Supernatural - Chapter 53: Stay or Leave (Patreon)

By early July, another batch of old books had found its way into Sam's study.

Some were ones Bobby had brought by a while ago. Sam had borrowed others from fellow hunters, and the oldest had spines that looked ready to fall apart.

He had slipped a note into each book. Several pages of his own research lay at one corner of the desk, with May 2 written across the top sheet.

He had been going over what happened that day for a long time.

Precognition, telekinesis, influencing people's minds. The hunters' records described all of those abilities, but almost none of the accounts truly matched what he had experienced.

The children Azazel had chosen were the closest comparison, of course. But Andy was dead, Ava was dead, and Jake was dead too.

In the end, Sam couldn't even find someone who had been through the same thing to ask whether headaches after using his powers were normal, whether the nosebleeds would ease with practice, or just how far those powers could go.

There were occasional accounts of similar symptoms in the books.

One volume he had opened tonight described a nineteenth-century woman who suffered a terrible migraine and a nosebleed after moving several objects in succession. A little farther on, there was only a line saying that she had died of pneumonia three months later. Not another word about her abilities.

He stared at the line for a moment, closed the book, and tossed it onto the pile to his left.

There were already five or six books there.

What really irritated him was that Ruby knew the answers.

Sam didn't trust her. Yet he had spent all this time piecing together scraps of information, while Ruby had needed only a few sentences during their last meeting to identify the effects of using his powers. She had even known what he most wanted to ask.

It was a difference he couldn't easily ignore.

It was after ten, and Sam was still at his desk. The coffee beside him had gone completely cold. He rubbed his tired eyes and was about to reach for another book when someone knocked twice.

Murphy walked in carrying her laptop and took one look at the desk.

“Time for a break.”

Sam had just opened the next book. “Murphy, give me a minute. I haven't...”

“Another few minutes won't change anything either way.”

She set the laptop on a small table nearby, then pulled a blanket from the little couch and draped it over her legs.

She had recently started playing Portal again. Halfway through a session that afternoon, it had struck her that Sam would enjoy it. The rules were straightforward, but solving the puzzles was like working through a series of brainteasers. So that evening she had brought her laptop upstairs to interrupt his research.

As it turned out, she knew him pretty well.

At first, Sam kept thinking about the books on his desk and simply watched her clear two rooms. By the third test chamber, he was pointing out mechanisms she had overlooked. Ten minutes later, the laptop was sitting in front of him.

Murphy didn't argue over it. She curled up with a cushion on the couch across the study and watched him work out where to place his portals.

“Watch the left side,” she said without warning.

Sam glanced at her and fired a portal to the right.

“What are you doing?”

“You tricked me already.”

“I did not. That was the game's fault.”

“You told me, 'It's definitely over there.'”

“And I'm telling you, it was the game's fault.”

Sam laughed without taking his eyes off the screen. “Two minutes ago, you admitted you did it on purpose.”

Murphy went quiet, then declared with great indignation, “What is the world coming to? Can't people trust each other anymore?”

“You're the one who lied to me first.”

“It doesn't count as lying if it's in a game.”

Sam didn't even bother looking up this time.

Eventually, they settled into a comfortable silence. The game played on as Sam paused whenever a puzzle stumped him. Murphy didn't rush him. She watched from behind her cushion, occasionally checking her phone while he figured things out.

After clearing another chamber, Sam turned automatically to tell her that his solution had been easier than the one she'd used before.

Before he could speak, he realized that the other side of the room had been quiet for quite a while.

Murphy had fallen asleep with the cushion in her arms.

Her laptop bag was still by her feet, and the blanket had slipped halfway off her legs. She was slumped sideways, her head resting against the arm of the couch. It hardly looked comfortable. She had probably intended to close her eyes for a minute and drifted off instead.

Sam watched her for a few seconds, then glanced back toward his desk.

His unfinished books still lay open there, a note tucked between the pages. The untouched cup of cold coffee sat beside them.

He didn't go back.

Instead, Sam lowered the game's volume, got up to retrieve the blanket from the floor, and covered Murphy again.

Only after returning to his seat did he move on to the next level.

Several chambers later, he checked the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. It was almost midnight.

He paused the game and looked over at Murphy on the couch.

The blanket was still in place, and she showed no sign of waking.

He could have woken her easily enough. Her bedroom was just downstairs. But lately Murphy had been staying up late editing videos again, sometimes with her light still on well past midnight. It was rare for her to fall asleep this early, so after considering it, Sam decided to leave her alone.

He walked over and bent down to pull the blanket a little higher.

Halfway through, he stopped.

From across the room, it hadn't seemed like anything. Up close, though, he suddenly realized how little distance there was between them. Murphy's cheek rested against the arm of the couch, her breathing soft, a few strands of hair falling beside her face. She looked nothing like the Murphy who was always talking or doing something.

Sam watched her for a moment. His eyes slowly drifted to her lips.

An entirely inappropriate thought flashed through his mind. If he leaned just a little farther down, he could kiss her.

It came so suddenly that he actually leaned forward a fraction.

Then he realized what he was doing and went rigid.

Stealing a kiss while she's asleep. Real classy, Sam Winchester.

He immediately straightened, tucked the blanket around her, and went back to his desk. The paused game was still on the screen, but he had lost all interest in playing.

Of course he had known for a long time that he liked Murphy.

But standing beside the couch, he had suddenly found himself wishing that things could stay like this forever.

Murphy could spend time in his study while he did his own thing and she did hers. When she got sleepy, she could curl up on the couch instead of bothering to return to her room.

His books would be spread across the desk, her laptop beside them. Downstairs, Dean would probably have left a beer bottle lying around, and Baby would be parked in the garage.

Tomorrow morning, Murphy would likely complain about her sore neck. Dean might see her coming out of Sam's study and casually ask what time she'd gone to bed. Then the three of them would find something to eat and start blaming one another for finishing the milk without buying more.

Lately, there had been more and more of these little everyday moments.

So many that Sam sometimes forgot how rarely they'd had anything like them before.

For years, two nights in the same motel room had counted as a long stay. Everything was always packed in bags, and they might leave again the next morning without warning. Now his books were accumulating on shelves, Murphy's console had a permanent place, and Dean had even put up an entire wall of tools in the garage.

It almost felt as though they were really going to stay.

Sam leaned back in his chair and caught himself wishing that this moment could last forever.

Dean was here. Murphy was here too.

No watching a date on the calendar while waiting for someone to die. No wondering what he'd have to sacrifice to bring them back next time.

This was enough. It was already so good.

A shout from Dean suddenly rang out downstairs.

“Sam!”

Sam sat bolt upright.

Footsteps quickly made their way up the stairs.

“Is Murphy up here with you? I was just...”

Dean reached the doorway, spotted the figure on the couch, and immediately lowered his voice.

“She's asleep?”

“Yeah.”

Sam answered a little too quickly.

He still felt guilty about what had almost happened, and now Dean was standing in the doorway. Suddenly he couldn't seem to do anything naturally. Standing straight felt stiff, putting a hand on the back of his chair looked deliberate, and in the end he let his arm drop.

Worse, even while talking to Dean, he kept glancing back toward the couch.

Dean had only come upstairs looking for someone, but gradually he fell quiet too.

He'd known for ages that Sam liked Murphy. His little brother had never been good at hiding what he felt, and living under the same roof made it even more obvious.

But knowing was one thing.

The expression on Sam's face when he looked down at the couch made Dean wonder whether he'd underestimated the depth of it.

He knew that look far too well. He probably wore much the same expression when he looked at Murphy himself.

Dean stood in the doorway for a few seconds. In the end, he asked nothing and merely nodded toward the couch.

“Don't let her sleep here all night. She'll have a sore neck tomorrow and blame us for it.”

“I'll wake her in a bit.”

“Right.”

Dean turned and headed downstairs.

Back in the living room, he remembered that he'd actually wanted Murphy for something else. What it was, though, he couldn't quite recall.

The television was still on, and half a bottle of beer remained on the coffee table. Dean settled back onto the couch and took a swig, but his mind stayed on the way Sam had looked upstairs.

Was it bothering him? Sure, a little.

No one could be completely unaffected by knowing his own little brother was that deeply in love with his girlfriend.

But Sam hadn't said anything about it, much less crossed any lines. Dean could hardly order him to stop feeling something just because he'd fallen for someone.

Besides, the very idea of sitting down to discuss it made Dean cringe.

He tried imagining an opening line.

Hey, Sam, I've been noticing lately that you might be in love with my girlfriend. How do you feel about that?

Dean grimaced.

He'd sound completely insane.

Forget it.

He tipped back the bottle and finished the beer, deciding to act as though he hadn't noticed anything for now.

At least for tonight.

-

A few days later, Bobby dropped by.

He'd only intended to deliver some books Sam had asked him to track down, but he arrived right around dinner. Dean noticed he wasn't carrying anything except books and promptly told him to put his car keys away.

“You're eating before you leave.”

Bobby insisted he hadn't planned to stay, but he wound up taking a seat at the table anyway.

By then, July was already half over.

Dean brought the last plate of bacon out of the kitchen. Murphy casually snatched a piece, and rather than stop her, Dean helped himself to one while still standing beside the table. He didn't sit down with the plate until Bobby complained that he was blocking the way.

Murphy popped the bacon into her mouth, but her gaze lingered on Dean when he turned to grab another beer.

It suddenly struck her that, according to the original timeline, he would have been in Hell for more than two months by now.

Sam wouldn't be sitting across from her either, arguing with Bobby about which of them had shelved an old book in the wrong place.

“I'm telling you, I put it on the folklore shelf.”

“You put it with demonology.”

“Half that book is about demons.”

“The other half is about nineteenth-century mediums.”

“And that's why I hate lending you books, idjit.”

With no answer to that, Sam bent his head and resumed eating.

Watching them, Murphy suddenly felt that this ridiculous scene was the sort of thing that made a person happy.

Dean was alive, and Sam was doing fine. After May 2, they'd moved into this house, bought furniture, stocked the fridge, and blamed each other whenever someone forgot to replace the milk. She'd even gotten used to the sounds drifting down from upstairs or out of the garage each morning, knowing roughly where everyone was.

The first seal hadn't been broken the way she remembered.

She still had no idea what Heaven and Hell would do next. The Apocalypse probably wouldn't be called off just because one piece of the plan had gone missing. But at least nothing had happened so far.

They didn't have to rush off to save the world just yet.

Lately, the thought had grown increasingly comforting.

Toward the end of dinner, Dean opened some alcohol. Murphy had a drink with him, but while her second glass was being filled, she suddenly stared down at it and remembered something.

She'd never actually been drunk.

Once the thought occurred to her, the more she considered it, the more she wanted to try.

“I want to get drunk once,” Murphy announced, as though making an official declaration.

The other three people at the table all fell silent.

Dean had just set down the bottle. He picked it up again. “What?”

“Get drunk,” Murphy repeated earnestly. “I've never tried it.”

Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Not even once?”

“Nope.”

When she had lived alone, she'd never seen the point of getting herself thoroughly drunk. If she couldn't walk home, there'd be no one to help her. If she threw up, she'd have to clean it herself. Then she'd have to nurse her own hangover the next morning. There was no upside to that arrangement.

But things were different now.

Murphy looked at Sam, then Dean, and finally decided Bobby counted as well.

“The three of you can keep an eye on me, can't you?”

Bobby put his fork down at once. “Is it too late for me to leave?”

Dean burst out laughing.

In the end, of course, no one actually stopped her.

Murphy had assumed getting drunk would be a quick process. Once she got started, though, it took far longer than she'd expected.

Dean kept refilling her glass, but also pushed the plate of meat back toward her and told her to eat something first. Sam replaced her water twice over the course of the evening, making sure to set the second glass right beside her hand.

Bobby had no intention of joining their nonsense. After finishing his own drink, he went to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee.

As it turned out, Murphy could hold her liquor better than they'd expected.

After the first few glasses, her cheeks felt a little warm, but otherwise she seemed much the same as usual. Only after she'd had more to drink did the delayed effects of the alcohol begin to creep up on her.

The first thing Murphy noticed was a strange lightness in her body. Her thoughts were all still there. It was just that things she would normally stop to consider before doing no longer seemed worth so much consideration.

For instance, right now she really wanted to hug Dean.

So she did.

Dean was leaning back in his chair, talking to Bobby. Murphy dragged herself and her chair a little closer, slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed herself against him.

Dean looked down at the woman who'd abruptly burrowed into his arms. He stopped talking, plainly intrigued by this new development.

“How's it going?”

“Pretty good.”

Murphy leaned against him, seriously assessing the sensation for a moment, then tipped her head back to study his face.

“You look even better than usual.”

Dean broke into a grin on the spot.

“Guess alcohol's a wonderful thing.”

Across the table, Sam chuckled.

Bobby raised his coffee and began to regret accepting that dinner invitation.

As the evening went on, Murphy grew increasingly clingy. She'd never been particularly shy about physical affection, but being drunk seemed to have stripped away whatever restraint she normally exercised.

Once she wrapped herself around Dean, she didn't want to let go. Every so often, she'd remember she could kiss him, lift her head, and do exactly that. A little later she'd look at his face again and decide she wanted another kiss.

Dean was delighted at first.

By the third or fourth time she lifted her face toward him, though, he finally remembered there were two other people at the table.

Smiling, he turned his head slightly so she wouldn't quite reach his lips and murmured, “Easy, sweetheart. Sam and Bobby are still here.”

Murphy stopped.

Still tucked against Dean, she appeared to spend several seconds giving his words serious thought.

“Oh.”

Dean assumed she'd understood.

Two seconds later, Murphy suddenly sat up straight.

“I get it!”

“Good, then...”

“Sam.”

Sam was looking down at his water. At the sound of his name, he raised his head automatically.

His eyes were naturally long and narrow, framed by low brows. When he was serious or angry, they could give him a fiercely intimidating look.

But when he widened them in surprise like this, the sharpness vanished. Instead, he looked almost absurdly innocent for a man his size, with eyes like a startled puppy's.

“What is it?”

Murphy beckoned to him as though calling a puppy over.

Sam looked thoroughly confused, but he set his glass down and came to her anyway. Apparently assuming she needed something, he stood beside her and lowered his head to listen. She said nothing, merely stared up at him.

“Is there something on my face?”

Murphy kept looking.

When she was drunk, thoughts that usually flickered through her mind for only an instant suddenly stayed there, demanding her full attention.

For instance, Sam was undeniably handsome.

She'd always known that. Ordinarily, though, she didn't spend much time examining his face. Now he was standing right in front of her, leaning down slightly to hear her, close enough for her to make out the faint yellowish ring in his irises.

His eyes were lovely to begin with, blue-green with a touch of warmth under the lights. Farther down, the little mole beneath his eye and his slightly upturned nose, so at odds with the rest of his features, stood out more than ever.

The longer she looked, the cuter she thought he was.

Sam grew increasingly uncomfortable under her stare, blinking twice. “Murphy?”

She didn't answer.

Instead, Murphy suddenly raised both hands and cupped his face.

Sam froze, overcome by a completely inexplicable sense of danger.

The next instant, she tugged him down and kissed him.

The table went so quiet that only the faint sound of the television could be heard.

Sam's mind went blank.

For the first second, he actually forgot to breathe. But the touch against his lips was real. Murphy was right in front of him, eyes closed, kissing him.

All the feelings he had suppressed for so long, the ones he hardly allowed himself to think about, left his reason almost no time to intervene. After that brief moment of shock, he instinctively kissed her back.

It lasted only two short seconds.

Then Dean finally recovered and reached over to pull Murphy away from Sam.

“All right, that's enough!”

Murphy was yanked back into Dean's arms so abruptly that she clearly had no idea what she'd done wrong.

Sam, too, stumbled half a step back as though waking from a dream.

Those two seconds had already left Dean with more emotions than he cared to untangle. He looked at the woman in his arms, whose drunken reactions seemed a beat slower than usual, and then at his brother, who stood speechless beside them. He decided to deal with whichever problem was easiest.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Murphy thought that was a very strange question.

“Didn't you say Sam was still here?”

“...And?”

“I can't just kiss you and leave him out.”

She said it with such perfect sincerity that nobody at the table could think of an answer.

Dean stared down at her, practically able to see the absurdly simple logic turning in her head. Sam and Bobby were here, so it wouldn't be fair to only kiss Dean.

Hold on a second.

Dean suddenly glanced at Bobby. Murphy followed his gaze.

Bobby set his coffee cup down without a flicker of expression and got up to fetch his coat.

“Don't even think about it.”

Murphy said, “Bobby doesn't count. He's from our parents' generation.”

Dean couldn't decide whether to laugh or despair. Then he hurriedly asked, “Where are you going, Bobby?”

“Home.” Bobby tugged down the brim of his baseball cap.

“Didn't you say you'd stay in the guest room tonight?”

“Not anymore.”

Bobby pulled on his coat and picked up his car keys, evidently convinced he'd seen more than enough entertainment for one evening.

Sam finally found his voice amid the chaos. “Bobby...”

“Not a word out of you.”

Bobby raised a hand to cut him off, looking from one of the three to the next.

“You can sort out your own mess. I'm too old for this.”

The door closed soon afterward.

Murphy watched it from Dean's arms, then observed after a long pause, “He ran away really fast.”

“You nearly scared him too.”

“I wasn't going to kiss him.”

“Thank God for that.”

Murphy considered this, decided it made sense, and snuggled back against Dean in complete contentment.

Dean looked down at her and felt a headache coming on.

The culprit obviously had no idea how much trouble she'd just caused. She was even making herself comfortable against his shoulder.

Sam wasn't nearly so fortunate.

He couldn't hide behind the alcohol. He was painfully sober.

His response had been pure instinct. It was only once his brain started working again that he fully remembered Murphy had been drunk, while he had not.

That realization made the lingering sensation on his lips feel even more vivid.

When Sam raised his eyes, he met Dean's gaze and quickly looked away. He bent to retrieve the water glass he'd left on the table. The glass was empty, but he held it anyway and didn't notice for another couple of seconds.

Dean saw the whole thing and, for once, said nothing.

What he'd seen outside Sam's study a few days earlier, added to this, told him everything he needed to know.

Right now, the important thing was getting the drunk woman in his arms safely to bed.

Unfortunately, Murphy chose that moment to raise her head. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam suddenly felt as though the room was running out of air.

Dean immediately put a hand on her. “No. You've had more than enough interaction with Sam tonight.”

Murphy: “?”

Sam: “...”

For once, he wholeheartedly agreed with Dean.

In the end, Dean was the one who took Murphy upstairs.

The woman who'd had enough energy to cause all that trouble was getting sleepy now. When he helped her out of her chair, she leaned right into him. Her steps were slower than usual on the stairs, and Dean kept an arm around her waist so she wouldn't miss a step and injure the ribs that had only just healed.

At the foot of the stairs, Murphy still remembered to turn around and wish Sam good night.

Sam remained beside the table, looking distinctly stiff. After a pause, he managed, “Good night.”

Satisfied, Murphy followed Dean upstairs.

She no longer had the energy to care whether the two men left behind would talk about anything that night.

When Murphy woke the next morning, the first thing she noticed was how thirsty she was.

Her hangover was lighter than she'd expected. Her head felt heavy, and her mouth was terribly dry, but that was about it.

A large glass of water stood ready on the bedside table. She propped herself up to take a few sips and only then noticed that her shoes were off, the curtains were drawn tightly shut, and Dean had even moved the trash can beside the bed.

He'd taken excellent care of her.

Murphy lowered her head and sniffed herself. Her first thought, however, was that she'd actually gone to bed last night without showering.

...Oh well.

She sank back against the headboard and took another sip of water. As the last of the alcohol-induced fog faded, her memories of the previous night returned.

Things had been fairly normal at first. She'd even kept count of how many glasses she'd had. Then Dean had reminded her that Sam and Bobby were still there, and Murphy stopped with the water glass halfway to her mouth.

And she'd kissed Sam?!

“...”

She slowly set the glass down and, for the first time in her life, wished her memory wasn't quite so good.

Was it too late to leave the planet?

Murphy sat there with her eyes closed, seriously wondering how she was supposed to go downstairs and face everyone today. Then something else occurred to her.

Wait. What had Sam done?

Her eyes opened.

She was the one who had been drunk last night. Sam had been completely sober.

Murphy's embarrassment gradually subsided as she thought again about that kiss, all two seconds of it.

Something wasn't right.

...Had she overlooked something before? Or was there some unspoken rule of kissing etiquette that required the other person to kiss back?

Did such a rule even exist?