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When the cellphone started buzzing in his pocket, Connor ignored it. He had more important things on his hands – namely, Deirdre Lambert, who also had him on her hands. Things were getting pretty serious; her blouse had been mostly unbuttoned already, the lace lining of her bra peeking from the gap. It was not the time to stop.
Except the phone kept buzzing and buzzing, until Deirdre moved her mouth away from Connor's enough to ask, "Got a vibrator in your pocket, or what?"
"It's my phone," he replied with a sigh, disengaging enough to be able to reach into his pocket for it. "Sorry about that. Give me a sec."
She removed the leg she had hooked over his thigh and slid somewhat away over the couch they were sitting on. "Your little brothers?"
"Probably," and this had better be a life-or-death situation, otherwise Dad is going to have an only child once I'm done with them.
He didn't recognize the number on the screen, but it wasn't unusual; it could have been a payphone, or one of Dad's contacts. He flipped the phone open. "Hello?"
"Connor," Dean's voice was hushed, but the urgency and fear Connor could hear in it made him sit up ramrod straight. "Connor, please, you have to come get me."
"Get you from where? What's going on?"
"I'm at the school. Please, come get me."
"You're where? Dean, it's the middle of the night, what-"
"I can't-" Dean's voice cut off, as if he moved the receiver away from his mouth abruptly. Then his brother whispered into his ear, "Gotta go."
The line went dead. Connor stared at the phone for a moment longer, and then aside at Deirdre. The angle looked wrong, and he wondered what was going on, and then realized that he had gotten to his feet at some point during the brief conversation, while she remained seated.
"I'm sorry," he said, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "I have to go. It's my brother, he sounded like he's in some kind of trouble. Could be nothing, but-"
"It's okay, I get it," Deirdre was also getting to her feet and buttoning up her blouse. The lacy bra vanished from sight. "Go save the day."
Connor also straightened his clothes, then looked down at her face. "I'm really sorry."
She smiled at him; it was a little strained, but still sweet. "Family first. Just… call me? Let me know everything's good?"
He wanted to apologize again, but it wouldn't have made either of them feel better. Instead, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips. He didn't want for it to feel like a goodbye, but it did.
Once out of her place and on the street, Connor started walking as fast as he could. He didn't run – it would only exhaust him even before he reached the school, and also might attract attention.
As he walked, he took the phone out and glanced at the number Dean had called from. He had the school's number saved in his contacts, but this was probably some extension, and not the main number. He debated calling the number back, but Dean had sounded like he was hiding from someone – or something – and the ringing phone might put him in danger.
Connor walked a little faster.
It would have been nice to have a car – when Dad was with them, Connor could use the Impala, and oftentimes, when Dad left them for an extended period of time, he got Connor some junker car that only lasted until Dad came back. Dad hadn't meant to leave them in this town for long, but some clues about Mom's killer took him off his original hunt. He had been gone for three weeks already. The town was small enough for Connor and the kids to get by without a car, but right now he wished he had a set of wheels, even a dying rust bucket. As long as it could get him to Dean on time.
He wracked his brain about what Dean could have been doing at the school at one-thirty a.m. on a Saturday night. When he had left the kids before setting out on his date, they had been watching TV and eating a pizza. Connor wouldn't have minded if Dean went out as well; he was sixteen and a half, and could handle himself in places far more dangerous than a backwater town. But his brother had given zero indication he wanted to go anywhere.
Yet even if he was allowed to go out, Dean knew he had to let Connor know his plans. The fact that he hadn't, combined with the late hour and the location he had called from, told Connor that his middle brother was up to no good – probably some prank gone wrong.
But he still didn't care one bit for Dean's tone over the phone. He just barely held back from breaking into a run.
He made it to the school in thirty minutes. As much as he wanted to storm the place, it wouldn't help Dean if Connor leaped head first into danger. He slowed down as he turned onto the street of the school, both to calm his breathing and to allow himself to take in all the information he could.
There didn't seem to be anything going on. The street was empty, only one car passed by him. He halted at the edge of the grounds and looked at the building – it was dark and quiet, and the parking lot was deserted, as it should be this time of night. Everything was so peaceful, that for a moment Connor wondered whether Dean had really called, or was it all some weird dream.
He took the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open – there was indeed an incoming call from half an hour ago. Connor deliberated if he should call the number or return the phone to his pocket and try to find Dean some other way, when the device buzzed in his hand, almost making him drop it. The number was a different one, but it started with the same digits as the one Dean had called from before, so Connor assumed it was a different office within the school.
"Dean, where are you?" He said as he took the call. He didn't even consider it could be anyone else.
"Are you here yet?" Dean's voice sounded more impatient and less scared than before.
"Yeah, I'm at the school. Where are you?"
"Are you out front? Is there anybody there?"
Connor already knew the street was empty, but he glanced about him anyway. "Nobody's here. What-"
"Can you do a quick check around the building? They may be in the back lot."
Connor squeezed his lips together; he didn't like Dean not replying to his question and cutting him off, but he was going to ignore it for now, just until he made sure his little brother wasn't in any danger.
"Okay. Stay on the line," he started walking again.
He circled the building, watching both it and his surroundings. The school was completely dark, the back lot empty. The streets around it were also deserted. Not even stray cats bothered going out at this hour.
He reached the front of the school again. "All clear. Now where the hell are you?"
"The eastern wing, you know, it's where the labs are-"
"Come out, then."
"I can't, got locked in."
"What?"
"Look, it'll take too long to explain over the phone right now. There's an emergency exit at the end of the hall, I'm pretty sure it leads outside, but I can't open it from here."
"Did you break into the school? Do you have your lockpicking kit with you?"
"I had to get rid of it. Can you try to open the door?"
"Hang on," this was getting ridiculous; Connor wanted to learn the whole story, but at the same time he was honestly too scared to find out the depth of shit Dean had gotten himself into. It was best to focus on the task at hand – getting his brother to a safe place where Connor could kick his ass in peace.
He had to do almost a full circle of the building again before he found the door Dean had mentioned. He raised the phone to his ear. "I think I'm by the door you're talking about. I want you to hang up now and come here. Knock on the door from the inside so I'll know I'm at the right place."
"Okay," Dean hesitated for a moment and then added, "Thank you," before hanging up.
"Yeah," Connor muttered and stuffed the phone into his pocket. He walked up to the door and leaned close, putting his ear against it. He would have liked hearing Dean's footsteps as he approached the door, but he wasn't sure he would be able to; the door seemed pretty solid.
But he did hear the knock when it came a few minutes later – it was more of a banging, actually, and Connor had to jerk his head away from the door.
"Connor!" Dean's voice was muffled, but audible. "You there?"
"I'm here," Connor unzipped his jacket so he could get to the inner pocket. "Stay right where you are."
Dean's response wasn't audible this time, but Connor guessed it was something along the lines of 'where am I gonna go'. It was for the best that there was a door between them, otherwise Connor would have smacked his brother's ass by now. Instead, he concentrated on the lock.
He didn't have the regular lockpicking kit he carried when working a case; after all, he wasn't expecting to have to deal with locked doors tonight. But he did have a little jackknife lockpicking set, which was small enough to be practically unnoticeable when stashed in the inner pocket of his jacket. He actually had to feel inside for a moment to find it.
At last he did, extracted the tension tool from the side of the kit, unfolded the picks, and went to work. It took much longer than it would under normal circumstances – if any of the instances of the Winchesters having to pick locks could have been considered 'normal'. The jackknife kit wasn't as easy to handle as Connor's regular picks, and the lighting was poor. He also had to stay attentive to the sounds of his surroundings, in case anybody was coming.
Despite the chilly night air, Connor could feel sweat on his brow as he tried to keep his hands steady, tried to focus on the goddamned lock that stood between him and his little brother. It felt like he would still be here by the time the sun came up, but suddenly he felt the lock give.
Connor gave a bang on the door. "Push the lever."
He stepped back as he heard a metallic clank from inside, and a moment later the door swung open and Dean burst out. Connor grabbed his arm before the kid's momentum carried him all the way to the street, and held him in place while he looked him over.
"I'm fine," Dean said as Connor patted him down. "Can we go?"
"Yeah, let's move."
Connor feared Dean would start running, but his brother matched his walking speed as Connor led them away from the dark school building. He didn't breathe easy until they were several streets away with no sign of pursuit. Only then did he finally speak.
"Sam back in the room?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. "I waited till he fell asleep before I went out. Put down fresh salt-lines, locked the door. He should be all good."
Connor wasn't all that worried about his baby brother – Sam could handle himself as well as Dean – but he didn't like the idea of Dean leaving him alone without Connor knowing about it.
"Look, it was just-" Dean started, and Connor took one hand out of his coat pocket to signal at his brother to shut up. Dean did.
They walked in silence, and for once, Connor didn't care about the time it took them to reach their motel. The cool, quiet night air cleared his head. Not all the way – there was still anger simmering in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn't climbing up to blind him with rage. He wasn't so sure it would stay that way when Dean finally told his story, but Connor tried to enjoy the peace while he could.
As they approached the motel, Connor slowed down. His legs wanted to lead him to their room, but he wasn't sure that would be a good idea. Even though Sam was a heavy sleeper, Connor didn't want to be forced to keep his voice down, especially not if he was going to give Dean a dressing-down, as he was sure would be the case. And he wouldn't be able to keep it down if – when – he whipped his brother's ass. No, they needed to go someplace else.
They reached the edge of the parking lot; the way to their room was across it, but Connor turned and headed toward the other end of the property.
"Where are you going?" Dean asked.
"We can't go back to the room right now. I don’t want to wake Sam up."
"Okay, so where?"
Connor actually wasn't sure, but he kept walking. The motel was mostly empty, the Winchesters had seen only a few other guests during their time here, and the room windows they were passing were all dark. At the end of the row Connor could see light spilling through a glass door, and knew where they should head to.
The laundry room was empty when he peered through the glass. Of course it was; even if the motel was packed, he doubted anybody would be doing their loads at this time of night. It was unlocked, per the motel's advertisement of a twenty-four-seven access to the facility; either out of the kindness of the owners' heart, or – more likely – their desire to make as much profit as possible. Connor didn't think they would be kicking out non-guests if they came to use the machines; money was money.
Connor pulled the door open and let Dean inside before throwing another look over his shoulder and following his brother into the glare of fluorescent lights.
There were maybe ten washers and a similar number of dryers – some stacked over each other by the walls, some standing around. There was a table and some folding chairs, and a vending machine for laundry detergent. One washing machine stood off to the side, near the back of the room, its panel removed and some parts lying beside it, probably waiting for the technician to come back and finish the job.
Dean took a few steps into the room, stopped and turned to face Connor, who let the door close behind his back as he came to stand in front of Dean.
Connor crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's hear it," he said.
Dean dropped his eyes, feet shuffling on the floor. "Does it matter?" He mumbled. "You're gonna beat my ass one way or another."
"I dunno. Maybe I won't."
"You will."
"How do you know?"
Dean looked up. "Because I broke into school to steal a test, okay?! That a good enough reason for you?!"
"You what?"
"You heard me," Dean straightened his back and stared at Connor. He had gone from docile apprehension to outright defiance. Connor knew this mood: Dean had nothing to lose, he might as well go down fighting.
"I might not've heard you. I thought you said you broke into the school to steal a test."
"That's right," Dean was still staring steadily at him, challenging. He reminded Connor of a little animal standing on its hind legs, fur puffed, trying to intimidate a predator. Why Dean thought this would work on his older brother, Connor had no idea.
"What test was it?" He asked.
The question threw Dean off track. "What?"
"What class was the test for?"
The defiance in Dean's gaze momentarily faltered with bafflement, and then he snorted. "What does it matter? It was math, if you have to know."
Connor shook his head. "You don't have a problem with math. Never did."
"Yeah? So?"
"So you didn't do it for yourself. Who put you up to it?"
Dean blinked, intimidating posturing forgotten. "Nobody put me up to it."
"You just up and decided to steal a test?"
Dean pulled his shoulders back. "Yeah."
"No, you didn't."
The scowl returned to Dean's face. "You don't know anything."
"Then tell me."
Dean squinted at him with suspicion, and to be honest, Connor was rather surprised with himself as well. He had busted Dean out of the school into which he had broken, after sneaking out of the motel room – it was enough evidence to blister Dean's ass, even if he didn't confess to the reason for his actions.
The long walk to the motel had cleared his head, it seemed, since he was willing to hear the tale Dean was about to spin. Connor nodded at his brother, and Dean stared at him for a moment longer before saying, "It was Noel's idea. We were talking, and Florrie said she was terrified of the upcoming test, and Nate said he was too, and he wished there was something he could do about it, and Noel said he knows where Mr. Carradine keeps the original tests before he makes copies of them, and then Florrie said, wouldn't it be awesome if we took a peek at the test-"
"So it was a girl?"
"Huh?" Dean looked confused as his frantic speech was interrupted. "No, man, I said it was Noel."
"Sure."
"It was. I just mentioned that I know how to pick a lock, and he came up with everything else. We went there together."
"You weren't together anymore when you called me. Did he ditch you?"
Dean's lips twisted for a brief moment. "When we heard security people coming into the building and realized we must have tripped some alarm, we had to run in different directions, you know, so even if one of us was caught, the other would get away."
This was Dean using Dad's training for evil, like he sometimes did when he was bent on shenanigans; it didn't help the anger still simmering in Connor's belly.
"So this was who you wanted me to look out for when I got to the school?"
"Yeah. I figured they'd leave once they didn't find us, but I wasn't sure."
"And I guess you dumped your lockpicks so you wouldn't be caught with them," Connor said.
"Yeah. But I should be able to get to them on Monday, before the custodian empties the cans. Or I'll buy a new set before Dad gets back, I have money-"
"Jesus, you think that losing the picks is what matters?!" Connor rubbed his hand across his face.
"I know it's not, I'm not an idiot."
"Aren't you?" Connor straightened up and glared at his brother. "Sounds like you were being plenty idiotic tonight."
Dean also straightened his back, raising his chin a little; it could have appeared as another show of defiance, but Connor knew his brother too well – Dean was aware he had, indeed, acted like an idiot, and was trying to play it off.
"We just wanted to take a peek at the test," he said. "To put Florrie and Nate's minds at ease, tell them what it's going to be like so they wouldn't be as worried. I don't know if we would've even taken it from the office. You can't tell me it's the first time in all of history that students tried to get a test beforehand."
"You mean steal a test," Connor wasn't going to let Dean diminish the sin via vocabulary dress-up. "And no, it's not the first time, but all of those other students throughout history weren't my little brother!"
Dean didn't have a comeback for that, which was just fine by Connor; as far as he was concerned, Dean's chance to argue his case was over. He had been doing a crappy job at it anyway – instead of quenching Connor's rage, it dialed it up to a full-on fury.
"Did you even stop for a goddam minute to fucking think about what you were getting yourself into?" Connor's voice was rising. He didn't care. "Or were you too fucking busy thinking about the girl?!"
"I told you, it wasn't-"
"Don't bother, I know what makes you tick. But you know what? Fine, you didn't do it because of the girl. Which makes it even worse, because you did it to flex on your friends."
"I wanted to help them-"
"Then you should have helped them study, not break into the school!" Connor was aware he was shouting, and that Dean winced, just a tiny bit. He still didn't care. "Do you realize what could've happened if you were caught?! You could've been thrown in jail for breaking and entering, that's for one. The police would've most probably gotten Social Services involved, and they would've started digging into our family. Do I need to explain why we don't want that? Do you realize Dad might have some standing warrant or an APB on his current alias, and he would've been arrested too? And all of this because of a fucking test, that you didn't even need for yourself!"
Dean's eyes had been widening and his face paling while Connor went off, as – Connor assumed – the implications of his actions truly sank in.
"I… I didn't mean… I was just gonna look at the test," Dean said, all show of defiance gone.
"You didn't mean anything, but you didn't stop to think, either," Connor retorted. "Which is the number one cause that gets you into trouble, each and every time."
"I know," Dean's voice was trembling slightly. "I know, and I'm trying, and- and I'm sorry."
"Fuck," Connor let out a breath and closed his eyes for a second. "You were right about one thing, though. I'm definitely gonna beat your ass."
He opened his eyes and looked at Dean. His little brother was paler, if that was even possible. But he was also standing there, looking back at Connor, not trying to argue or run away.
It almost made Connor feel sorry for the kid, with how guilt was so obvious all over his face. Maybe yelling at him was enough to set him straight.
But then Connor thought of Sam, sleeping soundly, unaware he had been this close to being sucked into the foster care system. He thought of Dad, away on his solo mission, trusting Connor to keep the younger boys safe. And he thought of Deirdre, her smile, the feeling of her body against his, and how cold he had felt when he left her.
His lips pressed together and his fingers clutched into fists.
"Okay, then," he gritted out. "On with it."
Dean looked at the door, then back at him. "We're not going back to the room?"
"I told you I don't wanna wake Sam up."
"You can't do it in here. It's a public place."
Connor made a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating the room they were in as well as the completely deserted walkway beyond the glass door. "Have you seen anybody at all around this damned motel? Even during office hours, I haven't met a single soul when I came here to do our laundry. Sure as hell ain't nobody coming at this time of night."
Dean looked at the door again. "Can we do it in the morning? Send Sam out for a while-"
"No. I want to get it over with. Lock the door if you wanna."
Dean walked over to the door, and for a moment Connor could feel his muscles tense; if the kid would be brazen – or stupid – enough to try to make a run for it, Connor was going to break both his legs. But Dean just stooped to observe the lock, then turned his head back. "It's not a thumbturn and there's no key," he said.
"Use a chair," Connor replied.
Dean took one of the folding chairs and stuck it under the doorknob, then rattled the door to make sure nobody could open it from the outside. There was still the issue of the see-through glass; there wasn't much Connor could do about it but move to the back of the room, the farthest from the door as he could.
He had already decided not to put Dean over his knee while sitting in one of the chairs – they looked like they would barely support his own weight, let alone the added weight of a teenager who was already tall for his age. He didn't think having Dean bend over the table was a good idea either; it looked as rickety as the chairs, and if Dean was to give a sudden jerk while leaning against it, it would tilt over.
The washing machines were sturdy enough, and at a comfortable height. Connor made sure Dean had followed him after barricading the door, and pointed at the last washer in the row.
"Drop 'em and bend over."
Dean looked at Connor, who had started unbuckling his belt. "Do you want me to get the strap from the room, or-"
"I want you to fucking stop wasting both our time," the belt made a swishing sound as Connor pulled it free from the loops of his jeans; it was a sound that terrified him when Dad's belt was producing it, but right now it had an odd satisfaction to it.
"I was just askin'," Dean finally moved over to the washing machine and started fumbling with his own belt. "Because it's gonna take longer-"
"Shut it."
"Sorry."
Dean finished pushing his clothes down and bent forward to lean against the washer, bracing his hands on the sides of the machine. Connor folded the belt over, moved closer to his brother and tapped his thigh with the belt to let him know he was about to start.
He reared his arm back, and let the belt land with a loud thud. It took a second for the first swat's sting to set, but Connor didn't wait for it; Dean was used to the heavy-duty leather strap now stored in his duffel, and Connor would need to work the belt harder to get the same effect.
He set a brisk pace, lifting the belt and bringing it down, covering Dean's ass in horizontal stripes that reddened the longer Connor went on applying lash upon lash on his brother's ass.
Dean kept still, only light winces marked his acknowledgment of the leather scathing his backside. He was keeping quiet, too – barely some huffs of air every time the belt made contact.
Connor was familiar with the feedback of Dean's body to whippings – he wished he wasn't so knowledgeable about it, but with his brother being a brat more often than not, Connor's opportunities to observe Dean take his punishment were in abundance. Monitoring him now, Connor could see Dean had been right in saying this was going to take too long. There was fire building in Dean's ass, no doubt about it, but the knuckles of the fingers that were grabbing at the sides of the washer weren't whitening, and Dean's head was somewhat bowed, but not dropped down or tucked between his shoulders.
It wasn't enough.
Connor could keep going until the smacks amount to a critical mass, it was bound to happen eventually. But it was fucking late, and Connor was tired. The whole situation was getting him angrier; it seemed to him as if his brother's high threshold for pain was another form of intentional defiance on Dean's part.
He glanced around, more because of some obscure instinct than hope to have some magical solution show itself, but then it did.
Not magical, but a solution nonetheless.
Connor put the belt down on a nearby machine and went over to the broken-down washer he had noticed before. He knelt beside it and picked up the drive belt that was lying among the dissembled parts. It was a rubber loop, around half an inch in width, and about twenty inches in length, if it was pressed from a circle shape to a double-layer line.
Connor studied it for a moment longer, letting his fingers feel its texture, evaluating its weight. Then he stood up and turned back to Dean. His brother hadn't broken position, but he had turned his head to spy on Connor.
Connor could see Dean was about to fully turn when he started walking back with the drive belt in hand, and said, "Don't move. Keep your hands on the washer."
Dean did, but he also twisted his upper body so he could track Connor better. "What're you doing with that?"
"Finishing the job. Face front."
Dean didn't obey this time. His eyes, wide with alarm, leaped from the drive belt to Connor's face. "No, you can't, you can't do this-"
"I can do whatever I find adequate to dealing with your miserable ass. Now, face front."
"No, please," Dean was still staring at him, and now there wasn't just alarm in his eyes, but actual tears brimming. "No, Connie, please, don't, please, please-"
Connor hated this so much. He hated hearing Dean beg like this. He hated knowing Dean was begging because Connor was about to inflict pain upon him. He hated that Dean's psyche made it so pain was the best way to make the lesson stick and lower his guilt to a bearable level.
And he hated himself for being so tired and mad and wanting to just fucking get this over with. He clenched his fist on the rubber loop, feeling his face muscles clenching as well.
"Face front. Right now," he said.
The tears shimmering in Dean's eyes finally flowed over his lids and down his cheeks. He opened his mouth again, but then closed it, snuffled and turned to face the washing machine.
Connor let out a little breath, and took position behind Dean. The drive belt was longer than his leather belt, and he wasn't too sure how much force to apply. He would have to make an educated guess.
He looked down at the drive belt, adjusted his hold, took aim.
The sound it made cutting through the air was sharp, whip-like. And Dean's howl as it landed was bloodcurdling. Connor watched a welt rise, rapidly taking on a darker color over the reddened skin of Dean's ass. The sight almost made him drop the rubber loop.
But he had to see this through, and fast, before his courage faltered. He raised the hand holding the drive belt and brought it down, wincing as Dean jerked and wailed in pain. The kid kept his position, though, trembling hands holding the sides of the washer in a death grip. Connor could hear him exhaling small, miserable whimpers.
It was almost enough. But just almost. Connor raised the belt, landed it. Dean's cry was hoarse, exhausted, his shoulders hunching as if to protect his head that was dropped low over the washing machine. Connor whipped the belt again, and this time Dean's knees nearly buckled and his body cringed hard.
Connor should have probably added a lash or two more, but all of a sudden he was sick of it, all of it. He tossed the drive belt away in the general direction of the broken-down washer, not even checking to see where it ended up, and stepped up to Dean's side.
Connor laid a hand between Dean's shoulder blades, his stomach wrenching when his brother flinched at his touch. He massaged Dean's back.
"We're done," he said, trying to speak softly and managing something closer to a croak. "Let it out."
Dean's body sagged, as if drained of whatever strength or stubbornness that had been keeping him up so far. Connor reached an arm to slide under Dean's chest before it lowered all the way down to the top of the washer, hoisted the boy up and turned him to lean against Connor's body. Then he wrapped both arms around him, fiercely, not caring if Dean was even able to breathe in his hold.
He was able to, because Connor heard the stifled sobs as Dean cried into his shoulder. Connor held him, rubbing his back, trying not to think about the reason for Dean's misery, about the leather belt resting on top of the nearby machine, about the drive belt resting on the floor behind them.
This entire miserable night was definitely on Dean and his stupid stunt. He deserved a punishment, there was no doubt about it.
Except Connor's stomach kept wrenching.
Amid Dean's sobs, Connor thought he could hear some mumbled words, and leaned his head closer to his brother's to listen.
"I'm sorry," Dean was saying, over and over again, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Connor hugged him tighter. "Shhhh, it's okay. You're forgiven. You're okay. Everything's okay, Dean."
Dean burrowed deeper into him, his weeping tapering away as Connor started rocking lightly, humming low in his throat. Connor could feel Dean's breathing evening out little by little. He raised his hand to caress the back of Dean's head.
"How about we put you to bed?" He said.
Dean sniffled. "In a minute?" His hands were fisting tighter into Connor's shirt, in a way that said very clearly that he wasn't ready to let go yet.
Connor sighed and closed his eyes. "Sure, buddy. Take all the time you need."
"Thanks," Dean whispered. After a moment he added, "And- and thanks for- for putting up with all the shit I put you through. I'm sorry I keep making you deal with it, I know you hate it. I'm sorry."
Connor almost choked. Dean was basically apologizing for… what? Making Connor punish him? On the surface level, maybe, but it went deeper. Dean wasn't great with words, it was more in Sam's domain; but it didn't make Dean stupid, far from it. He was saying, in this awkward, clumsy way, that he was grateful Connor didn't give up on him.
He wanted to say to Dean that of course he didn't give up on him, he never would. Dean deserved not to be given up on, even when he was annoying and reckless and a fucking knucklehead, he was still worth it.
But Connor didn't say all of that. He just kept hugging Dean, one hand caressing his head, and when he said, "You're welcome," he knew that his brother heard everything he needed to hear.