by Lori Drake
“Last chance for the jacket,” Dean said, climbing into the saddle. “It’s gonna get pretty wet and cold on the way back.”
Joey hesitated, then sighed. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, and waited while he removed the garment and offered it to her. She thanked him, put it on and zipped up. It was comically large on her, but it smelled distinctly Dean-like—a not unpleasant smell. He handed her the sky blue helmet next, and she poured water out of it before putting it on. The lingering moisture inside was cold against her scalp and dripped down her neck, making her shiver as she settled behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him.
The ride back to San Diego wasn’t nearly as fun, or fast, as the one down to Harper’s place had been. For one, there was the rain. They had to stop on the side of the road a few times because visibility was just that bad. All they could do was sit there in the rain, waiting for it to lighten up enough to keep going. When they finally got to the border, they had to sit in a long line of vehicles awaiting inspection and approval while the rain continued to pelt them. Fortunately, once it was their turn they were waved through fairly quickly. After all, it’s hard to smuggle illegals on a motorcycle. Drugs were another matter, but they didn’t have any bags with them so that made it less likely. Not impossible, but less likely. A cavity search would have been a great cap on a shitty ride, but fortunately it didn’t come to that.
It was nearly two o’clock by the time they pulled into the parking lot at Joey’s apartment complex. They had less than an hour before they were supposed to meet up with Emma and Cheryl, just enough time for hot showers and changes of clothes. Maybe even a cup of coffee. That last thought lifted Joey’s dampened spirits as she slogged up the stairs with Dean at her back. Her shoes squished with every step.
Inside, the apartment appeared to be just as she’d left it. She stood dripping on the tiled entry for a few moments while Dean crowded in behind her, then moved aside to give her some space.
“Shoes,” she admonished.
He halted mid-step, then bent to remove his wet, muddy boots, leaving them on the tile before stepping onto the cream-colored carpet in his socks.
“I don’t suppose you have anything I could change into,” he said, removing his helmet and placing it by his boots.
Joey closed the door and followed suit, removing her own helmet and kicking off her shoes. Then she went a step further, peeling off her soggy socks. “Yeah, you should be able to wear something of Chris's,” she answered, sweeping her eyes over his frame. He was a bit broader in the shoulders and taller than Chris had been, but she thought she could probably scare something up. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” She motioned in that direction. “There are towels and stuff. Help yourself while I find you something.”
Dean nodded and started down the hall, peeling off his shirt. This time, Joey was too wet and tired to even think about admiring the view.
She hung Dean’s coat by the door to drip onto the tile. His scent clung to her as she headed down the hall, ducked into her room, and quickly changed into dry clothes. She was across the hall raiding Chris's dresser when a knock on the front door interrupted her search; she grabbed a pair of socks to go with the shirt and pants she’d already selected and headed for the door. The shower was running, so clearly Dean didn’t need them right this moment.
A glance through the peephole revealed a familiar figure standing outside in a rain-dampened denim jacket. Familiar, but unexpected. Surprised, she unlocked the door and opened it.
“Sam? Hey, what’s up?” She’d had ample opportunity to consider bringing her brother into the loop on the way home, while clinging to Dean’s wet back and trying not to think about being blown off the road into a ditch by a strong gust of wind. She’d decided bringing Sam in was more trouble than it’d be worth, for a variety of reasons. Now he was here anyway, and she needed to get rid of him. Fast.
Her brother eyed her. “Mom sent me to check on you,” he said, eyes shifting to look past her into the room.
“She did? Well, I’m here. I’m fine. Thanks for dropping by.” She started to close the door, but he blocked it with a quick hand.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, while she kept pushing on the door. He held her at bay pretty easily. They were both gifted with supernatural strength, but he was stronger.
“I just got home, and I’m wet and cold.” Despite her best effort, she lost ground, bare feet sliding on the tile.
“I’ll make you some coffee,” he said, muscling his way past the door and into the apartment.
Sighing, she closed the door behind him, really wishing he were still on the other side. But brothers were like flies. The more you waved them off, the more they wanted to be there.
“I can make my own coffee. I do it every day. Why are you really here?” Joey asked. He was being too insistent to not have some ulterior motive.
“Just checking in on my favorite sister, like I said.”
“I’m your only sister,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes. He just shrugged and headed for the kitchen. Growling softly in frustration, she followed him. “What makes you think you can just barge in here and do whatever you want, anyway?”
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, glancing over at her as he reached for the carafe.
“Yes,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“I’m hurt,” he said, but mildly. Clearly, not hurt at all. Before she could reply, the sound of a clearing throat caught both their attention.
Joey turned quickly. “Sorry, I got…” She trailed off. Blinked. “Distracted.” Dean was standing at the mouth of the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel around his slim hips. She hadn’t even heard the shower turn off. Any other time, it was a sight she’d happily take time to appreciate. As it was, her eyes raked over him all too quickly, torn between arousal and utter mortification.
“No problem,” Dean said, lifting a hand to wave to Sam. “How’s it going?” he asked, as casual as if it were the locker room at the gym.
Joey wasn’t sure if Sam answered, because she was too busy mentally rolling her tongue back into her mouth and hastening across the room to take the clothes to Dean.
“Here, I think these will fit,” she said, thrusting the dry clothes at him and doing her best to ignore the way his skin glistened with lingering dampness.
He caught the clothes against his chest and gave her a curious look, but let her herd him down the hallway toward the bathroom. She didn’t follow him very far, just until she felt she could trust him to make it the rest of the way without changing his mind and coming back out to chat.
When Joey got back to the kitchen, Sam was pouring water into the coffee maker’s reservoir. He glanced over at her, arching a brow but not saying a word.
“That was not what it looked like,” she told him, firmly.
Sam snorted. “Oh? Looked like you were out all night with some guy.”
Joey started to object, but it was technically true. Just not in the way he was assuming. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Wait, how did you—have you been following me?”
Suddenly, Sam showing up right after they’d arrived seemed a little too coincidental. She bristled at the thought.
“Not exactly,” he said.
“You were, weren’t you! Oh my god, that’s a new low.”
In the process of scooping coffee grounds, Sam smirked. “Don’t be dramatic. You weren’t home when I got here, so I waited.”
Joey narrowed her eyes. “Since when?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
Throwing up her hands, Joey let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible.”
“Guess it runs in the family.” He eyed her askance as he thumbed the coffee maker’s power switch.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” she growled, too annoyed to be polite.
He didn’t seem inclined to budge, instead turning toward her and leaning against the counter. “I think I’d like to meet your friend. With his clothes o
n, this time.”
Joey shot him a withering look, shaking her head. “Some other time. We’ve got somewhere to be, and I still need to shower and change.” Turning, she walked toward the front door, not so much expecting him to follow as hoping that he would.
To her surprise, he did. He did not, however, go quietly.
“You know Mother doesn’t like it when we dally with humans.”
“Still none of your business. Instead of stalking me, why don’t you go do something important like, I don’t know, look for Chris's killer. How’s that going by the way?”
“It’s going.”
Joey turned to face him with a narrow-eyed glare. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?”
“The deal was you stay at the house, you get to help,” he said but didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Just following orders, eh? Hiding behind Mom’s skirt? Asshole.”
A buzzing noise caught her attention, pulling her eyes from her brother. The lighting fixture over the nearby dining table was visibly vibrating, bulbs flickering. It had to be Chris.
“Butt out!” she yelled at him, then yanked open the door and sent a frosty glare in Sam’s direction. “This is the door. Use it.”
Sam stood there looking at her like she was crazy. Well, she had just been talking to the chandelier.
“Out!” She insisted, forcefully enough that Sam did as she commanded. For all his bluster, he knew his place in the pecking order, when it counted. She closed the door behind him. Firmly.
“Everything okay?” a freshly dressed Dean asked, coming back down the hallway.
Joey bolted the door and leaned back against it, just in case Sam got any ideas about barging back in. “Fine. Is Chris here?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think you want to hear what he’s saying.”
Joey smirked, pushed off the door and stalked past him on her way to the bathroom. “You’re probably right. Coffee’s on, help yourself.”
22
By the time Joey finished ejecting Sam from the apartment, Chris wasn’t merely angry. He was furious. However, he couldn’t decide if he was more furious at Joey or Dean. Since Dean was the only one that could hear him, he rounded on him first.
“What the hell, man? You’re supposed to be helping me talk to her,” he said, as Joey stormed off down the hall.
“Is that so?” Dean said, heading for the kitchen. “I thought I was helping to break the spell keeping you here, so you can cross over.”
Chris went after him, frowning. “I’m pretty sure helping me talk to her is part of that.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you right now, amigo. Let it go.” Dean opened a couple of cabinet doors until he found the coffee mugs, grabbing the first one that came to hand. It was a hand-crafted pottery number that Joey had given Chris for his birthday earlier that year. There was a reason it was in front: it was Chris's favorite.
“Don’t use that one!”
Dean paused, looked the mug over, then shrugged and poured coffee into it.
Even though Joey had invited Dean to help himself to the coffee, Chris didn’t like the way the medium was making himself at home. Wearing his clothes, even. It was like Dean had stepped right into his place at Joey’s side and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Chris fumed, but his hands were tied. As his only means of communicating with Joey, Dean had him by the spectral short and curlies. Chris was already in the doghouse. He couldn’t afford to piss Dean off again. The memory of the previous night surfaced, bringing with it a heady mix of jumbled emotion. The elation of the kiss, the shame of his discovery, the loneliness of being shut out of the house all night, not knowing if Dean spilled the beans to Joey about his little joyride…
“Where’s the sugar?” Dean interrupted Chris's pity party as he opened and closed cabinets again.
Chris sighed. “Second door on the right.”
He turned away as Dean started opening drawers, clearly looking for something else. Probably a spoon. He didn’t ask for help, so Chris didn’t give it.
“Did you tell Joey?” Chris said. Part of him didn’t want to know, but the rest of him needed to know.
“Tell Joey what?”
“Don’t be coy. About last night. What I did.” Chris glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen.
Dean had found a spoon and was stirring his coffee. “No.” He paused. “Wait, she doesn’t know?”
Surprise and relief flooded Chris, followed swiftly by alarm. “Please don’t tell her.”
“You two have an extremely dysfunctional relationship. You know that, right?” Dean leaned against the counter, blowing lightly into Chris's cup before taking a sip.
“Please, Dean!” Chris couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice.
Dean’s expression turned puzzled. “Why not? I’m the one you violated. She probably would’ve been perfectly happy for some one on one time with you. Why didn’t you tell her?
Chris struggled for a proper answer to that question. It was so much more complicated than Dean realized.
“I kissed her.”
Dean spit coffee in a fine spray. “You what?”
Wincing, Chris grabbed a hand towel and tossed it at Dean without thinking. Dean caught it, blinking in surprise.
“I didn’t mean to,” Chris began, not sure how to explain what had happened.
“How do you not mean to kiss someone?” Dean frowned and wiped his mouth with the towel.
“Well I did mean to when I did it, but that wasn’t what I’d set out to do when I—you know?”
“Wore me like a meat suit?” Dean grumbled, swiping the towel across the counter in at least a token effort to clean up the mess he’d made.
Chris winced. “That’s one way to put it.” He sighed, looking down the hall again. “I saw you two dancing and I don’t know what came over me. I got so jealous. I wanted to dance with her again, one more time. But she thought I was you, and I didn’t want to spoil the moment and—”
“Wait,” Dean held up a hand. “Did you kiss her or did she kiss me?”
Chris glanced over his shoulder, not appreciating the sudden grin that Dean was wearing. “I kissed her. Don’t get any bright ideas, Casanova.”
“So, she thinks I kissed her. That explains a few things.” He ventured another sip of coffee, expression thoughtful.
“What things?” Chris frowned and turned toward Dean again.
“Eh, never mind. How long have you been carrying a torch?”
Chris grumbled and rubbed his face with one hand. “A long fucking time.”
“Does she know?”
“Not that I know of. I mean, I tried to tell her once in high school, but she shut me down.”
Dean whistled, low. “That’s a long time. You should tell her. Before you go.”
“What would that accomplish, besides making one of her last memories of me a confusing one she’d like to forget?”
“She might appreciate knowing the truth. Besides, it might help you move on.”
“What if I don’t want to move on?”
Dean offered a rueful smile. “When that spell breaks, you won’t have a choice. Get it off your chest and let her go, man. You’ll both be better for it.”
Chris thought about Dean’s advice while the medium relocated to the living room sofa. The apartment grew quiet as the running water in the bathroom shut off, reminding him of the fight he hadn’t quite had with Joey. “You need to help me convince her to get Sam’s help. She’s mad at him, but she shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Dean queried from the sofa.
“No offense, but I trust Sam’s abilities in a fight more than I trust yours. I’ve seen him in action.”
“No offense, but even I know that trying to convince that woman to change her mind is a fool’s errand. And I’ve only known her for a few days, you’ve known her what, your whole life?”
He had a point. Chris folded his arms and frowned. What could he do? Jo
ey needed the pack’s support in this, whether she believed it or not. It was too dangerous for her to lone wolf it.
Then he had an idea. A marvelous, wicked idea. “I’ll be back,” he said, then closed his eyes and focused on his eldest brother.
Sam was still in the parking lot, sitting in his truck, when Chris materialized beside him.
“I know, mother. Yes, mother. I tried, mother.”
Chris winced. As much as he longed to talk to his mother again, he wouldn’t trade places with Sam for that particular conversation for a million dollars. He waited while Sam wrapped up.
“I’m heading there now. Okay. See you soon.” Sam hung up the phone and dropped it into his cup holder, muttering to himself about stubborn bitches. He started the truck, but before he could put it in gear Chris climbed through the driver’s door and settled into his brother’s body.
His focus sharpened, and the world surged into full technicolor once more. Being in Sam wasn’t the same as possessing Dean. He had access to Sam’s heightened senses, for one. It was more comfortable. More familiar. As tasteless as Dean’s meat suit comment had been, it was kind of like wearing a different set of clothes—ones that actually fit. He looked down at Sam’s work-roughened hands, then set to work. He fetched Sam’s little notebook from his breast pocket and located a pen in the glove compartment. Flipping to a blank page, he jotted down a few words.
Crime scene. 2:45pm. Be there, she needs you.
Tearing off the page, he looked around for a good place to set it. He needed it to be somewhere Sam would see right away, once he’d left his brother’s body. Without any sort of tape, that was a bit of a problem. In the end, he folded it, stuck it in Sam’s mouth, and scooted across the bench seat to sit on the other side, watching as Sam came back to himself.
