Monachopsis

Chapter XLVII: On The Road Again

Watching the portrait of Isaiah Merchant and his unfortunate family be loaded up into a box was almost surreal. After all the trouble the painting had caused, the thought of it as another ordinary object was too strange. So many people dead by what was now simply color on a canvas.

The sound of crinkling paper alerted me of Dean's arrival. He waved a document as he approached. "This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds."

"She killed them?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah," said Dean, "who would suspect her? A sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since."

"Where's this one go?" asked one of the men boxing up the painting.

I leaned in close to Dean and murmured, "I can't believe Joseph held out on me."

Dean smirked. "Maybe you weren't as charming as you thought you were."

I scoffed. Maybe I wasn't.

"Take it out back and burn it," ordered Sarah. The two guys paused, disbelief on their faces. Sarah smiled. "I'm serious, guys. Thanks."

As the men hauled the painting away, Sarah turned back to us. "So, why'd the girl do it?"

"Killing others," Sam said, "killing herself--some people were just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark."

"Really brings into question," I said. They turned to me. "Are killers born or made?"

Nobody seemed to have a response for that. Sam stared after the painting, looking pensive. 

"Maybe," said Dean. "I don't really care. It's over. We move on."

Though I was used to Dean's dismissive tones, his words seemed to strike a cord in Sarah. She turned sad eyes on Sam. "Uh...I guess this means you're leaving."

Sam didn't respond right away. He exhaled deeply from his nose, rocking back on his heels. One shared look with Dean communicated all he needed to say.

Dean turned a small smile to Sarah. "I'll go wait in the car. Come on, Gray."

He looped an arm around me as if to drag me away. I squirmed out of his grip and wrapped my arms around Sarah. I had never really touched her before. Her frame was surprisingly slender and bony.

"Bye Sarah," I said. "Take care of yourself."

"Uh, you too, Gray," she said, looking stunned as I pulled away. I felt a sharp stab of guilt for being so aloof and annoyed with her.

"See you, Sarah," Dean said. As he lead me away, he mumbled under his breath, "I'm the one who burned the doll and destroyed the spirit. But don't thank me or anything."

I laughed. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Dean."

Dean sputtered. "I'm not jealous. I just don't believe in unfair treatment, is all."

I nodded. "Right. Of course. And why wouldn't you?"

This time, Dean hadn't bothered with subtlety when it came to a parking job. His black Impala sat right in front of the auction house. We had nothing else to do but wait for Sam. Dean tried to talk me into grabbing a bite to eat, since he was convinced Sam was finally gonna get laid. But I shot down that idea real quick. Despite Dean's overzealous confidence, the connection between Sam and Sarah didn't feel like that (if a connection could feel like anything). There was nothing fiery or passionate about their tender budding romance. It felt more like a soft baby pink than the deep blood red of lust.

Besides, the quiet time gave me time to think. The events of the last few days ran over and over again in my mind. Breaking into the auction house, finding Evelyn dead in her home, Melanie, the burning doll. Everything seemed to blend into one chaotic blur of fear and adrenaline. If Dean and Sam had not been with me the entire time, I could have been convinced that the whole thing was just one long night terror.

But it wasn't. And pretending I could swat away my problems like a fly wasn't going to help me.

"Hey Dean?" I said. He looked over at me. I swallowed passed the lump in my throat, afraid that the words were going to scorch my throat on the way out. "I, uh, I've thought about what you said, yesterday. In the elevator: about me pretending I'm okay."

Dean pushed away from the car. "Gray, you don't have to--"

"No, yes I do," I said, cutting him off. "Because I'm not okay. I haven't been, since Fallon. Not really. I thought that, since I wasn't thinking about my mom, I was getting better. But really, I was becoming a bomb. And if I want to do this job right, I can't be a bomb all the time, right? I mean, if a bomb is going to explode, then more people are going to get hurt. And I couldn't live with myself if that happened." I was talking too fast now, hurrying to get the words out before I start to doubt myself. "So, what I'm trying to say is...you were right. I do need help. And...I promise to come to you if I really need it. I'm done acting like I'm too tough for love."

Quoting his own words back at him got a smile. This type of intimacy--the raw vulnerability of it--made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was because, growing up, my mother was never the warm, nurturing figure like Sam and Dean had described with Mary. Colette LaRoche was more of a modern-day Spartan: Leave the child to fend for itself. If it survives, we are better for it. If it doesn't, good to let the weak die young.

The doors of the auction house opened before Dean could properly vocalize his triumph. I had no doubt his ego was celebrating it's dominance even as Sam emerged from inside. Sarah stood in the doorway, closing the doors behind him. Sam didn't look back.

His silence was my cue. I turned, walking slowly with Dean towards the car. The intense emotions of my admission to him left me feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I felt the need to do something drastic and yet equally heroic, like save a baby from traffic, or put out a house fire. Anything to forget that I had just spilled my guts to my sarcastic, hyper-masculine, egomaniac of a older brother.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realize that Sam wasn't behind us until I heard him banging on the doors of the auction house. I froze, turning with my hand still holding the door handle. The jingling of Dean's keys paused.

The doors opened, revealing Sarah's pretty face. A knowing smile spread across her lips as Sam took her face in his hands and kissed her.

The awkwardness of watching my brother kiss someone was overshadowed by the relief in my chest. I had not been so insistent as Dean when it came to Sam finding someone, but the sight of him finally letting loose--even in this small way--was a good sign. 

"That's my boy," Dean said quietly. His eyes find me across the roof of the car.

I yanked my car door open, and offered him a small smile. "Our boy."

Dean took that in for moment. For one, terrifying second, I was sure he was going to laugh. But he didn't. He simply nodded. "Our boy."

There was no teasing when Sam finally joined us in the car. We would leave him be--at least for now. As Sam latched his seat belt, Dean started the car. The rumbling purr of the engine seemed less like the speed machine it had been over the past few days, and more like the beginning of a thunderstorm.

Anticipation coiled in my stomach.

"So," I asked, leaning forward against the front seat. "What now?"

Sam looked to Dean. Dean looked to me. I looked to Sam.

I smiled. "The road it is."