Chapter Text
Hank was comfortably resting on his self, all snuggled up, barraceded in the end of the couch. It was 2am, and, not used to staying up, Hank felt the gravity of his decisions in the weight on his chest, in the fog in his brain and the folds on his eyes.
He didn't have any reason to be staying up "watching" late night history channel bullshit, he just. Couldn't sleep. He'd been entirely restless for the past month, with his life finally falling off a waterfall after uncle JJ died and all the shit that happened because of that. Being pushed off, the water at the bottom was admitley nice, calm and warm, but if he stopped swimming, he'd drown. Dean would always say to him that he wanted things to go back to normal, but Hank couldn't find it in him to agree. He thought that things hadn't changed much at all since they got to New York. They had a new place but everyone was still the same. Well Dean had changed a lot, and to be honest Brock was more close to them now. Maybe it was just pop. He was still distant, still annoying- A draft came through the uninsulated doors and windows, Hank shifted.
Without further thought, Hank yawned, his eyes becoming more unfocused as the yellows and browns of the tv turned into desaturated blues and purples. He bobbed his head down and led his heavy eyes to rest, as the flickers of the tv's blue light occasionally made its way past his eyelids.
But before he could fall deeper into the embrace of unconsciousness, he felt something quite heavy fall gently beside him. He knew in an instant who it was (and not just because of the lingering stench of smoke). He shook himself awake to greet him.
"Hey Brock!" He said with the tone of an excited toddler
"Oh. Hey, Hank. Did I wake you?"
"Nah, I wasn't really sleeping. It was convincing though, right?"
"Yea...what're you doin' awake then?" From the other side of the couch Brock put out his cigarette into a piece of mail. He settled back down leaning closer to Hank.
"Oh. uh, Dean was snoring super loud, could hear it from my room, so now I'm out here." Hank dumbily lied, "What about you?"
"Eh, I'm a grown up."
"Whoa….does that mean I can stay up to whenever I want too?"
"I'd ask your father about that first."
Hank paused a moment, losing his enthusiasm from getting to talk to Brock. He couldn't quite tell what was so strange about talking about his father, especially to Brock. He didn't want to talk about his father, he just wanted to be with Brock.
"Well, since he's not arrround...would you let me?" Hank asked with a smile, turning to Brock.
"Not when you got work in the morning." Hank let out an exasperated "d'oh!' and sat back into the couch, pouting.
Brock relaxed deeper, putting his legs up on the cushions in front of him on the L shaped couch.
"Hey, Hank, couldya pass me a pillow?"
"Uh, ok." Hank reached behind him and pulled out a tiny throw pillow, tossing it over. "Nice throw." Brock said, adjusting himself once more, putting his arms behind his head. Hank beamed. Seemed like he was going to stay here with him for the night. Hank smiled to himself, subconsciously feeling instantly more warm and secure.
"You really shouldn't be stayin' up. You know how you get when you don't sleep." Hank gave a quiet "I know..."
"Now... get some sleep for me, wouldya hank?"
"On it!"
Hank gave a sloppy salute, and eagerly spread himself out on the long end of the couch, tucking his knees in so he wouldn't disturb Brock. Gripping the blanket up to his face, he closed his eyes and sighed, his actions feeling discounted from his intentions, like an invisible caretaker gently placing his limbs where he felt the warmest. Hank felt the toll of staying up; this time in a sort of relieving kind of way. Afloat in a sea of the warm void, being guided along by the current.
"Night, Hank."
"Night, dad."
Hank fell asleep soon after, most of his limbs lying limp on the floor. He was quiet, like a heartbeat from another you feel when connected, Brock felt as he watched the boy's chest fall and rise. He watched over with the satisfaction akin to watching a newborn baby finally falling asleep. He decided he'd need some sleep too, even if his life was a bit dull at the moment. Not that he'd really want some costumed dumbass barging in right now to ruin things. Or even any time soon, which, obviously was odd for him. Brock thought of the boys when he thought of why he didn't want trouble, but that was no problem at all. The boys were always fine (give or take some deaths) when he was protecting them. Then why would he rather his life be so mundane right now? Was he losing his spark? Or had he found a new
Wait. What did Hank just call me.
Brock's eyes raced open, though his body was still. He gave a wavering look to the sleeping boy, who was semi curled up into himself, gently existing beside him. He paused just to examine him, as if he wasn't sure he was real.
Dad.
Was it an accident? Was he just thinking about his dad and that's why he said that?? No, he hardly calls doc "dad". What Hank said is what he meant. Dad.
Brock wondered if he should even be surprised at this point. He knew the boy idolized him, and he always kinda...sorta kinda knew he saw him as a second, more reliable father. Hell he practically raised the boy better and more often than Doc. It's just. Too fast? But then again it's been 18 years (well, for Hank), and this really was bound to happen at some point.
Brock thought for a moment about ignoring it, continuing tomorow like he hadn't heard a word. Hank hadn't noticed the "slip up" himself, so no harm no foul. But that outcome just didn't seem right.
He had been ignoring this, all those little moments where Hank or Dean would hold onto him for protection, and continue to hold on when the threat was secured-the time the boys were so heartbroken when he had up and left without further notice. The moments when they were young, and would come to Brock with things that they should've gone to doc about, like learning how to shave, or drive, or relationship advice. The times Brock himself would casually say "our boys" or "my family", and everyone, including doc, and every common adversary they'd ever known would just accept it. They knew how to hurt Brock, not with a threat to his job or a threat to his life, but a threat to his family's life.
It wasn't just a matter of Hank considering Brock to be his dad, it was a matter of Brock returning the feeling. He felt it when he had started this job, doing all the fatherly things doc should've been doing. Feeding the kids, changing them, making sure they slept. At that time it was more of an annoyance, but he would occasionally feel pride in the work he put into them. In the moments they'd look up to him, tell him about their day, give him small gifts out of little art projects they made. Gifts he still kept.
He felt it when they were growing up into teens, getting used to the boys and their antics. In the comfort he felt around the family, in the comfort he felt around his family. Normally his love for the boys came in waves, with a smile or a reassuring nod, but sometimes his love came in crashes. When the boys would die, one way or another. Over and over again. What made him disgusted with himself the most, his greatest failure, was that at a certain point he stopped caring as much. He wouldn't stay up at night anymore each time it happened, mulling over how he failed, how he was an awful bodyguard, an awful guardian to his boys.
The boys have had a pretty shitty life, much like their father. They deserve someone better, a better father. And Brock needed, wanted to be that for them. He wanted to be able to tell people these were HIS kids, he wanted to be there for them more often, be more involved. It was time he stopped being such a baby, a thought Brock Samson never thought he'd have.
He took another look at Hank, blissfully unaware that starting tomorrow, his life was gonna to be different.