Chapter Text
The sound of car wheels on the road, blaring music with open windows. Isn’t this what life was supposed to be like?
In all honesty, it had been a long time since they had worked on an ordinary case, but Dean was glad to get back to his roots finally. To remember a time when Sam wasn’t quite so long-haired, and the Impala hadn’t yet been rebuilt a thousand times.
Sam was beginning to stir awake, thanks to the music being cranked up for the chorus.
“Tell me more about this case you found,” Dean asked when Sam was fully awake.
“Right, three deaths in the past six months, all at this same summer camp that was apparently shut down in 2005…” He reached for the paper he had written all the information on. Slightly haphazardly, given the mess of handwriting.
“Haunted summer camp. I feel like I’m in some cheap teenage horror film. What else?”
“Well, the weird bit… Six teenagers walk in on a dare, the ghost kills one of them, and–get this–lets the other five go.”
“Are you sure? Sammy, ghosts don’t just let people go randomly.”
“Well, apparently this one did.”
“Well, maybe it’s not a case.”
That would be a disappointment. Dean was desperate for a good ganking of a bad guy. Maybe there would even be a damsel in distress he could save, he thought with the slightest smirk on his face.
“Yeah, maybe. But we should definitely check it out. Birchwood isn’t too far from here anyway. It’s the next left here.”
Dean’s jaw locked in place. He was focused on the road completely, not noticing as the exit he was meant to take disappeared behind him.
“You just missed the turn,” Sam said, confused. Dean never missed turns. He turned to look at them and saw Dean’s expression as he stared at the road.
“Dean, are you feeling okay?” Sam asked, genuine concern piquing in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…Nothing. It’s nothing. How much further?”
Dean didn’t hear what Sam said; he didn’t need to. He knew they were close.
Soon enough, he was staring at that sign and feeling seventeen years old.
“Should we walk around and check the place out? Get a good idea before we start to interview victims?” Sam asked casually.
Dean didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He could barely even hear his brother’s voice over the sound his brain was making, and the sound of his heart threatening to break out of his ribs.
The place was run-down, but it still showed off just the same. Boasted its high reformation percentages, all the happy lives their campers went on to live. Happy, married lives. ‘Happy, married lives that your child could live if they put in enough effort. Enough effort to be corrected.’ The voice came back to him.
“Dean? Did you hear me?”
It was all he could do to nod, fearing what he might say if he opened his mouth.
Sam knew something was wrong when he stepped out of the car. When he noticed how Dean had to force himself to open the car door. He knew, but he didn’t say anything.
It was an even bigger sign when he didn’t run in, guns blazing, to a case he was so looking forward to. He just stared; careful, calculating.
“Most of the incidents happened in the dorms. Should we walk through there and loop back around to the car? See if there’s anything obvious lying around.”
“Yeah, okay.” Dean’s voice was quiet. Eerily quiet. Any trace of that macho-hyper masculine man was gone. Sam didn’t like it.
They began to walk, Dean trailing slightly behind Sam; his eyes not leaving the ground.
They went to the girls' dorms first. There was a poster on the wall listing all the rules. Dean only skimmed a few: no talking after nine pm, no physical contact with other campers. Someone had stuck a wad of gum in the centre of the poster. A part of Dean took joy in seeing that.
They searched through all the drawers and under all the beds. Finding nothing, they walked into the boys’ dorm rooms.
Dean’s heart was attempting anything to make himself calm down, to go to his ‘happy place’ or whatever those saps on TV would talk about. It didn’t work. Being in that dorm room again opened the floodgates to his memories. It was just the same as before. Bunk beds arranged in neat patterns, so you could hear every creak as someone moved in their sleep. Next to each bed was a small set of drawers with chipping paint rather than the bright, flawless design they had previously.
Dean’s eyes immediately searched for his old bed. And then went on to look for…He stopped himself halfway through.
It’s all in the past now. It’s no good trying to remember these days. He didn’t want to.
Sam began searching through everything, so Dean forced himself to as well. He wasn’t really searching, more moving his hands and body through different parts of the dorm. Like a mechanism, a robot.
“Did you find anything?” Sam asked from across the room.
“No, just a bunch of empty drawers and dusty old mattresses. Did you?”
“No. We should probably get out of here anyway. The ghost wasn’t sighted anywhere else.” Sam only suggested in the hopes it would calm his brother down a bit. And it did.
Dean allowed a sigh of relief to escape him. Sam’s shoulders relaxed when he noticed some of the fear leave.
“Yeah, okay.”
Sam began to make a beeline for the door, but Dean didn’t move.
“Sam, you go. I’ll catch up–I just want to check something first.”
“Okay. I’ll see you outside.”
And he was all alone in the dorm again.
He walked over to a set of drawers on the other side of the room and opened the first drawer.
Empty.
No surprise there. Empty like all the others. Any remnant of him would be gone from the room. He slammed the door shut with anger, its sound echoing off all the walls.
As he took a step away, he remembered. Quickly running back and pulling the top drawer open and out of its place, flipping it over. Taped on it was an old envelope. Dean carefully undid the tape, praying he didn’t rip the paper or the contents inside.
Inside the envelope was an old photo. It was slightly discoloured, but it was the same photo he was looking for.
He didn’t think he would ever see this again. And now he did, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
It was a candid photo taken by someone he could no longer remember. It featured a very young version of him, a version with not nearly so many scars. His young self was looking at someone else in the photo. A man about his age, with dark brown hair and the kindest brown eyes you’ll ever see. They caught the light in the midday sun and seemed to glow as he looked at Dean.
They were standing close, with their shoulders touching. Someone must’ve said something funny, because they were both laughing, and Dean had a hand placed on his arm.
A smile began to creep onto his face as he looked at the photo. He was still lost in thought when Sam knocked on the door.
The photo was stuffed in his pocket, but Dean still avoided creasing it at all costs.
“Yeah, I’m on my way out.”
~~~
“So, did you find what you were looking for?” Sam asked when they were back in the Impala.
“No, but it’s okay. It wasn’t too important or anything.” Dean responded simply.
“Okay… You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Dean was gripping the steering wheel and keeping his eyes on the road.
“I know.”