Prison Break (Sequel to "Wanted")

Chapter 11

It takes a lot of work, but Dean manages to track his brother down. He'd wanted to wait a couple weeks before taking any type of public transportation, hoping the hype around him would calm down and he could go back to traveling with little fear that anyone could catch him.

He didn't dare search up Sam's name from near Pelican Bay out of fear the search would be flagged. The journey from Crescent City to Palo Alto takes about a full 24 hours, including the brief break he took midway through to get some shut-eye.

And then he needs to find a public computer, which means he has to wander around until he finds the library. From there, he has to pull every tidbit of information he knows about research to find his brother. Finding his law firm was easy, but his address is a bit more work.

He manages to work up the courage to pay his brother a visit in the middle of the night, three full weeks after he'd broken out of jail. All he'd done in the meantime, other than travel and research, was steal a bit of money here and there to pay for bus fares, and steal the bare minimum in food. That alone makes him feel good enough about himself that he's willing to step out of the shadows for a little bit.

He rings the doorbell, then takes a step back to admire the house. Sam lives in a big house in what appears to be a nice neighborhood. It's the type of place that Dean would have broken into when he wanted someone to find the crime scene, typically when he was leaving notes. There's a big risk involved in murdering people in wealthy neighborhoods, but a bigger payoff, too, with all the cash that tends to be lying around. He's not doing that anymore, though. He's moved on from that.

The front door opens to reveal a man that Dean never would have guessed was his brother, had he not seen his photo on his law firm's website. His hair is so obnoxiously long, Dean wishes he could do them both a favor and cut it all off. And, of course, there's the fact that he's pointing a gun at Dean's face, which isn't quite in character for the 18-year-old he once knew.

"Back off," Sam hisses, "or I'll put a bullet in your brain."

Dean puts his hands up in surrender, and he can't help but chuckle. "Relax, Sammy, it's just me."

"Trust me, Dean, I don't threaten to shoot everyone that comes to my door," Sam says.

"Oh, come on." Dean rolls his eyes. "Sam. Relax. It's me."

"Yeah, that's kinda the problem, Dean!" he says, dropping his gun to his side but still keeping a tight grip. "You are a serial killer!"

"But I'm your brother."

"And a serial killer!"

Dean purses his lips together. Well. This isn't how he'd hoped this was going to go.

"You know, the feds have been here already," Sam tells him. "They know to look for you here."

"Oh, cool, so you must've met Cas!" Dean says with a grin.

"I must've met who?"

"Castiel Novak. He's one of the feds that's been looking for me."

"Well, I am very sorry to burst your bubble because I can tell you get some type of high off being chased by this Castiel Novak dude, but he wasn't here," Sam says.

"What? Are you sure?" He has to be on the case. They were on the phone together within a day of the break-in. Last time Dean tried to reach him while he was off the case, it took three days. Clearly, he has to be working this case.

"Yes, I think an agent with the same last name as Michael Novak knocking on my door would ring some bells," Sam says.

"Huh. Weird." Maybe they thought this wasn't an important place to look, so Cas didn't come here himself. He must have sent some less important people here. That bodes well for his visit. If this wasn't important enough for Castiel himself, it's certainly not important enough for constant surveillance.

"Sam?"

Dean peeks into the house to see a woman descending the stairs in nothing but short shorts and a tight tee-shirt. He licks his lips. This girl is hot. The hell is she doing with Sam?

"Go back to bed," Sam says.

"But —"

"Now."

Dean eyes her up and down. "Oh, don't tell me you're Sam's girlfriend. You are way out of my brother's league."

Jess's eyes widen, and she immediately looks at Sam. "Is that —"

"Go to bed," Sam repeats. "Please."

"And don't call the cops, please?" Dean adds.

Jess looks at her boyfriend helplessly. "Sam."

Sam shakes his head. "Go back upstairs, turn the lights out, and don't even look at the phone."

Jess hesitates, then turns and scampers up the stairs.

"Oh, thanks, Sammy!" Dean says with a grin. "You did that for me?"

"Well, yes, Dean, people tend not to call the cops when doing so would result in their murder," Sam hisses.

"I'm not gonna kill you," Dean says, confused. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because you have murdered hundreds of people for far less," Sam says. "Because there was an article in the paper about another murder at least once a week for five years straight, and every single one of those boiled down to you. I'm not trying to be your friend. I just don't want my family to get hurt because I happened to grow up with a psychopath."

"But I'm done killing people," Dean says. "I really am. I mean, please don't call the cops just because I'm not gonna slit your throat or anything, but I'm going straight, man. I don't want to go back to prison."

"Then what are you doing here?" Sam asks. "If you want to stay out of prison, you should go far away from here, where no one would expect to find you, and you don't contact anyone."

"But —"

"Seriously, Dean, go," Sam says. "I'm going to have to call the feds soon because I have too much to lose if they find out you were here, but I will wait until the morning if you leave right now and you never come back."

"What?" Dean gapes at him. This is his brother. He can't seriously be telling him to leave. He can't seriously be threatening to turn him in.

"I will tell the feds that I was too shocked to process this until I slept on it," Sam says. "I will give you until I get up at seven to get the hell out of dodge. But if you come near me or my family ever again, I will shoot you. Are we clear?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah. Crystal clear."

"Daddy!"

Sam's eyes widen, and he immediately looks over his shoulder and up the stairs. He looks terrified, and Dean can't blame him. That voice he hears from upstairs has to belong to a kid, probably no more than eight years old. There's an eight-year-old in this house. Maybe even younger than that. Of course Sam doesn't want him here.

"Can I just ask one more thing?" Dean asks.

Sam hesitates, then nods.

"You're gonna take good care of your kid, right?" Dean asks. "You're never gonna, like, leave him alone for weeks at a time? You're gonna make sure he always has somewhere to live? Food to eat? You're not gonna raise him the way Dad raised us?"

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam says, a small smile on his lips. "I'll take good care of them."

Them.

"Goodbye, Dean." Sam closes the door between them.

Them.

Sam has multiple kids. He has a girlfriend — probably a wife, even. He has a family. He has a real, honest-to-god family. Growing up, Dean didn't think either of them would live long enough for him to see the day that Sam finally found a family, and he's never been so glad to be proven wrong.

So he turns around and walks away. He's never going to interrupt Sam's new life again.