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Love was selective, Sam knew this. He also knew that his love for Dean went beyond what was considered to be normal brotherly love. At the age of seven, he’d picked a handful of wildflowers and had proudly presented them to Dean, not caring that he and his little and broken family didn’t have a home to call their own. The rundown motel with its peeling paint and missing roofing tiles in spots wasn’t much to look at, but it offered safety in a sea of unknown for Sam and his brother. He’d spotted the wildflowers while he’d been looking out the rear window of the Impala and had snuck outside when Dean had been in the bathroom. It was a calculated move, he knew that, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking that they would be perfect for Dean.
With the wilting wildflowers clutched in his right hand, he’d thrust them at Dean. “These are for you, Dean,” he’d announced happily, beaming up at his older brother proudly. He could feel the anticipation ramping up within his body while he stood there waiting for Dean to accept his gift.
Dean had looked at the wildflowers in confusion before reaching out for them, skeptically accepting the offering. “Flowers? Why’d you pick flowers for me?” he’d asked, his brow wrinkled as he looked down at the wildflowers Sam had given him.
“Because I love you, and you’re supposed to give flowers to the person you love,” Sam had announced, so sure of himself and his feelings for his brother. He’d seen the flower commercials on TV, and while the wildflowers weren’t store-bought, they were heartfelt.
“Oh… Um… Okay, thanks, Sammy. But… Flowers…” Dean murmured, looking down at the flowers still clutched in his hand, a funny feeling developing in his chest while he stood there.
“I’m gonna marry you,” Sam proclaimed, smiling a dimpled smile at Dean. “When we’re older… We’re gonna live together and be happy and married.”
“Sam, you can’t marry me,” Dean protested, still holding onto the wilting wildflowers, not willing to let go of them or give them back. Sam had picked them for him after all, and anything his brother gave him was something he treasured.
“Why?” Sam asked, the dimpled smile slipping from his face to be replaced by a frown as he tried to make sense of Dean’s refusal to marry him. “You love me, and I love you, so why can’t I marry you?” he demanded, unwilling to give up on his intention to marry his brother when they were older.
“Because, Sam, we’re brothers, and brothers can’t marry each other,” Dean explained softly, doing his best not to hurt his brother’s feelings. “But the flowers are pretty. Thanks,” he said before turning around to make his way into the kitchenette of their motel room to make himself and Sam something to eat, placing the flowers in water to try and keep them alive for at least a little while longer.
“That’s not fair,” Sam grumbled at Dean’s back, unwilling to accept his brother’s answer at face value and determined to prove Dean wrong. Throughout the rest of his childhood and teenage years, he couldn’t seem to let go of his feelings for Dean. No, instead, they only intensified, and he had no way to deal with them. Dean was a red-blooded boy who had grown into a man right before his eyes, and his desire for his brother, as wrong as it was, had never left him. It made things strained between him and Dean at times, and that, in turn, made his relationship with their father volatile. More than once, he and the elder Winchester had snapped at each other, nearly coming to blows with Dean stepping in between them to be the peacekeeper, and their strained relationship had hit the boiling point when he was offered a way out of his unrequited love for Dean with a full scholarship to Stanford. He had seen the hurt on Dean’s face when he’d shown his brother the letter congratulating him on his acceptance to the prestigious university.
“You’re not leaving…” Dean started to say, wide-eyed as he looked down at the acceptance letter, too afraid to look up at Sam because he already knew his brother’s answer. Sam had always dreamed about living a normal life, a life that didn’t involve hunting and the supernatural, or him. Sam couldn’t be leaving him, not really. His mind kept screaming that this was just some elaborate joke his brother was playing on him, yet in his heart, which was breaking in a way he never thought possible, he knew this wasn’t a prank; Sam was leaving him.
“Yeah, Dean, I am. I got a full ride. I’m going,” Sam announced, shoving his meager belongings into his duffel bag and backpack, fighting back his tears when his brother didn’t ask him to stay, because he would have. He would stay if Dean told him to. Grabbing the acceptance letter from his brother, he shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m leaving tonight. I can’t live like this anymore.” What he really meant was that he couldn’t live his life watching Dean screw around with the flavor of the moment. His heart couldn’t take it. So, he jumped at the chance to distance himself from the one person who had his heart, so he might have a chance at living his life. It wouldn’t be the life he’d envisioned for himself since he was a little boy, but it would be a life he’d created for himself.
“You take care of yourself,” Dean finally said, pulling Sam in for a hug. “Remember everything I taught you. You stay safe, and you call me if you need anything.”
Sam leaned into the hug, molding himself around Dean. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to commit this moment between him and his brother to memory; the feeling of Dean pressed against him, the smell of his brother’s skin and hair, a combination of motor oil, the cheap motel soap and shampoo, and the underlying distinctive smell that was Dean underneath it all. He breathed in deeply and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, fighting back the urge to kiss along his brother’s neck and along Dean’s jaw until he reached his brother’s pink and plush lips, wanting to kiss Dean until they were both left dizzy and panting for air. Knowing that he couldn’t, he slowly pulled away from Dean, smiling sadly at his brother before he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jacket and looked away, focusing on anything in the rundown motel room other than Dean.
Walking away from Dean had been the hardest thing Sam had done in his short life, and it hurt more than he could have ever imagined. Putting distance between himself and Dean had been what he needed, or so he’d thought, yet while he lay in his bed at night in his dorm room, he ached for his brother. He found that he couldn’t sleep without the sound of Dean’s breathing filling the confines of his room; the room was either too silent or too loud, filled with the sounds of others walking by or just being in their dorm rooms. While those sounds alerted him to the presence of others around him, they weren’t the familiar and missed sounds that Dean made. They weren’t what he needed or wanted to hear. He had known before leaving that he was tied to Dean, probably obsessed with his brother, but Dean’s absence only served to drive home that he’d lost his heart to his brother, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Meeting Jess had been a blessing and a curse. She was pretty and sweet, but not someone Sam had been in love with. Jess was just someone he could distract himself with, helping to ease the ache in his chest and the heartbreak he couldn’t seem to handle. When he thought about Dean, which was a lot, it felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest, and as much as he tried to love Jess, there just wasn’t any room in his heart for her. How could there be when he’d given his heart to his brother years ago?
Sam had been sitting at the kitchen table with his books scattered around him, his attention on his laptop and not on the tall, pretty woman he was living with and supposed to be in a committed relationship with. He hadn’t heard a word Jess was saying to him, at least not until she planted her hands, palms down, firmly on the table. “What… Huh?” he mumbled in confusion, raising his head to look up at Jess.
Rolling her eyes, Jess sighed. “You haven’t been listening to me… Again,” she accused before pulling out the empty chair across from Sam and plopping down into it. “Sam, what am I to you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, his face scrunching up in contemplation as he tried to make sense of Jess’s question.
“If you have to ask, then…” Jess raised her hands, shaking them heavenward as if she was searching for some divine intervention that was never going to happen. “Sam, this…” She waved her hands between herself and him. “This… Us… It’s just not working out. Your heart’s just not in it. We can remain friends… Live together as roommates, but us as a couple…” She shook her head. “It’s not working out. I deserve someone who’s going to put me first. Your heart clearly belongs to someone else. I think you need to work that out, talk to whoever you’re hung up on, and see if you and she… Or he… Can work it out, because until you do, you’re never gonna be able to love anyone else.”
Sam would have laughed if he hadn’t thought that action might drive Jess away from him, and he needed a friend. He might not be able to tell his former girlfriend who his heart belonged to, but he could at least agree with her. Reaching across the table, he placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry,” he said softly; his words were heartfelt because he was sorry. He'd tried to love her, but had failed miserably at it. “I never meant to… I tried…” The rest of his apology died on his lips because there was no way he could ever apologize for not loving Jess the way she deserved to be loved. He couldn’t, not with his heart the way it was wrapped around Dean.
“I know you did,” Jess responded, resting her free hand on Sam’s and patting it. “My advice, for what it’s worth, is to try harder with whoever it is that already has your heart.”
That night, while Sam lay in bed, he thought about Jess’s words, subconsciously rubbing his right hand over his chest, wishing he could find a way to fix the mess he was in, wishing for Dean to love him the way he loved his brother. He knew there was no way Dean would ever feel for him the way he felt for his brother; Dean had told him as much when he had been seven, and his brother had been eleven. Yet, he still hoped, and when that hope had burned a hole in his chest, he’d run as far from his brother as he could, but it never seemed far enough.
But it seemed that the universe had other plans for Sam, dropping Dean back into his life. He had grudgingly, at least he’d told himself that was how it had played out, dropped everything to go on a road trip with his brother to search for their father. Those words, “Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days,” spoken by Dean had changed the trajectory of his carefully planned out life. He’d thrown away his college life and any life he’d thought of having for himself in favor of being with Dean, never looking back, even though he knew what the outcome would be. He’d pine for Dean while his brother remained clueless, same as it had been before he’d left for Stanford, same as it would be until the day he took his last breath.
He’d deal with his feelings, or so Sam thought. Well, he rather hoped he’d be able to deal with his feelings, but just as the universe had dropped Dean into his life again, it ripped off the bandage holding his heart together. “Dean,” he huffed when his brother pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the nearest bar. The last thing he wanted after their latest salt and burn was to sit in some bar in New Orleans, Louisiana, and watch Dean drink and flirt with any of the women inside. What he wanted was Dean’s full attention on him, and if they returned to their motel room, he’d have it.
“Oh, come on, Sammy. We’ll have a few beers, blow off some steam…” Dean teased, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother. “You know, see what the locals have to offer.” Not waiting for Sam’s response, he shouldered open the driver’s side door, letting the humid night air wash over him before making his way to the bar’s front door and inside.
Sam grimaced in disgust, feeling the brittle shards of his broken heart crack a little more as he grudgingly followed Dean from the Impala and into the bar. Sliding into one of the cracked vinyl booths, he watched while Dean made his way to the bar. Tilting his head backward, he let his eyes slip closed, a risky move. He knew that, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care, hoping that maybe someone might put a knife to his neck and end his misery.
“Oh, chéri, you got it bad.”
The sound of a woman’s voice, rich with a French flair to it, startled Sam, making him jump and sit up. Opening his eyes, he took in the woman standing next to the booth. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the low light of the bar. Her dark eyes shone with an inner light he knew he no longer had within himself, and her red-painted lips were parted in a beguiling smile. Her dark, nearly jet black long hair had been braided into tiny braids and wrapped into a bulky bun on top of her head, held in place by a silver hair stick with a crescent moon dangling from the tip poking out of the bun. She was stunning, and for a moment, he wished he could lose himself in her. “Sorry… What?” he murmured, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn from his embarrassment.
“I said, chéri, you got it bad.” The woman looked from Sam to the bar that Dean was leaning a hip against, a beer in one hand and a flirty smile on his face, which was directed at the female bartender and then back at the tall, lanky man, who was just coming into his own, sitting in the booth alone and brooding.
“What… What do you mean?”
“Dear Lord,” the woman muttered, turning her face heavenward and shaking her head. “This boy… He need your help… Or maybe you don’t want no help.” She started to move away, making her way toward the back of the bar.
Wanting to know more, Sam got to his feet and followed the woman, abandoning the booth and his brother. “Wait,” he called out, following the woman out of the bar, the humid New Orleans air smacking him in the face, making it hard for him to pull in a full breath. “What did you mean back there?” he asked, watching as the woman turned back to him, smiling widely at him.
“You got a heart that belongs to another. Anyone who looks at you can see that,” she announced, pointing at Sam’s chest. “Problem is, he don’t see that, do he?”
Sam blinked at the woman standing before him, wondering how this woman, a stranger, had figured him out so easily in just a matter of moments. “How?” he started to ask, stopping when she held up a hand.
“You reek of heartbreak and longing, that’s how,” she answered, placing her hands on her hips, the gold and silver bracelets adorning her wrists jingling with her movements. “But I can help you with this, chéri.”
“How?” Sam asked, taking a step closer to the woman. The need to know how this woman could possibly help him fueled his curiosity and canceled out his self-preservation instincts.
“You come on with me, chéri, and find out.” She beckoned for Sam to follow her before turning away, the skirt of her red dress swishing around her legs, the soles of her silver sandals tapping against the ground, leading him down the cracked sidewalk lined by dusty red brick one-story buildings, stopping at one that was slanted and seemed as if it might topple over if hit by a strong breeze. “Come on, in here,” she urged, pulling open a white screen door that creaked loudly in the silence of the night. Stepping inside, she disappeared from Sam's sight. “Well, come on, chéri. The night ain’t gettin’ any younger, and neither are you or me,” she called out from the darkness, waiting for Sam to follow her inside.
With a deep breath, Sam followed the woman inside, wincing at the creaking door that seemed to split the quiet of the night. Once inside, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the candlelight illuminating the small room he and the woman were standing in. “What is this place?” he asked, turning in a circle so he could take in the shelves lining the walls, some covering the windows, and some filled with jars, and the long wooden table that had seen better days, which the woman was standing next to. In each corner of the room, there was a tall, black metal candelabra caked with dried wax, with several white burning candles adhered to it. The flames flickered, seemingly dancing on a breeze that he didn’t feel, not with how humid the air was.
“This…” the woman said, spreading her hands out, motioning to the room they were standing in. “This, chéri, is my place. It’s where the magic happens, and the spirits answer those in need.”
“Magic,” Sam repeated, taking a step backward, ready to turn and walk out of the building he’d stumbled into. “You’re a…” He shook his head, afraid to utter the word, fearing he might insult the woman.
“Ah, yes…” the woman flashed Sam a smile. “You know… You can say the word… Priestess. I work with the spirits, and they let me know you need my help.”
“And what’s it gonna cost me?” Sam asked, stepping forward and closing the distance between himself and the woman smiling at him. There was a part of his brain that screamed at him to run, to leave, get as far away from her and whatever she was offering him, yet he found himself drawn to her. He wanted her help. He wanted to fix what was broken within him. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Mama Céleste…”
“Céleste,” Sam repeated. “It means heavenly.”
“And from the heavens I will help you, chéri.” Céleste flashed Sam a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.
“Sam, my name is Sam,” Sam offered, and he heaved a heavy sigh before asking, “How can you help me?”
“A chant or what you might call a prayer offered to the spirits, a drop of blood, a few herbs burned for good measure, and you’ll be right as rain,” Céleste assured Sam. “All you gotta do is trust me.”
“And that’s all it’ll take to fix me… To fix my broken heart?”
“Unless you want me to curse that boy.” Céleste arched an eyebrow at Sam and then offered, “Or I could make him fall in love with you, if that’s what you wanted. That’ll take little more doin’ and somethin’ from him, but I could…”
“No!” Clearing his throat, Sam shook his head. “No… If he doesn’t love me… Just fix me… Take away my broken heart.”
“That I can do,” Céleste offered, setting a copper bowl on the table between them.
Sam watched as Céleste moved around the room, singing a song he didn’t recognize and in a language he really didn’t understand, knowing it wasn’t Latin or French, but something that sounded so familiar to him, collecting a few herbs from the unlabeled jars, hoping that she knew what she was doing. He peered into the bowl, trying to figure out what herbs she was using, unfamiliar as they were to him, and he had a feeling that asking her would be frowned upon.
“Now that the herbs have been gathered, a drop of your blood is required,” Céleste said, holding out her hand to him.
“You never answered my question,” Sam pointed out.
“And what question is that, Sam?” Céleste asked, tilting her head to the side and smiling up at Sam.
“What’s this gonna cost me?” Sam knew everything came with a price, and while he had no idea what the price would be to take away his broken heart, he still hadn’t said no. He was still standing in a room that Dean had no idea he was in. He felt the familiar ache in his chest at the thought of Dean, and he found himself no longer caring what the cost would be. All he wanted was his heartache to be erased. Slowly, he offered Céleste his hand, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine at how cold her touch was.
“Everything and nothing,” Céleste whispered. “Are you willing to offer everything and nothing to be rid of that broken heart of yours?” Before Sam could back out or even ask another question, she picked up a small paring knife from the table and sliced the blade across his left ring finger. “Blood closest to your heart,” she explained, turning Sam’s hand over to let a few drops of his blood drip into the bowl. Letting the knife clatter onto the table, she let go of Sam's hand, picked up a match, and struck it against the bowl. She let the lit match drop from her fingers into the bowl, chanting as the herbs and Sam’s blood caught fire, a puff of black smoke billowing up. At the sound of a sizzling crack coming from within the bowl, she stepped back. With a smile, she looked at Sam. “It is done. Your broken heart is no more.” Pushing the bowl aside, she placed her hands on the table. “You will feel nothing when it comes to this boy.” She flashed Sam a cold and calculating smile as he stumbled away from her on shaking legs. “Your time is short now, chéri. The only way to fix what has been done is for that boy to kiss you. Good luck!” she called out, her laughter a cackle that broke the silence that had settled over the room.
As if in a fog, Sam stumbled out of the building and onto the sidewalk. He shook his head, trying to clear it, stumbling along until he reached the bar’s parking lot, thankful to see that the Impala was still parked where Dean had left it. Dean… He shook his head again… Something was missing, yet he couldn’t figure out what. Making his way to the Impala, he leaned against the frame, hoping things would right themselves, trying to remember where he’d been, yet nothing made sense. He was about to make his way back inside when the bar’s front door was pushed open, and Dean stalked out.
“Sam! Where the hell have you been?” Dean demanded, holding up his cell phone. “What? Is your phone not working? What, you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you were leaving? And where the hell did you go anyway?”
“Huh?” Sam asked, blinking back the fog trying to cloud his mind. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he murmured, trying to think back on where he’d just come from, his mind drawing a blank. All he knew was that the familiar ache that had taken up residence in his chest when it came to Dean wasn’t there. His broken heart was gone… As if magically fixed… “Céleste,” he whispered, trying to grasp an elusive memory that refused to play out. Everything was hazy, his memories just out of reach, and the only thing he had to show for the missing time was a cut on his left ring finger that he had no memory of how it had happened.
“Get in the car, Sam. You can sleep it off,” Dean huffed as he slid behind the steering wheel, waiting for Sam to take his spot in the passenger’s seat before he started the engine and drove off, putting New Orleans in the rear view mirror.
The first inkling that something was wrong with him had been that night a week ago, outside the bar in New Orleans. Whenever Sam tried to remember that night, what had happened between following Dean inside and finding himself outside by the Impala was hazy at best. He knew something had taken place, but he couldn’t seem to figure out just what it was. Whatever had happened to him seemed to have helped him with his heartbreak. Thinking about Dean no longer hurt him at all. When he thought about his brother being with someone else, he felt… Nothing. It was as if his feelings for Dean had been muffled to the point of being nonexistent. It was freeing in a way he hadn’t expected and also a little disconcerting because where had those feelings gone? He’d grown up with them; they were a part of him and now… Well, nothing. It was as if he’d been hollowed out.
“You wanna grab a bite to eat?” Dean asked, glancing over at Sam, who had his eyes closed and his head pressed against the passenger’s side window.
“Whatever,” Sam huffed, not bothering to open his eyes while he took an internal inventory of himself. The sound of Dean’s voice used to send a shiver up his spine. Now there was nothing. He was grateful that he could now function without his crippling heartbreak over Dean, feeling as if he could be around his brother without breaking down or begging Dean to see him, love him, want him. Yet he knew something wasn’t right. It was the feeling of nothingness that frightened him. All those feelings he used to have were gone, snuffed out as if they had been a candle flame that had been blown out, and he’d been left with this version of himself that was him but not him.
“What’s with you?” Dean grumbled. “Ever since New Orleans…” He shook his head, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say to his brother.
“What?” Sam asked, keeping his eyes closed, letting the whiskey-smooth sound of Dean’s voice wash over him, hoping for some type of reaction.
“You haven’t been yourself. It’s like…” Dean gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t know. You’re just different.”
Shrugging, Sam opened his eyes and sat up, righting himself in the passenger seat. “Guess maybe I changed… Grew up…”
Dean grunted in response as he pulled the car into the parking lot of an all-night diner. Cutting the Impala’s engine, he pocketed the keys and then shifted in his seat so he was now facing Sam. “You feeling okay?” he asked, reaching out to place his hand on Sam’s forehead, checking to see if his brother might be feverish. He knew the act wasn’t foolproof, but he’d been doing that since they were kids, and it just felt natural.
Sam braced himself for the swooping of his belly that happened every time Dean touched him. Only this time, nothing happened. This time, his heart didn’t beat faster. His breath didn’t catch in his throat as it normally did whenever Dean was this close to him. There was nothing. No increased breathing, no rapid heartbeat, no desire to kiss Dean, no longing. Nothing. Feigning annoyance, he swatted Dean’s hand away. “Cut it out. I’m not a kid anymore, and I’m fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes, recalling that just a week ago, he would have done anything to feel Dean’s hand on him, or his brother’s lips, or any part of Dean’s body against his. That had been the second inkling that something wasn’t right, yet he remained silent. Since he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong with him, he didn’t see a reason to voice any concern to Dean.
Dean huffed in response before pushing open the car door and stepping out onto the diner’s parking lot’s dusty asphalt. “You comin’?” he called over his shoulder as he made his way over to the diner’s glass and metal door, pausing long enough for Sam to catch up to him before pushing the door open. His and Sam’s arrival was announced by the ding of the bell over the door.
“Sit anywhere,” a woman called out from behind the gleaming chrome counter. “I’ll be right with you.” She turned her attention back to the salt and pepper shakers she’d been filling before Sam and Dean had walked in.
“Thanks,” Dean responded, flashing a smile at their soon-to-be waitress, and then led Sam over to a booth that was chrome-colored with lumpy and patched green vinyl bench seats. “This place isn’t too bad,” he commented, waiting for Sam to sit down.
“Yeah, I guess,” Sam responded, sliding onto the bench seat opposite Dean, their knees knocking against each other’s with their legs fighting for room in the cramped space. Again, he found himself waiting for that giddy feeling that always shot through his body when he and Dean were this close, so close that at times it was hard to distinguish where he stopped, and Dean started. Yet there was nothing. He felt other emotions, but when it came to his brother, there was nothing; no jealousy, no longing… Not even love.
“Sorry for the wait,” the waitress called out as she approached their booth. “What can I get you, boys?”
Tilting his head, Sam watched as Dean smiled at their waitress, feeling nothing but detachment as his brother ordered, not caring that Dean had ordered for him as well as himself. He was sure he should have felt something… Annoyance, at least, from Dean taking the lead, but he didn’t.
“You got it, sweetie!” the waitress responded in a chipper tone before moving off to place their orders.
“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on with you?” Dean urged, leaning in closer to Sam.
“Nothing… There’s nothing to tell because nothing’s going on with me,” Sam answered, looking down at his left ring finger and the healing cut. He willed the memory of how he’d gotten cut to the forefront of his mind, only to slump back against the green vinyl seat in defeat when nothing popped up.
“Here you are!” the waitress chirped as she placed two steaming mugs of black coffee down on the table, followed by a chicken Caesar salad for Sam and a bacon cheeseburger with French fries for Dean. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Not waiting for either to respond, she walked off to resume her earlier task.
“You gonna eat?” Dean asked, watching as Sam pushed his food around with his fork.
“Huh?” Sam asked, looking up at Dean in confusion, wondering where his appetite had disappeared to. He knew he needed to eat to survive, but he just couldn’t seem to find interest in food. “I’m…” He shrugged, trying to figure out what to say to Dean. “I guess I’m just not that hungry.”
“Sam,” Dean responded, his brother’s name sounding more like a sigh than anything else. “You haven’t eaten in days… Not really. All you do is this.” He waved a hand at Sam’s plate and the fork held tightly in his brother’s right hand.
“What?” Sam asked, placing the fork down on the table. “What am I doing?”
“Just pushing your food around with your fork.” Dean pointed at Sam’s hand and then his brother’s plate, making his point.
“I told you… I’m just not that hungry,” Sam responded, annoyed that Dean was treating him like a child, yet he knew his brother was only concerned for his well-being. That was the third inkling that something just wasn’t right with him, yet he remained quiet because he couldn’t put it into words that something was wrong. “Are you done?” he asked, deflecting and turning the conversation back on Dean. ”’Cause I wanna head back to the motel and take a shower.”
Balling his napkin up, Dean tossed it onto his plate and motioned for their waitress. “Can we get the check?” he asked when she approached their table.
Eyeing Sam’s uneaten food, the waitress looked concerned, but nodded. “Sure thing.” Pulling her receipt pad out of her apron pocket, she tore off their check and slid it toward Dean. “No rush,” she said before making her way over to the register, where Dean joined her, paying for their meal and leaving her a generous tip.
“Come on,” Dean said wearily, leading Sam over to the Impala to make the short drive back to their motel room. He could tell something was wrong with his brother, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Sam looked the same, but wasn’t acting like himself. He knew his brother hadn’t been replaced by a shifter, not after checking Sam’s temperature. The ring he wore on his right hand was made from solid silver, and Sam hadn’t reacted to the touch of the silver against his skin. That at least offered him some comfort. He would just have to watch Sam for any signs and hope that he could figure it out.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam announced once he was inside their motel room. Not waiting for Dean to respond, he grabbed his duffel bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Tossing his duffel bag onto the bathroom floor, he kicked off his shoes and then pulled off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor when he caught a look at himself in the mirror. In the middle of his chest was an uneven black spot, almost an inch in diameter, with black tendrils branching outward. Bringing his right hand to the spot, he poked at it, feeling nothing, almost mesmerized by it, before he rubbed his fingers over it, thinking he’d somehow gotten black ink splashed on his skin. When that didn’t work, he reached out and turned the faucet on, splashing water on his chest. “What… What’s going on?” he asked the empty room, keeping his eyes on his reflection in the mirror, his eyes trained on his chest and the inky black spot that seemed to grow, spreading outward across his skin while he watched. Seeing that, he stumbled backward, his back hitting the closed bathroom door with a thud, realizing that what was wrong with him was tied to whatever was happening to him now. He was so focused on his thoughts and his image in the mirror that he didn’t notice Dean pounding on the bathroom door or his brother trying to push it open until he felt his brother pushing against the door to gain access to the bathroom.
“Sam!” Dean called out, frantic when he heard his brother’s muffled voice and then the sound of Sam slamming against the closed bathroom door. When his brother didn’t answer him, he tried to open the bathroom door to get to Sam, finally gaining access to the small room when the weight holding it closed seemed to ease, allowing him to shoulder open the bathroom door. “Sam!” he called out again, his eyes searching the small room for any sign of danger to his brother’s safety. Seeing none, he turned toward Sam, who was huddled against the sink with his hands clasped against his chest. “Sam?” Hearing the running water, he reached behind his brother and turned it off before reaching out to cup Sam’s face and ask, “You okay?”
“Dean… I think… I think there’s something wrong with me,” Sam stammered, dropping his hands to his sides, letting his brother see his chest and the black spot that seemed to be spreading across his chest.
“Sam… What… What’s that?” Dean asked, his eyes widening in surprise when he looked at the black mark in the middle of his brother’s chest. The inky black mark resembled a misshapen heart, one that looked almost like it had been pulled in different directions, leaving it with hard angles that seemed to branch off, inching across Sam’s skin. Without a second thought, he reached out with his right hand and touched the blackened area, hoping that he could rub it away. “What is this?” he questioned when the blackness remained, refusing to be wiped away.
“I don't know,” Sam whimpered, his fear amping up now that he saw the concerned look on his brother’s face.
“When did you notice it?”
“Just now… When I pulled my shirt off to take my shower… But it was smaller…” Sam’s voice sounded small and scared to his ears. He could feel his panic rising
Hearing how scared Sam sounded, Dean cupped the back of his brother’s head. “We’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“I don't know, but we will,” Dean assured his brother, knowing he would move heaven and earth to protect Sam. “Has anything strange happened to you in the past couple of days?”
“I think… I think it started when we were in New Orleans,” Sam admitted, holding up his left hand, showing Dean the nearly-healed pad of his ring finger. “I don’t know how I got this cut, but I know it happened there.”
“Get dressed, we leave in five,” Dean announced. “We’re heading back to New Orleans.” Not giving Sam a chance to protest, he turned and stalked out of the bathroom to pack what belongings they had before heading out to the Impala, where Sam joined him.
Sam folded himself into the front passenger seat. His door was barely closed before Dean peeled out of the motel parking lot, the Impala’s tires squealing on the asphalt, his brother obviously not caring if their departure woke anyone. “Dean,” he whispered, glancing over at his brother to see that Dean was gripping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to apologize for himself and for something he had no memory of.
“Don’t,” Dean gritted out, not wanting to hear Sam’s apology, because he wasn’t sure if there was anything for his brother to apologize for. What he knew for certain was that he had been charged with keeping Sam safe, and that hadn’t happened. “What do you remember?” he asked, hoping to figure out what had happened and how, so he could fix this… Whatever this was before time ran out, because he had a sinking feeling he and Sam were fighting against an invisible clock that was running down on his brother.
Closing his eyes, Sam willed his memories of that night to the surface, only to give up in frustration when nothing happened. Opening his eyes, he glanced at Dean to see that his brother was side-eyeing him while driving. “Nothing… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t,” Dean warned again. He turned his focus back to the road, unable to look at Sam. He couldn’t take the helplessness he knew he’d see in his brother’s eyes if he looked at Sam. “Just… Just get some sleep,” he murmured, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Pressing his foot down on the gas pedal, he urged the Impala forward, not caring that he was breaking the speed limit, ready to take anyone out who might try to get in his way of saving his brother. He just needed to figure out what was wrong with Sam and how to fix it.
Closing his eyes, Sam pushed away the sense of foreboding that was threatening to overwhelm him, letting the steady movement of the car lull him to sleep. When he woke next, it was to find that they had stopped for gas and snacks at a convenience store and that the sun was setting, painting the blue sky in shades of red and orange. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice hoarse from nonuse, his words slurred from sleep.
“We just crossed into Louisiana about twenty minutes ago,” Dean responded, sliding behind the wheel and placing the bag containing their snacks between them. “Grabbed you a few things. Thought you might be hungry.” He patted the bag and then turned his attention to Sam. “We should be back in the part of New Orleans where this all started in a few hours.”
“Wait… Did you say Louisiana?” Sam asked, blinking away his confusion. They had been staying at a motel in upstate New York when he’d realized he was in trouble. “How’s that even possible?”
“Sam, you’ve been asleep for a couple of days.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Sam questioned, his panic rising when he realized a few days had passed and he had no knowledge of that happening. “I could have driven… I could have given you a break.” He saw the state Dean was in; his brother looked tired with deep, dark circles under his eyes. Dean’s skin looked clammy, and his brother looked as if he might fall over if it wasn’t for the fact that he was sitting behind the wheel.
Pulling his eyes off of Sam, Dean started the car, the familiar roar of the Impala’s engine offering a soothing balm to his already frayed nerves. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there soon, and then we’ll figure things out. Fix you up,” he assured Sam, pulling onto the highway to finish the drive, not wanting to tell his brother that he’d tried waking Sam up several times, with each attempt being unsuccessful. He’d begun to fear the worst until he’d walked out of the convenience store and seen Sam sitting up with his eyes open. He’d nearly dropped the bag in his hand and doubled over in relief at that sight.
“We should get a room… You need a shower,” Sam pointed out when he saw the familiar territory of where he and Dean had last been before everything had changed, following it up, “And so do I.”
“Yeah…” Dean agreed, grudgingly. All he wanted was to get to the bottom of what was wrong with Sam, but he knew his brother was right. After driving nonstop for a few days, he was beginning to feel the effects, and a hot shower and a change of clothes were in order for both of them. Plus, he hadn’t dared to check to see if the mark on Sam’s chest had changed, too afraid to see that it had gotten worse. Now, as he pulled the Impala into a parking space at the motel they’d stayed at the last time, he was sure that if he were to look, he’d find that the black mark had spread. And he found that he was right; the mark on Sam’s chest had grown to the size of his brother’s closed fist, making the need to figure out what was wrong with Sam more important than it had been when they’d left upstate New York.
“What are we gonna do?” Sam asked, scared that Dean might abandon him, that his brother might figure he was a lost cause and take off. Looking up from the full-size bed he’d claimed as his own, he met Dean’s eyes. Again, he found himself searching for the familiar feeling that was missing, the one that had been so wrong, yet felt so right. It had been messed up to feel that way about Dean; he had been messed up to feel that way about his brother, and now, all he felt was nothing. It had to be a result of whatever had happened to him nearly two weeks ago.
“What we do best, hunt, find whatever did this to you, and kill it,” Dean responded firmly, his gaze never wavering from his brother, because he was going to kill whatever had hurt Sam; that was a given. For someone who had a few inches in height on him and several pounds of pure muscle making him bulkier in size, at that moment, Sam looked like a scared child, and he could feel his anger rising, the need to kill whatever it was that had hurt his brother nearly consuming him and pushing aside anything else he felt for Sam.
Swallowing around the knot forming in his throat, Sam nodded, a quick bob of his head to let Dean know that he was on board with that objective. For once, he couldn’t seem to find the words to object, finding Dean’s logic to be sound, because if this thing, whatever it might be, managed to do this to him, it stood to reason that it had done the very same thing to others. Just the thought of that made him shudder, seemingly dislodging the knot, so he was finally able to speak. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Dean hedged, watching Sam for any sign that his brother might throw up a defense as to why they should spare this thing.
“Yeah…” Sam nodded, getting to his feet. “Yeah, okay. I’m good with that plan.”
“Good.” Relief flooded Dean’s body. Sam was on board with his plan. Now, they just needed to find this thing, get it to tell them how to fix his brother, and then kill it. Simple enough. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Sam asked, following Dean out into the humid New Orleans’ night air, wanting nothing more than to turn back around and walk back into their dingy, rundown motel room. Their room was nothing special, just like all the others, with two full-sized beds, matching green and brown bedding that had seen better days, separated by a nightstand, a brown shag carpet that no one should walk barefoot across, and a bathroom that probably needed a deep cleaning, but at least it had air conditioning. The air outside suddenly felt oppressive to him, making it difficult to pull oxygen into his lungs, but Dean’s hand on his shoulder seemed to settle him, his brother steering him toward the Impala and urging him inside. The touch was grounding, and in the back of his mind, he recalled how he used to want Dean to touch him, and while the feeling of Dean’s hand on him was soothing, it didn’t elicit the same response it used to. Something was definitely broken in him, and he needed to fix whatever that was.
“Anything look familiar?” Dean asked once they exited the Impala, watching as Sam shrugged. He’d figured the best place to start was where things seemed to have fallen apart; at the bar.
“Yeah… I mean… It’s the same parking lot from nearly two weeks ago. I remember you driving us here,” Sam admitted once he was out of the car and standing in the parking lot.
“Okay, good. That’s a start,” Dean murmured, his gaze never wavering from his brother. “What else do you remember?”
“Following you inside.” Sam’s face scrunched up in contemplation as he tried to will those lost memories from that night to the surface. “You left me… You went to the bar and then…” He closed his eyes, letting his other senses take over. An image of him following something red down a cracked sidewalk flashed before his closed eyes. “Huh,” he gasped. Opening his eyes, he turned away from Dean and led his brother away from the Impala. He ignored Dean’s call to him until he stopped in front of a rundown, dusty, red brick building. Closing his eyes, he relaxed his shoulders, hoping that another forgotten image might come to him. The sound of creaking filled his mind, making him snap his eyes open to look around. Taking a step forward, he reached for the white screen door that creaked loudly when he pulled it open, disappearing inside. The room was familiar, yet different. Something wasn’t right, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it
“Sam,” Dean hissed. Pulling his knife from his back pocket, he followed his brother inside, blinking several times while his eyes adjusted to the flickering candlelight that the room was bathed in, the flames flickering against the encroaching darkness. He jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice speaking to them from the shadows.
“Ah, chéri, you’re back,” Céleste said, flashing both men a toothy smile. Her gaze landed on Sam, and she could see the change in the tall man, how Sam looked gaunt. “Ah, your time is running out, isn’t it?” she asked, the smile on her face dimming. Before she could say another word, she found herself being pinned against the wall with the older man pressing a knife to her throat.
“What did you do to my brother?” Dean demanded, furious that this woman might have hurt Sam, that something had happened to his brother on his watch. He had to fight against the urge to plunge the blade of his knife into the woman’s flesh and spill her blood.
“Mama Céleste,” Sam said, shocked that he somehow knew what to call the woman. Flashes of red swirled around his mind as he looked at the woman dressed in white. The last time he’d seen Céleste, she had been wearing a red dress, and the room hadn’t been empty as it was now. It had been filled with shelves and jars. There had been a long wooden table and candles.
“Nothin’ he didn’t agree to willingly,” Céleste challenged, smirking at Dean despite the knife that was pressed against her throat.
“Bullshit!” Dean raged, glaring at the woman he had cornered against the wall.
“Ask him yourself.”
“You’re lying… Sam would never…” Dean started, only to be cut off by the woman he had pinned against the wall.
“Wouldn’t he?” Céleste arched an eyebrow, challenging Dean to dispute her words.
“Dean… I… I think I did,” Sam stammered as he was hit with flashes of a forgotten memory, a memory that he had been trying desperately to remember. He remembered seeing Céleste in the bar and how she had spoken to him, said things to him that she couldn’t possibly know about him. He remembered getting up from the booth and following her outside, where he’d asked Céleste how she knew things about him, only to be surprised when she offered him her help with his broken heart and his longing for Dean. “My broken heart,” he whispered, his right hand instinctively rising to his chest to rub at the dark spot hiding underneath his T-shirt.
“She took advantage of you. For that, I’m gonna kill her,” Dean growled.
“Killing me ain’t gonna change a thing,” Céleste said, smiling sympathetically at Dean.
“Dean…” Sam called out, stepping closer to his brother so he could place a hand on Dean’s shoulder, feeling how tense his brother’s muscles were underneath his touch. “Dean… Don’t… Don’t kill her.”
“Sam… What? Why not?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off the woman he had pinned against the wall. All he wanted to do was save his brother and stab the woman, end her before she could do this to anyone else.
“Because she’s already dead.” At first, Sam wasn’t sure how he knew this about Céleste, but the longer he stood in the vacant, rundown room, the more of his memories from that first night he’d been there began to resurface. Céleste had seemed alive, but now, as he thought back on that night, he realized with clarity that he had been speaking with a ghost who had offered to help him. Without a second thought, he’d accepted her offer, wanting nothing more than to fix his broken heart. Yet, he hadn’t thought it through and had somehow offered himself up in the deal he’d struck with Céleste and the spirits she represented.
As if to prove Sam’s point, Céleste vanished in a puff of white smoke, leaving Dean to fall against the wall with a thud. “The fuck…” Dean growled, turning to face his brother, his eyes catching on the billowing white smoke that seemed to float in the air above their heads. “Son of a bitch!”
“See, I told you,” Céleste said, her voice filling the air as the white smoke danced on a non-existent breeze before it twisted and turned, reforming into the woman Sam and Dean had been speaking to moments before. “He accepted my help… The help of the spirits… There weren’t no forcing him to do nothin’ he don’t want to do. And I warned him of the price he’d paid…”
“Everything and nothing,” Sam supplied.
“How do we fix this?” Dean demanded, gripping the hilt of his blade despite knowing it was useless against the woman standing before them. “Fix him… Now!”
“Oh, chéri, I would if I could… If the spirits would allow it,” Céleste admitted sadly. “They might, but there’s always a price.”
“Then I’ll make them…” Dean started to say, about to warn the woman that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his brother.
“Oh, you foolish boy… Only he can do this. He’s the one who holds the key to his salvation. He gotta be the one to admit what he was looking for help with. He gotta be the one to tell his truth,” Céleste supplied, looking directly at Dean before turning her attention to Sam. “Then… It’s just a matter of you, Sam, being honest with yourself and the one you lost your heart to. That is the only way to set yourself free.”
“What do you mean he lost his heart?”
“Your brother… Is brokenhearted. The spirits sensed this and sent me to help him. I did. The spirits took away his feelings…” Céleste shrugged. “But the spirits, they decided a price needed to be paid. And for their help, the one Sam loves has to kiss him of their own free will. This love gotta be mutual.”
Instinctively, Sam placed his right hand over his chest. The price the spirits had exacted wasn’t just his feelings for his brother, but his life. “I can’t,” he whispered, looking away from Dean and Céleste.
“There’s gotta be somethin’... Somethin’ else you can do,” Dean demanded.
“There ain’t nothin’ else to be done. The spirits helped. They took away his pain. Sometimes they take more than they should. This time, they’re takin’ pity on your brother. They offered a solution. It’s up to Sam now,” Céleste stated before turning back into a puff of white smoke, rising and twirling in the air until she was no more.
Sam stood there feeling cornered, his worst fear coming to light, and he needed to make a decision: tell Dean how he felt or forfeit his life. Neither choice was appealing, but he knew he needed to make one.
“Come on, Sam. Just tell whoever it is how you feel.”
Shaking his head, Sam turned away from Dean. “It’s not that simple,” he whispered.
“Stop being so stubborn.”
“I can’t…” Sam bit down on his lower lip, stopping himself from telling Dean anything else.
“Sam, you can… Whoever it is… It’s worth telling them just so you stay alive,” Dean pleaded.
“Dean… They don’t feel the same way… Céleste said that the love’s gotta be mutual, and I’m pretty sure the person would never want me the way I want them. They’d be disgusted if they ever found out.”
“Damn it, Sam! You’re just gonna give up… You’re… You’re not even gonna try… They’d be damn lucky to have you…”
Turning back to Dean, Sam blurted out, “It’s you! Dean, it’s you. I’m in love with you!” He flinched when Dean took a step closer to him, waiting for the punch from his brother that never came. Instead, he found himself being pulled down into a kiss, one that started chastely but soon turned heated, leaving them both panting for air as his feelings for Dean came rushing back.
“Problem solved,” Dean murmured against Sam’s lips. “I’ve felt the same way for so long. Kept the wildflowers you gave me when you were seven. I just never thought you’d feel the same way about me. Figured you and Jess…”
“No, there was never really anything between me and Jess. I tried…” Sam shrugged. “Just didn’t work out. She wasn’t you.”
“Well, you’ve got me. How about we get outta here?” Dean suggested, grabbing Sam’s hand, ready to lead his brother out of the abandoned building. “Just promise me, you’ll never strike a deal with some mysterious woman.”
“I promise,” Sam responded, stopping long enough to pull at the collar of his shirt to see that the inky black mark was gone. And now that the black mark was gone and his feelings for Dean had returned, feelings that his brother reciprocated, he had everything he wanted.