❛ COME TOGETHER ❜
・₊˚៹ . ❪ bohemian — act one ❫ ˖ ₊˚.⋆ 。✧˖°
࿐⠀┊ ⠀CH. 1⠀┊ 🏹🎨👻
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BOWIE SLAMMED HIS HANDS over his ears as the pounding on the door continued. Slowly, he slumps down, his back pressed against the door and his knees pulled under his chin as he screwed his eyes shut. He had hoped — no, prayed — that Dean would eventually go away and Bowie could go back to pretending he was an only child.

"Bowie? Come on, man!" Dean's voice carried in aggravation, his fist pounding against the wood. "I don't have all night."

The kitchen window slides up, and Bowie almost screams until he saw Katherine poke her head through, blowing at her blonde fringe with a look of pure annoyance. He watches silently as the girl shoved her whole body through the window and landed gracefully on her feet.

"Who the hell is that? And why are they banging on your door at three in the morning?" She seethed.

Bowie couldn't find it in himself to respond, his back thumping against the pounding door. His palms were sweating, and he couldn't help but pull at his fingers anxiously. Then, without much thought, he slides out of the way and pushes his Beretta toward her.

Katherine smirked and picked up the gun, seeming to understand what he wanted to say. Handle this. And before he could blink, she was pulling the door open, and Dean almost fell forward. She instantly points the gun at the center of Dean's head. "What's your deal."

Dean moves back, takes a second to register the gun pointed to his head and the pretty girl at the end of it, "My name is Dean." Seemed to be the only thing he could think to say, throwing in a charming smile.

The girl raised a brow. "Is that supposed to make me reconsider calling the police?"

Dean gave a throaty chuckle, "Look, kid—" Katherine lowered the gun from his temple to between his legs, and his smile quickly disappeared.

Bowie, who still sat behind the door, covered his mouth in an attempt to shift his laugh.

"All right, look. I'm just here to talk to my. .to my brother," There was hesitation on the last word, and it made Dean clear his throat at the awkward feeling. He hadn't referred to Bowie as his brother in six years, "It's important."

"Doesn't seem that important if he doesn't want to talk to you," She redirects.

He lets out an annoyed huff and looks past her into the apartment. "Bowie, listen to me." He began, his voice not as rough as it was the first time, "He went out looking for the thing that killed Mom, and he must've got something good because he isn't answering his phone. I got one location, just one. People are going missing in the town and it's the last place he was."

Bowie listened to this intensely, his face scrunching up as his mind and heart battled itself for an opinion. Katherine raised her eyebrow, not nearly as convinced by his story as Bowie clearly was — classic Bowie, willing to help others and not himself.

Dean closed his eyes, sucking down his pride before adding. "You're the best tracker I know. You can find him faster than I ever could, and I need your help." He waited for some kind of response, but again, Bowie said nothing. Dean sighed, "Please."

Katherine turned his head to Bowie, watching the wheels turn in his brain. With a reluctant sigh, he gets to his feet and moves in the line of sight. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to seem more confident than he felt in the presence of his older brother. It was like he was staring at the root of his problems in the face — and on a technicality, he was.

"You said people were going missing?" Bowie tilts his head, "Where?"

Dean seemed slightly relieved, "Jericho, California. It's two days drive if that." Sensing the hesitation he adds, "Look, I didn't expect you to drop everything and help me look for Dad, especially after the accident."

Bowie scoffs, "You call John blowing my hearing an accident?"

He clenched his jaw, "You shouldn't have gotten in the way of—"

"Goodbye, Dean." Bowie goes to slam the door, but Dean's hand shoots out to stop it. The younger brother feels his anger rise but tries his hardest to remain calm.

"Wait, wait—" He cuts himself off with a small curse, running a hand through his hair. "Do it for Mom."

Bowie clenched his jaw, and Katherine winced. "Low blow, Don, low blow."

"I'm serious," Dean pressed. "If we really are this close to figuring out what did it, I know you'd want to be a part of taking it down. We find Dad, we find out what's really going on."

He rubbed at his eye, "I'm not in the life anymore. I don't want to be in that life."

"Yeah, I figured that when Sam and I woke up one morning to find you gone," Dean replied, not hiding the bitterness that followed. "No note, no phone number. It was like you never even existed."

"Yeah, well, you were always good at pretending I didn't." Bowie snips back. Dean didn't falter, but he could sense the shift in his eyes.

"Look, I'm not getting on my knees and begging you." He grumbled. Bowie was surprised to see him change in attitude as he moved away from the door, "Sam and I can do it ourselves. I just thought you'd outta know we're closer to finding that thing than we've ever been. Give you some damn closure."

With a tight-lipped smile, Dean turns around and shoves his hands in his pockets. Bowie licks his teeth in contemplation, glancing at Katherine who gave a silent shrug. And just as Dean is about to walk down the staircase, Bowie lets out a small curse and runs into the hall.

"All right." He says, causing Dean to whip around in surprise. "I'll help you find, John, but the second we finish this I'm gone. I'm not doing this for any of you, I'm doing it for me." Bowie holds out his hand, "Deal?"

Dean doesn't waste a second, slapping his hand into his with a firm shake. "Deal." He glances back at Katherine, "Your girlfriend stays though, she gives me the creeps."

Katherine rolled her eyes. "Well, you're missing out."

"We leave in ten."

"I'll be down in five," Bowie nods.

—//—//—//—//—

     KATHERINE HELPED BOWIE PACK his things with the sole intent of scolding him about his decision to go with Dean. But, when it came to Bowie and his decision making there wasn't really much anyone could do to change his mind.

So, with the promise to look after Stevie while he was away, Katherine bid her friend goodbye and made him promise to call whenever he got the chance.

Ten minutes into the drive to Stanford and there was already a tense, uncomfortable silence between the brothers. Dean kept his eyes firmly on the road, with no real intention to make conversation while Bowie kept his eyes firmly on his sketchpad, scribbling the sceneries as they passed.

And to think, only twenty-four hours left until they reached California.

"So, what's the plan?" Bowie asked suddenly, flipping the sketchpad closed and turning to Dean expectingly, "And speak up, you mumble like a troubled toddler."

Dean clenched his jaw, sending him an annoyed look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know," He continued. "When you grumble incoherently—"

"I meant the plan," He cuts off. "I already told you the plan."

Bowie deadpans, "Uh. No, you told me the outline of the plan." He corrects, "You need to know where to start, what factors need to be examined first, what aliases fit best. And the most important thing — Sam, and if he even wants to come."

"Can you stop saying unnecessary big words for a second?" Dean groaned, and Bowie smugly grinned. "Of course he will," He said. "It was pretty easy to convince you, wasn't it?"

He scoffed, "Yeah. After I slammed the door, had a gun pointed to your face, and had a mini-panic attack on the staircase on my way down." He listed. Not to mention his urge to throw himself out of the car. "But besides that, you did a good job, a-plus."

"Like I said," Dean grinned. "Pretty easy."

Bowie's face twitched into a smile, but he quickly turned to the window, scolding himself. He wasn't there to rekindle his relationships with his brothers, he was there to finally put an end to his life-long battle of finding the thing that killed his mother.

That was all.

Arriving in Palo Alto was like a reward to Bowie, ( for not strangling Dean in the road.) Three hours into the ride he had turned off his hearing aids — much rather sit in silence than listen to the same three cassettes that have been playing in the Impala since he was a child.

Once the car had come to a stop, Bowie had muttered a 'thank god' and slide out of the car for some fresh air. Inhaling the cold October wind, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. The building in front was tall and eerie, and according to Dean, Sam's apartment.

"All right, I'm not having another door slammed in my face so I'm going through the window." Dean tells him, "You coming?" He glanced at Bowie, only to do a double-take when his brother said nothing, "Bowie?" Nothing. "Bowie!" Nothing.

Dean angrily reaches over and punched him hard in the shoulder. Bowie winced, reaching up to turn on his hearing aids, "What was that for?!" He seethed, rubbing his arm.

"I was talking to you!" Dean huffed, "Did you have those off the whole time?" Bowie nods, causing him to throw his hands up, "I was talking to you in the car for half an hour."

Bowie's face reddens bashfully, "Oh."

"Come on," Dean grumbled, only to realize Bowie can't hear grumbling and motioned for the younger man to follow him, "We're going through his window."

     He nods in agreement, "All right." He grabs a hold of the fire escape, and hoists himself up first, reaching down to offer Dean a hand. The older brother slaps it, and lifts himself up on his own, "How did you know where I was, anyway?" He asked suddenly.

     "Huh?—oh, I asked Bobby," Dean dismissed,  "Figured you'd give him your number, just in case." He continued up the metal stairs, "I had to bribe him with a bottle of Scotch to give me the address though, didn't want to call you."

     "And why's that?" Bowie grunts, lifting himself up on the fourth story.

     "Would you have answered?" Dean asked, his tone showing it was a genuine question he didn't know the answer to. "You didn't give us your number for a reason, I just assumed you wouldn't have answered."

     Bowie's lips tug down into a thoughtful frown, "Honest?" He glances back at him, and Dean nods, "I'd probably block the number and change my digits."

     He gives a scoffing laugh, "Missed you too, Bow."

     Bowie waits patiently as Dean broke the lock on Sam's window and slipped in first, landing quietly and gracefully on his feet. Bowie swung his foot over the sill and slid right through, making sure to close the window behind him as they entered.

     He — never one to make a scene — sat down on the couch, pulling his feet up on the coffee table and silently waiting for Sam to notice they were there. Dean, on the other hand, kept moving around, making noise to draw Sam's attention out of the room.

     It worked like a charm, and Bowie watched from in the dark as two figures began to battle each other in the living room. Punches and kicks could be seen through silhouettes and Bowie found himself silently betting for Sam to get the upper hand.

     Dean slides his feet under Sam's, causing him to crash to the ground and giving Dean the advantage of pinning their little brother to the ground, "Woah, easy, tiger." Dean teased.

     "Dean?" Sam questioned breathlessly. "You scared the crap out of me."

     "That's 'cause you're out of practice," He continued. In response, Sam flips them both over and pins him down, glaring, "Or not." He groans.

     Bowie flicks on the lamp, causing both their attentions to snap to him. The youngest brother's eyes widened in shock, "You guys are so annoying." Bowie got to his feet.

     "Get off of me," Dean slaps his leg.

     "Bowie?" Sam said softly, scrambling to his feet, "What are you — what are doing here?" He glanced between them.

     "I was looking for a beer!" Dean answered.

     "Dean's getting the band back together." Bowie responds. It was then he realized that he hadn't seen his little brother since Sam was sixteen, a small pang of guilt swarmed his chest, noticing just how much he had grown in the last six years, almost completely different, "Looking sharp, kiddo."

     "I can't believe you're here." Sam shakes his head. He looks to Dean, almost silently asking how he pulled it off — unknown to Bowie that Sam had never stopped looking for him.

     The ceiling light turns on, and all eyes turn to a pretty blonde standing in the doorway with a confused expression. She wore pink shorts and a low-neck belly shirt, and Bowie found himself inverting his eyes away from her body out of respect — unlike Dean, who eyed the woman like a piece of candy.

     "Sam?" She calls out, her tired eyes widening at the company.

     "Jess, hey." He responds, his voice much softer with her, "Dean, Bow, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

     "Your brothers, Dean and Bowie?" She realized.

     "No, the other Dean and Bowie," Bowie motioned between them sarcastically, "You know, the one's from summer camp—"

     "I love the Smurfs," Dean cuts in, stepping towards her. "You know, I gotta tell ya, you are completely out of my brother's league."

     She awkwardly smiled, "Let me go put something on."

     "No, no, wouldn't dream of it," He pauses, "Seriously."

     "Dean," Bowie snaps, moving forward and yanking his leather sleeve, giving Jess an awkward smile, "Sorry, about him. He was raised like a dog—" Dean punched him, "We have to borrow Sam, talk about a family matter."

     "Yeah, nice meeting you," Dean adds in.

     "No," Sam cuts in, moving to stand beside Jess, wrapping his arm around her, "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of her."

     Bowie and Dean glanced at each other.

     "Okay," Dean starts, "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

     Sam shrugs, "So, he's working overtime on the Miller shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

     Bowie was taken back by his harshness toward John. It was a common fact — for anyone who knew the Winchester brothers — that Sam and Bowie were always closer. They both shared a need to get out of the life, and they both hated the way John acted.

     The only difference was that Bowie was the only brother who acted on it and left, Sam always kept his mouth shut at the end of the day — until now that is. Bowie couldn't help but be proud of Sam, he was living his life, he went to college and got a girlfriend.

     If only Bowie knew the reason Sam had the courage to do those things was that Bowie paved the way and did it first.

     Dean chuckled a little, "Dad's on a hunting trip," He emphasized. "And he hasn't been home in a few days."

     Sam falters, "Jess, excuse us."

—//—//—//—//—

     SAM ANGRILY FOLLOWS Dean and Bowie down the dark staircase, his feet stomping loudly against the metal steps. Bowie kept his pace between the two, trying to keep balance in the poorly lit hallway.

     "I mean, come on! You can't just break in, middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you!" He grumbles at them, thinking the plan was insane. Sam's eyes shift to Bowie's, "Especially you, mister Houdini—"

     "Hey," Bowie sighed. "I didn't ask to be here either—"

     "You're not hearing me, Sammy!" Dean cuts in, "Dad's missing, I need you to help me find him."

     "Remember that Poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton?" Sam listed off, "He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine!"

     Bowie slowly nods in agreement, remembering all the times during their childhood when John would randomly up and leave and Dean and Bowie were left to take care of Sam — once for almost a month. It was uncommon for John to leave his children unattended and uncared for, it was one of the reasons Bowie hated him.

     "Maybe Sam's right," He voiced. "I mean, if I had a dollar for every time he came and gone, I'd be able to pay my student debt—"

     "Yeah, well not this long!" Dean huffed, his irritation getting the best of him. Bowie frowned, hating how his brother defended John even after all these years, "Now are you coming with us or not?"

     "I'm not," Sam said firmly.

     "All right, worth a shot, let's go." Bowie tries to step past Dean, but the eldest quickly stopped him. "Dean, just respect his decision." He seethed.

     "No, way," Dean said simply, turning to Sam, "Why not?"

     "I swore I was done hunting for good," He responds.

     "Come on, it wasn't easy but it wasn't that bad," Dean responds.

     Bowie clenched his jaw, "Wasn't that b— I'm gonna punch you in the dick—"

     "When I told dad I was scared of the thing in my closet he gave me a forty-five," Sam deadpans.

     "Well, what was he supposed to do!"

     "I was nine years old," Sam emphasized, "He was supposed to say, I don't know, don't be afraid of the dark!"

     Dean scoffs, "Don't be afraid of the dark?" He repeats, "Are you kidding me? Of course, you should be afraid of the dark, you know what's out there!"

     "You guys left me at a Motel when I was in the bathroom," Bowie reminded, his eyes glossing over in a faraway expression.

     "You were taking too long!" Dean defends. This was only true because no one told him they were getting ready to leave.

     "Dean, I was thirteen and you guys didn't come back for two days." His voice cracked in disbelief.

     He shifts awkwardly, "Oh, man up! You were fine!"

     He wasn't. Hell, out of everything he's been through that was probably the one night Bowie relived every single day. He couldn't even go into detail about what happened in that Motel 8 — not even with Katherine.

     "Still, the way we grew up after Mom was killed," Sam shakes his head, "And Dad's obsession with finding the thing that killed her. But we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we can find."

     "Save a lot of people doing it, too." He responds bitterly.

     "You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Sam asked them.

     At that, Dean angrily pushed open the door and stepped outside, not wanting to answer that question but Sam was hot on his tail. Bowie sighed, following close behind without a word.

     "The weapon training and melting the silver into bullets?" Sam continued on, "We were raised like Warriors."

     "So, what are you gonna do? Are you just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?" Dean mocked.

     "No, not normal. Safe." Bowie answered, leaning against the car.

     Dean looks between the bitterly, "And that's why you both ran away, huh?"

     "I don't know about Bowie, but I was just going to college," Sam shook his head, "It was Dad who said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone and that's what I'm doing."

     Bowie slowly raised his hand between them, before pointing to himself, "I ran away, like indefinitely."

     Dean scoffed. "Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now if he's not dead already, I can feel it."

     Oh, no. Bowie thought sarcastically.

     "I can't do this alone," Dean continued.

     "Yes, you can."

     "Yeah, well I don't want to." He admits.

     Sam and Bowie shared a knowing look. He was trying to say — in a very Dean way — that he missed his brothers. Even after Bowie had left, all these years later, Dean hated that he missed his company.

     He probably would never admit it — especially not to himself — but things hadn't been the same since Bowie ran away, and it took the absence of his father John to give him a reason to reach out again. Even if, deep down, Dean hated Bowie in a way.

     Sam gave a defeated sigh, "What was he hunting?"

     Dean lifted up the trunk of the Impala, pulling the first layer to reveal an aray of weapons. Bowie titled his head, notcing the crossbow discared under mutiple rifles — it had been his, and he was surprised they didn't throw it away.

     "Why didn't you go with him?" Bowie asked, grabbing a random machete and swinging it around. "When he went off hunting whatever it was."

     "I was working my own gig — this voodoo thing down in New Orleans," Dean explains.

     Bowie hums, "I met a guy there once on a college trip, Marcel. . .chill dude."

     "Wait," Sam looked amused, "Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?"

     "I'm twenty-six, dude." Dean says, handing him a newspaper clip, "So, Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California, about a month ago, this guy —  they found his car, but he vanished."

     Bowie holds the newsclip in his hand, sweaping over the words quickly, "Centennial Highway?" He reads out, "Was this the connection?"

     Dean nods.

     "So maybe he was kidnapped?" Sam suggested.

     Bowie frowned, "That's unlikely, the kidnapper would've disposed of eveything, and even then I'm sure the police would've found something of a struggle, fingerprints, hair samples. Something to prove this was a human problem."

     Dean smirked, "Look at you, getting back in the game." The younger man rolled his eyes as he continued to hand them more newsclips, "Here's another in April, another on in December '04, '03, '98, '92—"

     "Ten over the past twenty years," Bowie muttered to himself.

     "All men, all same five mile stretch of road." Dean nods, "It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago, I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough and then I get this voice mail yesterday." He clicks the tape.

     "Dean, something is starting to happen. I think it's serious. I need to try to figure out what's going on, be very careful. We're all in danger."

     Bowie's frown deeped, "I have no idea what any of that said." Sam quickly repeated the words more clearly.

     "You know there's EVP on that?" Sam turned to Dean.

     The eldest smiled. "Not bad, Sammy. Kind of like riding a bike, isn't it?" He rewinded the tape, "I slowed the message down and ran it through a GoldWave, took out the hiss and this is what I got."

     "I can never go home."

     Bowie furrowed his eyebrows, looking between the brothers. He seemed to hear that a lot more clearly, and the woman's voice gave off an eerie presence that made him shiver.

     "Never go home," Sam repeats.

     Dean closed the truck, and leans against it. "You know, in amost two years, I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." He looks to Bowie knowing that he didn't have to remind him.

     Sam exhaled sharply, "All right, I'll go."

     "Sam, you don't have to." Bowie spoke up, "No one is forcing you."

     The youngest shakes his head, "Gotta be real serious if you showed up," He tells him, and Bowie closes his mouth. "I'll help you find him but I have to get back first thing Monday. Wait here."

     "What's first thing Monday?"

     "I have an interview."

     Dean shrugged, "What, a job interview? Skip it."

     "It's a law-school interview," He pressed, "And it's my whole future on a plate."

     "Law school?" Bowie repeated, a big smile forming on his face, "Shit, Sam, that's amazing." Dean rolled his eyes.

     Sam smiled back, "So, we got a deal or not?"

     Dean and Bowie look at each other, having a silent conversation. Dean looked annoyed, but Bowie kept jerking his head towards Sam, forcing him with his eyes to agree.

     Then, Dean sighed in defeat.

     "Deal."

[ and so it begins. . . ]