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Free Supernatural Fanfiction – Chapter Summary:

Sam insists on taking a solo case in New York while Dean and Analina attend a family wedding, each facing their own quiet crossroads.

Rating: PG-13
Contains:   Emotional tension, mild language, and thematic elements of grief and recovery.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:  
Separate Ways

THE NEXT DAY, I REALIZED just how bad I’d been—even Dean. My parents made us breakfast (I had nothing edible in my apartment at the moment). When we joined my parents and Sam in their duplex, I visibly saw Sam relax his shoulders and take in a deep breath. 

Sam confided in me later that he hadn’t known what to do. He’d hoped we’d be able to talk through it, because Dean had pushed him away when he first tried. He said I went into my own bubble. I hadn’t even noticed how much Dean drank in those few days after the apocalypse.

I usually pointed out when Dean should slow down or switch beverages. He tended to drink more when he was upset. Sam had tried to curb Dean’s drinking before we met, but Dean didn’t always listen to his brother.

“For some reason, he would listen to you,” Sam admitted to me.

Sam was also going through things. Being possessed by Satan took a toll. He’d found out his whole life had been surrounded by demons trying to manipulate him. His teachers had been possessed. His girlfriend’s death had been orchestrated. It was as if his entire life had been primed for him to become Lucifer’s vessel.

One positive thing came from the possession: Sam was no longer addicted to demon blood. When he’d drunk demon blood before, he had somehow been cured when Lucifer was released from Hell. We’d worried that drinking demon blood to become Lucifer’s vessel might restart the addiction. Cold turkey was possible, but brutal. Sam said he was fine. He never wanted to touch demon blood again.

IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON, I managed to convince Dean to spend some time with his brother alone. I said I wanted to have some mother‑daughter time. He knew I was still hurting, but some quality time with Mom outweighed his fear of leaving me alone. He also knew he should talk with Sam about what happened. Their bonding wasn’t always something most people could visibly see. I had trouble seeing it sometimes. But they needed each other. Sam needed his big brother.

Sam and Dean didn’t go far—just to a nearby bar. Meanwhile, I spent time with my mom. We made a pie for dessert and talked. It lifted my spirits. I knew she could tell something was wrong as she kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye when she thought I wasn’t looking. I hoped she attributed it all to the apocalypse. After spending the afternoon together, our conversations flowed normally again.

While making the pie, she mentioned my cousin’s upcoming wedding near Philadelphia. She wanted us to go. She thought we could use a distraction before we went to “tie up the loose ends” Dean had mentioned last night.

I said I’d talk to Sam and Dean about it when they got back.

Dean seemed fine with the idea of going to the wedding. I believed he agreed to stay longer with my family because of me. He probably thought that spending time with them—doing normal things—would help. Deep down, I knew we’d have to get back to work sooner or later. Things weren’t quite settled from the apocalypse. But taking the afternoon off felt good. The wound was still there, but a scab had formed. My grieving was back on track. Normalcy—such as it was—tended to speed things up.

After talking it over, we agreed to stay for the wedding and then leave from there for our next “job”—probably going back to Bobby’s to help with his borrowed‑soul situation. My other family members were pleased we’d be attending. They were starting to not ask questions about our jobs now. I guessed the visiting from our wedding smoothed out some curiosities. I also wondered if they knew what happened to them deep down in their subconscious. I wasn’t sure how Cas erased memories. In any case, this trip was more relaxing than the last.

THE DAY BEFORE WE LEFT for the wedding, Sam checked in with Bobby about his soul. Sam told him we’d stop by soon to help. Meanwhile, Bobby found a case nearby in New York—not terribly far from where the wedding was being held.

Sam wanted to take care of the job himself while we went to the wedding. He appeared antsy to get back out there.

We were in my duplex, talking about Bobby’s phone call. I’d started packing as Sam and Dean discussed the New York case.

“Dude, you’re not going on a case alone,” Dean argued.

“I’ve been on cases by myself before,” Sam retorted. “I can handle this. It looks like a spirit case.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam continued before Dean could. “Besides, I shouldn’t be going to the wedding. I’m not really family to these people. You are—by marriage.”

“Sam,” I started, feeling terrible. I stopped packing.

Of course he was family. No one blinked when Sam was included in the RSVP.

Not that we got the RSVP—it went to my parents, since we didn’t really have an address. They told me about it by phone. Originally, it was assumed we wouldn’t be around for it.

Sam realized I was listening.

“I know, Analina,” he said more gently. “Everyone here considers me part of the family, and they’re okay with me going. But I need to do this. Get back out there.”

He looked at Dean like they’d been over this. They must’ve talked about it at the bar.

“I need a little space. And you guys should have a day or two to yourselves without me hovering in the background.”

“Yeah, by ourselves—with the whole Seth family and whatever‑his‑name’s family hovering in your stead,” Dean shot back, then quickly gave me an apologetic look.

Sam just stood there. He wasn’t going to budge.

Dean sighed. “What is it exactly?”

Sam pulled out some papers from a manila folder. Bobby had emailed him what he found during the phone call.

“Bobby said there were some murders going on in New York. Mark and Ann Telesca were both found dead in their home a few days ago. Throats slit. No prints. No murder weapons. All doors and windows locked from the inside.

“Bobby remembered something similar happening back in the late ’60s or early ’70s. Said Dad had mentioned those murders to him a while ago. So, I checked the journal.

“Dad noted three murders in the same area: 1912, 1945, and 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit. Doors locked from the inside. So much time passed between the murders that nobody saw the pattern.”

“And now we’ve got one,” Dean mumbled.

He glanced at me, then back to Sam.

“All right. I agree it’s worth checking out. But we can all go together after the wedding.”

“There could be more murders,” Sam replied. “Dean, I can handle this. I know how to stop a vengeful spirit.”

“And what if it’s not a vengeful spirit? What if it’s something bigger?” Dean challenged.

Sam sighed, clearly frustrated. “Then I’ll call you, and we’ll handle it together.”

I looked at Dean. It sounded reasonable. Sam really wanted to get back to work. I could see Dean’s eyes start to soften. We all waited in silence as Dean made a decision.

I almost said we could skip the wedding. We weren’t supposed to be around here anyway. But that didn’t seem like an option for Dean.

“All right,” Dean finally said in defeat. He held up a finger. “If it’s not a spirit, or if it’s something you can’t handle, you back down and wait for us.”

“Deal,” Sam said. The corners of his mouth twitched up for a moment in triumph, but he held a straight face.

He gathered his papers and left the room. I heard his footsteps heading downstairs—back to my parents’ place.

“You know we don’t have to go to the wedding,” I said quietly.

“No, he’s right. He can do it. He also needs to clear his head from all this—and getting back out there is how he wants to do it.”

Dean rubbed his face and moved closer to me.

“We’ll meet up with him after the wedding and go from there.”

I sighed quietly.

Apparently, he heard it and arched an eyebrow at me.

“You’re going to be worried about him the whole time. Don’t deny it.”

He was about to say something, then snapped his mouth shut.

He pondered for a moment.

“He’s my brother,” he shrugged. “It’s my job to worry about him.”

He pulled me closer.

“It’s also my job to worry about you.”

I relaxed in his arms and said, “All this worrying, and you’re going to get wrinkles.”

He snorted softly into my hair.

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