patching up
Genre: h/c, character study
Characters: Dean(/other), Sam
Summary: Dean takes a trip to Stanford to see Sam. Things don't go according to plan.
Note: This is based on the idea mentioned in the pilot that Dean and Sam had seen each two years previously.
Tags: Pre-Series, Bi!Dean, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Brothers, Winchester Communication Strategies, Caretaker Dean, Miscommunication, Homophobia, Homophobic Violence (off-screen)
patching up
"Shit. Damn it!" Dean got both hands back on the wheel just in time to pull the Impala out of the skid she was heading for as he took a corner too fast. As soon as she was righted, he went back to dabbing up the blood that dripped down the interior of the door. If Dad saw that, he'd take the car back for sure. But Dad wasn't ever going to know about any of this.
He glanced up at a street sign, trying to remember the directions he'd pulled off the library computer that afternoon. The couple/few shots he'd had the bar, combined with his head meeting a brick wall soon after, made his memory a little funny.
Stupid, Dean. Stop in for a little liquid courage, and then you just had to go and push your luck. Apparently, college boys aren't all that open and experimental, even in a hippy town like this.
He spat some blood out the open window and slowed the car, trying to read the building numbers. He had to be getting close to Sammy's dorm. Half a block down, a car pulled out into traffic, and Dean slipped into the spot it had vacated with a grin. Finally, something was going right. He spent a minute wiping the obvious blood off his face and hands. Not that he gave a damn what Sammy's roommates thought about him, but he really didn't want to draw too much attention.
Stepping out of the car, he tried to focus on the building closest to him. The bricks moved disconcertingly, and he was already heading for the trunk for a weapon before he realized it was just another wave of dizziness. He felt along the back of his skull, wincing when his fingers found one hell of a lump. When he looked at his hand in the light of the streetlamp, his fingers were smeared and sticky with blood.
He walked two buildings in the wrong direction before turning around and finding the one that the student directory listed as Sam's residence hall. Putting on his most charming persona, the one that (almost) never failed to land him in bed with whoever he aimed it at, he caught up with a girl heading up the walk to the secured entrance.
"Chilly tonight, isn't it?"
She eyed his t-shirt and flannel combo appreciatively. Black t-shirts were excellent for hiding blood stains, especially at night. "If you say so," she grinned.
He threw her his best Aw, shucks grin. "Hey, maybe you could help me with something. Do you know Sam Winchester?"
"Yeah, I know him. But I don't know you."
"I'm Dean." He waited, but no spark of recognition appeared on her face. He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat and moved automatically into yet another cover story. "I'm an old friend of his from back home. Was just passing through and thought I'd surprise old Sammy-boy, but I can't remember his room number."
She chewed on her lip as she evaluated him. Finally, she shrugged. "Guess you look all right. Sam's in room 617."
She pushed the door open, and he followed her through. As they stepped into the bright light of the lobby, and she got a good look at his face, she gasped. "Oh my god, are you okay? What happened to you?"
Well, crap. Didn't think it was that bad.
"This?" He chuckled. "This is nothin' sweetheart. You should see the other guy."
"Really?"
Dean inwardly rolled his eyes at the tinge of excitement in her voice. This was the kind of people Sammy had ditched them for?
She rode the elevator with him up to the fourth floor where she exited with a flirty grin, after writing her number on his palm. "Just in case Sam's busy," she winked.
Dean slumped against the wall of the elevator with a groan as soon as the doors closed behind her. This is such a bad idea. His hand hovered over the panel; he could just head back down, leave, and Sam would never be the wiser, probably wouldn't care even if he knew. But damn it, Dean hadn't gone through all this just to walk away.
The doors opened on the sixth floor and Dean pushed off the wall with a grimace. His muscles were already stiffening up, and he could feel the warm trail of blood just above his ear. With no one in the hallway to impress, he let himself limp along to 617. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and knocked.
"Hang on!" Sam yelled from inside. Dean smiled at his voice. God, he'd missed the kid.
The door opened and there was Sam. He'd somehow grown another inch or two, apparently not content with just being taller than Dean; he was going for full-on Giant status. He'd grown into his height too, muscles starting to offset the teenage beanpole syndrome.
"Dean?" Sam stared at him in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Before Dean could answer, Sam pulled him inside, glancing up and down the hallway before closing the door. "What happened? What's after you?"
"Nothin's coming, Sammy. Stand down. It was just a bar fight."
"Really, Dean?"
Not here for thirty seconds and we've already got epic bitchface. Must be some kinda record.
"What, did you get caught hustling pool? Hitting on the wrong guy's date? Then you thought, hey, I'm near Sam. Let's go spread the joy."
Dean tried to protest, but really wasn't sure what he'd say. I came to see you, but stopped by the bar for a shot or two of liquid courage, got stupid and hit on the wrong guy and got my ass beaten by a bunch of homophobic pricks wasn't exactly how he wanted to come out to Sam.
"What were you even doing out this way? No, never mind. Just sit down and try not to bleed on the furniture." Sam tossed him a towel. "Stay here."
Sam left the room with a huff, and Dean settled into the desk chair. He draped the towel around his neck and looked around the room. Decent size - better than some places they'd stayed, for sure.
Sam's side of the room was lacking character - no decoration, pathologically neat except for textbooks and notebooks scattered across the desk. The photo of their parents stood on an otherwise empty nightstand next to the bed.
At least he hasn't completely left the family behind.
The other side of the room looked like Sam's roommate was working overtime to counter Sam's studious neatness. Unmade bed, a couple of beer cans on the desk, posters of half naked women stuck haphazardly to the walls. A TV and some kind of video game system sat on top of a stack of cardboard boxes at the foot of the bed.
"All right." Sam slipped back in. He put a bowl of water on the desk next to Dean and dug around in his closet, pulling out a first aid kit.
He efficiently assessed Dean's injuries, cleaning each, bandaging where needed. He kept coming back to the head wound.
"It doesn't need stitches, but it's not insignificant. Don't suppose I can convince you to go the hospital? Get a CT scan, maybe?"
Dean threw Sam a confused look. "Are you sure you didn't get hit on the head?"
"Yeah, okay. I guess not." Sam started packing away the unused supplies, separating out everything that could be cleaned and piling it in the bowl.
"You meeting up with Dad after this? Someone should keep an eye on you for a bit."
"Nah, Dad's working something with Caleb in Colorado. I'm on vacation." He tried not to sound too bitter at being excluded from the hunt - and being prohibited from finding his own. Spent all of his childhood being told to act like an adult; now he's actually an adult, he can't get out from under Dad's thumb.
"All right, then. Brady's out of town for the night anyway. I guess you can stay here for a bit."
"Hey, don't do me any favors, man."
"It's just ... Dean, I need to be away from this, from all of it." He made a sweeping gesture from Dean's head to his feet. "Whether it's monsters or bar fights, I want out."
"Yeah, I get it, Sammy." Dean pushed roughly past his brother. "I'll get out of here and let you get back to your nice, normal life."
"Dean, stop."
He paused facing the door.
Sam sighed. "I'm ... That was kinda harsh. I just wasn't expecting this right now. Why don't you stick around for bit? We can play some video games or something."
Dean turned around. Sam offered him a sheepish smile and a shrug. For just a minute, it was ten years ago, before Sam hated him, left him behind. Back when Dean's respect meant something.
"Well, if you're that desperate for company ... "
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Sam shook his head and laughed. "Sit back down and prepare to have your ass handed to you." He tossed a controller to Dean as he set the system up.
Several hours and a few beers later, they had run through just about all of Brady's games and switched over to watching some late night show.
Stretched out on Brady's bed with Sam in his own on the other side of the room, it was almost like old times. Maybe it was that, maybe it was the beer, maybe it was just a random impulse, but Dean found himself saying, "I hit on the wrong person. He and his buddies were not too happy with me." He stared up at the ceiling, afraid to see Sam's reaction.
The bed creaked as Sam rolled onto his side to face Dean.
"Really? Damn. Fucking assholes like that make me sick."
Dean swiveled his head to see Sam's face full of concern and outrage.
"No, I was ... Sam, I ... " Damn it, why can't the kid just read between the lines? Gonna make me say it? "I was hitting on the guy, Sammy."
Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, and?"
"What d'ya mean, 'Yean, and?'"
Sam blew out a frustrated breath. "I mean, you look like you feel even worse than when Dad needed the Impala for a hunt and you'd taken it to get lucky in the backseat. So, I'm waiting for the 'and.'"
A veil of numbness settled over Dean as he replied. "I hit on a guy, Sam. Don't you got something to say about that?"
"What, that you're bi?"
Dean swung up to sitting and spread his hands wide. "Yeah?"
Sam stared at him for a few seconds. "Dean, I already knew."
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out so he closed it again.
"I've known for years." Sam sat up opposite Dean. "I thought you knew."
"No," Dean said faintly. "You never said anything."
"Neither did you. I just figured it wasn't a big deal - didn't need to be spelled out. And, well, talking about it in front of Dad seemed inadvisable."
The numbness started to fade, leaving words crashing into each other in his head. Sam knew. Sam fucking knew and didn't care? He stared at his brother.
"I don't ... How'd you figure it out?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm observant."
"Yeah. So's Dad. Does he know?"
Sam's quick head shake quashed the idea that somehow Dad knew and was okay with it - that this wasn't yet another way for Dean to disappoint him. He swallowed. Stupid to hurt over something that was exactly the same as it had been ten minutes earlier.
"Dad only sees what he wants to."
Sharp prickles spread from Dean's neck down his arms, a flush of anger had him spitting the words, "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sammy?"
"You know exactly what it means, Dean. Everything's black and white for Dad, good or evil. And there's no changing his mind once he's decided what something is; he sees the facts that support his view and dismisses everything else."
"Nice to see college hasn't changed you. Still the same opinionated know-it-all brat."
Restless energy coursing through him had Dean on his feet. Sam stood too, almost looming over him, his face stormy. "Having an opinion that's different from Dad's is not automatically a bad thing, Dean. He's not perfect, and we're allowed to think for ourselves. That's supposed to be his job - to help us do that!"
"He did help us. He kept us alive, safe from all the monsters out there!" Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to keep from balling them into fists.
"Maybe we wouldn't have been in danger if he didn't go looking for them. Maybe he should have just left well enough alone."
Dean stepped back, his breath coming in jagged bursts, his arms aching from tension. He would not punch his brother.
"I'm outta here, man. I did not come all this way to see you just to have the same old argument. Let me know when you get some new material." He shoved past Sam, jostling him harder than was strictly necessary.
"You came here to see me?" Sam spoke quietly, and it took Dean until his hand was on the doorknob to process the words.
"Yeah." He was shaking - anger and fear and disappointment - and wasn't that always how it ended up for him?
"I thought ... I mean, I figured you were out here anyway, just ..."
"Well, I guess you don't know everything, huh, college boy?"
"Dean."
Sam's wounded voice called up a flood of memories. Fragments of their life
Dean, why is Dad always so mad?
I'm hungry, Dean.
Why do we have to leave again, Dean? I like it here.
Dean let his head rest against the cool door. He couldn't resist trying to help Sam when he sounded like that. But he couldn't make it better, not anymore. Sam had a chance here, and Dean wouldn't screw it up for him. This had been a mistake.
He cleared his throat and spoke to the door. "You were right, Sam. It's time for you to get away from all of that shit."
"No, Dean. That's not what I meant."
He could feel Sam standing about four paces behind him, stock still, waiting.
"S'ok, Sammy. I gotta head out and meet Dad anyway." He glanced over his shoulder, then wished he hadn't. Sam looked a little lost, yeah, but also more than a little knowing. "Yeah, anyway, thanks for patching me up."
Sam looked down at the floor, then back up. "Anytime, Dean."
"See you around then."
"See you."
In the elevator, Dean's finger hovered over the 4th floor for about one second before he hit the button for the lobby. He needed to get out of this damn town now. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
And good riddance.
This was actually supposed to be just a quick bittersweet interlude, where Sam accepts Dean as bisexual. Unfortunately, I forgot that they cannot communicate at all in the early years (and by extension just a couple years before that), so... argument.