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Palo Alto, California, 2001
The days that follow Sam’s departure are probably the worst days of Dean’s life. At least, second to the fire. Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s not sure when to eat, what to eat, where to go and how to react to people.
He feels so lost. He’s got nothing to ground him. He doesn’t know how to react around Dad. How did they used to interact? They’d bitch about Sammy together, sometimes. Talk about the hunt.
There’s no one closer to Dad than Dean. But they can’t talk. Dean can hardly meet his eye and the fucking stutter is back, the thing he lost as a kid. They drink a lot, together, which works pretty well. They can fall back into past habits when they’re drunk. And if Dean reminisces a bit too much, (chokes up sometimes slurring about Sammy), they don’t mention it the day after.
Dad’s getting exasperated with Dean, he knows. Dean slips up on hunts sometimes, either expecting back up or – well, if he gets hurt he’s not got a kid to watch out for any more. And he just doesn’t seem to care quite so much. Laziness, Dad says. Gotta keep up with training, you’re getting soft, boy.
He is. Dean’s spending more and more time at bars in the evening, chasing skirt, culling the hangover with greasy breakfasts and after all that he just can’t face exercise. Sammy was always skinnier than him. There was a stage of chub when he was ten, lasting until he shot up two feet. Dean’s always been a little bit more inclined to weight, but it was only now he didn't give up leftovers to the growing Sammy and didn't do manic marine exercises that it catches up with him. His stomach is definitely softer than he'd like.
Every so often he curbs it, exercises more and cuts down on the grease, but rarely admits to it. Fucking feminine, dieting. No self-respecting man diets. Sometimes he catches Dad watching him come in after a run, pick at his food and slip out straight to a bar. Dad watches him with a strange expression, but doesn’t say anything.
John doesn’t say much about anything anymore. Sometimes Dean hopes he feels guilty. You chased away your son, Dean wants to yell. He hates you so much he’s given up me with you. Dean plays with the amulet around his neck and tries not to think that maybe it wasn’t just Dad who drove Sam away. He’s annoying, he knows that. He’s a pain in the ass to live with. He’s embarrassing to be around. Dumb as fuck and it’s true what people say about him. He’s just a pretty face.
No, Dean’s not just a pretty face. He’s clingy. Needy. Ignorant and he can’t add two digit numbers without getting hopelessly confused. Cries way too fucking much, it’s embarrassing. He says the wrong thing at the wrong time, has to fight a panic attack whenever he sees flames.
He doesn’t get what people see in him. Yeah, he’s a smooth suave fucker when he wants to be, but that’s a fucking act. And Sammy and Dad and anyone who gets close to him at all sees that straight away. It’s pity that tethers Pastor Jim and Bobby and – yeah who else is there Dean? – to him, ‘cause they remember the scared kid who pissed himself every night and wouldn’t talk to anyone and froze when he saw fire.
He looks at himself in the mirror and sees douchey hair, fucking freckles everywhere and big pouty feminine lips. Chick’s lips. He bites them and they go red and seem to get even bigger. Fuck.
Dean’s breathing all wrong and he’s sweating (when did he start sweating) and there’s an urge to punch the mirror but who the fuck does that? Stupid fucks on tv do that. There are tears on his face. He’s crying. He didn’t mean to, it just happened. Fuck, pathetic bastard. No wonder Dad dumped his ass to go hunting with Lou. If Dean could leave himself behind, he’d jump at the chance.
Dean wants to call Sammy all the time. Sammy’s called him a few times, and Dean’s called him more than that. When he’s drunk, he can’t stop himself from dialling Sam’s number. He doesn’t always call, he doesn’t want to lay that on Sammy. Dean imagines him sometimes reading books in the library, trying to flirt with pretty girls, standing awkwardly to one side at frat parties. Imagines him answering his cell phone, going, “Hey Dean... are you drunk?” and all his new buddies feeling sorry for him, having a drunk for a brother.
Sometimes Dean wonders if a bullet to the head would really hurt his loved ones that much. He doesn’t like to go down that road because – god, what if? Outwardly, yeah, they’d be miserable and crying over Dean, he knows that.
Inside them, there would be that voice. You’re free of him, no having to look after dumbass-Dean, don’t have to support him and listen to his whining – and fuck, what if they weren’t that upset?
~
Denver, Colorado, 1984.
Dean clutches Sammy to his chest. They’ve never been here before, Dean thinks, as he watches the scenery go by. He’s not supposed to be holding Sammy; Daddy says Sammy’s supposed to be in his seat when they drive but Sammy was fussing. Dean’s good at calming Sammy when he fusses, better than Daddy is. Sammy sucks on Dean’s little finger. He wanted to get Sammy a new binky when it was his birthday but Daddy forgot. He says they’ll buy a new one as soon as they see one, but Daddy leaves Dean and Sammy in the motel or in the Impala when he goes shopping.
Dean hates it when he does that because Dean can’t protect Sammy, not properly.
The Impala stops outside a small house. It’s the kind of house Dean draws when he draws houses. It’s a person house, not like the motels Daddy says are home. And the man who answers the door is big, bigger than Daddy, and he towers over Dean and Sammy and makes Dean feel like an ant. He’s not sure what that makes Sammy if he’s an ant. A baby ant? Dean wouldn’t like to be an ant. He crushes ants sometimes. A kid in the park showed him once how to burn ants using a magnifying glass.
Dean liked burning the ants because it made him feel big and powerful and strong, but he didn’t like the smell and he didn’t like how the ants died afterwards. Dean doesn’t like causing death. It feels wrong and makes him feel funny inside. You should look after things that are smaller than you, Dean decides, as he pops his finger back into Sammy’s mouth.
The big man says for Dean to come inside. Daddy’s looking at him funny like the man has asked him a few times to come in. Dean doesn’t always listen. He doesn’t mean not to, it just gets difficult for him sometimes. He gets lost inside his head and doesn’t want to come out.
Daddy and the man talk, mentioning Dean and Sammy a few times but Dean doesn’t want to listen, so he plays with Sammy. Sammy nibbles on his fingers. He wants Daddy to get Sammy’s bag, so he can play with the trucks and show Sammy picture books, but Daddy and the man are still talking and Daddy has a bottle in front of him. It’s not a baby bottle and it’s not a bottle of soda or milk, it’s beer. Dean’s tried a sip of Daddy’s beer before and it’s really gross. Daddy really likes gross drinks in bottles.
And Daddy stands up suddenly.
“You hear all that, Dean?” says Daddy. It’s his Dean-and-Sammy voice, it’s nicer than his usual voice. Softer. It cushions Dean, it’s the voice he used to use to tuck Dean in forever ago. “I’ve got to go away for a few days, but I’ll call you every night. This is Rodger. You can call him Uncle Rodger, if you like. Or Mr Rodger?”
It’s Daddy’s safe voice, and Dean likes it. Dean doesn’t answer Daddy. He doesn’t like to talk when someone he doesn’t know is around.
Daddy sighs. “You gonna be a big, brave boy for me and take care of Sammy while I’m gone?”
When he’s gone? Dean clutches Sammy closer towards him, feeling hot and shaky and sick. Daddy can’t go. Dean needs Daddy, Sammy needs Daddy, Dean loves Daddy. Is it because Dean isn’t good at speaking? He knows that makes Daddy mad. He struggles to speak, wanting to persuade Daddy that he’s good, that Daddy should stay.
The words get stuck in his mouth and he coughs instead and his eyes fill with tears and he whines.
“Come on, don’t look at me like that, buddy...” Daddy’s face is right by Dean’s. Daddy reaches in and plucks Sammy from Dean’s arms, and Sammy whines but snuggles into Daddy. He’s tired and he’ll snuggle real easy, and Daddy kisses his head and hands and whispers secret love messages to him, like Mommy used to. He hands Sammy back to Dean and Sammy starts to cry. Dean knows how he feels but is then wrapped up in Daddy’s big arms; Dean, Sammy and Daddy, and Dean feels safe. Daddy smells like the Impala and like home and Dean doesn’t want it ever to end.
And then Daddy kisses Dean on the head and lets him and Sammy go.
Daddy leaves and both Dean and Sammy are crying and Dean knows that big Rodger doesn’t know what to do. Big Rodger tries to take Sammy from Dean but he’s not allowed. Dean’s looking after Sammy. Sammy doesn’t like new people. They make him feel small inside and scared and he’s a little kid in a big fire again. Dean knows this about Sammy because that’s how Dean feels sometimes and Sammy looks up at Dean and knows him, and Dean looks down at Sammy and knows him right back.
Big Rodger tries to put Sammy in a crib away from Dean when they sleep, and he says that Dean can stay up a whole hour after Sammy goes to bed. Daddy usually lets Sammy and Dean sleep when they want to sleep. Dean sleeps with Sammy, he always sleeps with Sammy.
But big Rodger doesn’t understand Dean’s shuffling and he takes Sammy off him even though Dean gasps and cries, and he puts Sammy in a crib where Sammy cries because he’s alone and there’s no Dean, and then picks Dean up and puts him on the couch in front of Looney Tunes.
Dean likes Looney Tunes but he likes Sammy more and he fidgets and bites his hands and sniffs but Daddy always says you gotta do as you’re told and Dean was told to stay put, so he stays put. He can’t hear Sammy crying any more but he knows he’s not too far from Sammy. He knows if Sammy cries again Dean can run up and find him and make him safe and happy again.
Sammy doesn’t cry after they’ve separated but Dean does and big Rodger laughs. Dean cries more and doesn’t brush his teeth before bedtime, even though Mommy always said it was super important, like praying before bed. He prays in his head once he’s pulled Sammy out of the crib and into the bed with him, and hopes that’s good enough. He knows Sammy feels better because he holds Dean’s hands so hard they hurt.
(He wets the bed that night and cries because he’s a big boy and big boys don’t pee in the bed but he couldn’t help it and big Rodger wasn’t very happy with him and he misses Daddy even though Daddy isn’t happy with him when he does it either but Mommy says you wake me up and there’s nothing wrong with it baby you’re only little)
Daddy comes back ages later. Dean promises he’ll be so good that Daddy won’t ever leave them again but big Rodger is still there. Big Rodger doesn’t like Dean very much and Dean can’t talk around him at all, so he promises by being big and brave and not running and clinging to Daddy. But Daddy hauls him into a great big hug anyway; Dean, Sammy and Daddy. Big Rodger watches them with a funny expression. Dean wants to say sorry for peeing in the bed but he blushes every time he thinks of it.
He sits on Daddy’s lap when Daddy and big Rodger talk. Sammy’s perfectly happy on the floor playing with Brownie, the bear Dean found for him at a yard sale.
“It usual for him to say nothing?” Big Rodger says.
Daddy tightens his arms around Dean. “Yeah, since... yeah, he doesn’t speak much.”
“Nothing in three days isn’t ‘not much’.”
“He missed me.”
“Yeah, I could tell that much. Cried himself to sleep every night, you know that?”
They’re talking about Dean. They’d wanted to put Dean outside the room to watch cartoons but Dean hadn’t wanted to leave Daddy.
“I’ve been thinking about taking him to a shrink,” says Daddy. Dean scratches his foot.
“You haven’t taken him to a shrink?” Big Rodger raises his voice and Dean shrinks away. “Damnit, John, your kid hasn’t said a word in three fu-friggin’ days.” He looks at Dean quickly as he changes what word he says, which Dean thinks is silly because he knows what word big Rodger wanted to say. Daddy says it sometimes, but adults think it’s a bad word and Mommy always told Daddy off for saying it.
Sammy babbles away to Brownie, but Brownie does nothing back and Sammy gets frustrated and hits the bear and gnaws his own fingers, so Dean slides out of Daddy’s lap and makes Brownie walk and hug Sammy.
“It’s been – difficult. Since Mary...”
“John, I get that, I do, but you’ve gotta get some help. You’re jumping into the hunting game with two kids. You can’t do that, you’ve got to have stability for your children.”
Sammy pulls on Dean’s hair and giggles as Dean pulls a face. He blows out his cheeks and Sammy bats his hands together, blows a raspberry on Sammy’s arms and he shrieks with delight.
“I can look after my kids alone, Rodger. I don’t need your fuc- friggin’ advice, okay?”
“It’s not advice, John, it’s common sense!”
Daddy stands up from the table. “I’m goin’ for a smoke,” he says, and walks out the door.
Dean stops playing with Sammy and looks at the shut door. Daddy’s gone, he didn’t even say goodbye, it’s just Dean and Sammy now. Dean’s gotta look after Sammy and wait for Daddy but Daddy’s gone and Dean's sorry he wet the bed and cried he's a big boy he is and Daddy went without saying goodbye like Mommy went without saying goodbye and Dean can’t breathe, and he needs Daddy Daddy can’t go not like Mommy did because Mommy stole Dean away she stole his words and stole his happy thoughts when she went away and if Daddy goes he might steal all of Dean this time and who could possibly take care of Sammy if Dean’s all gone and Dean’s forgotten something Sammy’s face is floating in front of him and the world is fuzzy and gray and Dean can’t hear any more and he can’t see or think or breathe...
Dean wakes up in a bed without Sammy. Daddy smiles at him when Dean wakes up and Dean cries because he’s not sure how he got here. Daddy promises he isn’t going to leave Dean again, and he was sorry he left without saying goodbye. Daddy kisses Dean’s forehead and tucks his head into Dean’s neck. Daddy is lower than Dean, and Dean doesn’t know what he should do so he pats Daddy’s back and wonders if Daddy is breathing Dean in like he does Daddy sometimes to feel safe and at home again.
And then it's time to go. Big Rodger smiles when Sammy takes his hand and he says goodbye to Sammy and looks like he’s sad Sammy’s going. He turns to Dean and says, “You take care, sport,” and he strokes Dean’s head. Dean leans in a little bit. That’s how he can say goodbye, because big Rodger wasn’t really that bad. He’s still sorry he wet the bed, so he tries to smile at big Rodger, and he supposes big Rodger understands because he smiles back.
They never see him again.
~
Palo Alto, California, 2001
Sammy walks out of a bookshop laughing with a blond guy who looks like he stepped straight out of a Hollister advert. Sammy’s darker than Dean’s seen him in a while. Tanned is a good look for Sammy, it makes him seem older, more confident. His bangs brush in his eyes like they’ve always done, a teenage rebellion that’s stuck. He’s drinking fucking Starbucks, but Dean supposes he’s still finding out his personality.
A group of pretty girls walk past Sammy and Hollister; Hollister flashes a smile and they laugh and Sammy goes bright red. One comes right up to him and pushes his bangs out of his face and Dean grins at how Sammy’s face goes even redder.
They round the corner and are gone from view.
Dean sits in the Impala and calls Dad, telling him how okay Sammy seems and he’s got pretty girls chasing him and is tanned and smiling and still has stupid bangs in his face...
Dad tolerates it but doesn’t say much, telling him briefly about the hunt and how he has to get back to help out Daniel. Because Dad’s hunting with people who aren't Dean, because Dean let him down last hunt. He’d slipped up because he’d drank too much the night before, and Dad had told him in no uncertain terms that preparation for a hunt is way more fucking important than your fucking feelings, now buck the fuck up and sort your fucking head out.
He doesn’t know what to do now so he goes to a bar and drinks and picks up a pretty blonde and they have sex in his car. Poor Baby’s seen his naked ass and come face way too much. She has a smoke afterwards and he bums one off her. He smoked some as a kid, hiding cigarette packets deep down in his duffle or in his schoolbag – when he had one. Cigarettes, bag of weed, single porn mag and a pack of condoms were all hidden together intertwined with school notes and ripped out pages from books and a dog eared, tattered copy of Cat’s Cradle. Dad would have skinned him if he knew Dean smoked or got high on occasion.
They smoke leaning against Baby’s bonnet and Dean wants to cling to her and ask her to love him and stay with him forever. She asks him his name and he’s reeling, and so drunk, and he says Sammy and isn’t sure why. She’s Maude and she thanks him as she leaves. Says no one’s made her come like that before.
Dean sleeps in the car and he should leave Palo Alto, should call up Bobby or Dad again, find a hunt somewhere and do something useful. Stop pining after Sammy, he’s gone, he’s not coming back.
Dean should leave, but he doesn’t.
~
Blue Earth, Minnesota, 1989
Dean’s never screwed up this badly before, and Dean’s got a good few screw ups under his belt. Dad’s so mad he won’t talk to Dean and the words are gone from Dean again. After he said he was sorry, that he didn’t mean for anything to happen, Dad loaded them in the car. Dean got in the front as usual and looked down. Sammy was whining and confused, asking where they were going and why, what happened and “why isn’t Dean talking and why isn’t Daddy answering me.” He dozed off eventually and Dean pretended to sleep, but he couldn’t. He imagined Sammy lying cold and dead on the floor and wanted to throw up.
Pastor Jim ushered them both into the spare bedroom and Dean ignored the spare bed and got in beside Sammy. Sammy didn’t complain; when they had separate beds he sometimes snuck into Dean’s when he slept badly.
Sammy snuggles into Dean, taking his warmth and his breath.
“Why was Daddy acting so weird?” he asks Dean’s chest. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
Dean pulls Sammy more towards him, breathing in Sammy smell and chasing away the image of him pale and not breathing.
“I’m too hot,” says Sammy, squirming away.
Okay Sammy, Dean thinks, and they separate.
Dean lies on his back and wraps his arms around himself. He’s still shaking, very slightly. Sammy wriggles on his side of the bed before rolling back over to Dean.
“You don’t hafta completely let go,” he mutters, and pillows his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean opens an arm and slides his hand under Sammy’s neck.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Sam mumbles. He’s falling asleep fast, Dean can tell. Why won’t you shut up, he would usually reply. He strokes a finger from Sammy’s forehead down his nose and Sammy settles down more, turning into Dean. His breathing is slow and rhythmic and Dean can feel it on his chest. It’s this that sends Dean to sleep, into a world of dead Sammy and no Sammy and Dad’s so mad at Dean and Dad’s face turns into a hole, a whirlpool, and it sucks Dean’s hope, emotions and life into him. Dad and his hole-mouth shouts at Dean, big and booming, how he’s worthless and how he should have died, not Mom, how dare he look at him, how Dad should leave Dean alone forever and ever and then the fire came and ate him up.
He wakes up to Sammy’s wide eyes and he pushes Sammy away and sits bolt upright.
“Dean?” Sammy says in a watery voice.
Dean’s crying, he realises, as he swipes at his face. Tears and sweat are mingled and he’s breathing so hard and something’s trying to get out of him, a yell, he wants to yell and scream and sob and wail but he can’t.
He clutches Sammy and weeps onto the top of his head. Sammy, bless him, hugs Dean back and says nothing about Dean’s tears. He’s a real good kid, Dean’s little brother.
“You want Brownie?” The tattered teddy travels everywhere with Sammy, gets chewed on and cried on and sleeps next to Sammy every night.
Dean shakes his head and fists his hands into Sammy’s t-shirt.
“Shall I go get Daddy?”
Dad’s gone. They didn’t see him go, but Dean knows it like he knows that Pastor Jim will have pancakes ready for breakfast.
“Or Pastor Jim?”
Dean shakes his head. Don’t need no one, Sammy, but for you.
And Dad.
And Mommy.
Sammy wakes at the crack of dawn and Dean pretends to wake with him. He hadn’t been able to sleep after that nightmare, just pretended to, holding Sammy as he snored and snuffled and fidgeted and kicked.
Pastor Jim ruffles Sammy’s hair as they walk into the kitchen. Sammy laughs and ducks away. Pastor Jim stands in front of Dean and looks at him, pity in his eyes. Dean squirms and looks down, ears going red.
“How are you doing, kiddo? You look tired.”
Dean meets his eyes quickly and looks away. He nods, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. It’s one of Dad’s sweaters, much too big so Dean can hide under it. He pulls the sleeve over his hands and chews on it. Pastor Jim lets him do stuff like that, like stay in his pyjamas past nine, lets him chew his thumbs and lips when he needs to and doesn’t comment if it seems like Dean’s sucking his thumb instead (he’s totally not).
“Who’s hungry? I’ve got some tasty pancake batter prepared. Blueberry?”
Sammy perks up and begins clamoring for blueberry, “No, chocolate. No, blueberry, hey Dean, you think blueberry and chocolate would be nice? Or cinnamon, Pastor Jim you got cinnamon?”
Pastor Jim laughs. “I’ve all of those, Sammy. Which sounds best? Dean?”
Dean shrinks down in his seat. Sammy gets the choice here; Sammy’s the one who almost died yesterday.
“Dean, you want chocolate?” asks Pastor Jim. He uses the kid voice, like he did when Dean was Sammy’s age and wouldn’t speak back then either. He liked Pastor Jim a lot back then because he understood, asking Dean yes or no questions so he could shake his head or nod.
Dean shrugs. He’s not playing.
“Can you put peanut butter in pancakes?” Sammy asks.
They end up half chocolate, half blueberry, and Sammy determinedly spreads large amounts of peanut butter on one before deciding that peanut butter and blueberry isn’t a good mix.
“Dean, you wanna try? It’s really gross,” says Sammy enthusiastically. He picks it up and puts it on Dean’s plate, dripping bits of peanut butter everywhere.
Sammy! Dean chides, realizing a second later he’s not said it out loud. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and wipes the peanut butter with his sleeve. Pastor Jim sighs and hands him a dishcloth to wipe the peanut butter off his sleeve.
“You boys got plans for today?” Pastor Jim asks as Dean wipes Sammy’s face clean.
Sammy looks to Dean, who shrugs.
“How’s about you help me with some weeding?”
Pastor Jim corners him as Sammy runs amok through the overgrown garden. Dean keeps an eye on him, in case he trips over and hurts himself.
“You know, Dean, you can talk to me about anything,” says Pastor Jim softly, kneeling down to Dean’s level.
Sammy’s pretending to be a sheep, running about on all fours. Dean stares determinedly at him.
“Dean,” says Pastor Jim, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Dean remains stiff. “I promise you, this isn’t your fault.”
Dean blinks, and to his horror he realizes there are tears in his eyes. He bites his lip and tastes blood.
Pastor Jim pulls him in for a hug and a few tears slip down his face. He sees Sammy stop baaing and sit on his haunches, looking over with worry, but Dean shuts his eyes and sinks against Pastor Jim.
He wants to stay here forever. But he pulls back, because Sammy’s coming over now and Dean’s looking after Sammy. Pastor Jim pulls back after Dean releases him, but not very much. Pastor Jim isn’t like Dad. Pastor Jim always makes sure it’s possible to hug again.
“He’s okay, Sammy, go back to your game,” Pastor Jim says, in a stronger voice than before.
But Sammy’s bottom lip trembles. He’s gonna explode, Dean knows.
Sammy takes a deep breath and stares up at Pastor Jim. He stamps a foot. “No! Why won’t anyone tell me why Dean and Daddy are acting so weird! I wanna know!” He stamps a foot again.
Dad would yell at Sammy for the attitude, even though Dean knows it’s just ‘cause he’s a kid and yelling works for Dad so why not for Sammy?
For once, Dean ignores Sammy and sinks back into Pastor Jim’s arms. He doesn’t deserve this hug, this comfort, but wants to pretend like he does for a little bit longer. Pastor Jim holds him and pulls Sammy in too. Sammy cries out of frustration and Pastor Jim kisses both of their heads and Dean tries to pretend he’s not crying, and Pastor Jim settles them in front of the tv with some hot chocolate. They have to go to church in the evening, and Pastor Jim tries to get them both to join the kids as he talks to the adults, but Dean just sits on a pew, and Sammy only likes new people if Dean’s there too so he leans into Dean, acting morose with him.
Dean’s stopped believing in God, but he encourages Sammy to pray every night, and wonders maybe if God was up there making sure Dad arrived at the right time to save Sammy. He thanks God, if he’s there, in his head, and kisses Sammy’s mop of hair. A woman in a red cardigan sits by them and asks if they’re okay but Dean says nothing and Sammy follows his lead. Their silence unnerves her and she goes to speak to Pastor Jim. Pastor Jim looks over and smiles at Dean and Sammy. Dean smiles back and bites his thumb until it bleeds.
When’s Dad coming home, he wants to ask. He’s gonna come back, Dean knows it, because Dad can’t stay long from Sammy. Maybe Pastor Jim’s being so nice because he knows Dad’s coming back and he’s coming back only for Sammy, he’s gonna take Sammy away and leave Dean because Dean can’t be trusted to watch out for Sammy.
When Dad does come home, he picks Sammy straight up, smelling his hair, kissing his head. Sammy squirms because Dad isn’t usually very affectionate, but he throws his small arms around Dad’s neck and laughs, saying, “Daddy, I love you,” and Dad smiles and says, “Sammy, I love you too.”
Dean stands back, Pastor Jim’s hand on his shoulder.
Dad puts Sam down with a hair ruffle and looks to Dean. Dean looks down, bites his lip, scrunches his hands inside Dad’s too big sweater, shuffles his feet and does everything Dad hates.
He steps up to Dean and looks down on him, making Dean feel small and stupid and insignificant. That’s his point, Dean knows. Dad’s usually good at bending down to talk to him and Sammy, when he wants to talk to them like grownups.
“You behaving yourself, Dean?” asks Dad. His voice is hard and his jaw is tight.
Dean struggles to breathe, let alone talk. He opens his mouth and it trembles and he bites his lip instead, nodding shakily.
“Dean, I asked you a question.”
Dean looks up and meets the steely eyes. Dad knows. He knows that the words vanish before they reach Dean’s mouth, like they get stuck in his throat or something. Dean feels betrayed and tears spring to his eyes again.
“Dean,” says Dad for the third time. He can’t do this, he wants to hide in Pastor Jim’s arms.
He tries, he tries so hard, but all he gets is a squeak at the back of his throat and he can’t breathe. He’s sure they can all hear how his heart is pounding and surely that’s enough for this to all be okay?
Dad stares at Dean, into Dean, and Dean’s gonna hurl.
“Why don’t I make some coffee?” says Pastor Jim, taking a hand off Dean’s shoulder.
The removal of his hand makes Dean feel weightless and gone, he’s floating away and all there is is Dad’s demanding eyes and the sick in his throat and the beat of his heart, thumping faster than it should, he can see his heartbeat, see how the room pulses with it and swims and –
Sammy takes his hand.
“Hug Dean, Daddy. I think you forgot.”
Dean and Dad look at Sammy in shock.
The moment is broken and Dad says, “Maybe later, I think I need coffee first,” and Dean sees how Pastor Jim and Sammy both stiffen at that but Dad’s turned away and Dean can breathe, he feels sweat dripping down his back and the room comes back properly, his heart calms down and he feels weightless but in a good way now.
Dad catches him when Pastor Jim says it’s time for Sammy to have a bath. Sammy wants Dean to bathe him but Dad steps in, telling him he’s going with Pastor Jim for a bath and he’s going to be good.
“Dean?”
Dean looks at Dad.
Dad sighs. He’s cradling whisky already. “Answer me,” he instructs.
Dean can’t. Tears fill his eyes and spill over and his mouth is trembling. He’s so tired and he can’t talk and he’s letting down his daddy.
Dad snaps. “Goddamnit Dean, stop that damn crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Dean bites back the sob rising in him. He nods and tries to stem it but he can’t, he’s just a kid and he can’t watch out for Sammy and he can’t have Dad leaving all the time and he can’t look after himself and he can’t speak, he just can’t.
He hangs his head and he can’t stop crying, crying like a baby in front of Dad even though Dad’s drinking and Dean has to be good when Dad is drinking.
“Dean.”
Dean shakes his head.
Dad’s hand reaches Dean’s chin and he lifts it up. “It’s good to see you, kid,” he whispers, and Dean clings to him, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over like they’re the only words he knows.
Dad relaxes when Dean speaks.
“Good,” Dad says once. He pushes Dean away too soon and drains his glass, pouring himself another drink. “Think it’s bedtime for you.” He pushes Dean’s back, softly, letting his hand linger.
Dean doesn’t argue.
“But Dean,” says Dad as Dean reaches the doorway. “Tomorrow I expect no more of this crying and I expect you to answer me. You got that?”
Dean nods and manages an “uhuh” and scampers from the room, in case Dad calls him back for a proper answer.
It only takes one mistake, Dad had said. Looks like Dean had made that mistake.
~
Palo Alto, California, 2001
He’s able to justify staying to himself by a case that comes up, only an hour away, and the knowledge of a case showing up so close to Sammy gets Dean agitated, at least until Bobby reminds him there's not even been a death caused by the spirit, and there's a fair few hunters around the California area anyway. Dean doesn’t like working cases alone. He’s a damn good hunter, he knows, but he’s really a people person. He’s a clingy bastard who needs someone to talk to on a job or he ends up talking to himself, and that’s fucked up because he’s a snide asshole. It’s a stupid ghost, easy salt n’ burn and he gets some nice flirting in. There’s no research to be done, before or after, and so Dean eats a solitary lunch in a crappy diner. He’s getting soft around the middle, Dad was right, so he spends the rest of the day in a crazy-ass exercise regime, ripped straight from the marines.
He showers and shaves and sits outside a bar, on a street bench, watching the normal people go about their lives. Moms arguing with teenagers. Fathers playing with kids. Old people with canes and young people on bikes, shoppers and diners and drinkers and lovers.
Dean is not a person, not really. He’s a doer, a protector. He does things no one here would believe. He’s bigger than they are and he’s nothing to them. A few give him appreciative looks. He’s not a threat, not really. Young good looking guy, hanging by a bar? A student, trying to drink off the stress of exams.
Two girls walk past, shyly hand in hand. A kid, swinging between his mom and dad. A very obvious WASP walks past, asking her boyfriend if he might just consider getting rid of the dreads in the near future.
Dean does great things in his life. He saves people. There are people in the world who have families and lives and are breathing thanks to him. On a smaller scale, he’s a very generous fuck and in no way has a chick faked it with him.
Yeah, he does great things in life but sometimes he dicks with people just because he can. He takes offense easily sometimes, too. Some lanky college kid looks at him the wrong way? Yeah, he takes offense to that.
~
Scranton, Pennsylvania, 1999
It’s been two months since they last saw Dad. Two months, and they’re damn near out of money. Long stays at a place means they don’t use illegal credit cards, it’s too big of a risk. Especially when Sammy’s still in school and will throw a bitch fit if he’s got to leave on short notice. In the time Dad’s been gone, Sammy’s shot up about a foot. He’s starting to look less and less like chubby faced Sammy and more like the Sam he professes he is. Sammy loves Lucky Charms and spending Sunday evenings watching tv on the couch with Dean. Sam wants salad, or things with some freaking nutritional values please, asking him to turn down Zeppelin. Zeppelin! Zep’s gotta played as loud as it can, unless Sammy is doing a stupid project with a dumbass kid in the kitchen.
Dean strolls into the kitchen and is tempted to crack open a beer, just to say what Sammy does, but even he doesn’t drink at five pm on a Thursday. He’s about to fry a shit ton of bacon and bread, but then remembers how much money they have left. Maybe he can eat some leftovers. He drinks milk straight from the carton and Sammy makes a noise of disgust. He puts the carton back, wiping his mouth and getting flecks of milk on the floor. Sammy makes the noise again. His friend looks to Dean a few times then drops his gaze.
Pussy.
“You guys eaten?” Dean asks, lounging against the counter.
“We were gonna order pizza,” Sam answers.
Dean looks at Sam, eyebrows raised. “How are you gonna pay for that?”
Sam scowls, darts a quick look at his friend and gets bitchy. He never likes being reminded of how poor they are. “I’ve got my own money, dumbass.”
“Own money from where, fuckwit?”
“From my job, dickweed."
Dean raises his eyebrows as high as they go. “Your job?” he repeats.
“I help out at the school. Show people around and st-shit.” Sam pulls a face at his friend, along the lines of dumbass older brothers.
Dad says sometimes, when he’s really pissed off, that he can’t believe how selfish Sammy can be at times. Dean usually sticks up for Sammy, because Sammy’s got a tough life and doesn’t really get behind it like Dean does, that Sammy just wants to be normal and Sammy never got the four years of Mary that Dean did. But Dean had a job at Sammy’s age, and younger. Hell, he’s got a job now, he’s had a job since he was old enough to deliver papers. He does honest work to keep him and Sammy eating. All Dean’s money? It goes to Sammy’s school trips, his school uniform, their food and rent and whatever Dad can’t help with.
It doesn’t go on pizzas for himself, Dean can say that much.
Sam scoffs at Dean’s expression. “If you can spend as much on alcohol as you do, I can buy a pizza once in a while.”
Ah, shit.
“Bite me, asswipe,” he says, turning back around and going back to the fridge. Bacon sounds good. Bacon and dodgy looking baked beans, he’s not sure how long they’ve been left open in the fridge. Two boys who eat as much as him and Sam don’t usually end up putting leftovers in the fridge, but Dean had made a crack about Sam’s gas after baked beans and he’d stopped eating them.
He turns the radio on as he cooks, trying to find a hard rock station. Sam bitches at him and his friend laughs uncertainly. The more Sammy bitches, the higher he turns the volume until Sam stands up, hands on his hips and that foot is so close to stamping like he used to do, flicking his long hair out of his eyes... Dean laughs, he can’t help it, Sam just looks so fucking stupid trying to stand up to him.
Sam goes to turn the radio volume down and Dean slaps his hand out the way. He reaches again and Dean slaps it, looking down on him with a challenging expression. Sam looks back with the frustrated look he knows so well – if Sam were twelve he’d have burst into tears by now.
Sam flips him off as he sits back down. “He’s just pissed off ‘cause he didn’t get laid last night,” he mutters to his friend.
Didn’t get laid? Dean always gets laid. “You sure about that, buddy boy? ‘Cause there is one very satisfied TA of yours who might beg to differ.”
Sam stiffens. His friend’s mouth drops open. “Miss Klein?”
“Small, ginger and cute? Ellie or something?”
“Oh my god,” the boy says, staring at Dean with awe and envy. “She is so hot!”
Dean grins, a slightly leery smile. “And the carpet matches the drapes.”
Both Sammy and his friend flush. It’s cute that Sammy’s so innocent, but kinda fucking weird. Dean had lost his virginity way before fifteen and had a girlfriend at every school he went to (except for that one time when he didn’t have a girlfriend but Dean doesn’t think about that time).
“No way,” says Sam, “She’s way smart. She wouldn’t go for someone like –“ he breaks off, flicking his eyes to his friend and back again.
“Like what?” Dean asks coolly.
Sam snorts. “You’re a high school dropout who failed everything before that.” He looks to his friend again but doesn’t meet his eyes and shifts, embarrassed.
He’s embarrassed by Dean. And fuck if that makes Dean feel like – like his Dad. Sammy’s embarrassed as fuck by the both of them. Fuck.
The bacon’s overcooked and he loads it on a plate and shoves the frying pan in the sink, and takes his food out the room without saying another word. He eats in front of the tv, jigging his knee with angry energy.
He dropped out of fucking school because he hated the place, not ‘cause he was too dumb. He stopped working, if he’d worked at school he wouldn’t have done badly (at least, that’s what he tells himself, ‘cause imagine if he had paid a bit of attention, worked a bit inside and outside of lessons, and if he still got Ds?) and he’d always had jobs through school. Hell, he dropped out to get a full time job to support himself and Sam when Dad wasn’t around. Not like Dad gave a fuck how he did in school anyway. Not like Dad gave a fuck if Dean had a fucking future outside of hunting with him and taking care of Sammy and being around to patch up Dad and put him to bed when he’d drank too much.
Fuck, he needs a smoke. He smokes straight out of the window and thinks back to last night. Ellie had been very impressed with certain oral skills of his, and hell, they’d had an intelligent conversation before that. Dean’s witty, he knows pop culture and he can argue anything. And he’s good at people. He’s a damn good poker player and pool hustler and all-round card shark and he gets people.
He gets that he and Dad are fucking failures to Sammy ‘cause on the outside they’re jobless and homeless and drunk half the time and fuck ups, really. But he and Dad save lives. There are people living and breathing thanks to Dean and Dad, and he is really pissed off now. Sammy can always get under his skin.
Sam’s friend left not that long after, still giving Dean awe-filled glances. Dean waved him out with greasy fingers and turns the volume up higher when Sam enters the room. Sam sits on the floor. He says nothing at all, which Dean expects.
It’s not for another half hour that Sam breaks the silence. “You couldn’t even get your GED?” he says in a small voice.
Dean turns the volume up.
“Dean, I’ll help you. It won’t be hard, and it means you’ve got something, Dean?” Sam looks at him with the eyes of a puppy, pleading him, can’t he see how Sam can help him?
Dean feels repulsed by the idea of his kid brother helping him with his GED – the kid still has three years of high school, for fuck’s sake. He pulls out his lighter and flicks it off and on, a habit he’s had for years, trying to get comfortable with flames.
“Is hunting all you want from life, Dean? You could do better, I know you could-“
Dean’s up on his feet and swearing before he knows it. “God, do you even fucking hear yourself?” Sam sits up in surprise, eyes wide and face paling. “’It won’t be hard’, ‘I can help you with it Dean ‘cause I’m such a fucking know-it-all and damnit aren’t I the best fucking person in the world!’ Man, I’m sorry I fucking embarrass you, princess, but some of us don’t enjoy the school stuff. Not everyone is as smart as you, Sam!”
Sam blinks at him in shock, and tries to hide his fear. “I just – I just wanted to help you, Dean,” he says tentatively.
“I don’t need your fucking help, Sammy, I’m the one who looks after you and not the other way around!”
“I know you can do it, though-“
“Yeah, you know what Sammy? I’m not a fucking idiot! I know I can do it too, I just don’t want to!”
Sam’s suddenly on his feet, face flushed in rage. “Sorry for trying to get you a future, Dean!” his voice cracks and raises a little, still too young for it to properly drop, and he gets redder, probably embarrassed. “I’m just trying to help you, you goddamn idiot! Who the hell would not get an education when they could get it?”
Dean grabs Sam’s collar, holding him against the wall. “Don’t call me an idiot, you little shit!”
“It’s what you are!” Sam yells, trying to fight Dean off but he’s scrawny and uncoordinated with his growth spurt. “Do you always have to be so fucking embarrassing, Dean? The fuck am I in this family, you’re both goddamn idiots who can’t even graduate piss-easy –“
Dean cuts him off with a punch to the face and drops him. Dean’s never been so angry, he could punch Sam again and again and then the shit kicks him in the balls and Dean goes down hard. As he’s down, hardly able to see or do anything but clutch at his nuts, he flails one arm just in case... and closes it around Sam’s ankle and pulls, hard. As hard as he can given circumstances, of course.
Sam goes down with a shriek and starts hitting Dean wherever he can. They roll over in a tussle until Dean pulls away, shaking with anger and wiping blood off his face and walks out, lighting up as he does. He’s got the Impala’s keys in his pocket of course, and drives for a while, trying to calm down.
Sam’s embarrassed by him. Dean’s known, he’s always known that he embarrasses Sam by being crass, being dumb, sleeping around and having basically no future.
He embarrasses his little brother. It’s like a slap in the face, every time he thinks of it, knows that Sam does think it. Like when he was a kid, he and Sam, shamefully never having friends around (not that they had many) and not talking about home life because of Dad’s drinking and how it was Dean to raise them both, not Dad, and the way Sammy’s face would drop, ever so slightly, around Dad.
Dean imagines at school that Sammy cringes when he shows up in the Impala, calling Sammy over the parking lot. He pulls the car off the road and smokes, leaning against her bonnet. As much as Dean likes a smoke, he’s not gonna risk burning Baby’s beautiful leather.
(A few years later he takes the GED but doesn’t tell anyone. He worries he told Sam one drunk evening, but isn’t quite sure.)
~
Palo Alto, California, 2001
The rain drives him inside. It’s California; it’s not meant to rain. But it does, so he goes into a student filled coffee shop, where people order “Venti decaf non-fat two pump no whip mocha,” like that’s an actual thing. He orders his cup of coffee and they ask, “Tall, grande or venti?”
Dean blinks at the coffee guy. “What?”
“The size of your coffee.”
“Small?” he says, bemused.
“Tall?”
“No, small,” he repeats.
The guy smiles blandly. “Tall is our smallest size.”
“Why’s it not ‘small’ then?”
The guy gives him his bill and sends Dean around the counter to get his drink. It’s time he moves on, he knows. Dean gets a seat so he can watch out the window, but he’s in between a lot of people and isn’t wearing Dad’s old leather jacket. Just in case Sammy walks by. Move on, find a case. A nice easy one, chill out a bit. Take it easy.
Or a good old fucked up pissed off spirit. One that’s a proper fight, a proper story. Or a werewolf. Werewolves are cool. Or maybe he’ll go up and see Bobby, he’s not seen the old guy in a while. Not since he and Dad had that fight. Dean was sure Bobby was gonna fire the gun, had to pull Dad right out of there. Bobby’d made sure to tell Dean he was always welcome.
Maybe he’ll swing by Pastor Jim too, that’s kinda on the way. See what Caleb’s doing, check in with Monty, see how Roy and Walt are getting on. All the guys who brought him out on hunts when he was younger, they always liked his company. There was Reggie somewhere if he didn’t hear from some of them.
And Dad would call, eventually. Dad always calls. They’ll meet up sooner or later, and Dean can tell him how Sammy’s got a stupid Stanford hooded sweater, some beach bum friends and has a great fucking grin on his face all the time. How his ridiculous hair needs a good old trim but he’s looking darker, and damnit Sammy looks good. He’s okay without Dean and Dad. And Dean’s not sure what he feels about that. It reminds him how he’s not that great (really fucked up) without Sammy and Dad, but hey, means he did okay at raising the kid, if he’s okay living now.
He drains the coffee and has a smoke by Baby, flirting with a cute Asian girl as he does. Imagines Sammy hearing Baby’s purr and coming running. Maybe he just stops there and smiles a little, and when his friends ask why he’s smiling, “I’m thinking of my family.”
Yeah. As long as Sam can smile while he thinks of them. Dean drives away imagining Sammy’s phone calls.
Dean, there’s a really smart, really cool girl in my course but I don’t know how to talk to her.
Dean, me and my girlfriend we – we’re moving in together.
Dean, I want you and Dad to meet her.
Hey Jerk, you know I love you, right?