be Enochian and then larger and away from everything else, some numbers that looked like they could be map coordinates. They were heavily circled also. Shooting a questioning look up at Sam, he shrugged. "Are the coordinates for someplace special?"
The taller hunter nodded. "Got a call about a non-violent, restless spirit. She's been appearing sometimes, trying to communicate but apparently that's been difficult because she's deaf." Dean started to get a sinking feeling in his gut, one which only got worse as his brother continued. "But she managed to ask for me. By name. And this is where most of the sightings have been."
Dean didn't keep map coordinates in his head, but even without that, he had a fairly good guess where this was leading. And the clench in his gut only got worse as his brother's behavior began to make sense. "It's Eileen, isn't it?"
"Yeah, probably." Sam was resting his forehead against one of his hands now. "Those are for the area where she was-" he couldn't quite say it, but Dean didn't need him to.
"Well..." he knew nothing could make this situation "okay" but he still wanted to find something to help his brother out with it. "I mean, you said she's not being violent. So, that's good. Maybe she just needs closure or something."
Sam was nodding. "Yeah, that's what I'm hoping too." He straightened up again, seeming to have come to a decision and began to shut down his laptop. "Look, I know there's still a lot to do here, and I don't want you to think I'm ditching-out on you, but I think I need... I mean, she asked for me specifically. I owe her that much."
"Hey, seriously," Dean did his best to reassure his brother, "it's okay. Look, I'm in no shape to drive tonight, but we can get an early start in the morning, and-"
Sam shook his head. "I'm leaving tonight Dean. And it's okay." He pointedly pushed the glass of whiskey back over towards the other Hunter. "I'm fine to make the drive. This should only take a day or two."
Dean blamed the five or so other glasses he'd had already for being a bit slow on the uptake, but when it finally clicked he felt his "Big Brother Warning Bells" going off like crazy. "Wait, hold up. You're NOT just gonna waltz in there alone. If you're that desperate to leave tonight, fine. For this I'll let you drive. But I'm coming with you."
Sam was already shaking his head. "Dean... look. I appreciate it." Dean could tell from his tone that he meant it, "But I need to deal with this alone."
"Sam-"
"No Dean!" A hint of the anger and desperation that he'd seen in his brother's eyes a few nights ago in a parking lot in Iowa was resurfacing as he abruptly rose to his feet, shoving the chair back with legs and almost knocking it over. "This is going to be hard enough as it is. I have to put her to rest, one way or another. And I just had to send our Dad back to the past so he could die like he's supposed to." Dean flinched a little at that. No one had really asked, but he knew that there was no way they would have made their Mom be the one to crush the pearl, and when Sam had set things up to do it himself, he'd honestly been relieved. He wasn't sure if he could have done it either, as much as everyone had understood that it had to happen. But he should have realized it wouldn't have been any easier for Sammy. "And if things get bad with Michael... if I can't find another way in time..." He didn't need to finish that thought for Dean to see where it was going. Not with the promise he'd extracted from both Sam and Cas to put him in the box if things went south.
Dean shook his head and rose, swiftly stepping around the table and over to Sam to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey!" He squeezed, wanting to make sure he had his attention. "Hey," he continued a little softer, "I told you I believe in us, Sam, and I do. And I believe in you. I know you're gonna find something. So, don't let that keep hanging over you. But..." his gut twisted a little, his instincts yelling at him to not say this, but he could tell it was important, "if you really need to deal with this alone, that's okay. I'll stay here and..." he made a vague gesture towards the heaps of books on the table.
Sam's eyes widened a little. "Seriously? You're going to do research?"
Dean tried for mock-offended. "Hey, just 'cause I don't usually like to research doesn't mean I can't. I'll have Cas and Jack fill me in on your system here and we'll be all set."
Sam still seemed more than a bit surprised, but he managed a half-smile. "Thanks, Dean. Maybe you'll see something I overlooked." Reaching up to give his brother's hand a squeeze, he then stepped away so he could close-up his laptop and tore the part of the sheet of paper with the coordinates on it off from the rest, folding it up to shove into one of his pockets.
Dean grumbled something under his breath about that last remark as he fished in his own pocket, bringing out the car keys which he tossed to Sam once he'd turned back around. "I don't wanna see a scratch on her, y'hear?"
Again, Sam seemed a bit shocked, but he nodded, giving his brother a tight smile before heading off to his room to get his gear together.
When Sam was out of sight, Dean sagged against the table and shook his head. "Once, just for once couldn't we catch a break?" He wasn't sure who exactly he was asking though, as he was even more sure than ever that Chuck had skipped the universe a while ago. Picking up the glass left on the table, he downed it, welcoming the burn and hoping it would help numb the ache he was feeling for his brother. The kid didn't deserve this. He hadn't deserved to lose a woman that he'd so clearly cared about, and who just as obviously had cared about him. And he definitely didn't deserve to have to be the one to put her to rest. Though, hopefully it wouldn't turn ugly. And maybe... maybe this would give Sam a chance to do what he hadn't been able to before. Maybe now he could say goodbye. Hell, maybe that was what Eileen needed too.
He almost considered taking the bottle of whiskey with him off to his room, but resolutely decided against it, instead leaving it in one of the little corner cabinets next to one of the poofy leather armchairs. He'd been serious when he'd told Sam he'd start looking through this stuff, and making his impending hangover worse wasn't the best way to go about that.
As he wandered back to his room, he scrunched his brows together, realizing he hadn't found out just what exactly Sam's "Eureka moment" had been about.
~0~0~0~0~0~
Back in his room, Sam slid his laptop into his backpack then reached over to the ledge he kept a number of books on, grabbing the one titled "Learning American Sign Language". The pages were well-worn and several slips of paper marked various places in it, but it also had a thin coating of dust on it. It had been some while since he'd picked it up. With a tightness in his throat, he put it in his backpack too. He pretty much always kept a duffel ready with the basics of clothes and whatnot in case he had to head out in a hurry, so it was just a matter of adding a few specific things to it.
Almost ready to go, he paused a moment, his hand hovering over his backpack before finding its way to a smaller pocket on the side. Unzipping it, he gently took out what was inside, sitting down on the bed without really realizing it as his memories drifted back, almost unbidden, to the last time he'd seen her alive.
She'd been crushed over having accidentally killed a human, even a human as douchy as that Renny guy had been. After holding her for a while Sam had gently suggested that she try taking a shower to relax, and that they should all get some sleep. Later that evening, after he'd had his own shower and was reading for a bit he'd heard a low knock at his door. Eileen was there when he'd opened it, the overlarge (on her anyway) flannel he'd lent her the previous day now being worn as a nightshirt. "Sam... I..." her eyes had been downcast, so he'd gently raised her chin with his hand before signing that it was okay. "I just, I don't want to be alone right now."
He'd nodded and pulled her into another hug, softly stroking her still slightly damp hair. They'd slept together that night in the strictly literal sense, Eileen curled up protectively in his arms, and as he'd felt himself slowly drifting off he'd felt that feeling somewhere deep in his chest that he'd always felt when spending time with her, even if it was just face-timing on his phone or computer. It was a feeling that he'd hesitated to define, but right then it was growing, as if it could have filled all of his being. He'd had his share of one-night-stands and random flings, and even though he and Eileen hadn't ever had sex, hadn't even kissed for that matter, he'd known that what he'd felt for her was stronger anything he'd felt for any of those others. He'd known that he would do anything he could for her, known that what he'd wanted most was to protect her. And he'd instinctively known that she was very emotionally vulnerable right then, and pushing her into something physical, something she wasn't really ready for at that point could have truly hurt her.
That thought alone had been enough to keep his libido in check and just appreciate her presence; the feel of her soft warmth pressed against him, the rosemary scent of her shampoo, the slow sounds of her breathing and the way her fingers had slipped under his t-shirt and held onto his side even in sleep. His last thoughts before falling asleep had been wishing there could be more of all that. More of her. More of them. For them to be a "them".
When morning had dawned, her look of gratitude had been enough to reassure him that he'd made the right choice. Though her words telling him of her decision to go back to Ireland had landed like a punch to his gut, but he'd tried to hide his disappointment. She'd seen right through him though, and her expression had grown a little sad. "Not forever. I promise I'll come back. I just... I want a chance to connect with who my parents were, and hiding under the Men-of-Letter's noses might be the safest place for me, since they'll probably be looking for me in the States."
He'd nodded, understanding her reasoning. After a quick breakfast of toast and some eggs that he'd miraculously managed not to burn, he'd helped her carry her things outside to her car, giving her another long hug before she pulled away, but not to leave just yet. She'd spent a few moments looking deeply into his eyes, as if she could fully plumb their depths. "Thank you Sam. For everything." Then she'd surprised him by sliding a hand up to the back of his neck and drawing him down while reaching up on tip-toe, pulling him into a kiss that started out sweet and soft before gaining heat. He'd been a little surprised at first, but definitely not reluctant, and for a few moments that had felt like eternity and yet also entirely too brief, the world around them had seemed to fade away, and all he'd known were her lips and the feel of the two of them pressed as close together as they could have managed to be.
When they'd finally broken off the kiss, she offered him one last, sad smile before wishing him goodbye and to keep himself safe. He'd done the same, waving at her in a bit of a daze as she'd driven off.
Later, when he'd gone back into his room he'd found something she'd clearly left for him on his desk; a lock of her dark brown hair secured with one of those little black hair-ties.
He held it now as he sat there, feeling the softness of it and still catching the faint scent of rosemary. "This is why you visit my dreams sometimes, isn't it?" He murmured softly. "You're tied to that forest, but you're also tied to me through this, and I take it with me whenever I go out on hunts." He found himself having to blink a few times to keep the tears at bay. "Guessing the Bunker's wards keep you away when I'm here though... But I'm coming. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry it took me this long." He couldn't keep his tears from falling this time as his voice broke. "I'll be there soon."
