Chapter Text
Sam walked into the library just as Dean dropped a large, red book on the table and began leafing through it. Sam stopped next to his brother and hitched the duffel higher up on his shoulder. "Hey."
"Hey," Dean responded, barely glancing up.
Sam considered his brother carefully. "You catch any shut-eye last night?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nope," Dean said nonchalantly.
"Guess I'm driving then."
Dean looked up at that. "Driving where?"
Sam smiled slightly to himself. "Caught wind of a case online. A first grade teacher came home and killed her husband."
Dean returned his gaze to the book. “Well, maybe she snapped. Ankle biters can do that to you.”
Sam was a little surprised. Normally Dean would pounce on a case for less. Way less. “Dude, she pounded him into ground chuck.”
“So, what are you thinking?” asked Dean, sounding as if he couldn’t be less interested.
”Best guess—possession.”
Dean stood up and turned his back on Sam, walking over to a folder and starting to look through it. “Why don’t you go?”
Sam didn’t move for a second, regarding Dean with disbelief. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother turned down a case, if it had ever happened. But it had been four days since Dean had killed Magnus and Crowley had disappeared with the Blade, and Dean had been acting strange ever since. He was on edge, obsessive. All he had done since they got back was dig into the lore to try to find Abaddon and frankly, it wasn’t like him.
”Dean, look. I want to find Abaddon too, but we’ve been combing through this stuff for days.”
”Well, maybe we missed something,” Dean snapped.
”And maybe there are better ways to spend our time than just spin our—“
Dean spun around, shouting, “Maybe we don’t have time!”
Sam didn’t flinch. “What’s up with you?”
Dean pulled a paper out of folder and started to read it. Or at least pretended to. “Nothing,” he said.
Sam walked over to Dean. “Yeah? See, because ever since you killed Magnus, you’ve been acting...sort of...obsessed.”
What an understatement.
Dean turned to face Sam. “Well, maybe because I want an end to all this. Maybe because if we find Abaddon, then Crowley ponies up the First Blade, and we kill her and him both. So, what you call being obsessed, I call doing my job,” Dean said, voice low and impatient.
Alright, so Dean was pissed. “Okay, um... I get it, Dean. I’m just checking in.” Which is something he wouldn’t have even considered doing a month ago. How things had changed.
Dean avoided his gaze. “I’m fine.”
Sam, of course, didn’t believe him. But he nodded anyway. “Alright. Hit me up if you find anything.”
Sam left the library and headed to the garage. He had a strange feeling that even though he was the one heading out to hunt, Dean was the one in danger.
Sam called Dean after asking the Sheriff some questions about the murder. He picked up on the third ring.
”How’s Mrs. Manson doing?” Dean asked.
”Dead. She hung herself in her cell.”
”Lovely. The demon smoke out?”
”If it was a demon. I mean, there was no sulfur, no EMF anywhere. And everyone who saw her just before she gutted her husband said she was totally fine.”
”What are you still doing there? Sounds like a case of the crazies to me.”
”Well, if nothing kicks up by morning, I’m out of here. How’s the research going?”
”It’s...going.” Sam frowned. There was something off in Dean’s voice, like he was trying too hard to be interested, or maybe not trying hard enough. He had a sneaking suspicion that his brother had been doing more drinking than research.
“Alright. Well, uh...good luck.” Dean hung up, and Sam was left with a dial tone and a fair amount of concern.
Sam was sitting in the police station reading through case files when he called Dean again. This time it took Dean five rings to pick up, which was beyond strange for his brother.
”Hey.”
”Well, that took forever.” Come on, Dean. What’s going on?
“Well, I’m working. You got anything?”
Sam outlined the case, and put together that the murderers must have been soulless. But throughout the conversation Dean sounded...flat. Detached. Like he was covering something up. Dean said he was getting close with his research, but Sam didn’t need to see his face to tell that his brother was lying. Again he got the strange feeling that Dean was in more danger than he was.
Sam leaned back in his chair, furrowing his brow.
Something was wrong.