Chapter Text
Charles provides an address when Dean is tired of poking around Palos Altos. Dean doesn’t like that the Marrok’s enforcer had his little brother’s apartment number memorized. "Asil gets a letter from him every month,” Charles informs in a deadpan tone. Dean wants to reach through the phone and smash something into the scary man. Somehow, Charles on the other end knows that and decides now is a good time to finish the call.
“I have work,” he says before ending the call abruptly.
“Stupid, my ass!” Dean mutters against the dead line, thoroughly agitated. He drops the phone on the passenger seat and steps into the cold air. Sam’s place has clear sight lines in front and back, despite being on the second story, close to Stanford’s campus, far enough away from the local pack. Dean knows he has the right place.
He picked the lock and is making himself at home when he hears the creaking sound of Sam getting up. He quickly realizes a mistake.
Sam knows he has an intruder, but the nature of such escapes him.
Dean pivots away from Sam in the dark, careful to avoid threatening Sam and the girl Dean can smell on the other side of his brother’s bedroom door. He didn’t expect Sam to close the distance and grab him before realizing it’s his brother in the kitchen. Dean remembers how little time they’ve spent together since the Change.
Sam’s arm goes for his throat. It’s not a move to harm, but an attempt to disable.
Dean has his wrist and hand in a moment, wrenching it off and trying for leverage against the longer limbs. He pushes his brother away, hoping space will give Sam time to realize what is going on. Some part of Dean should reach out, should speak, but he’s fighting and language isn’t his strength like this.
Sam comes back at him through the doorway and Dean lashes out with a boot this time.
This needs to end before one of them draws blood. His brother in the dark and curses that the genius idiot might be worse at using his nose than Dean is. His wolf grins, of course it shares his ego and it likes this fight, likes any fight. He pops out a fist, tagging his brother’s nose, more playful than he should dare. It occurs to him, then, that his wolf is toying, but Dean, if not the beast, realizes that is a very stupid thing to do.
It seems to work to Dean’s advantage in a way he wouldn’t have anticipated, though. Sam gets angry. Raw strength where before he was trying to disarm. He comes forward, struggling against Dean’s strength. He’s not ready to maim, but he isn’t holding back so much and Dean takes advantage after a sharp kick he just barely diverts. Sam is attempting hand to hand when it’s not to his advantage, not if he isn’t ready to hurt someone. Dean realizes Sam is determined not to draw blood around the girl.
That makes sense. He catches his brother by the neck and pulls Sam under him, finally finding the words from their childhood games, “Woah, easy, Tiger.”
“Dean?” Sam exclaims once he’s looking at Dean from an angle from where he can see him through the moonlight. Dean realizes as his brother’s eyes widen. He didn’t know Dean’s scent.
“You scared the crap out of me!” Sam admonishes. It’s not something that should be made to sound vaguely like an order, but Sam is Sam.
“That’s ‘cause you’re really out of practice,” Dean replies laughing. It feels so good to see Sam. By some miracle in the dark, Dean’s won for now and kept the peace.
Part of him is shocked. Somehow, someway, Sam is well, better, than well. All alone here, somehow he’s doing good. He knew Sam was dominant and strong, but how much so shocks him. Sam has filled out his long frame and learned somewhere to use his height, proof enough when he flips over Dean and cleanly wins control. Dean settles, laughter at the wonderful reminder that Sam is safe. “Or not.”
Dean half growls before Sam taps out and begins to turn away. “Get off me,” he grumbles. He can pretend Sam didn’t win before submitting, if he ignores it, they might not upset their balance.
The tone shifts, goes from fun to serious and the reality of Dean all the way here to Sam occurs.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?” Sam demands, gripping him by the arm and hauling Dean to his feet.
Dean replies flippantly, knowing Sam will see his irony in his code, “I was looking for a beer.”
Neither of them can get drunk, after all.
And that’s when the girl interrupts. Dean knew she was there, but the light its a bit of a surprise, so is the outfit. She looks up at Sam with such simple faith. “Sam?”
“Jess, hey,” Sam acknowledges. He’s got several inches on Dean now and squares his jaw, making Dean aware that his little brother isn’t little anymore. He knew it would happen, but he remembers the way his brother used to be a little soft, stuck in a car hours on end and often bored brilliant with nothing but books and candy for occupation on long road trips.
She’s beautiful in a way that draws Dean’s attention, almost in awe. Of course Sam can’t remember Mom, but the resemblance is unquestionable. He hopes his brother doesn’t catch his slack jawed attention at the gorgeous woman seemingly shacked up with his baby brother. He feels like he hasn’t seen something so beautiful since Sam was actually his baby brother. Not everything reminds him of Mom, but enough. The shape of it, her there besides Sam. It’s not something he can tell his brother, so he lets Sam get angry, get defensive that he’s shocked by beauty and smitten, heart pounding, it’s better than how sad it threatens to make him. Of course this is Sam’s girl. Could he have really suspected any different?
“Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a couple days,”
Later, Dean would mourn how easily he pulled Sam away from his pretty blonde girlfriend. For now, he moved out to stand on the doorstep and wait for Sam to pack. Jessica sneaked out after him, standing in the cold and making Dean wish he smoked. Anything to do but actively watch her scrutiny.
She shot him as small, shocked how such an almost timid woman was with his little brother. Dean wasn’t sure what lies Sam had told her to keep his girlfriend from the nightmares. Maybe too many.
“Take care of him?” she asked, looking up, not quite as short as he’d thought. Maybe Sam hadn’t lied enough.
“Always,” he replied gruffly before giving her an equally timid smile. She’d do.