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Dean blinked. He wasn’t where he had started out the day. Hell, he wasn’t where he had been just five minutes ago. The tang smell of the copper air was gone, replaced by a tip-of-the-tongue familiar scent. He looked around him, hoping to find something that identified where he was.
The only thing that stood in front of him was a doorway, and there was nothing spectacular about that either way. No carvings, no runes, no Latin phrases to make him wish Sam were by his side to mutter them under his breath in a mockery of the fact that Dean had never learned. Dean hung his head in attempted remembrance.
A chuckle escaped before he could stop it and he raised his fist to knock on the door, but it wasn’t necessary as it swung open at the first touch. Dean stepped inside, his heavy shoes making an echo in the mostly empty room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lighting in the room, to see the figure standing before him, one he had seen so much that he was sure he could tell who it was even with his eyes shut – in fact, he had. Countless hunts and backfires from rock salt had taught him that particular skill early on.
“Son,” he said, not moving from where he leaned on back of the only chair in the room. Dean brought his head up along with his eyes, trying not to let the emotion he was feeling rush to the surface too quickly. So, I’m not in hell?
He only had time to catch his father’s eyes for a moment before he was ambushed. He instinctively went to push away the attacker, but found that it was smaller than he had anticipated. And softer. And weeping.
“Mom?” His voice was rough and it hurt him to use his voice at first.
“Dean.”
“Mama, I…” words failed him. He wanted to say everything and nothing all at once. It had been so long.
“Dean, son, sit.” He was reminded of his father’s presence once again. “Tell us what brought you here.” John’s eyes went to the chair he was leaning on.
For a moment, Dean’s head spun and his nose was filled with the harsh smell of disinfectant. There was a beep somewhere in the distance – far off enough that it was just an annoyance. He tried to focus on it or push it away, he wasn’t sure which would be better yet.
“Dean,” John’s voice cut through the haze. “Sit down, tell us where you’ve been.”
The man obliged his father, smiling as he mother stroked his cheek - leaning into it when she reached the hard plane of his cheekbone. He was taken back to a time when things were safe; when things were good. He had missed that feeling, missed that love. Unconditional and perfect. His heart clinched when he thought about how his parents were together again. And if it wasn’t Heaven, at least it wasn’t Hell. Dean could live with that.
He opened his mouth to speak, but found it dry. He swallowed and tried again. He searched his brain for what to say. Should he tell them about the things that he and Sam had fought since the last time they saw their dad, the people they had saved (and not saved), pies they had eaten in hometown diners? Finally, he opened his mouth and let the words fall out, unchecked.
“Well, Sammy and I tracked down a couple shape-shifting killer bears – and that poor bastard almost found himself at the end of somebody’s daddy’s gun (but he’ll swear to you it was me). From there, we got a lead on some sirens that were luring what they thought were sailors (they were only frat boys on daddy’s yacht) to their deaths…the usual…” Dean shrugged in the slightest way that he could, tipping his head to the side for a moment and smirking.
“Son…” John cautioned at the same time Mary patted her son’s head with fond affection. Dean held in a chuckle as he cleared his throat to continue.
“I’m…we’re…good at what we do. We don’t get caught. I don’t know what happened. It started out like normal – with the ‘Agent Wilson, and this is my brother Agent Wilson’ bit…”
“Heart?” John chuckled, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “That would be Sammy, I’m guessing?”
“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffed and relaxed a bit in the chair, letting his legs extend. “Don’t think for one minute that I would pick anything so…”
“Hey now, your father and I used to slow dance to ‘Dog and Butterfly’,” Mary paused to flip her hair off her face and give a light touch to John’s arm with a warm smile. “And we won’t talk about how your dad danced – and that is in the loosest sense of the word...to ‘Eye of the Tiger’…”
“I seem to remember that you loved watching my smooth moves,” John teased, looking at his wife like she was the only other person in the room.
Dean cleared his throat to remind them this wasn’t the case. His parents looked down, sheepish. “As I was saying…”
“Go on.”
“We were on this hunt – you know the kind – everything seems to be slotting in place perfectly…though, at the time, I thought it was Sammy’s excellent researching skills. “
“But it wasn’t?”
“No, Mom.” Dean smiled to himself at the ability to be able call her by name. “One minute we were winning – I had the locals eating out of my hand (at least that one waitress) – and then the next…” He shrugged, taking in his surroundings with a wide sweep of his eyes.
“So you don’t know how you got here?” Mary asked him, letting her own eyes follow the path his had taken. For the first time, Dean noticed that there was a couch and china cabinet in the room as well. He was sure it hadn’t been there when he first sat.
“I tried one of your tricks you taught me – you know, kind of a bait and switch, but I added my own twist to it – I didn’t double back, but rather, I went above the thing and managed to hold it off for a bit.” Dean looked past where his mother stood and into what appeared to be a dining room, the heavy mahogany table coming into clearer focus. “I thought I was going to lose Sam again, like when that bastard…”
John’s eyes widened and a finger went to his lips, unobserved by his wife, who was standing with her back to him and eyes on her son. “You lost Sammy?” Her eyes began to feel with tiny pools and Dean was suddenly struck with the knowledge that this was where his brother got his inborn empathy, for sure.
“Mama, I didn’t.” Dean stood and pulled his mother close to his chest. “I didn’t lose Sam, I just thought I was going to a few times, that’s all. We laughed about it when he finally caught up with me.” John gave him a thumbs up when he raised his eyes. “We’re always playing one trick or another on each other.”
“You better be looking out for him, Dean.” Her voice was muffled, but her words were crystal clear, the duplicate of the ones his father had all but tattooed backwards on his forehead so that he wouldn’t forget that was the first and only rule of the Winchester family: PROTECT SAM.
“I do, Mama, I do. Best I can.” He felt her bury her head into his chest and her hands tighten a bit on his coat, wishing that this could go on for longer, but knowing that there was something he needed to be doing. He held her for a moment more before she must have felt the same way, and ached when she pulled away from him to wipe her eyes with her fingertips before smiling back at John.
“You told me that they looked out for each other. You were right.”
“That’s not all we do though. Me and Sammy? We don’t just hunt. We hang out too.” Dean put on a bright, forced smile and continued, running a hand through his hair. “Sam likes to go to the pool halls and hustle. He’s better than you would expect. And the girls love him.” He watched his mother’s face for some sign of cheering. “However, those girls’ boyfriends and husbands don’t usually feel the same way. But he wins the money at least.”
“Don’t tease.” Mary playfully slapped at her son, the smile finally rejoining her eyes.
“Okay, you got me.” His own smile was relaxed and easy, familiar and warm and family. “It’s me that happens to.”
“Sounds more like the truth to me.” Dean had forgotten that his father was even in the room, he had been so wrapped in the warmth of the mother that he couldn’t hold until now. He stiffened a bit as he turned his eyes to the man now. “Is it always gonna be like that?”
“Like what?”
“Come on, Dean.” The rough voice chided. “Even I know you can’t keep goin’. Something’s gonna break. And if you’re not careful – it’ll be you.”
“Oh come on,” Dean pushed him mother gently away and stood taller against his father’s words – something Sam had always referred to as ‘Dean’s fightin’ stance’. “You can’t just say that. You don’t know. You don’t know what I really want.”
John walked towards his oldest with a confident swagger. “I know you want more than what you have now.” He was nose to nose with him now, the two of them being almost evenly matched in height. Dean stood his ground, green eyes locked with brown. Neither could see Mary’s eyes filling with tears, nor the way her hand was starting to shake.
“You don’t understand.” The words were slow and deliberate, spoken through clenched teeth.
John’s hand was on his son’s chest, skipping the gentle touch in favor of a more insistent hand. “Then why don’t you sit down and tell me?” Dean hit the chair with enough force to rock it back slightly before the front legs hit the floor with a loud thump.
Dean opened his mouth to speak but John cut him off.
“Don’t try telling me that you know everything or that you ‘re still learning the ropes. Either way, it’s just not true. Everyone can stand to learn things, but I taught you well. You can be safe or you can be stupid, I just hope you know the difference between those two things.” Hard eyes further hardened. “Do you, Dean?”
The younger man swallowed before answering. “Well, yeah. But it’s not that easy. You know that. You can’t just jump to the good stuff; you have to take the bad and change it. And I can’t even do that anymore…” Dean gestured around him to the room, which was now brighter and better furnished than it had been when he crossed the threshold earlier. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” He suddenly leapt to his feet and overturned the chair. “This is all there is now. Not that I don’t love you and Mom, but you have each other, don’t you? You have Mom and Mom has you and where does that leave me? Huh?”
“Son!” John barked, grasping Dean’s shoulder.
The room began to swim before him and reached absently for his father. His hand never connected. The furniture that was so bright and vivid only moments before was now nothing but fading outlines. The beep from earlier returned with a vengeance, as did the smell. Dean flared his nostrils and tried to move his arms, brace himself on anything.
It was futile.
Dean blinked and found he wasn’t in that room anymore. He was in a different one. And his arms felt very heavy. He wasn’t sure he even had legs.
“Sam-” he managed out of a scratchy throat.
But no one answered. No one was there. The chair where Sam Winchester should have been sitting was empty. Dean swallowed the best he could and tried again.
“Sam? Sammy?” Better than before, but not by much. Enough to attract the attention of a passing nurse.
She halted her walk and backed up before standing in the door. “Did you say something, honey?” The woman before him had blonde hair, but she wasn’t his mother.
“Sam?” Dean managed weakly a third time.
“Oh, honey, your brother just stepped out a few minutes ago to get something to eat. He should be back soon.” She put on a smile that Dean was sure was forced; from being too long on her shift and doing too much for other people. “Do you need anything?”
“No.” Dean turned away.