Chapter Text
Sam didn't actually have to spend any time at the lighthouse. It was fully automatic. The closest weather station relayed current conditions to the weather center and that set off a series of electronic switches that controlled the lantern.
There was only the gentle ticking of the central light and the way the wind whistled through the windows in the lantern room. It was peaceful, comforting and one of Sam's favorite places. Information technologist was the title on Sam's business card. IF there was a problem with the communication relay at the tower end; it was Sam's job to track it down and rectify it as soon as possible. It was a part-time contract gig he'd picked up because he'd through it would be cool to have access to one of the last working lighthouses in the world. It was.
In the first three months of his contract Sam had only been called out once, but he'd been to the lighthouse a hell of a lot more than once.
There was something about the place that settled Sam. As soon as he arrived at the bottom of the rocky lighthouse path he could feel the day's tension begin to leave his body. All the coding he'd done that day would finally leave his exhausted mind; the frustration from one of the rare phone calls he had to put up with would dissipate.
The peace cast some kind of spell over Sam and he liked it.
Finding peace hadn't always been easy for Sam. As far back as he could remember, things had been different for him.
He'd never known his parents. They were gone before he had the ability to form memories. He'd never bothered to look for them. Why would he? Someone who had it in them to abandon a newborn baby wasn't worth meeting. Besides, after 20 years of taking care of himself there was very little room in Sam's life for any kind of relationship.
Hence, the lighthouse.
The silver key to the lighthouse glinted in Sam's hand as he turned it over and over.
He was working on plotting a three-dimensional map that represented aquifers on a neighbouring island. The coding was superficial for him; Sam simply tapped a few keys every so often to make slight adjustments.
It was Friday night and Sam was looking forward to a couple of days away from computers and equations. There was a new-to-him old copy of "A Tale of Two Cities" waiting for Sam along with a new Pearl Jam album. All he needed was the quiet and isolation of the watch room at the lighthouse.
Reaching out, Sam pulled the curtain back slowly and leaned back in his chair so he could see the lighthouse off on the horizon. Still there, he thought.
The building stood tall at the end of Fender Point. The sea-roughened white paint almost seemed like a second skin, aging and worn. But it fit there; the lighthouse belonged in Langdon. It was just an extension of the island.
Sam let the curtain fall back into place and the room dimmed slightly. He checked his watch. Only a few more hours until sunset and he could head over to his weekend refuge. He smiled.
/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\sd/\
By 8 O'Clock, Sam was pulling on his boots and heading out the door of his house. The rocky path was hard to navigate in the twilight but it didn't matter. Sam had walked the path countless times; he knew it like the back of his hand.
A cool wind slipped up over the cliff and tousled Sam's hair. He shivered slightly. Winter was on its way; Sam could smell it in the air.
The wind picked up as Sam neared the dirt road out to the lighthouse. The gravel crunched under Sam's boots as he trudged along. He shifted his backpack to the other shoulder and picked up his pace. The wind seemed to bite into his skin.
The one drawback of the lighthouse was the cold. Sam had done his best to create a cozy space in the watchroom. He found the whirring of the rotator soothing. Sound and light. All made Sam feel safe for some reason. There were times when he couldn't even understand himself.
Sam leaned down and pulled a beer out of the cooler. There were 99 steps up to the top of the lighthouse and Sam was thirsty.
He cocked his head; listened intently to the whining metal of the cast iron spiral stairs. The wind had to be about forty mph. He was hoping for a storm.
Running a hand through his hair, Sam sighed. The week had seemed really long. He'd even had the misfortune of having to attend a few meetings on the mainland. Far too much time was wasted in meetings as far as Sam was concerned.
It wasn't that he had an intense dislike of people; he just didn't connect with many of them. Priorities. Sam's were very different.
He worked like everyone else but ; sure his job was a little more complex than many. His life far more simple. It made everything easier. The simpler the better.
A swirl of wind blew through the pages of Sam's book and Sam's eyes darted to the top of the star case. The was a loud clang from below. It sounded like the main door had been left open. The thing was, Sam knew that he had closed it.
A shiver of awareness moved through Sam's body. He crouched down and moved toward the railing. Leaning forward slowly, Sam peered down into the darkness.
His eye weren't able to identify any unfamiliar shapes. Maybe the wind was making him hear things.
Sam closed his eyes and focused on the sounds in the old lighthouse. The groan of metal was unmistakable. There was a rhythmic banging a few feet down; one of the ocean-facing portals with a loose catch. Sam made a mental note to bring some tools with him on his next visit. There was another sound, faint, the irregular clanging of the flag tie in the wind outside. And then Sam heard something the made his blood run cold. Footsteps.
Scrambling back from the stairs, Sam cast his eyes around looking for something to defend himself with. He wasn't paranoid; there had been some times in Sam's past when he had pissed off the wrong people. The possibility was slight, but it could be coming back to bit him in the ass.
There was a clunk that managed to rise above the howling of the wind. Sam bristled and shifted over to the far side of the main lantern. He kept his gaze averted, protecting his vision from the overwhelming light that swept in circles around the lamproom. No more surprises. Sam set his full beer down quietly and picked up an empty bottle from under the counter. His fingers curled around the neck of the bottle and he pulled his arm back, reading to swing.
A rare flash of lightening dueled with the lantern as it swung back out for another sweep over the ocean.
Sam pressed himself back against the cool metal wall.
A head of spiked, dirty blond hair appeared. Another flash of lightning revealed more of the intruder. Mid twenties, tall, well-built. The guy didn't look like a thief or a thug; but looks could be deceiving.
The lantern beam was on its way back around. Sam counted down in his mind. "Hey!" he called out.
The intruder stumbled, surprised by Sam's yell. Just as the guy turned towards Sam's voice the broad beam of light swung around and blasted the man full on.
While the man was temporarily blinded, Sam slipped across to the other side of the lamp.
"Fuck." The guy's voice was deep and he sounded pissed off.
Sam grabbed the neck of the bottle so tightly his muscles ached. His arm swung back in a wide arc and he aimed for the blonde hair.
At the last moment, the man spun like some kind of ninja. Sam's arm stopped as the man grabbed it in a painful grip.
"Nice try, dickhead." The man's voice was gravelly; like he spent too much time in smoky bars.
Adrenaline flooded Sam's blood stream. He lurched to the side and kicked out at the intruder's knee. The leg buckled when Sam's boot connected but the entire maneuver had back-fired by the time Sam looked up. The guy fell straight forward, trapping Sam flat against the lamproom floor.
The weight of the guy's body squeezed all the air out of Sam's lungs; he coughed and grabbed at the guy's heavy leather trying to shift him.
"Oww," the guy muttered against Sam's ear.
A trail of goose bumps tingled down the side of Sam's neck and he tried to knee the intruder in the groin.
"Jesus Christ."
"Get the fuck off me," Sam growled.
"Calm down, Princess."
Fingers tangled in Sam's shoulder length hair, and his head slammed painfully into the floor. The grip was tight and Sam winced and reached out to the side to try and find the bottle. He'd heard it rolling after it had hit the floor.
"I said, Calm the fuck down."
This time, the fingers twined through Sam's hair so tightly it hurt. "Fuck."
"You gonna be good?"
Sam twisted to the ide then tried to swing his fist at the back of the guy's head.
A metallic click right next to his ear made Sam's blood run cold and he froze. It was a gun.
"Now," the man said. "You're gonna listen and do exactly what I tell you. Got it?"
For a few heartbeats, Sam thought about trying something else - then he felt the cool metal of the gun barrel resting against his neck. "Okay."
"What's your name, kid?"
Kid. Sam's lips curled into a sneer. "M'not a kid."
The guy rolled his eyes and thumped the butt of the gun lightly against Sam's shoulder. "What are you, 12?"
Indignant, Sam frowned and reached up to sock the guy in the shoulder.
"Really?" The guy chuckled and let go of Sam's hair to smack him across the top of his head.
"What the fuck?" Sam let loose another frenzy of thrashing and twisting to try and free himself. He grunted and gasped as he strained against the solid body above him.
"Stop it!"
For some reason, the yell broke through to Sam and he froze again. Before he had a chance to even protest the guy was in motion. He hopped up into a crouch and half sat in a straddle across Sam's hips.
The heat of the guy's ass seeped through the layers of denim between them and a shameful heat clawed its way up Sam's cheek and neck.
The intruder chuckled again. "Awww, wassa matter? Don't be embarrassed. Better guys than you have had their ass handed to them by me."
"Fuck off." All Sam wanted was his perfect and peaceful, weekend back again.
"Be nice." The guy shifted and settled down on Sam's hips, pinning Sam's arms to the floor under his knees. "Now. You ready to listen?"
There was no way Sam was going to agree to anything. He kept his head turned away and let out a frustrated huff of breath.
"Look at me."
There was absolutely no logical reason why Sam turned to look. There just seemed to be a different tone in the guy's voice. He sounded almost apologetic.
His eyes locked on the eyes staring down at him. The lighthouse lamp flashed across them again and Sam caught a brief glimpse of his captor's face.
Bright, emerald green eyes were staring down at him. The man's face was flushed with exertion and a curve of freckles was scattered across his nose and cheeks. He had a strong jaw, that all-American look; young but maybe not as young as he looked. He was certainly strong. It wasn't often that Sam encountered anyone who even looked like they might be his physical match. This guy had proved he was-
"What's your name?"
Sam closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed like it was time for a new strategy. "Sam."
"There. Was that so hard?" The guy sat back a little and released Sam's arms. I'm Dean."
When he opened his eyes again, Sam swallowed. The whole situation was crazy. Some super-hot guy (Sam was human after all) had broken into the lighthouse, attacked him and was now sitting on him like he was perfectly comfortable.
"Get off me…Dean."
"Now, now, Sammy. Be nice. I'm not getting off ya till I know you're not gonna take another swing at me."
"Don't - don't call me that." Frustrated, Sam reached up and tangled his hands in his hair. "I'm not gonna hurt you; get offa me."
Dean laughed again then flipped his jacket back to slip his gun into his waistband. "More worried ya might hurt yourself,Sammy."
It was just Sam's luck to get attacked by a smart-ass. Jaw clenched tight, Sam stared up with a stubborn tilt to his head.
Dean held up a hand and motioned for Sam to stay put then he got up to his feet and took a few steps back.
As soon as he was free, Sam scrambled back away from Dean until his back hit the wall with a muffled thud.
Holding his hands up, palms towards Sam, Dean lifted an eyebrow and gestured toward the stairs. "It's been fun, Sam. But I'm gonna head out the same way I came in. No harm, no foul."
Sam rubbed at something that was tickling his cheek and glared up at Dean. "Who the hell do you think you are? You come in here and. And you attack me-"
"Actually, you attacked me-"
"And you throw me around and wreck my place-"
"You live here?"
"No, I-" Sam's mouth went slack as he realized how absurd it was to be having a conversation with someone who had held a gun on him.
"You're bleeding."
Blinking a few times, Sam looked down at his hand. A bright red smear of blood ran from his index finger to his wrist. He flipped his hands over then rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans.
"Here…" Dean looked around then grabbed a napkin from the desk. He held his hands up again like he was approaching a wild animal. Sam just sat there and after a few moments Dean walked over and knelt by Sam's hip.
Sam flinched unconsciously when Dean lifted the napkin.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean said gruffly.
Suddenly aware of the pain throbbing in his head, Sam nodded.
With a far more gentle touch than Sam expected, Dean smoothed his hair back and pressed the napkin to Sam's temple.
"Is it bad?" Sam asked reluctantly.
"You'll live. Might need stitches."
"No way." Sam flinched back from Dean's hand. There was no way he was going to the doctor on a friday night. the last thing he wanted to do with his time off was get poked and prodded. "I've got those butterfly bandages."
It looked, for a second, like Dean was going to object then he sighed and stood up. "Where?"
Sam nodded towards the opposite wall where the first aid kit hung. He was glad he'd bothered with refilling it when he'd taken the contract. It wasn't like he'd expected to actually need it.
He kept an eye on Dean. The man headed straight over to the first aid kit and lifted it off the hook. It clunked on the table and Dean flipped the latch open and searched through the contents. "Do you really live here?"
It seemed pointless not to answer. "I work here. Well, I keep the automated systems running. It's peaceful. I come here, on the weekends because it's peaceful. No one ever comes here." Except you, Sam didn't bother adding.
"People think it's haunted." Dean held up a box of bandages with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"They think it's what?"
"Nothin'." Dean shook his head and headed back over to Sam's side. As he fumbled with the box, Sam studied his hands. His skin was rough, there were scars on the backs of his hands. Whatever kind of work he did, it was probably hard work.
"Why'd you break in?" Okay, so it might be a stupid question. But for some strange reason, Sam had the distinct impression that Dean hadn't come to the lighthouse with theft or vandalism on his mind.
"It's complicated." Dean peeled the back off one of the bandages and pressed it high on Sam's temple.
"I guess so if you're used to pulling a gun on people." His eyes traced the scars on Dean's wrist. They kept going until they disappeared under the sleeve of his jacket.
"I thought you were someone else. but you did attack me."
Sam folded his arms and winced as Dean pressed another bandage to his skin. "You broke in!"
"Fair enough."
"You gonna tell me why?"
"No. You gonna take anymore badly aimed swings at me?" There was a slight smile on Dean's mouth as he pressed the last bandage to Sam's cheek.
For some bizarre reason, Sam found himself resisting the urge to smile in return. "I won't hurt you."
Chuckling again, Dean patted the side of Sam's face with the napkin. "Good as new," he pronounced as he sat back on his heels.
Finally, Sam was able to touch the spot on his cheek that was beginning to throb. The cut was bigger than he'd expected. It ran from his hairline down to his cheek. He frowned, trying to remember how it had happened.
As though sensing Sam's confusion, Dean ducked his head down to catch Sam's gaze. "You went down pretty hard. Maybe connected with the wall or somethin'."
Sam nodded, fingers still tracing the edges of the bandages. "Thanks," he muttered.
"No sweat." Dean pushed back up and stretched. He sighed and straightened his shirt and jacket. "Got anything to drink?"
Later, Sam might write it off to his head injury. "Beer, in the cooler." He lifted his chin in the general direction of the desk.
"Awesome." Dean headed over, bent down and pulled a couple of beers out. He let the water drip off and then twisted the top off one before walking back to hand it to Sam.
AFter Sam took the bottle Dean held out his hand and hauled Sam up to his feet. The lamp swung around and Dean squeezed his eyes shut to block out the harsh light. "How the hell do you put up with that?"
"Not always on," Sam murmured. "And, I slept down in the watch room." Right on cue, the giant mechanism ground to a halt and the light flashed out. The small emergency lights clicked on and the room was suddenly dimly lit and a little too close.
Dean lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. After a lingering look at Sam, he walked over to the window and looked out. "Nice view."
"Yeah. And it's quiet. I like that. High up too - feels … I don't know, safter." Sam sighed. As soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back. He sounded like a completely idiot.
"Always go for the higher ground," Dean said quietly.
"What?" Sam headed over to stand beside the intriguing stranger.
"You ever hear anything strange up here?"
"Strange?'
"Well." Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Seems like a place like this might freak ya out a little. Late at night? Too much time alone?"
"Like I said," Sam answered. "I like it here." I don't like people very much. Or maybe they don't like me." The latter was probably closer to the truth. People never seemed to want to spend much time with Sam, they always seemed a little unsettled.
"So, no unexplained noises, bad smells? Any-"
"What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Sam put his beer down on the window sill and turned to face Dean.
All Dean did was stare into Sam's eyes like he was searching for some kind of answer.
The look was a little too intense and Sam had to look away. There was just something about Dean - something more than just the fact that he was a great looking guy. "Unbelieveable."
"What's unbelieveable?"
"Me," Sam answered with a shake of his head. Right at the moment he should be calling the Sheriff or , at least, telling Dean to get out. Maybe he'd finally spent a little too much time alone. He'd always wondered if that would take a toll on his sanity.
Dean shook his head then took a few gulps of beer. After he lowered the bottle he looked over at Sam, eyes reflecting the moonlight that was coming through the window. "Okay, Sam. It's been a weird night. Hell, it's been a weird fuckin' month. I'm gonna just lay it all out there."
"Okay." Sam's heart started to beat a little faster and he licked his lips.
"I got some info a while back that there was a haunting on this island."
"Like ghosts and poltergeists?" Sam pressed his beer over the bandages. The wound was radiating a sharp pain now that he was standing.
Dean's lips rolled together for a moment, then he took another drink. "Yeah, kinda like that."
Sam's lips twitched as he tried not to smile. "You like those Ghost Hunter guys on TV? Where's your camera?"
Scowling, Dean set his beer down and leaned on the sill. "Those guys are idiots. Miracle they haven't been killed yet if you ask me."
"You're not trying to tell me ghosts and EVPs are real, are you?" Sure, Sam had seen the TV shows. He only watched because he liked to see grown men scare the hell out of themselves.
"Fan of the show, Sam?"
All Sam did was glare.
"EVPs are bullshit," Dean said. Most of the stuff they use is stupid. He looked exasperated and threw his hands up. "Unbelievable."
"What do you do then?"
Dean was silent for a while as though he was searching for the right words. "I go to places - when I hear about activity that's - out of the ordinary. I investigate if there's something to it. I do what I can to get rid of it."
"The Exorcist?"
"You must watch a hell of a lot of TV."
"I like horror shit." Being scared was, at least, a way to feel something.
"Look. I just try to help people."
"I didn't need help," Sam said stubbornly.
"Well, I know that now," Dean deadpanned.
"No ghosts here," Sam said. It was, quite possibly, the strangest conversation he had ever had. The strangest part of all was that he believed Dean. There was something convincing about him.
"No ghosts." Dean rubbed at the back of his neck for a few moments. "Guess I should get goin'."
It felt a little disappointing. It shouldn't. It made no sense what-so-ever for Sam to want to spend time with this random stranger. There was just something in those green eyes; it puzzled Sam a little but he was drawn to the man. "Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"I've heard that the old firestation is haunted. I mean. Old stories." That much was true. Sam had overheard one of the old guys telling the story one morning at Tina's diner. The guy used to be a firefighter back in the day. Sam had been intrigued
"Hey." Dean's eyes brightened and his face lit up with a smile. "Thanks Sam."
Sam shrugged. It didn't seem like such a big deal. "No problem."
"I'll check it out tomorrow. See if I can find anything." Dean drained the rest of his beer and put the empty down on the sill. He stepped forward and cupped his palm against Sam's cheek. For a few moments his thumb swept over the bandages then he let his hand fall.
The touch left Sam feeling a little over-heated and he cleared his throat nervously. "All good?"
Nodding, Dean took a few steps backwards. "Not bleeding. So good. Yeah. You'll still be handsome, Sammy."
Another flush of heat rose in Sam's body and he smiled shyly before looking down at the floor.
Another step back and Dean reached the stair railing. "Guess. I guess I should get going."
Sam nodded and lifted his gaze. "You stayin' at Erma's guesthouse?"
Dean nodded. "She's quite a character."
"She is." Sam pressed his lips together. "Maybe I'll see you again before you leave the island." He wasn't even sure why he said it; it wasn't like him at all to even want to see someone, let alone someone who had broken in.
"Maybe," Dean said as he turned to head down the stairs. "Night … bumpin' into ya, Sammy."
"Sam." Sam smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear.
"Yeah." Dean laughed and winked before beginning the long jog down the stairs.