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“Are you even gonna tell us where we’re going?”
Sam was a ball of childish rage, arms crossed tightly over his chest and eyes glaring from the backseat. He was trying his best to be intimidating, but Dean thought he looked more like an angry bird than anything else.
Dad just met Sam’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his stony glare answer enough.
No, I’m not. And you’d better stop asking.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean inserted quickly. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I left it in Kentucky,” Sam mumbled. “Or was it Pennsylvania? I’m starting to lose track.”
Dean groaned internally. The kid never could make things easy.
“Yeah?” John asked, voice dark. “Too bad you didn’t leave the attitude, too.” Sam didn’t reply, glare still piercing into their backs.
“Probably for the best we left,” Dean mused, if only to break the stony silence. “Amanda was starting to get scary, man.”
“Amanda?” John’s eyebrows rose, and he turned his gaze to Dean. “A girl?”
“Yes, sir,” he grinned, chest preening at the pride in John’s gaze. “Hot and crazy, you know the type.”
“Amanda wasn’t crazy!” Sam defended, and the disappointment in his voice made Dean’s pride deflate a bit. “She was actually really nice.”
The poor kid didn’t even realize what he’d done, in all his rage and indignation, but Dean did. He realized the same time Dad did, already backtracking before Dad had time to start in on him.
“She came with me to pick up Sammy once or twice,” Dean explained, trying his best to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart. He wasn’t sure it worked. “We walked her home on our way.”
John didn’t look at Dean. Instead, gaze on the road and face stony, he merely said: “Dean.”
It was a clear command, an order to tell the truth and do it quick.
“She only came over once,” he admitted, voice quiet. “It wasn’t- I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
It wasn’t my fault, is what he wanted to say. She came over when I missed class to drop off my work. Only I wasn’t sick, I was covered in bruises from a hustle gone wrong and I had to distract her somehow.
“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” John rumbled. “The rules exist for a reason, Dean.”
“But, Dad,” Sam interrupted. “It wasn’t Dean’s-”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean hissed, before turning to Dad. “I know that, sir.”
“You can’t go around inviting random people over just for kicks,” Dad continued. “What if she had been a witch? She could’ve placed a hex bag and you’d have been none the wiser.”
“I know ,” he answered, freezing as the annoyed tone escaped his mouth. “I mean, I understand that, sir.”
Dad looked at him then, furious and disappointed. “Damn it, Dean. I’m trying to keep us safe here.”
******
The mood in the car had improved only marginally by the time they pulled into the parking lot of a small motel, the Yellow Crow Inn. Judging by their distance from the highway and the sun high in the sky, this was their stopping point. For now, at least.
“Room 143.” Dad tossed him the room keys, not even looking to see him catch them before wrenching open the car door. “I’m off for a supply run. You know the rules.”
And then he was gone, dust in the wind before the words “yes, sir” had escaped Dean’s mouth. He sighed, watching the Impala race away. He’d be on thin ice all week now.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, and he did sound sorry. His eyes were wide and genuine, sorrow lining his face. “I didn’t think about it.”
Of course he didn’t think about it. It wasn’t his job.
“Forget it,” Dean murmured. “Let’s just go to the room.”
The best thing about Sam feeling guilty? He actually cooperated for once. He didn’t even complain when Dean double checked his salt lines (just to be sure), or when he turned on the TV at full volume.
The worst thing about Sam feeling guilty? The pitiful glances that he sent Dean. All. The. Damn. Time.
“You’d better get rid of that face before dad comes back,” Dean complained, rolling his eyes. “He’ll think you have a defect or something.”
“Good,” Sam murmured. “Then maybe he’ll leave you alone.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Dean sighed, turning the volume down before turning to face him. “Sam, I’m fine.”
“It’s not fair,” Same insisted, as if that mattered at all. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Dean just shook his head. “I shouldn’t have invited her in.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“No, Sam.” He fixed his gaze on the tv, some soap opera or another. “Dad’s right about this one, okay? Safety is important.”
Sam had just opened his mouth, ready to argue back, when the door banged open. Dad came through like a storm, carrying more bags than Dean had ever seen him bring back at once.
“Woah,” Sam said, eyes wide in amazement.
Dean, who had already sprung up to grab some bags from his dad’s arms, snorted. “Alright, wonder boy. Want to help out, here?”
Sam did, making a point to take some bags from Dean’s arms. It didn’t matter. He just took more from Dad, leaving him free to plop onto the couch as Dean and Sam unloaded teh food.
“Jesus, dad,” Dean breathed. “How long are we staying?”
“Two weeks, three at most.”
Dean frowned, taking in the groceries. Usually Dad just got enough for a few days, leaving money to get the rest. If they were staying for months it would be one thing, but for a few weeks? “So, what? Are you staying here or something?”
John gave him a look that suggested he had a defect. “People are dying, Dean. I don’t have time to play house.”
Dean frowned as his dad brushed past him and to the bathroom. Sam shot him a questioning look, but he just shrugged. No, he didn’t know what dad was doing. Deciding it was best to just go with it, they unloaded the groceries quickly. It was all basic stuff, frozen meals and bread and peanut butter, nothing too exciting. Still, he could tell Sam was excited. Unloading groceries, having a semi stocked kitchen (even if it was at a motel)... it all felt so normal.
It wasn’t until the following morning, as Dad readied himself for the hunt, that they discovered the true reason for their apple pie variation. Sam was thrown across the bed, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Dean handed dad the weapons bag, grinning.
“Here ya go,” he said. “Cleaned and ready to go.”
Dad just took them with a quick nod, the classic John Winchester thank you. “Like I said, should only be a few weeks. Simple werewolf case, but if it gets longer I’ll try to call.”
They both knew that try meant fail.
“Yes, sir,” Dean answered anyway. “You don’t have to worry about us. I’ll get Sammy and I enrolled in school, and we’ll keep up with the usual PT.”
“Not this time,” Dad answered, not quite looking at Dean. For a single delirious moment, Dean almost thought he was letting them out of training. “You stay in this room, you hear me? That handle shouldn’t move so much as an inch once I leave.”
Dean froze, just as Sam erupted.
“You’ve got to be joking.” Sam shot to his feet, suddenly very awake. “You can’t just- what about school?!”
“It’s only a few weeks. You’ll be fine.”
“That’s illegal,” Same pressed. “You really want CPS on our tail?”
“Good thing no one will know you exist, then,” John said, a ghost of a smiled across his face. He sighed when Sam remained stoic, ruffling his hair quickly. “Relax, Sammy. Most kids would love a few weeks to do nothing but watch tv.”
“It’s Sam .”
Sam looked at Dean then, a silent plea for help. He was on the verge of tears, face red and splotchy.
“Dad,” Dean tried.
“I don’t want to hear it.” Dad sent him a warning glare, all traces of amusement gone. “If I can’t trust you to follow the rules, then you don’t need to leave at all.”
And there it was, his punishment at last. John Winchester never did let him get off easy. Dean just wished he didn’t have to punish Sam too.
“Training?” Dean asked weakly, a desperate attempt to gain any access outside.
John merely shrugged. “Stick to strength exercises that you can do in the room. Latin and lore, too.”
Both boys stared at him, jaws hanging open. This was the same man who would have them out running in a blizzard – surely, he wasn’t telling them to skip cardio for weeks.
“Am I understood?” he pressed, brows raising in a silent command.
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison, one confused and the other sarcastically. John
accepted both, nodding in their direction before turning to face the door.
“Sam, you be good for your brother. Dean-”
“-take care of Sammy. I know, sir.”
“And?” John pressed, a break from normal routine.
Dean merely looked down. At least he didn’t have to see Dad’s disappointed glare this way. “And I’ll follow the rules. I promise.”
“You’d better,” John replied ominously, before disappearing out the door and into their newly forbidden world.
******
It almost felt nostalgic, in a stifling sort of way. Sam didn’t remember those days, when Sam was too young for school and Dean was left to take care of him, but he did. He remembered the desire to climb the walls, to breathe fresh air, the desperation to see outside the unrelenting door.
This was just like that, except now Sam was a teenager. Which, apparently, meant he was completely obnoxious.
“Would you stop that,” Sam snapped, glaring daggers at him. “I’m trying to read.”
Dean, who had been bouncing a small arcade ball off the wall in boredom, raised his brows. “Sorry, your highness. Anything for your precious whims.”
“I’m just trying to learn something.”
“You’re supposed to be learning Latin,” he pointed out, standing up and peering over Sam’s shoulder. There were pictures of nude statues in some garden. “Not… what is that, an ancient skin mag?”
Sam slammed the book shut. “It’s classics, Dean. History .”
“Whatever gets you off, Sammy.” Dean patted his shoulders before striding to the small kitchenette, swinging open the cabinets. Their food was still holding strong, thank God. Still, he wished he could go to the store. John hasn’t exactly taken Sam’s picky eater tendencies into account when shopping, and he was getting sick of the complaining.
“Of course, they’re probably past the classical period in school now,” Sam grumbled. “I guess I would know if I could actually attend. You know, like kids are supposed to do.”
“Sam…”
“It’s not like he would know,” Sam pressed, and he knew if he turned around he would be met with puppy dog eyes.
“Sam.” Dean let out a breath before turning to face his indignant brother. “You heard Dad – he said a few weeks. He’ll be back any day now.”
“Yeah, right,” Sam scoffed.
“Just drop it, Sam.”
“But couldn’t I at least go to the library?” Sam asked, voice desperate.
Dean opened his mouth to say no, but something in Sam’s eyes stopped him. His little brother was stubborn, angry, and relentless. Dean had seen his eyes full of rage and hate, full of passion and life. He’d seen him scream and cry and punch walls.
But he’d never seen him look so hopeless.
“It’s too risky,” is all he could make himself say. It wasn’t a yes, but Sam’s eyes lit up anyways. He saw it as the opening it was.
“It’s not,” he said, voice hopeful. “It’d take 15 minutes, 20 at most. It’s only been two weeks, Dean.”
“But if he comes back…”
“He won’t.”
“...and if he notices the new books…”
“He won’t. ” Sam looked him in the eyes then, and Dean knew he was right. The likelihood of Dad coming back now, so early and in the middle of the day, was laughably low. And he would never notice what books Sammy was reading, not in a million years.
They could leave this room.
“Fine,” he relented, heart beginning to beat faster. “But only there and back. No other stops, you hear me?”
Sam jumped up, grinning. “Yes! Yes I hear you.”
Dean sighed, grabbing his shoes. Dad better not come home.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up from tying his laces, frowning at Sam’s bewildered expression. “I’m not leaving you alone, Sam.”
“ You want to go to the library?” Sam asked skeptically.
He stood up and strode to the door, hesitating with this hand on the handle. “You’re not the only one going stir crazy.”
And with that he opened the door, stepping over the threshold to the real world.
Never in Dean’s life had he found a library fun, but he couldn’t deny that it was nice to be out of the room. Even the mere feeling of fresh air on his skin felt like a relief.
“Stop that,” Sam hissed, pausing in his frantic book searching to glare at Dean. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Aw, come on,” Dean whined. He’d been exchanging smiles with the librarian’s assistant, who was kind of hot. “I’ve been starved for weeks, Sammy.”
“I wouldn’t call your obsession with porn starving,” Sam pointed out, but it was too late. Dean was already up and on the prowl, striding towards the girl with a shit-eating grin.
“Can I help you?” she asked, blushing slightly as he approached.
“Hell yes,” he breathed, almost unconsciously.
She blushed harder.
“Tell me, Katie,” he continued, reading off her name tag. “You know where all the books are in this place, right?”
“Sure,” she said. “I can find anything.”
He leaned forward on the counter, grinning. “And would any of them happen to contain your number?”
It was too easy, really.
Dean felt a hundred times lighter as they strode out of the building and into the sunlight, Sam carrying a load of books and Dean with Katie’s number in hand.
“You’re never gonna be able to use it, you know,” Sam pointed out.
“You’re never going to be able to keep those,” Dean shot right back.
They both knew it didn’t matter. In their life of temporary moments, they never expected permanence anyways. They simply had to take what they could get.
It was with great difficulty that they trudged back through the motel door, back to the prison cell after a brief recess. Still, it wasn’t so bad now that they’d had a break. And, even better, it was empty – Dad hadn’t returned.
******
Dean awoke the next morning to the sound of scratching on paper. He may have assumed it was Sam, except for the sound of clinking of glass on wood and gentle sloshing of liquid.
“Dad?” he asked, pushing himself up to sit. “You’re back.”
Dad looked well enough, despite the exhaustion lining his face and bandaging on his arm. Relief rushed through his veins – it never got easier, wondering if his dad would come back in one piece.
“Hey, son,” John said, smiling warmly.
“How was the hunt?” Dean asked. “Did you get it?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, pausing in his writing to grin. “The bitch is dead as a doornail.”
Sam woke up finally, pushing to a sitting position and taking in the scene with wide eyes. “Dad!”
“Hey, Sam.”
Sam grinned, more excited for John’s return than he’d been in ages. Of course, Dean figured that had less to do with his actual return and more with the lifted ban.
“Can we go out now?” Sam asked, confirming the belief.
Dad just laughed, as if anything about the situation was funny. But of course Dad would laugh— he wasn’t the one locked in this fucking room for weeks. Dean forced himself to push the anger down, to keep a mild look on his face. “Give me a minute, Sammy. I practically just walked in.”
Sam’s face fell, his classic bitch face replacing the excitement. “It’s Sam. ”
“‘Course, it would help if someone would help with the guns,” John added pointedly, and Dean blushed.
“Yes, sir.” He jumped up, ignoring the aching in his bladder. He’d go in a minute, once Dad saw that he was helping.
The room was a cacophony of silent tensions for the next hour, no sounds but the scratching of Dad’s pen and the scrubbing of polish on metal. Finally, just as Dean was about to bring up making some food, Dad pushed the chair back from the table.
“Saw a diner on the way into town,” Dad said. “What do you say we grab some grub?”
Dean was pretty sure they’d never gotten ready so fast, even when people were dying. He couldn’t help his excitement. He could already imagine the burger he would get, could practically taste the milkshake.
It was even better than he’d imagined.
Even Sam seemed satisfied as they ate, too busy watching the people buzzing around them to bother starting a fight. This left Dean free to grill Dad on the hunt, to get the full story on what went down. He knew Dad would start bringing him soon—he was thirteen, for christ’s sake—and he wanted to soak up all the information he could.
“Can I get you anything else?” A voice asked, different than the waiter they’d had before, and Dean’s heart stopped. He looked up slowly, meeting Katie’s eyes slowly.
Shit shit shit shit.
“Oh,” she blushed, looking down. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” he grinned, hoping he looked calmer than he felt as he leaned forwards.
Please don’t say anything, he chanted silently. Please please please-
“I think we’re ready for the check,” he continued, if only to get her the hell away. It worked, thank God—she nodded, looking a little put off, and disappeared.
“What was that all about?” Dad asked, and his eyes were like lasers as he stared Dean down.
“No clue.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his milkshake. “Guess I just blew her away.”
Sam groaned, playing along, and hid his head.
“Shut up,” Dean scoffed, ruffling his brother’s hair in affection. “You won’t be laughing when that receipt has her number.”
It didn’t, of course. Dean did his best to look disappointed, but really he was whooping with relief as they left the diner. Really, who would have thought that library girl would work at the diner too?
“So,” Dad started on the drive, not looking at Dean yet somehow staring straight into his soul. “Bet you missed that while I was gone.”
“Hell, yeah.” He leaned back, stomach full and satisfied. “No one makes a burger like greasy diners, I tell ya.”
“I meant the girl,” Dad pressed.
“Oh.” His heart beat unevenly. “Well, yeah. But, you know. Porn.”
“Gross,” Sam wrinkled his nose from the back seat. “No one needs to hear that, Dean.”
“No one needs to hear you… ” His words faded off as they pulled into the motel parking lot sharply. Dad had the car off in a heartbeat, door slamming behind him as he stormed out of the car and towards the room.
“Shit,” Dean murmured, turning quickly to look at Sam. “You keep your mouth shut, okay? Let me handle this.”
“Dean-”
Dean ignored him, getting out of the car and trotting after Dad. He arrived in the room just in time to see Dad stride to his bag, ruffle through the dirty laundry, and pull a slip of paper from the pocket.
Oh shit.
“I knew it.” Dad’s voice was quiet in a way that terrified Dean, sending a tremor of fear down his spine and straight to his toes. “I fucking knew it.” He turned ever so slowly, eyes like lasers as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You went out.”
“It wasn’t…” Dean started, already stuttering out an explanation he didn’t have. It wasn’t like he could blame this on Sammy, after all.
“ Don’t lie to me. ” John exploded in a burst of anger, fist colliding with the fall. Dean stared at the small dent left behind, the way the sheet rock crumbled into pathetic pieces. He didn’t need to guess how that felt. He already knew, and he was sure he’d be reminded any moment now.
“You ignored a direct order,” Dad started, voice back to that eerie calm. “You ignored your damn job for this? ” He brandished the damning paper, and Dean couldn’t help but flinch. “For a fucking phone number ?”
“Sammy was going crazy,” he tried again, voice breaking. “I was, too. We just wanted to get out of here, just for an hour or two.”
It was an eerie echo from the past, from yet another failure. “I just went out, just for a minute.”
Really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised as Dad slammed him against the wall, large arm effectively trapping him. He hardly noticed the pain on his back, hardly noticed anything but the panic pounding through his veins. Dad was so close now, close enough that he could feel the heat of his breath on his face. Dad’s calm demeanor was gone, leaving only a shell of hot anger. As if he were nothing more than some monster, a thing to be hunted.
“I’m sorry sir,” he practically whimpered. It was all he could offer, his only remaining hope for redemption.
It wasn’t enough.
A heavy fist crashed into his face one, twice, a third time. He didn’t dare fight back, didn’t dare plead for reprieve—there was no point, after all. As Dad reminded him with each blow, he deserved this. The rules were important, a matter of life and death, and he would learn to follow them or else.
“Clean yourself up,” Dad said after a few hits, thrusting him away in disgust. Dean wasted no time in following the order, scrambling away as fast as he could without seeming like a complete wuss. It was bad enough that Sam had seen him whimper and grovel, bad enough that his little brother had to witness that at all.
None of them were surprised when Sam followed him into the bathroom, still sniffling quietly. It was always so ironic, the way it worked—Dean felt all the physical pain, but it was Sam who got the mental blows. Suddenly he reverted back into a child, clinging to Dean all night.
“This is my fault,” Sam argued, like usual. “Why didn't you tell him it was my fault?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean replied, as always. “I was in charge, Sam. I’m the one who fucked up.” He shook his head, repressing a wince as he wiped the blood from his newly split lip. “This had nothing to do with you.”
It had everything to do with Dean, with all the rules he failed to follow and roles he could never perfect. It had to do with Dad, with the expectations he refused to yield. And, of course, it had to do with the job, with the paranoia and insanity it required.
Dad didn’t speak again until far later, when Sammy had cried himself to sleep and the blood of Dean’s lip was fully clotted. The rumbled words roused him from a halfway sleep, driving his body to a tense sitting position.
“One day, you’ll see,” Dad murmured, taking a long sip from his whiskey glass. “You’ll understand why all these rules are necessary, why it's so important they’re followed.”
Dean hesitated to speak, unable to read his dad’s face in the darkness. “I do understand, sir.”
Dad was silent for a long moment, long enough that he began to believe the conversation was over entirely. Then he spoke once more, voice low and mournful. “No, you don’t. But you will. Mark my words, you will.”
******
Dean didn’t think about that moment again, not for a while. It was nothing special, a shitty day like so many others. In the grand scheme of things, it was hardly worth mentioning.
It wasn’t until years later, as he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and listened to her accusations, that it came back to him.
“You’re scaring me,” she said. “Ben won’t come out of his room.”
“What did you do?”
What. Did. You. Do.
At that moment he understood his father both perfectly and not at all. Here he was, morphed into a warped reflection of the one thing he never wanted to be. It had just happened, the same way it had just happened to his father. He understood that now.
Yet what he didn’t understand—what he could never understand—is how his father had let it keep happening. Because as much as he wanted his family with him, as much as he wanted them safe and prepared… he didn’t want this. And he loved them too much to let it go on.
He couldn’t let it go on.
So he did what his father should have, and he let go. He let go of Lisa and date nights, of soft smiles and gentle kisses. He let go of throwing a ball with Ben, of ruffling hair and patting shoulders and tucking him into bed. He let go of it all, and he dealt. Just as he always had, and just as he always would.