Fic: Memory Box (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 2 of 4

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How are you doing this? Is it your powers again or something else? Dean asked, the underlying worry about the past, Sam could only imagine what Dean’s worst-case scenario would be in this situation.

It’s my powers again, they’ve always been there. Sam answered, he knew Dean would’t be able to resist asking the who what how why that would inevitably come to him. And how the hell was he going to answer that, because he didn’t really know. Not for sure, he remembered some of Ruby’s last words, her saying that he was like Dumbo, not needing the feather to fly. The powers were probably from the demon blood he got from Azazel when he was just a baby, he’d always figured that getting it so early, when he was still forming had irrevocably changed him somehow. Sam remembered how he’d felt purified after the trials, but the changes the demon blood made in him weren’t something that had gotten erased or cleansed by the purification of the trials.

He always had the powers, and he always would. If that fact made him a monster…well, then he’d have to come clean about it. With Dean, as hard as that would be, and maybe, he’d be okay with it now, Dean had changed a lot over the years, Sam had worked on him ever since they’d gotten back on the road together. He’d helped Dean see the shades of gray their father hadn’t ever allowed. The black and white view that would have most likely led to his father (and brother) hunting him. The echo of that one message played through him again though, finding the familiar pathways of dread and guilt.

But how are they working again? Dean came back with, again with the unasked question.

Sam started to get angry, he felt it bubbling up, and couldn’t stop himself from sending back: I’m not drinking demon blood if that’s what you’re worrying about.

The seeds took a long time to come back, Sam could feel them waiting for a response to bring to him. Finally it came, No…well, okay, honestly I was, but how then?

Sam debated with himself, how to explain it to Dean, whether to tell the truth about it, and finally he decided that his brother deserved to hear the plain honest truth since he’d just been unexpectedly honest himself. It was too important to skirt around the edges of it or come up with a stupid story to explain it away. It meant too much.

I’m using the memories of us, what they mean to me. What you mean to me.

Dean’s answer didn’t come back for a very long time. Sam started to worry that he had said too much, or lost control of the seeds somehow. But no, they were still there, vibrating slightly, waiting to hear what Dean said, waiting to bring the answer back to Sam. It felt a little like he was awaiting a sentencing in a court, and in a way it was.

I hope you know this, but just in case, Sammy, I love you. You mean everything to me.

The words, those words he had always wanted to hear from Dean, well he was reading them now. Sam wished he could take a photo of the seeds shaping those letters, to these monumental words, save it somehow. He wished he knew what Dean really meant. How in the world could Sam ask that of his brother, when they hadn’t been able to have this conversation in all the years they’d been together? Was it really going to be done like this, through fucking seeds in a maximum security prison, not face to face in an anonymous motel room? Sam thought about all the time he and Dean had spent in the Impala, zig-zig-zagging across the country, pointedly not having this particular discussion. So this was how it was finally happening?

Yeah, yeah it was. Because of course, he and Dean couldn’t do anything the normal way, especially when it came to whatever it was between them. When had they ever in their whole lives, right?

Sam took a deep breath, dug deep in his internal memory box, riffled through all those times he’d stored up where he thought Dean had looked at him like that, or had finally been about to say something and then hadn’t. How he’d hoped and even prayed to have the chance to say anything like this out loud to the one person who needed to hear it. With one big burst of energy, he hoped with everything he had that this would work, that Dean would understand and feel even close to the same. All that and that he had enough seeds to make the words legible to his brother. It was hard to know exactly how to put it succinctly enough, but he gave it his best shot and sent the seeds on their way to Dean.

I love you too, Dean. Probably more than I should, in ways I shouldn’t. But I do.

Same—was the word that came back to him, almost instantly, that one word practically pulsing with need and desire. Sam’s heart swooped with all the feelings he’d been holding in, the seeds left his cell in a rush, an unconscious response, no word appeared in Dean’s cell, just the seeds looping in ecstatic circles around Dean’s head, gently skimming along the dear skin of his cheeks, along his soft lips, tickling and teasing just as Sam had always imagined doing with his lips and hands. Again, Sam could hear Dean’s laughter through the walls and hallways that separated them. And just like that—they weren’t separate anymore, not ever again.

The seeds came skittering back under his door and danced with shaking joy before forming an emphatic Fucking Finally!

Sam laughed then, joyous and free, and the seeds laughed with him, before dropping to the floor in an exhausted pile. He flopped back onto his bed, collapsing with the weight of all that this meant and the expended energy it had taken to get all that across to Dean. He needed to regroup and be ready when their dinners were delivered tonight, for what he was planning afterwards. He was going to need it. He hoped Dean would be ready. He hoped his brother wouldn’t judge him too harshly for what he was willing to do to get them out of here. Sam vaguely heard the seeds leaving, and wondered where they were going on their own.

The seeds came back soon, no longer dancing with joy, but stomping and serious somehow. The words they made were just what he needed to hear from Dean at that moment. Whatever it takes, I don’t care, get us out of here

Sam could read between the words, the raw need, the crushing desire and his heart swooned all over again with how happy he was that his feelings were returned. O best beloved, he heard in Dean’s voice just as when he’d read the Rudyard Kipling Just So stories over and over again when they were just children. This is how it had always been—was always going to be.

The seeds flew back and forth between their cells, almost as fast as a text message. Their sharp edges being rounded off as they scraped along the cement walls.

Even if I have to be a monster?

Yes, I’ll be one with you

You won’t want to hunt me again?

What?

Back then, when I raised Lucifer, the voicemail you left me

I didn’t say I wanted to hunt you, Sammy. I never would say that.

But it was your voice, I still have it.

There wasn’t a reply for quite a while, Sam had almost given up, thinking that Dean wouldn’t answer, but then there was the tiny sound of the seeds coming back into his cell and arranging themselves into a long sentence that pulsed with sincerity and sadness. It wasn’t me, Sammy, I said I was wrong for telling you to not come back, that we were still brothers. Nothing about wanting to hunt you.

Sam could hear the words of the voicemail, all of them, Dean’s words, the venom dripping off of them into his ears, soaking into his heart, burning their connection up, every single time he’d listened to that message. Always a reminder that at any point Dean might change his mind, and give up on him again, maybe for good. He wished he could play the message for his brother, so he could hear himself, his own voice, his own words, so he could understand what his words had done to him all these years. How could Dean not remember something like this?

Maybe you’re remembering it differently, I’ll play it for you, when we get out and I get my phone back.

No, I’m telling you, I didn’t say that, no way I could have. I called you from the place Zachariah had me, he must have changed it.

Sam played the voice message over again, one final time in his mind.

“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”

He thought about what his brother had just suggested, that Zachariah had changed it somehow. He’d been powerful enough to alter their memories in their shared heaven, so why not a little thing like a voicemail? Certainty that Dean was right, that he was telling the truth about never being able to say those things hit Sam like a lightning bolt, his whole body sizzled with the energy of it sudden and total belief.

I believe you - was all that Sam was able to reply, he felt the tears start as soon as the words left his cell. All these years, believing that this was something his brother was capable of…it had always made him hold back. But that was over now.

Good, I’m sorry you ever thought I would say that to you.

I never wanted to believe it, but it was your voice, and I knew I deserved it

No! Stop that please, Sammy, we can’t do this to ourselves again. Especially you.

You’re right. It’s just hard after all this time.

And it was hard, really hard to remember those days, when he rode next to Dean in the Impala, day in day out, never knowing if this would be the moment that Ruby’s knife would come slicing through the air towards his throat. Always uncertain whether the grudging forgiveness Dean finally offered was just an act to lull him into unawareness. It had been fucking exhausting then, and it was again now just in the act of remembering it. Letting go of all of those worries felt exhilarating and free, Sam lay there on his bunk, sightlessly staring at the ceiling, imagining running along a mountain top through the short brush, whooping with joy at the immenseness of the freedom before him. Dean ran beside him, whooping and leaping, joyful and free as he’d never had a chance to be. It made for a hell of an enjoyable dream.

****

Sam awoke to the noise of the dinnertime food tray being inserted, the metal flap slamming shut. He remained still and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, hoping that he’d look dead on their monitors. He could smell the food, and his stomach growled, he hadn’t been eating enough in here, too upset to stomach the horrible food they provided. The minutes ticked by, Sam kept a count, it had been at least five now, and he could hear the rumble of the guards’ footsteps. There were two of them, come to check on him, see why he wasn’t eating or reacting to the food at all. Sam was counting on the guards having rules that would make them have to see in person and up close, if he was just playing possum or really had died.

The noisy lock being turned almost made him flinch, but he managed to control himself. The two guards came into his cell, stood over him for a long thirty seconds without saying a thing. Sam held his breath. This was way easier than when he’d practiced underwater in all those motel swimming pools.

“Think he’s dead?”

“You check, I’ll cover ya.”

The first guard grunted and then leaned down towards Sam, he could feel the heat of the man’s moist breath, smell the onions he’d had on his pastrami sandwich, hear the tinkling of the ring of keys. Before the man could touch him to feel his pulse, Sam pushed at him, he filled the small space between them with command: Give Me Your Taser.

Before Sam had a chance to open his eyes, the guard’s taser was in Sam’s right hand. He sat up and shot the other guard in one smooth movement, then he hit the fjrst guard on the back of the head with his own taser gun, knocking him to the floor. Sam leapt up and snagged the first guard’s unfired taser and shot the other as he attempted to get up, holding his head where it bled. Both of the guards lay on the cell floor twitching with the aftereffects of being tased. Sam took their sets of keys, shoved one of the guards under the bed, and told the other one to get on the bed, cover himself up and to be still. He hoped that none of the other guards had been watching the monitor for the last minute and that a body occupying his bed would be a good enough diversion. He had to have enough time to get to Dean.

On the way to Dean’s cell he heard the other guards mobilizing down the hall, and knew that it hadn’t worked and it was probably going to get bad. He hoped Dean kept playing dead and stayed out of it. The first wave of guards was about ten men, all aiming real guns this time instead of tasers. With one wave of his hand, and all the concentration and will he could muster, Sam yanked and pulled all of the bullets out of their guns and clips to him. It was like he’d turned into a bullet magnet for a moment. He got the bullets under control as he had the seeds, and lined them up around Dean’s cell door. Before the guards got to him, he sent a pulse of energy from deep in his core, to explode them all at once, the door to Dean’s was blown to bits.

Through the dust cloud of debris, Dean sat up from the bed and grinned. “Guess I’m not playing dead anymore, huh?”

As they ran out together, Sam used his powers to control the guard’s minds, making them all stop where they were. It was just like he’d seen Ansem do it, all those years ago, the seductive feeling of ultimate power immediately began to creep in, but he roughly pushed it down. He had to concentrate on the here and now, getting he and Dean out of this place, damn the consequences. Sam pushed at all the guards and without a word of protest they handed over all the keys to Dean, and then locked themselves in Dean’s cell.

Sam couldn’t hear any other guards coming, or movement in the facility. Maybe that had been it? This probably was a small black-site detention facility, with a bare bones staff so it could be kept quiet and off the books. His thoughts were interrupted by the arms wrapping around him, the familiar scent of Dean washing over him, the comfort of being hugged breathless by his brother overwhelming because of its familiarity and how it all meant so much more now that they both knew what they knew. He let himself sink into the hug, wrapping his arms around Dean, almost pulling him up off his feet, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. It was fucking glorious and he didn’t want it to end, but he heard a door slam, the echo resounding through the cavernous hallway.

“Let’s get our stuff,” Sam said, letting go of Dean, but still feeling the warmth of their hug all through his body. That was definitely another one to store in the ol’ memory box.

The brothers quickly located the guard station near the only exit and found a pile of their clothes and phones. They unlocked the door and ran outside. The sun was glorious, the air so fresh and they were surrounded on all sides by trees. There was a small parking lot, and one truck began to move, Sam concentrated and pushed at the man’s mind. Stop

The truck stopped with a loud screech of the tires.

Sam and Dean walked over and a man sat in the truck’s driver’s seat, his face blank, hands loosely holding the steering wheel, apparently awaiting Sam’s next instruction.

“Where are we?” Sam asked, still using what he now thought of as the ‘command voice’.

Instead of answering, the man leaned over to the glovebox and took out a map. He unfolded it and pointed.

Dean took the map and began to work out the fastest way out of there.

“Go home and don’t tell anyone about us,” Sam said.

The man nodded, and took off in a cloud of gravel.

“Hey, where’s my Baby, goddamnit!” Dean yelled as the truck disappeared from view, the map flew out of his wildly gesturing hands and Sam caught it before it could hit the ground.

Sam scanned the parking lot while Dean fumed, the Impala wasn’t in the lot with all the other vehicles. “Just hold on, you stay here,” Sam said handing Dean the map. He stalked back inside and roughly pushed and pulled the information out of the guards’ minds, finding out what they had done with the Impala after they’d been loaded into that prisoner transport van.

They all told him the same story, as far as they knew, the Impala was still there, back on the side of the road where they had been captured all those weeks ago. At least it better be. He took one of the guard’s sets of personal key rings and the brothers grabbed that man’s truck and drove off.

***

After they’d gotten out of sight of the prison, Dean got a little squirrely, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he drove them down the bumpy dirt road. “I’m glad you got us outta there today, Sammy.”

“Why today?” Sam asked, wondering what was up with his brother. He was making that ‘trying to not say the whole truth thing because it was too terrifying’ face. He’d seen that one too many times. He wished he could use the command voice on Dean, but went for the just as lethal little-brother one instead. “Save us all the time and just say it."

The result of all the bared-soul sharing they’d been doing in the prison was that Dean couldn’t retreat into his usual maze of stories and walls. “I was getting close to doing something drastic to get us out.”

“Like what?” Sam asked, dreading the answer, knowing it would be some sort.

“I was going to try and call on Billie, and beg,” Dean said in a rush, like he couldn’t stop himself from saying the words.

“That’s a call you’ve made too often, Dean,” Sam said, stomach turning over with the memory of all their contacts with the reaper.

“Yeah, no kidding. That’s why I’m glad you got all those messages to me. Gave me enough hope that I didn’t go through with my plan.”

And just like that, there were the messages, all the things they’d said to each other back there, when it had been so dire and they’d felt free to spill out all the truths they’d always held back from each other. Now they were confronted with just how hard to talk about this stuff was when they weren’t under the gun and face to face.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Dean dug his cellphone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Mary to leave a message. Sam listened closely to all the things his brother left out.

“Hey Mom, just letting you know, we got out of the prison they were keeping us in all this time. We’re both okay, and on our way back to the Impala right now. We’ll be taking the long way home, just in case we got followed, so it’ll be a few days before we’re back. Let Cas know for us, he’s too hard to get on the phone. Bye.”

Sam realized that meant they would get several days or even a week on the road together. Time enough for them to work it out, or time enough to screw it up completely. It wasn’t going to be easy, there was no way it could be, not after all this time putting up all the barriers and behaviors between themselves and the truth about how it could be. Sitting there in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar truck, Sam went right back to the comfort of rifling through that internal memory box, reviewing all the newest additions, all the things they’d said and shared through the seeds. His heart warmed back up as he read through them all.

***

Dean pulled the truck over into a shady roadside turnout, parking right behind the Impala and was out and running his hands all over her before Sam even had his seatbelt off.

“At least they pushed her off the road so she didn’t get towed somewhere,” Dean said as he brushed the dust and dirt off the trunk before opening it. He rustled around in the back, lifting up the false back. “It’s all still here.”

Sam was still lost in his thoughts and memories, maybe using his powers all at once like that had taken more out of him than he’d realized.

“Here, eat some of this,” Dean said, handing him half of an energy bar he’d snagged from their stash in the trunk. Sam chewed on his and swallowed it down, coughing a little because he was suddenly really dry. Dean stepped back to the truck and threw him a full water bottle, Sam caught it and nearly drained the thing. Dean took the bottle back and finished it off, tossing the empty into the back of the truck.

“We just leaving this truck here?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, unless you really feel like driving a stolen vehicle back over several state lines.”

“Nah, we already have a truck back home,” Sam said, suddenly glad that Dean still wanted him to stick around, wasn’t pushing him to immediately separate, go his own way with his freaky powers and lovesick prison confessions.

***

“I still can’t believe you thought I’d say that,” Dean said, once he was back behind the wheel of the Impala, back in control, in his safe space. He hadn’t started the engine up yet, which meant he really wanted to have this conversation.

Sam put two fingers to the space between his eyebrows and sighed. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and scrolled through all the saved messages, found the one he wanted, and put it on speaker. Dean’s voice, harsh and disgusted filled the space between them. Sam watched as Dean crumpled in on himself. His brother put his head down on the steering wheel, eyes crunched shut, fists white-knuckled on the wheel on either side.

“Dean?” Sam finally asked after several minutes of silence, minutes where he was not sure if Dean was going to sit up and tell him that yep that was him on the message, I forgot about that one, or if something else was going on inside his complicated brother.

“How many times have you listened to that?” Dean asked in a choked-off voice that made Sam’s hair on the back of his neck raise up in alarm. Here it was then.

Part 3