Work Text:
The People Who Stay
Dean hated being stuck on fence duty.
At nine years old, he was old enough to help.
According to Caleb, he was not old enough to help correctly.
"You're holding it backwards."
Dean glared at him.
"It's a hammer."
"Exactly."
"It only has one direction."
Caleb snorted.
"That's not how tools work."
Dean crossed his arms.
"That's exactly how tools work."
Seventeen-year-old Caleb Ames looked down at him with all the patience of a saint.
Or someone considering murder.
Dean wasn't sure which.
"Give me the hammer."
"No."
"Deuce."
"No."
"You are literally hammering the wrong side."
Dean looked at the tool.
Looked at the fence.
Looked back at Caleb.
Then silently handed it over.
Caleb smirked.
"Thought so."
Dean hated him.
A little.
Maybe.
Not really.
The truth was that Dean liked days like this.
Just him and Caleb.
No hunting.
No nightmares.
No adults hovering.
Just fixing things.
It felt normal.
Which was funny considering neither of them had much experience with normal.
Dean held the fence post steady while Caleb worked.
The late afternoon sun beat down on them.
Somewhere nearby Sam was chasing chickens.
Pastor Jim had already rescued three chickens.
Bobby had threatened to let natural selection take its course.
Sam remained undefeated.
Dean smiled to himself.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing."
"That smile says otherwise."
Dean shrugged.
"Sam tried to put a chicken in Dad's truck."
Caleb laughed so hard he nearly dropped the hammer.
"Please tell me he succeeded."
"He got it into the cab."
"Oh my God."
"Dad didn't find it until he drove into town."
Caleb wiped tears from his eyes.
"Your brother is chaos."
"Yeah."
Dean's smile softened.
"He's pretty great."
The answer came automatically.
Without thought.
The way it always did when Dean talked about Sam.
Caleb noticed.
He always noticed.
"Yeah."
The teenager smiled.
"He really is."
For a while they worked in comfortable silence.
The kind that didn't need filling.
The kind Dean had only ever found around a handful of people.
Sam.
Dad on his better days.
Pastor Jim.
Bobby.
Caleb.
Mackland.
The realization crept into his mind before he could stop it.
Caleb wasn't a visitor anymore.
He wasn't Dad's friend's kid.
He wasn't somebody Dean knew.
He was just...
Caleb.
Part of things.
Part of them.
Had been for a long time.
The thought followed Dean all afternoon.
Even after the fence was repaired.
Even after dinner.
Even after Sam fell asleep on the living room couch with a comic book on his chest.
Dean sat on the front porch steps watching fireflies flicker across the field.
The summer air was warm.
The farm was quiet.
For once.
The screen door creaked behind him.
Caleb stepped onto the porch carrying two bottles of root beer.
He handed one to Dean.
Dean accepted it.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
For a few minutes neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It never really was.
Eventually Caleb stretched his legs out in front of him.
"You've been weird all day."
Dean frowned.
"No I haven't."
"You have."
"No."
"Deuce."
Dean rolled his eyes.
Caleb waited.
Dean hated when he did that.
The waiting.
The patience.
The certainty that eventually Dean would talk.
Because somehow Caleb was always right.
Finally Dean sighed.
"Can I ask you something?"
Caleb's expression immediately softened.
"Always."
Dean stared out across the field.
Not looking at him.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
The question slipped out quietly.
Almost lost beneath the sound of crickets.
For a moment Caleb didn't answer.
Dean wondered if maybe he hadn't heard.
Then—
"What do you mean?"
Dean shrugged.
"New York."
A pause.
"School."
Another.
"Here."
Caleb leaned back against the porch railing.
Thinking.
Dean could practically see the gears turning.
Eventually understanding dawned.
And Caleb's expression changed.
Growing softer.
Sadder somehow.
Like he finally understood the question Dean was really asking.
Not why do you visit?
Why do you stay?
Why do you keep choosing us?
"You know," Caleb said slowly, "when I first met you, I thought you were weird."
Dean looked offended.
"What?"
"You were."
"I was five."
"Exactly."
Dean elbowed him.
Caleb laughed.
"You wouldn't talk."
Dean looked away.
The old shame still lingered sometimes.
Even years later.
Caleb immediately noticed.
"Hey."
Dean glanced up.
"I didn't mean it like that."
The teenager bumped his shoulder gently.
"You were dealing with stuff no kid should have to deal with."
Dean nodded.
The embarrassment eased.
A little.
Caleb stared out at the darkening fields.
"You know what I remember most?"
Dean shook his head.
"You carrying Sammy around."
That surprised him.
"Really?"
"Oh yeah."
Caleb grinned.
"You were tiny."
"I wasn't tiny."
"You absolutely were."
Dean rolled his eyes.
Caleb continued anyway.
"You were carrying around this giant baby like the fate of the universe depended on it."
Dean smiled despite himself.
That sounded accurate.
"You looked exhausted all the time."
"I probably was."
"Yeah."
The smile faded.
Something more serious taking its place.
"But you loved him."
Dean frowned.
"Of course I did."
"I know."
Caleb's voice softened.
"That's my point."
Dean looked confused.
Caleb took a slow breath.
"You spent your whole life protecting people."
The words settled heavily between them.
"You protected Sam."
A pause.
"You protected John."
Another.
"Half the time you were trying to protect me."
Dean snorted.
"You don't need protecting."
"Tell that to my report cards."
Dean laughed.
Then fell quiet again.
Because Caleb wasn't joking now.
Not really.
"Somewhere along the way," Caleb continued, "you stopped being some kid I knew. It happened so quickly that I didn’t even realize it."
Dean felt his chest tighten.
The air suddenly felt different.
He couldn't explain why.
Caleb looked over.
Meeting his eyes.
"You became my family."
The words landed with surprising force.
Simple.
Honest.
No speeches.
No drama.
Just truth.
Dean stared at him.
Trying to think of something to say.
Nothing came.
Because suddenly a hundred memories were running through his head.
Caleb teaching him sign language.
Caleb sitting beside his bed after nightmares.
Caleb teaching him to throw a punch.
Caleb helping with homework.
Caleb showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
No matter how many times he left.
He always came back.
Dean swallowed hard.
"Yeah."
His voice came out rough.
He cleared his throat.
"You're my family too."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
The porch went completely silent.
Caleb froze.
Actually froze.
Dean immediately wanted to crawl into a hole.
Because apparently talking about feelings was still terrible.
Then Caleb smiled.
Small.
Genuine.
A little emotional.
"Yeah?"
Dean shrugged.
Unable to look at him now.
"Yeah."
The smile widened.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then—
"Good."
Dean glanced over.
"What?"
Caleb looked out toward the fields.
Like he couldn't quite bring himself to look at Dean either.
"Good."
That was all he said.
And somehow it was enough.
They sat there for a while longer.
Watching fireflies dance across the darkness.
Inside the farmhouse, Sam shifted on the couch and mumbled something in his sleep.
Neither boy moved.
Eventually Dean spoke again.
Quietly.
Thoughtfully.
"You know what I think family is?"
Caleb looked over.
"What?"
Dean considered the question.
Considered his mother.
His father.
Sam.
Pastor Jim.
Bobby.
Mackland.
Caleb.
All the people who had helped him put himself back together.
Then he smiled.
Small but certain.
"Not people you're born with."
Caleb's eyebrows rose.
Dean looked out toward the farmhouse.
Toward the light glowing warmly through the windows.
Toward the people waiting inside.
The people who kept choosing each other.
Again and again.
"The people who stay."
For a moment Caleb didn't speak.
Then he reached over and ruffled Dean's hair.
Dean immediately shoved him away.
"Stop that."
"Nope."
"I'm serious."
"You had a moment."
"Damien."
"You had an actual emotional moment."
"CALEB."
The teenager laughed.
Loud and unrestrained.
And after a second, Dean found himself laughing too.
Because maybe Caleb was right.
Maybe he had.
And for once, that didn't feel scary at all.