Summary: Throughout all his life, Dean gave up everything for his family. AU.
Don't own any rights to the Boys.
Caleb and Mac are Ridley's wonderful characters.
What He Gave
The baby sitter left when Daddy got home from his hunt. Dean was only five but he already knew the rules. When Daddy got home and the sitter left, Dean got Daddy's duffel and laid out all the weapons on newspaper on the table. Daddy had taught him how to clean the shot gun and the revolvers and the knives. The other weapons he wasn't suppose to touch yet. He knew Daddy was going to teach him how to clean the semi-automatics soon. He was five now, after all. So while Daddy was taking his shower, Dean opened the ravioli and began to heat it, and put butter on some bread. He had to stand on a chair to stir the ravioli and he was only allowed to set the burner on just above low so he wouldn't get the ravioli too hot for his dad. His dad said he liked to heat it up right at the end when he was really ready for it. Dean knew it was because Daddy was afraid he'd burn himself no matter how careful he promised he'd be.
Dean got the table all set for dinner. He took out of the duffel Daddy's clothes and, the ones that had blood on them he put in the sink with warm soapy water for Daddy to wash. The others he put in the bag to take to the clothes washing place, the laun-dro-mat. He still had trouble saying that word but he was trying harder. He heard little Sammy crying and went and got him. Sammy was almost a year old now. He was beginning to toddle a little. John always seemed so happy to see little Sammy getting bigger. Dean put the blanket on the floor for his brother and made him a bottle of juice that he mixed with water. The babysitter had already fed Sammy. As soon as he heard Daddy get out of the shower, he stirred the ravioli one more time, checked to make sure Sammy was okay and still happy with his bottle, then he refilled the holy water and salt containers for his daddy. By the time Daddy came out, dressed in sweats and an old tee, Dean was already working on cleaning the guns and sharpening the knives.
"Have you eaten?" John asked him.
Dean nodded. "Yes sir." He'd only eaten a little. There wasn't a lot of food and his daddy needed it more than he did.
His daddy knelt by Sammy and Sammy immediately held his arms out to be picked up. His daddy smiled and picked up little Sammy and after filling his bowl with the ravioli, sat with Sammy at the table, talking silly to him. Dean smiled. Sammy was safe now. As soon as Daddy went to bed—Dean knew it would be soon after he finished cleaning the weapons Dean wasn't allowed to, Dean would lay in the bed near Sammy's crib. He'd change Sammy if Sammy needed it. He'd get the bottle if Sammy needed it. His Daddy needed to sleep and he didn't mind. He could take a nap the next day.
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Dean stared at the bike sitting in the yard at the garage sale. He was seven and he really, really really wanted a bike. It was a small bike. It would fit in the trunk, he thought. Maybe it would. He walked up to the lady who was obviously having the garage sale.
"How much is the bike, ma'am?" he asked politely.
"That's twenty-five dollars."
Dean fingered the money in his pocket. He'd been doing little jobs around the apartment complex; helping old Mrs. Sanders with her groceries, taking out the trash for Miss Libby, walking Mr. Kiezer's dog, Alf. He'd been working really hard and he had twenty eight dollars and thirteen cents. He was so proud he'd saved up so much money. He saw the little red wagon and the box of toys of trucks, actions figures, blocks, balls and a little toy train set and other stuff that Sammy would really really like. There was even some nice clothes that Dean was pretty sure would fit Sammy and a pair of tennis shoes Sammy's size. Sammy's birthday was coming up.
"Ma'am, how much for the wagon and that box of toys and these clothes?" Dean carefully pointed out everything.
"The wagon is fifteen," the young woman said. She looked over the toys and clothes. "For everything else, ten dollars."
Dean looked back at the black bike with its cool hand brakes and the license plate that said "cool", and the green racing flames painted on the frame. It even had a little light on the front and a horn. He stared at it a long time, imagining riding up and down the road on that full-on awesome set of wheel. He finally looked up at the lady and gave her a shy smile. "Will you take twenty for the wagon and toys and clothes?"
The woman hesitated and then nodded, smiling at him. She had a pretty smile. And Caleb would say she had a nice rack. Dean carefully counted out the twenty dollars. He could buy two comics and couple candy bars with the eight dollars he had left. He took a final glance at the bike and then began pulling the wagon and it's load of goods back toward the apartment complex.
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Dad hadn't come back yet. He was only supposed to be gone for a day and a half. Dean frowned. He wondered if he should call Mac or Caleb. Dad was late by a day. He didn't want to sound like a frightened ten-year old crying for his dad. Caleb would make fun of him for that. Dean looked in the cupboard. The peanut butter was almost gone and so was the bread. The sock money had been all used up when Dad had paid the rent. Dean only had two dollars and he thought Sam had maybe sixty or seventy cents. He glanced in at his brother who was watching TV. He pulled out the bread and peanut butter and made the one sandwich he could scrape out of the jar and filled a glass with water.
"Sammy, come eat dinner," Dean ordered his little brother. Dutifully Sam came out to the table and sat down. Dean dropped the plate in front of him and set the water down hard enough it sloshed.
"Dean?" Sammy asked worriedly.
"Just eat, Sammy," Dean snapped.
He was so hungry. He'd only had half a sandwich for lunch and an apple he stole from a kid at school. But Sammy wouldn't go hungry. He promised himself that. Even if he was a pain in the butt, he didn't want to hear his little brother whine about being hungry. He'd never let Sammy whine because he was really truly hungry.
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He stared enviously at the little bike his father had gotten for Sammy. It was blue and had little streamers on the handle bars. It was a chick bike, and he'd be sure to tease his brother about that, but it was still a bike. If he'd known his dad was going to get Sammy a bike, he wouldn't have given his bratty eight year old brother his skateboard a month ago.
He watched from the doorway as his dad helped Sam learn how to ride the bike. Dean wasn't allowed to leave the apartment. He was grounded because he was suspended from school for a week for fighting. He hadn't told his dad it was because some fifth graders were bullying Sammy. His dad had yelled at him and threatened to beat his butt for fighting. This was the fifth fight in four weeks and his dad even had to go in and talk to his teacher. His dad was so mad at him. He wasn't even allowed to watch TV.
Dean wouldn't let Sammy tell anyone that Dean got in the fights because Sam was being picked on. He threatened to end Sammy for that if he did. He turned away from the father-and-son moments going on outside and began to tend to his chores. He had to wash the dishes and get the laundry done—at least this little apartment had its own washer and dryer--and then pick up, sweep the living room, and take out the trash. He turned on the water to start the dishes and wiped angrily at his tears. His dad got Sammy a bike.
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It was his first dance. He was so excited. It had taken a lot of courage to ask Caleb to teach him how to slow dance. It had taken more courage to ask that of Caleb than it had to ask Jenny Simmons to go to the dance with him. He'd made a poor man's corsage—Caleb said girls dug flowers, and he'd snagged a rose from some garden up the road, stolen a ribbon from the local drugstore, and picked a couple of those little wild daisies found along the highway. He put together the little corsage and got a safety pin out. He'd sorted through all his clothes. Jenny said she was going to be in a dress. He knew she expected him to be in something decent looking when all he really wanted to do was wear a rock t-shirt and jeans. The dance was suppose to be a little more formal than that, so Dean, finding he didn't have anything, went to the goodwill store over on Jenkins Street and found a decent but not pansy black shirt. He wasn't about to wear something other than jeans and feel like an idiot, but he would wear a pair of jeans that wasn't ripped. He didn't own anything but tennis shoes and hiking boots, and decided the hiking boots wouldn't be all that easy to dance in, so he washed his tennis shoes and cleaned them up a little. He even spit polished his belt so it looked nice. He had his cologne sample he'd snagged from one of those fancy magazines that had stuff like that, too. He was really hoping, after going to all this trouble, that Jenny would pony up a kiss and maybe even go steady with him. He had a little two dollar ring he'd stolen from a K-mart to offer her.
He looked over everything he had laid out. Yep. He was set. He just needed to take a shower and get dressed.
"Dean!" he heard his father yell from the living room.
Dean stuck his head out of his bedroom door. He hadn't heard his father and brother come back in.
"The doctor says Sammy's got the flu. I need you to stay with him tonight while I go try to hustle some money at the bar up the street to pay for his meds."
His little brother looked downright green. Sammy suddenly covered his mouth and tried to get to the bathroom but didn't make it and upchucked on the carpet. Dean winced at the smell and felt his own gorge rise, but forced it back. Sam was drenched from head to toe in sweat. His gaze went from his brother to his father and back to his room where all his clothes were laid out, then came back to his brother.
"I'll take care of him, Dad," Dean said, and helped his shivering brother into the bathroom. He got a bucket from beneath the sink and began to clean up the carpet. He ground his teeth as he heard the door shut. As soon as he got Sam settled on the couch, he went to the payphone outside and called Jenny. When he came back in, he set the bucket by Sammy then went in to his bedroom, folded up his clothes, put them into the wardrobe, and took the corsage and threw it in the trash in the kitchen. He got Sammy some ice to suck on and then sat down in front of the TV. There would be other dances he told himself.
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King's Island. Man, oh, man, he was going to get to go to King's Island, the coolest amusement park ever with the best roller coasters, at least that's what everyone at school said. The Beast was the best coaster—it went 60 freaking miles an hour!--and he couldn't wait to try it out. Keri was going to hang out with him—she was sixteen and one hot babe, and he already had plans of making out with her when it started to get dark. Caleb had slipped him sixty dollars to pay for the park ticket and have enough left over to pay for food for both him and Keri. He was so excited about it all, he wondered if he'd ever fall asleep. He stared up at the ceiling in the dark bedroom and shifted again, but he just couldn't think of anything other than the school trip and Keri. He grinned to himself. He had protection stuffed in his wallet, in case the making out went a little further than just kissing and hickies.
He heard the door to the apartment open and grabbed his knife from beneath the pillow. He crept to the door, glancing back once at his sleeping brother. He slipped out of the bedroom but stayed near it, ready to grab the shot gun leaning against the bedroom door's frame. He saw his father collapsed on the carpet, badly bleeding, the front door still open.
"Dad!" he gasped and hurried to his father's side. John groaned. He was slashed to hell and back, bruises and cuts on his face, and Dean saw his father clearly had a broken arm. He helped his father to the couch.
"Dean?" Sam asked sleepily from the bedroom door.
"Get the med kit, Sammy," Dean ordered as he quickly got up and shut the door, then filled a bowl with water and grabbed some clean rags.
Painstakingly, he cleaned each wound after setting his father's arm. Sam held ice on a lump on John's head while Dean gave his father a shot of morphine. He began to stitch up the worst of the wounds and bandaged the others. His father had a fever and groaned periodically. Dean sat beside him all night, keeping cool cloths on his forehead and double-checking and changing out bandages as necessary. When morning came and Sam wandered out from the bedroom—Dean had made Sam go to bed at 1 am—Dean gave his brother a sleepy smile.
"Morning, Runt," Dean said through a yawn and drank some more of his coffee.
"How's Dad?"
Dean gave a shrug. "He's still got a pretty bad fever, but he's stopped bleeding. When his fever breaks I'll take him down to the emergency clinic and get his arm casted."
"You've got your school trip today," Sam said. He looked at the clock. "You're supposed to be there in half an hour."
"Yeah, well, Dad needs me here. Think you can do me a favor, Sammy?"
Sam nodded.
"My wallet's next to the bed. Get the sixty dollars out of it that's in there. Run to the school and give Jenny the sixty dollars and tell her Dad's sick and I can't go."
"I can stay with Dad," Sam insisted.
"You can't drive, Sam."
Sam put his fists on his hips. "That's why there's 9-1-1. You should go."
Dean looked at his injured father and buried his fear and his anger. He wasn't sure if what Dad had gone up against was poisonous or not. Some of the slashes looked pretty inflamed. He'd made his father take some antibiotics but he was still worried. "No, kiddo, I have to stay. Now do as I say. Get that money to Jenny. You remember what she looks like, right?"
Sam gazed unhappily at his brother. "You should go," he said again.
"Sam, get the money. I'm staying. 'Sides, it wouldn't do my reputation a helluva a lot of good to fall asleep on the Beast, now, would it?"
Sam shook his head and did as Dean told him.
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Dean hadn't told his dad. He hadn't told anyone. Not Sam, not Caleb or Mac or Pastor Jim. No one. He'd been approached by three different colleges and offered full rides on baseball scholarships. That was assuming he had the grades. What else could he do? He applied of course. They moved around enough that Dean had secretly gotten his own P.O. box. It wasn't very much to rent one and he easily made enough in one night of pool hustling to pay for the box for a year. He'd opted to get it in Louisville since that was close to Pastor Jim. They swung by Jim's often enough that it wasn't hard to get to the box. And if he just couldn't get to the mail, he knew he could always have Jim pick it up for him.
He'd been worried maybe he didn't have the grades. He'd never applied himself—which drove Caleb up the wall. Dad didn't seem to care so long as he was making passing grades. Generally he brought in Bs, though he got a few Cs (he just wasn't impressed with chemistry other than as a means to blow things up, and c'mon, who really cared about creative writing and other boring English classes?), and he got some As, like in Phys Ed (no surprise there), shop (well, duh), and math. He really didn't like math but he'd long ago decided he'd wanted to be an engineer (Beam me up Scotty) and everyone said you had to be good at math for it. It always made his dad kind of scratch his head that Dean worked hard at his math grades. Dean always just told him things like he could get prettier tutors (wink-wink-nudge-nudge) in math, or the teacher was hot, or whatever he could think of that his dad would buy.
He hadn't told anyone that he wanted to design things, electrical and mechanical things. Cool things like robots, or medical devices or anything like that. He wasn't quite sure how he'd manage having his own business like Caleb did so he could keep hunting without the dreaded nine-to-five job, but he'd find a way. Caleb and Mac would surely have some ideas and could help him with the business end of it. He knew, regretfully, that he'd have to take some business and accounting and economic classes so he could manage it.
He grinned to himself. He'd always like building things out of pieces of other things. Finding new uses for others' discards. He enjoyed that almost as much as working on cars. If he were to have a life that would allow him to settle down, he'd probably choose to become a mechanic and restore old cars on the side. Since he really couldn't do that while traipsing around the countryside slaying evil, engineering sounded like a pretty cool alternative. He could do that CAD stuff on a computer and hopefully find a way to do that telecommute stuff.
He held his breath as he opened the letter from the University of Louisville.
He'd been accepted! He had a full ride for a bachelor's degree in engineering and he was going to get to play baseball! He sang loudly to the Black Sabbath CD all the way back to Jim's. Caleb and Mac were going to be in soon, and he couldn't wait to tell his dad and Caleb and Mac and Jim. It was going to be so full-on awesome to go to college. Sorority babes, baseball, parties. He wasn't all that keen on the class thing, but he knew once he started the actual engineering classes, it would be hellacool.
He walked up the steps to the farmhouse and could hear the argument from the front porch. Sam and Dad were at it again. All they seemed to do was fight anymore. Sam bucked Dad's orders again and again, complained that he didn't want to train, he wanted to play sports and do things like the debate club instead. Dean stepped through the door and saw the two squared off against one another. They were arguing about Sam not wanting to move and not wanting to go hunting/training over the summer. He wanted to stay in Minnesota and do the summer sports the city offered. He wanted to try out for a play. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. Dean saw the fury in his father's face. John didn't hit Dean or Sam except on the rarest of occasions, and Dean admitted, when he did, there was no doubt they had it coming. He hurried up between them.
"Hey you two, chill!" he ordered.
"He's going to make us move again!" Sam seethed.
"The work is in the Dakotas," John retorted. "I don't care what you want, we're moving and that's final!"
"Sam," Dean soothed, "there'll be sports where ever we go. You can get on your team there."
"No, I'll be too busy training. God knows I need practice shooting, and learning how to shoot a bow and track and haul fucking rocks in a backpack on ten mile hikes," Sam said sarcastically.
"Maybe if you tried harder I wouldn't have to give you extra training. If you were more like Dean, you'd know where your damned priorities were," John snapped.
"I know where my priorities are!"
"Like hell you do. You will spend the summer improving your hunting skills, you hear me?"
"Sam," Dean said, "we'll find you a team you can get on that won't interfere with training." He turned to his father. "Dad, he can take a few evenings off to play soccer or whatever. You won't be training him twenty-four seven."
"He needs training twenty-four seven," John barked at his eldest.
"He needs a few nights off and you know it or he'll lose his edge. That's what you always tell me. Sam, go on to your room," Dean said. "We'll make it happen, I promise. Dad, calm down. He'll get his training in. I'll work with him and help him."
Sam stomped off to his room and John left the house, the screen door slamming behind him. Dean heard the roar of the Impala and the gravel that kicked up as John left for town. Dean sank into a chair at the table. He pulled out the acceptance letter. They'd kill each other if he wasn't there. And if Dad was flipping over Sam wanting a few nights off for soccer, he'd go ballistic if Dean told him he was going to accept the offer from the University of Louisville. He slowly ripped the letter into half a dozen pieces and tossed it into the trash.
He poured himself a glass of Jim's sweet tea and went out to the front porch to sit on the swing and stare out at the pond. When Caleb pulled up in his Jeep a few hours later he gave Caleb a wave and a smile. He was glad he hadn't told anyone about his applications. He'd close the P.O. box tomorrow when he went into town. There was no point in it anymore. Hunting would be way cooler anyhow.
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He was silent, sitting in the backseat of the Impala. Sam had offered shotgun to him, but Dean didn't feel like sitting up front. He stretched out in the back and stared out the window at the grey clouds and telephone poles as they whizzed by. The Impala was careening down the road at like eighty and he knew he probably ought to be sitting up with his seat belt on, but he didn't care. He pulled out the picture of his car, his GTO, that he'd been painstakingly rebuilding since he was sixteen, over four years now. She'd been looking good. He'd just gotten her a new paint job, a deep dark blue. He still had a lot to do on her insides, but the engine was cherry at this point and he'd swung some mag wheels for her. They weren't real expensive mag wheels and frankly, he figured they were stolen, but he didn't ask too many questions from the guy he got them from.
His mind drifted back to the pack of mussados they'd been after. They'd all been taking a beating in that alley and when Sammy went down, it was all Dean could do not to try to rip apart that damned pack with his bare hands. He'd yelled to his dad to get to Sammy and he ran for his car. He jumped in and kicked the engine on. He punched her and spun the wheel, sliding around the corner and into the alley. His father grabbed hold of Dean's gangly brother and pulled him into an alcove as Dean barreled down the alley. The pack didn't move fast enough and he nailed all but one which John took out with a shotgun. Not only did he nail the pack, he nailed the brick wall at the end of the alley. He felt his baby crumple under him, and then he smelled the gas. He jumped out of the car and helped his father get Sam out of there just as his baby blew up. He'd paused just long enough to watch the flames shoot up three stories and the mag wheel glow in the heat. Then he helped his dad get Sam in the back of the Impala and they took off, getting out of the city as fast as possible.
It was only a car, he tried to tell himself. Just a car.
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He'd never told anyone before about the things in the dark. Five nights ago, in the lull after a night of really hot sex, he'd told her.
The next day his father had needed him to help finish the poltergeist job four hours away and he hadn't been able to get back to her until now. Those five days away from her had seemed like an eternity.
He chewed on the inside of his lip. Sure, they fought a lot, but the make-up sex was awesome, and really, truly he'd do anything for her. The ring wasn't much, practically not more than a few diamond chips—well, okay maybe not that bad—but it was all he could afford. Jesus, was he ready to make this step? Was he ready to give her the ring?
There was enough money in his pocket to take her out to that nice restaurant up on Stivers. He'd decide then if he was ready to ask her. How would she handle it? It wasn't like he'd be around a lot. He couldn't just leave Dad high and dry, not after Sammy left so recently for college. Sometimes he wondered if he'd fallen for Cass because she was in college, because he missed out on college, and if in some fucked up twisted way he was trying to fill that hole in his chest that Sammy had made. Maybe he was only looking for someone who wouldn't leave him.
Kids. Geez, maybe he could even have kids. He wasn't really sure he wanted kids—he was only twenty-two for gods-sake, but to have that option? It wasn't something he'd ever thought about. Grandpa John. He grinned. Dad would get such a kick out of being a granddad.
"Okay, so Cass," he practiced, "you know I'm still really involved in Dad's business, in, you know, hunting. I know you have to finish college—you're going to be an awesome journalist—but I want to be with you. I want you to be with me. You know, like forever." Dean winced. That was lame. 'Like forever'? "Uh, how about, I want you and me to be together. I mean, I know we'll be apart a lot but I want you…Dammit, Dean, that's freaking stupid sounding. Okay, maybe I should keep it simple? Cass, I love you. Will you marry me?"
Was he really ready for this? He'd only been seeing her a few months. Was it crazy to be in love with her? In so many ways they hardly knew each other. Wasn't that what it was all about though? Taking risks? Learning about each other? He rolled his eyes. Dean Winchester having chick-flick thoughts. But he couldn't help it. Why did women make men all mushy anyhow?
I told her, he thought. She knows my deep dark secret. There's not a whole lot more to me. I hunt. I kick evil's ass. I have a brother, a dad, a mom killed by some supernatural beast, and an awesome Impala. I like real rock and roll, and I think Cass is the hottest, most beautiful girl in the world and I want her to be my one and only. Dean brightened. "Hey, that's not too bad. Maybe that would be a decent way to ask her. I mean, we could get engaged, and if we just couldn't make it work, well, we'd have time to see that. But it's got to work. I'll make it work."
So how would he make it work?
I can slowly cut back on helping Dad. He's got to start letting me hunt on my own soon. Then I can get in plenty of stops here and back in her home town after she graduates. Will she be cool with a husband that travels a lot? I won't exactly be bringing home the bacon. He chuckled. "Ah, I'll let her by my sugar-momma." He grinned at the thought and knew she'd hit him for that crack. And then he'd grab her and pull her into his arms and they'd end up in bed. Or on the floor. Or the table. They'd been all those places and more.
He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. He checked over his clothes. He had a nice button down shirt and dress pants on. (He felt like a geek.) His tie and jacket were lying in the car. He wasn't sure if that fancy restaurant demanded ties and jackets. He knew some did. He'd gone out to Goodwill and searched through everything until he found a decent set of clothes that looked practically new.
He took a deep breath. Yeah, he decided. He was going to ask her tonight. Who knew when Dad was going to want to leave town on another hunt. He still wasn't sure he was ready. His palms were all sweaty and he had butterflies in his stomach. Wouldn't Sammy and Caleb just give him shit over all of it? And who would be his best man? Caleb? Or Sam? Sam, he decided. Dad could just suck it up.
Crap. He forgot the flowers. Well, maybe he could stop somewhere on the way and pick her up a bouquet. Crap, crap, crap. How had he forgotten the flowers?
"Cause I'm as freaked as a cat in a dog pound, that's how," Dean muttered to himself.
Dean walked up the concrete stairs. She wouldn't say "no", right? She loved him too, right?
He knocked on the door. The door opened a crack a few seconds later. Cass's cool gaze looked him over from top to bottom.
"Hi," Dean said, giving her a nervous smile. He was sure the butterflies tripled in number. God, she was beautiful. He tried to imagine her in a wedding gown and his mind instead slipped to what she might be in for their wedding night. Mmmm.
"Hi," Cass answered stiffly. Her eyes were veiled and emotionless.
Dean licked his lips. Shit. She was pissed. "Hey, I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I was working a job with Dad these past few days," he said, meaning it to sound apologetic, but it kind of sounded flippant to his ears.
"Hunting," she said.
Dean bobbed his head. It was nice not to have to lie to her. "Yeah. Kicked its ghostly ass." He grinned, some of his nerves beginning to settle.
Her lips pursed and she nodded slowly. "That's nice. What do you want?"
He straightened a little. She seemed distant. Man, she was more than just pissed at him. Well, the make up sex with the engagement ring? It would be a fantastic night. He hoped. "Uh, dinner? I called earlier today? Didn't you get the message?" She was in a tank top and shorts. A nice green tank top and short black shorts. Not that he didn't like how she was dressed, but he'd hoped she'd be dressed to the nines. Or at least to the sevens. They didn't have to go to that fancy restaurant if she didn't want to, he supposed.
She gave a half shrug. "Oh. Sorry. Guess I didn't check messages. Look—"
"Can I come in?" Dean asked hesitantly. Damn, he knew he should have called her during those five days. He groaned to himself. Crap. He'd missed their date two nights ago. Stood her up. He'd screwed up again. Well, he'd learn. He just wasn't use to these long term boyfriend things. Flowers definitely would have helped things right now. A great big bouquet of flowers. He'd definitely stop on the way to the restaurant and buy her some.
"I don't think that'd be a good idea," Cass said. "Look, I don't think this is going to work."
Dean stared at her, confused. "What isn't going to work? We can do dinner tomorrow, I guess, if you're busy?" What did she have to do? Wash her freaking hair or some girly thing? It had taken everything to work up his courage for this. Waiting another night was going to kill him.
"You. Me. Not going to work. Do I need to spell it out clearer for you?" she snapped.
His look of confusion turned to shock. "But—"
She handed out a duffle to him. "Here's your stuff. Bye, Dean." She shut the door.
Dean stared at the gray door with the faded gold "17" painted on it, stunned. He gathered himself and knocked hard on the door. "I'm sorry I didn't call! I'm sorry I missed our date. Please, Cass, c'mon! Give me another chance!"
"Go away, Dean." He heard through the wooden door.
"No! Cass, let's talk this over!" he begged.
"Go away or I'm calling the cops. You hear me?"
Dean gaze took in the beat-up door. He'd never really noticed how old and abused it looked.
She meant it. She was breaking up with him. He was going to ask her to marry him and she was breaking up with him. He slammed his fist against the door, stalked down the stairs, climbed into his car, and peeled out of the parking lot.
Forty five minutes later he sat in the park and stared at the ring in its plain black velvet box. It wasn't much of a ring. It had three diamonds, the middle one a little bigger than the two on either side. He'd have gotten her something bigger as soon as he could have.
It was the hunting. It was going with Dad when he should have been with her. It was putting the job above the girl he loved. Dad had always put hunting above everything else. Dean had vowed he wouldn't do that. That family came first. He wanted Cass to be his family. But she wasn't, not yet. And now never would be.
His phone rang and he grabbed it out of his pocket. Let it be Cass. Please let it be Cass. He looked at the caller ID and his heart fell into his stomach. "Hi, Dad. What's up?"
"Where the hell are you? I told you I wanted to leave town."
Dean paused. He had? He didn't remember that. All he'd been thinking about had been getting to Cass. He lied easily. "I thought you meant in the morning," Dean said, continuing to stare at the ring. The setting sun set the small diamonds on fire. It was beautiful. As beautiful as the girl who'd just dumped him.
"I'd meant tonight, but it's getting too late now," John growled.
Dean gave a soft sigh. It was over. She'd made that perfectly clear. She never wanted to see him again. She'd threatened calling the police. They'd had their fights but this was different. This was so very different. He'd never had her act like that, never heard that tone in her voice. There would be no winning her back. He knew that in the very core of his spirit. He'd lost her to the hunt. "No. No. I'll be there in a half hour. We can bail. Where we headed?"
"Tennessee."
"'Kay. Go ahead and get me packed up and we can take off as soon as I get there."
"Hurry your ass up, kid."
"Yeah. I will."
Dean slid off the hood of his car and to his feet. He looked out over the lake. He pulled the ring out of the box and threw it as hard and far as he could. There was distant soft plink as it hit the water and sank into the water's murky depths. He tossed the velvety ring box aside to land in the grass. He popped open the trunk and pulled off his shirt, likewise tossing it on the ground and pulled on his AC-DC t-shirt in its place. He kicked off his dress shoes and after glancing around and seeing that he was alone, he quickly changed into his ripped jeans. He pulled on his hiking boots, noticing a white splash of salt was still on the sole of the right boot and he brushed it away. He left the clothes lying on the ground and got into the car. He could never wear them again without thinking of her. He looked over at the jacket and tie and tossed them out the window with his other discards, then started the car. He headed for the motel.
He should have called her.
He shouldn't have told her.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
"Heya, Sam!" Dean said, standing at the door of the dorm room.
"Dean!" Sam said, his face lighting up. "What are you doing here?"
His brother was obviously beyond pleased to see him. "What, I can't stop in to see my little brother and check out how college life is treating him?" Dean asked. His brother looked healthy, but tired. He could see a half a dozen books spread out on the desk at the far side of the room. The room was neater than Dean could ever recall seeing his brother's room, though admittedly, they usually shared a room and Dean wasn't exactly Mister Neat-and-Tidy.
"No, I mean, yeah, sure! Come on in." Sam opened the door wide and stepped aside.
Dean strode in and glanced around the tight quarters. He saw the picture of their mom and dad sitting on the desk, and one of Sam, Caleb, and him at Pastor Jim's. The bed was on concrete blocks and he noted Sam had sprung for a mattress that was actually long enough for himself. Sometimes it really sucked being so tall.
"Nice place you've got here, Sammy," Dean said. He was surprised there weren't any posters or anything up on the walls. The walls were pale blue, smudged here and there, and old tiny holes from staples or thumbtacks peppered their surfaces. There was a little wooden wardrobe to the left, a tiny closet, and—huh—no bathroom. Ugh. Community bathrooms and showers. He'd always hated community facilities; of course those had usually been at campgrounds and it was part of the reason he hated camping so much. Maybe it wasn't as bad at a college.
"It's Sam. Sammy was a pudgy twelve year old." Sam said.
Dean chuckled to himself at Sam's obvious annoyance. Try as Sam might to get him to change, Dean still liked to call him Sammy instead of Sam. Sometimes Dean did it purely for the annoyance factor. Sometimes he did it just out of habit. Sam would always be Sammy, his little brother. "Yeah, you were pudgy. And short. Galls Dad to no end that you grew taller than him."
Sam's eyes darkened and Dean could see he didn't want to talk about his father.
"So how are you?" Sam asked, waving Dean to sit down in the chair at the desk while he plopped down on the bed.
Dean settled into the computer chair. He grinned, realizing Sam had the desk up on blocks so he didn't have to hunch over. He'd managed to swing an old laptop that whirred away, a screen saver dancing across its screen at the moment. Man, it was so good to see his brother. "Doing fine. Hunting, zig-zagging across the countryside. You know the drill."
"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "I remember."
"Had some really kick-ass hunts these past few years. A few you would have really liked, I think."
Sam nodded, but didn't say anything. He stared down at the worn beige carpet.
Dean watched his brother and finally asked, "So how's college treating you? Everything you thought it would be?"
Sam looked up and seemed to brighten at the change of subject. "It's hard work. Harder than I thought it would be. But I really like it. I feel like…I feel like there's more to life than we ever saw. It's different."
"Yeah? How?"
"Not looking over your shoulder for the cops, or the things in the dark. I can relax here. I feel safe. I'm not sure I ever really knew what safe felt like."
Dean saw through the lie. He knew Sam didn't really feel safe. Dean remembered the five-year-old snuggled up to him after a bad nightmare. "You're my safe place, Dean," Sam whispered to him and Dean had wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulder and pulled him closer. "And I always will be, Sammy," he'd told him. Dean knew Sam always looked to him for safety. He wondered if maybe Sam had found some measure of safety in the old dorm. He couldn't tell from where he was sitting if Sam had anything under his pillow like a knife or gun. He couldn't imagine Sam didn't.
Dean scoffed. "C'mon, Pastor Jim's? Mac's? You didn't feel safe there?"
Sam rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "They were brief stopovers. This—this is where I live, Dean. You get that? I've been in one place for two years now. I know people. I have friends. I know the area. It's so different from what we ever had."
Sam's hazel eyes begged Dean to understand. Dean saw his little brother's fervent wish that Dean could maybe stay and see what it was like, that he'd stop following their father around like a soldier in John's own private little war.
"Glad you're liking it," Dean said ignoring the look in Sam's soulful eyes. "Always figured you'd go off to college." If Tiny Einstein hadn't, he'd have been more than surprised. He hadn't anticipated their father's violent reaction to the news. Neither of them had. Reluctantly, Dean admitted, he supposed he wasn't really surprised. John had accused Sam of abandoning the family, of abandoning his duty to help find his mother's killer. Sam had snapped back with a painful retort that he didn't have a mother. It went downhill from the get-go. "You know what you want to do?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam said, appearing pleased his brother wanted to know. "A lawyer. I want to help people."
Dean frowned. "We help people Sammy. We save a lot of people."
"But I can help a lot more—" Sam must have seen the look in Dean's eyes and his voice changed from the happy tone to a tighter, wary one. "Why are you really here, Dean?"
"I can't stop in to see my little brother? I visited Caleb without ulterior motives when he was in college," Dean said smoothly. He knew Sam read him too well and hoped their time apart might make it easier to hide the real reason he'd come. "C'mon, I call you every couple weeks. Not that you call me."
Sam's gaze dropped back to the floor. "Dad answers your phone sometimes."
"It was a rotten blow-up between you two. You really ought to try to mend your—"
"He's the one who told me to get out and not come back, Dean," Sam snapped.
Dean knew Sam had grown tired of the rhetoric and told Dean flat out that their father owed Sam the olive branch, not the other way around. Dean had pushed it hard enough that sometimes Sam had even hung up on him. He hated that the two people he cared about most in the world wouldn't even talk to each other.
"You've got to know he didn't mean it. We've both really missed you."
"You know where to find me," Sam tossed back at him.
"Yeah." Dean took a deep breath. Fine. Best to get it out instead of dancing around it. "Look, okay, maybe I did come with ulterior motives. There's a hunt just two hours from here. We could really use a third man on this. It's a black dog. You know what a bastard those things can be." If he could just get his brother and father in the same room, he was certain—well, pretty certain—that he could get them to make some measure of peace. There still might be angry words, but hell, at least they'd be talking.
Sam shook his head. "No. I'm done hunting. I told Dad that and I meant it."
"Please, Sammy. It'd mean a lot to me. A lot to Dad." He so wanted Sam to believe him. Damn, he missed his kid brother by his side. Even now he'd sometimes forget Sam wasn't there. Sometimes, so did his dad. When he was distracted John would still pick up a can of Spaghettios instead of ravioli.
Sam stood up. "No. And that's final. Got it? I'm not going back to hunting. Period."
"But Sam—" Dean started as he got to his feet.
"No! I'm not going back."
"Aw, Sammy," Dean murmured. "C'mon. Just this one."
Sam walked over to the door and opened it. "I've got a big test I have to study for. I really need to get back to it."
Dean blinked, surprised. He'd wanted to go out and have a few beers with his brother. Split a pizza. Talk over old times. Talk about new times. He clenched his jaw and headed for the door.
"Dean," Sam said slowly, "I don't think you'd better call anymore. I'm not part of that life. And you don't want to be part of mine; you want to drag me back into yours. The life where I see you gashed and slashed, or beat up or hurt by whatever you're hunting. I don't want to see that anymore. I can't see that anymore."
Dean paused at the door and looked into his brother's steely eyes. He gave a nod. "Okay, Sammy. I won't bother you again." Dean felt his throat close and found he couldn't say anything more. He wanted to wish his brother a good life. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to say so many things. But he couldn't. Just like Sam had shut the door on their father, now he was shutting the door on Dean, too. Dean knew he wouldn't call. Knew he wouldn't come back. He might sneak back and look in on his brother without Sammy knowing. He'd make damned sure to make it back for Sam's graduation, but he'd also make damned sure Sammy wouldn't see him.
Dean gave his brother one final look. He shouldn't have asked Sam to join them. He should have just come and invited Sam out for pizza and some beers. It had seemed like such a good idea. He couldn't believe Sam didn't miss the hunt. Not even a little bit. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the address book. He paged down to
Sam's number and hit delete. He gave Sam a slight smile. "Bye, Sammy."
Sam didn't even give a nod. He just slowly shut the door.
Dean walked down the hall and took the stairs down to the parking lot. He walked out to his car and didn't look back until he sat behind the Impala's wheel. He pulled out his phone and punched Sammy's number back in. He felt a part of his heart break. His own brother. The little kid he'd watched out for all his life—didn't ever want to see him again. He set his jaw. He'd lost Sammy. But he'd keep his promise. As much as it would kill him, he'd keep his promise. Sammy wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Maybe it was for the best. He'd at least be safe here, right?
Never see him again? Dean choked back his sob as he threw the car into gear and drove north, heading to join his father in the hunt.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
He cradled the little boy in his arms. The boy's breathing was coming in gasps now, his frightened eyes staring into Dean's.
"You're going to be okay," Dean soothed, but knew it was a lie. The goblin had them trapped. Dean had tried to rescue the boy from the goblin's enslavement, but the goblin somehow spotted Dean and all but beat the hell out of him. He'd chained Dean to the wall and left for who knew what reason. Dean convinced the frightened boy, Eisen, to get the key and release him. After an hour of coaxing, Eisen finally did. Dean had promised Eisen he'd get him out and back home to his family. But the goblin came back. Dean didn't even have a chance to react before he was slammed into a wall and knocked unconscious.
When Dean awoke, Eisen lay in a bloody heap near Dean and Dean was again chained to the wall. There was enough slack in the chains that Dean could get to Eisen and he pulled the boy into his lap. The boy was bloodied and bones were obviously broken. A lot of bones were broken. All because of Dean. Because Dean had screwed up. This should have been an easy in, an easy out. He wondered how long ago his check-in time with Caleb was.
"Dean?"
It was Caleb. Thank god, it was Caleb! "In here," Dean called. "The tunnel on the right. The goblin is still around! Be careful!" He clutched the boy tighter to him.
"See, Eisen?" Dean said, brushing hair from the young boy's face. "We're going to get you out of here. You'll be safe. We're taking you home."
Eisen's breathing came in shorter and shorter gasps.
"No, dammit, hang on!" Dean yelled at him. "You're going to be okay! You've got to be okay!"
Eisen's pain-filled gasping stopped with a final soft exhalation as he relaxed in Dean's arms.
Caleb strode in a handful of seconds later. "The goblin's crispy fried," Caleb said, grinning broadly as he crossed the floor to Dean. His eyes widened when he saw the boy in Dean's arms.
Caleb ground his teeth and began to pick the locks on Dean's shackles
"Get him out of here, Caleb. Get him to a hospital!" Dean held the boy out to Caleb.
Caleb's sorrow-filled eyes stared down at the dead boy, then turned to Dean.
"Start CPR!" Dean yelled at his friend. "Do something!"
"Dean, he's gone," Caleb said gently.
Dean clutched the small boy to him and rocked the dead boy in his arms. He looked down at the boy. The boy's body was lax, his blued skin turning gray. His open eyes were empty glassy orbs. "I'm sorry, Eisen. I screwed up. I'm sorry. It's my fault. It's all my fault," Dean murmured.
Caleb quickly finished picking the locks of the shackles and pulled the shackles free of Dean's wrists. "C'mon, Dean," Caleb said softly. "Let's get out of here."
Dean stared up at his friend. "I asked him to unlock the shackles. I promised him I'd get him home. But it came back. It came back and knocked me out and when I woke up, it had beaten him into this mess," Dean ran his hand over the boy's bloodied hair. "If I hadn't asked him to get me free, he'd still be alive. He'd still be alive."
Caleb tried to pry the body from Dean's arms but Dean wouldn't let him go. Caleb grabbed Dean by his biceps and helped Dean to his feet. "C'mon, Dean," he said and led Dean toward the entrance of the cave. The smell of burned flesh hit Dean full in the face and Dean all but shoved Eisen's body into Caleb's arms and collapsed to all fours, vomiting until he was dry heaving.
Caleb set the young boy's body down and went to his friend's side. "You can't save them all."
"But it's never been my fault before," Dean rasped as he sat back. Pain racked his body. He really couldn't tell if anything was broken, he hurt so badly. It was nothing compared to the pain that was inside him. "My fault."
Caleb laid a consoling hand on Dean's shoulder. "It happens, Deuce. He might be the first for you. He won't be the last."
Dean looked up at Caleb, and Dean's always so bright green eyes dulled with the realization that Caleb was right. This was an innocence he'd never known he had. And he'd lost it just as soon as he discovered it. He couldn't save them all, and sometimes, sometimes it was going to be his fault that someone died. That he put them in harm's way without meaning to and they paid for it. Dean felt the sobs overtake him. He didn't want that burden. He didn't want that guilt.
Caleb wrapped his arms around the twenty five year old whom he thought of as his brother and let Dean cry himself out.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
Dean lounged against the passenger's side door of the Impala. He'd had a really good evening with a blond bombshell he'd met in the bar. Sam had patiently let him have his fun. Dean was tired enough he didn't argue when Sam said he'd drive.
Sam was alive. Dean had seen the horrible scar left by Jake, left by Sam's death wound. He hated seeing it. He hated remembering that too still body lying on the bed, the gray pallor to Sam's face. Bobby telling him it was time—how could he even suggest it?—that it was time to bury Sam. They didn't bury anyhow. Bobby knew that. It would be a salt and burn to make sure the spirit was really free and not left in a physical world it didn't belong in. But Sam did belong in the physical world. Dean couldn't bear the thought that his little brother was gone. That he hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been able to warn Sam sooner. He'd seen the shocked look on his little brother's face when the knife went in. Dean was too far away. Too damned far away to stop it. He had one job. Just one job. And he'd screwed it up. He couldn't stand that, with Sammy's death, he'd be alone. There was nothing left. Dad was gone. Jim was gone. He still had Caleb and Mac and Bobby, but not Sammy. Not the person that made his world bearable. They'd just begun to be brothers again!
He hardly remembered the drive. He hardly remembered burying the metal box in the dirt. He remembered the wait that seemed eternal. He remembered the dark haired woman with demon eyes. He remembered the bargain he all but had to beg out of her and the taste of brimstone in her kiss. He felt the binding on his soul as the kiss was finished. He couldn't describe it and hadn't told anyone of that odd feeling, like there was a chain inside of him. A single tug on that chain and his soul would be ripped painfully from his body.
A year. She'd granted him a year.
He'd given up sleep. He'd given up dreams of little things he'd wanted. He'd given up food. He'd given up dances. He'd given up freedom. He'd given up school trips that promised something like a normal life. He'd given up baseball and college. He'd given up his first car, the woman he'd loved, and for a time, even his brother. He'd given up the arrogance of a hunter in the death of a little boy.
He watched as his brother put the car in gear, lean back, and, with relaxed ease, pull the car out of the motel parking lot and head out on the road. The Impala purred beneath him.
He'd always given everything for his family. He never figured he'd give his soul, but maybe he'd given that up the night his mother had died.
He'd done his job though. He'd protected his brother, killed the son-of-a-bitch that had killed his mom, and even helped his father get free from Hell. There really wasn't any purpose left in his life.
Dean shut his eyes, trying to forget his final sacrifice that meant hellfire awaited him.