November 21st, 2012

It should have seemed strange, to have a heart to heart with a mother who was - at this point in time - only ten years older than her, but Hope left the kitchen a little while later feeling much better about herself. She wandered in search of her brother, needing to talk to him, to know what was bothering him so much he didn't feel he could confide in her as he had always done. They had always shared everything; it felt wrong to know he was holding something back from her, especially now, when they were so close to going home and seeing if their actions had improved the future from which they had come in the first place.

By the time Hope found her father and brother on the back porch, Dean looked about ready to blow a gasket. Talk about mood swings, he'd run the gamut of emotions since arriving home, and they hadn't even been here a whole day yet. Dean blew out a breath when he saw Hope at the door. "Maybe you can get through to him. He won't tell me anything," he said, pulling open the door to step back inside, without a backward glance. It was like talking to a wall.

Sidestepping a frustrated Dean as he slipped back into the house, Hope lingered a while longer by the door, not entirely sure how she should approach her big brother. Sam was not known for being easily drawn on any subject he didn't want to talk about, after all. But in the end, she gave up on making excuses, moving to stump across the porch and sit down beside him. After silence for a long moment, she spoke. "Dad's conversation doesn't get any worse with age, anyway."

"Neither does his bedside manner," Sam admitted, glancing at the door that their father had just slammed behind him and wincing a little, wishing he'd been able to open up to the man, but Hope deserved to know the truth before anyone else. It was bad enough he'd already spilled his guts to their mother, but he had always been closer to her than their father, for some reason. Maybe the door slamming was evidence why.

"Mom'll sort him out," Hope assured him confidently. Though she'd been very young when their parents had died, she remembered very clearly that the only person who could talk Dean around when he was in a funk was his wife, and vice versa. Tapping her toes against the porch steps, she looked out across the scrap yard. "I don't know how to start this conversation, Bertie," she admitted awkwardly. "If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But you gotta admit, you're not telling me everything."

Sam winced again, upon hearing the nickname from his sister. Once she left, no one would ever call him that again. Ever. Maybe this wasn't so much about him leaving her as it was about her leaving him. "No, I....I wanna tell you. I just-I don't know how."

"It's about leaving, isn't it?" In one sentence, she proved that she wasn't as ditzy a natural blonde as she sometimes seemed to be. Before everything, Hope was her father's daughter, and that perceptive ability to know what her brother was thinking seemed to have been inherited along with everything else. "I wish they'd let us stay for Thanksgiving. But I guess going back makes sense. We get to have Thanksgiving with them and Johnny."

"Yeah," he replied, pushing the porch swing back and forth with one foot, just to have something to do. He had his jacket wrapped tightly around himself, though it wasn't all that cold out for November. At least, she'd get to see Johnny again. He'd have to wait a few years until their youngest brother was born. "About that..." he started, pausing a moment to gnaw at the corner of his mouth nervously. Maybe it was better just to come out with it. "I'm not going back, Hope."

Hands tucked into her pockets, Hope leaned back, feet dangling, as Sam pushed the seat to swing. His confession wasn't entirely unexpected, but she'd never thought he would actually go through with it. "But I have to," she said quietly, feeling a lump forming in her throat. "Have you thought about this" Really thought about it?"

If that question had come from anyone else, he might have snapped back a remark, but from his sister - the one person he adored more than anyone else - he could only be honest. "Yeah," he replied. "'I've thought about it." He didn't bother to mention that he'd always talked to their mother about it, though Hope might figure that much out on her own.

She was silent for a very long time after that, knowing that if Sam was having so much trouble telling her this, that he had already made up his mind. No amount of talk would change his mind; he was as stubborn as anyone she'd ever known. So in the morning, it would be the worst goodbye of her lifetime. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, dripping off her chin to wet the pilfered jacket she wore. There really was nothing she could say.

He knew he had hurt her, disappointed her, wounded her. He knew she was angry for his not going to her and discussing it before he reached his decision, but he knew what she'd have told him. They had been together forever, it seemed - inseparable, and he was separating them. It didn't really matter if he had good reasons for doing it or not. The thought of living the rest of his life without her seemed almost too much to bear. He'd have her back someday, wouldn't he" But it would never be the same. He felt the tears rising in his own eyes, clogging his throat and preventing him from speaking. He wanted to reach for her hand, but was afraid she'd pull away from him in her anger. "I'll be there when you get back," he heard himself say, his voice not sounding like his own, too deep, too ragged, too pained.

"But you won't get to see it for twenty years," she whimpered softly, scrubbing at her face in an attempt to hold back the tears. "You'll be all alone here, Sammy, and I'll have you, and, and, and there'll be this you but older, and Johnny, and Mom and Dad. We've always done everything together. What am I gonna do without you?"

"I have to stay, Hope," he told her, trying to make her understand, his own tears mirroring hers when he turned to face her. They couldn't have been closer, even if they'd been twins. "Dad needs my help. If anything goes wrong..." He just shrugged. They both knew all too well what was at stake and what the consequences would be if their parents failed. He suddenly wished she could stay, too, but if all went well here, she'd be safer in the future. It was too dangerous for her to stay here. If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself. No, it was better this way. She'd still have him, and someday, he'd have her back. Sort of.

"You gotta dance with me on my wedding day, okay?" She smiled once again, finding it easier to make a plan like this, a plan he would remember and ensure came to pass when the time was right. "So, yanno, learn to dance."

That made him laugh, just imagining it. "You might want to tell that to Dad," he warned her. He remembered a long time ago, watching their parents attempt to dance, their mother laughingly telling their father not to step on her toes. It seemed a very long time ago, and yet, in reality, it hadn't even happened yet. "Stay up with me tonight," he pleaded, dreading the dawning of the next day when they'd have to say good-bye. I want to remember this night and keep it safe until I see you again.

She nodded, having no intention of squandering the last few hours she had with her big brother before she was gone. She couldn't imagine a world without him, and yet she didn't have to imagine it. The future she was returning to, with any luck, would have two of him in it, and if she was very lucky, she would be as close to both of them as she was to him now. "Camp out in Uncle Bobby's study, like we did when we were little."

He chuckled a little at her suggestion, though his heart was already aching with loneliness. Once she was gone, it would be years before she was born, and even then, he'd be more like an uncle than a brother to her. She'd have her own Sam for that. It was enough to make your head spin, but he was pretty sure he had it all sorted out. "We're probably a little too big for a tent," he replied, closing his hand around that ring of hers and shoving it into a pocket of his jeans for safe keeping.

"Desks and blankets, then," Hope insisted with a familiar little smile. "We'll make a blanket fort, like you did that first night we got left on our own and I freaked out. I bet Ellen'd let me make popcorn, too."

"You don't think we're a little too old for that?" he asked with a smirk. Somehow they'd managed to convince their father to camp out with them once or twice, but most of their outings to Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen's were spent there while their parents were outing hunting.

"You're never too old for a blanket fort and popcorn," his sister intoned impishly, pushing herself up off the porch swing and giving him a tug to join her. She hugged him tight for a moment, stepping back to meet his gaze. "For what it's worth, I think this is the right decision. I don't like it, but I don't have to. I've got your back, Bertie."

"Dad's not gonna like it," Sam said with a worried frown as his sister tugged him to his feet. He knew their mother would smooth things over for him and explain it to their father, but he didn't want her playing middleman between himself and his father forever. He hugged her back, reluctant to let go, even as she pulled away from him.

"I'll handle Dad," Hope promised him. "You go do the crying thing with Mom - she's got an excuse for it with all the hormones, better make the most of it while you can." She grinned teasingly - the mother she remembered had never shed a single tear in front of her children out of sheer stubborn pride, she was certain. "Dad can't object if it comes from me, and besides, he already knows I'm a Daddy's girl. He won't make trouble."

While all that was well and good, Sam looked no happier, despite his sister's acceptance and support of his decision. "Hope..." he started, knowing that some things didn't really have to be said. I'll miss you. The expression on his face, the look in his eyes said it all for him.

Holding his gaze, his little sister blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry on him again, and abruptly threw her arms around his neck once more, holding on for dear life. "I love you, Bertie," she promised him. "Always will. So don't you keep your distance. You be my big brother while my big brother's growing up, okay?"

"I'll try," he promised, trying to keep his voice from breaking, while he held on tight. There wasn't much time left, and he was determined to make the most of every last minute. He laughed a little while he held her as a thought occurred to him. "You realize you won't be able to get away with anything while I'm around. I already know everything that's gonna happen!" Of course, now that they'd changed the future, that wasn't so set in stone as it had been before

"Hey! That's not fair!" Hope laughed as she pulled away, thumping his arm lightly. "I'll be the only girl in my year who can't sneak out the window, even after Dad shows me how!"

"It's okay. I'll turn a blind eye now and then. Promise!" he said with a smirk as she pulled away from him and punched him lightly. "Suppose we should go back inside before they get worried," he admitted, though he really was in no hurry to face his father.

"Yeah, let's," she agreed, gently nudging his elbow with her own. "You owe me big time for the little girl routine, by the way. Even if I don't remember it, you pay up at the appropriate moment." The little girl routine being something she had perfected as a child on Dean. It had even been known to work on Rufus Turner from time to time.

"I think you better talk to my other self when you get back and see what he has to say about it," Sam replied with a grin, though it weirded even him out to say it. Maybe it wouldn't be as confusing as it seemed, at least, not to his younger counterpart and his siblings who would most likely grow up considering him an uncle, rather than a big brother.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and took a deep breath. "Okay. Here goes ..." Casting a wink to her big brother, she pushed open the door into the house, and Sam was treated to the gentle innocence of her voice as she called out, "Daddy' Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he always did when Hope laid it on a little too thick with their father. How she managed to wrap him around her little finger so easily, he had no idea, but then it could be argued that he had the same kind of relationship with their mother. Dean's voice could be heard coming from the kitchen, where he stood arguing with Jo. The pair would have insisted they were "having a discussion", but Sam knew better. He could tell by his father's voice that he was none too pleased, and he winced and ducked his head, hoping to avoid him a little while longer.