I would like to tell you that this ended well for everyone.
It would be a lie.
This is a story of smoke. It's not an easy one for me to tell. I've kept it hidden inside for a decade, but now, I don't know that I can survive like this for one more minute. I'm going to give in. So here we are.
I could tell you it started when I met him. My Cas. Or I could say it started when my brother Sammy met his future lover Gabriel. I could say, even, that it started when my father went missing and I reconnected with my runaway little brother.
I could say it started when my mom died.
All of it would technically be true. But it's not the truth.
Not even half of it. The truth is, it started when I began to read.
I read everything I could get my hands on, and my dad left me to it. I read about every supernatural creature out there first, since it was priority and still is, but once I finished those- at least what I thought could be defined as "finished"- I moved on. History books, novellas about princesses and princes, the fairytale stories girls are supposed to like. I read non-fiction articles and Steven King books, fiction based on real life and fantasy novels about magic. I read all about politics and royals. Comic books. Short essays. Hell, at one point when I was like, sixteen, I remember catching myself looking through old library carts to reorganize the books.
But I read those out of school libraries. Hundreds of elementary schools and dozens of high schools meant variety. My brother and my father didn't know and, frankly, didn't care. I didn't talk about it and they didn't ask what I was doing, skipping school for weeks at a time to read at the library.
Books are my salvation. My home. I suppose that's part of the reason I took so quickly to the bunker, though for whatever reason I still act like the library we live in doesn't matter. I don't know what Sammy would say if he learned about my love for reading. While he would be shocked, I doubt he would care too much. He'd complain about my complaining about research though, that's for sure.
Research sucks. Reading for fun takes you away from the world.
But. Not being able to read in the old hotel rooms meant I had to find something to occupy my time.
There was only one book that had constant updates and was always changing, growing up as I did.
When my father John left us for the comforts of whiskey, I read his journal.
There it is. That's when it starts. When I found out every dark, dirty little secret my father ever had. Including Adam.
…
When my littlest brother was born, a full decade younger than me, I visited Kate Milligan in the hospital.
Sammy and John didn't know, of course. The nurse had looked at me like I was crazy, but Sammy learned his puppy-dog eyes from his big brother. She softened when I told her I just wanted to meet my baby brother. That my dad thought I didn't know.
"Alright, kiddo. What's your name?"
"Dean Winchester."
She hummed a little and then grabbed a file from the counter, reading through it. "Follow me, darling."
The halls wound and twisted like a maze. Trained as I was, I navigated out of there with ease after I met Adam and Kate. But the nurse led me through them first, the file in her hand and her shoes soundless on the concrete floors. The walls were white, and it was warm, the middle of the night in September. Kate was in room 401.
"Kate Milligan?"
"Hmm?"
"There's a boy here to see you. He says he's John Winchester's oldest son."
There had been a pause. And then, "Let him in."
The nurse opened the door to reveal a tired-looking blonde woman in the bed, a collection of blankets in her arms and a suspicious look on her face. She looked like my mom. It hurt, more than I expected, to really see for myself that mom had been replaced by a woman who was kept as a dark secret from Sammy and I.
"I'm Dean Winchester," I said. "I'm ten. I read in Dad's journal that you were here."
She stared at me. There was no indication of her thoughts on her face and I remember clearly the way the lights from the ceiling reflected off the curves of her face. I can remember the way Adam's blankets had folded, and the noise he made when he heard my voice. But that's it. That's more or less where the clarity ends, and what I remember now is the confirmation of my identity and the first time I saw Adam.
Every time we passed through Minnesota, we stopped nearby. John would go during the day and I would go at night, usually when John was passed out on the bed or the floor and Sammy was asleep. Kate welcomed me every time, warm food and a smile for me.
I taught Adam all the things I knew, just like I taught Sammy. I taught him how to shoot in the comfort and safety of a shooting range, unlike at some backwoods clearing in the middle of nowhere with a can of spray paint and a trash can lid. Kate learned, too. But she knew the dangers in the world. She knew it was all real, that the bedtime stories I fed to Adam were tales of the hunts I had completed with John and Sammy not long before. I taught him out to kill, how to survive, just in case the Winchester curse caught up with him.
Kate worried. She and I talked to dawn every time. She had more questions, always, because John never answered and she knew I would always watch out for Adam.
My brothers are my greatest strength. They are my greatest weakness.
…
I hated Sammy when he was born.
I think it was just the natural reaction of a four year old, but sometimes I look at my little brother today, in his thirties, and I remember that I hated him once, and I hate myself.
But I never hated Adam and I hate myself for that, too.
Sometime last week I asked Sammy if he remembers Adam. He doesn't.
I described the little boy I would always remember and would recognize anywhere, the kid I helped to raise when I could, and Sammy had no fucking clue. I mean, I guess I can't really blame him since Adam was just one of those people we met along the way, one of the thousands of people we've dealt with on a case, and it's impossible to remember them all.
Kate asked me once if she would ever meet Sammy.
It had been mid-December, and the snow had been heavy outside. I'd been twenty two at the time, and Sammy was gone. Dad was god-knows-where and I just needed someone to talk to.
I spent the week there and I spent Christmas there, too, after I'd worked at quick case in Idaho and came back. Typical salt-and-burn.
It was one thirty in the morning. Kate was smearing butter onto tortillas and I was staring at their television. She knew about Sammy, and so did Adam. I wasn't sure how Adam felt, but Kate was cursing Sammy the whole night. She thought I couldn't hear. I pretended not to.
She walked over and sat next to me on the couch, handing me these rolled up tortillas that I stared at for a second. She rolled her eyes and so I just took a bite and I remember being really surprised at the peanut butter taste offset by the cold butter.
I make those for special occasions because when I introduced them to Sammy, he loved them so much that we spent so much money on them- we can't afford it.
But I digress. "So, really, how are you doing, honey?" Kate asked.
The reruns of Tom and Jerry playing on the television and the faint sound of the wind outside were all I heard. I shrugged.
She wrapped her arm around me and tugged me against her side. "You're my son, too, darling. I worry about you when you're not where I can keep an eye on you. Evidently something is eating at you beyond Sam leaving. Talk to me."
Her words were swallowed by the silence. She didn't seem irritated by it though. I leaned my head on her shoulder and sighed. I can remember fighting back the tears.
It was like Sammy was dead.
Of course, now I know that the pain of that night would never, ever compare to the real thing, but I didn't know that at the time.
"Kate. He won't answer my calls. He's just gone. Just like that."
She pressed her mouth to my head, kissing me gently. "Sweetie, he'll come around. He's mad at John, not you. You raised him-"
"That's probably part of the problem. I was so close to Dad before Sammy left and I just… I hate him now but Sammy will never believe that…"
I don't really remember what she said in reply.
I do know that I slept on the couch that night instead of the guest room she usually had made up for me when I visited. My back hurt like a bitch the next morning. Kate was there with an icepack and some ibuprofen. I drove Adam to school- he was in a k-8 elementary school which was fucking weird- and every one of his friends thought he was awesome, having a twenty-something older brother with a kickass car. It made me feel marginally better, right up until I remembered that when John drove Sammy and I, no one gave a damn because no one knew us.
I drove to the gas station nearby, bought some alcohol in their shop, and slept in the back of the Wal-mart parking lot across the street.
…
When I was thirteen, I got pretty hurt fighting a demon.
It caught John off-guard, having that thing show up to a ghost fight, and he had frozen just long enough for me to get thrown through the wall and into some scrap metal outside.
I can still hear Sammy screaming for me while John spat an exorcism.
I remember reaching for the wound, and I remember the bubbling blood under my fingers. When I pulled my hand away it was warm and sticky. I couldn't move. The metal had gone right through my side.
"Dean! Dean?" Sammy knelt next to me and I will never unsee the tears in his eyes and the stricken, horror-filled look on his face. "Dean," he said. His voice broke. "Dee…"
I coughed and John fell to my feet, blood in his eyes and hair from a forehead gash. "Dean!" he gasped, and reached for me. Sammy stopped him.
"If you move him it will kill him," Sammy said, and my head was swimming. It was the only time I remember that John called 911 for our wounds.
I thought of Kate, and what she would think if I died, just before I passed out.
…
That was, unbeknownst to me at the time, the first time I met Castiel. My Cas. I can recall vague shapes and Sammy's voice, telling me it would be alright. I looked at him, my vision blurred, and thought I saw him smile. "It'll be okay, Dee. They're gonna take care of you."
There had been a figure behind Sammy. White-gold, I thought it was a ghost at first, and my heart monitor had picked up. The figure reached for me. "It isn't time, Dean Winchester. Not yet," the ghost-spirit-whatever had said. It had run a hand over my wound and I could feel the arteries inside stitch themselves back together. He left the open skin and muscle for the doctors.
I told John, the nurses, Sammy, telling them we had to find it. John and the nurses didn't believe me, stating that most victims of near-fatal wounds end up seeing spirits of their loved ones or something called Reapers. They are figments of the imagination, one nurse told me, running his hand over my hair. Nothing to worry about.
I generated my hatred of hospitals there.
I don't necessarily remember what occurred to get Kate and Adam there, but I know they visited. Maybe John needed comfort and she came only to see me, or just to see him. Hell, it was most likely a bit of both. I woke up one morning, about three days later, to find Adam curled into my side, Sammy sleeping in the other bed, and Kate at my bedside, her hand in mine. "Hi, sweetheart," she'd said. "How are you, love?" I don't know what I said. She smiled. "Rest, sweetie. You'll be okay."
She was gone the next morning, but there was a drawing in my pocket of Adam, Sammy, and I done in crude crayons on the back of a hospital menu. I still have it.
…
I was always the one who read and edited Sammy's essays, because John sure as hell wasn't going to. It was the only time I gave a damn about an English class. The only essay of Sammy's that I didn't read, even know about, was the one that got him into Stanford.
He slipped through my fingers, and if I hadn't been helping him all those years- I don't know. Maybe he wouldn't have left. Maybe he just would go elsewhere. Because Sammy is a lot of things, but a writer sure as hell isn't one.
Adam is a writer.
Adam was a writer.
Sammy is a researcher, not a writer, he's not even a reader really. He's a huge nerd for sure, but that's only because he reads facts. He knows a whole bunch of random shit and he's really smart, but that's mostly in the history and math departments. It made him much more impressive than me. And that is okay.
Besides, just because he doesn't read doesn't mean he can't. Just to make that clear.
A lawyer would have suited him.
…
John caught me with a chick-flick novel when I was fifteen and he snatched up the book and threw it away. "Get your head in the game, son," he's said. "No time for leisure books from local libraries."
"I-" a glare, "Um. Yes, sir," I had acquiesced. He'd nodded at me and walked out of the hotel room.
The book's cover was bent. My brand new book, I'd saved for the whole collection, and bought them from the bookstore up the street. And now…
I remember Sammy seeing me, on my knees in front of the trash can with my anger welling up inside me. "Dean?" he asked. "You okay, man?"
"'M fine, Sammy."
When we next passed through Minnesota, I began to leave my books with Adam, who kept them clean and pressed against his bookshelf so that the pages wouldn't bend and warp with time.
Once I got out of school, a grand 1.1 GPA to my name, I gradually started only having time for reading at Adam's. I found my way around that fast enough. My books, smaller than most mythology books, fit behind the text I was supposed to be reading so I could read what I wanted instead.
I looked up one evening. I must've been… twenty? Twenty one? Around that age. I remember it was winter though, mid-January, so I could have been twenty two. You know what? It doesn't matter.
Anyway. I looked up once, and I saw that same gold figure. It was trying to say something, but all I heard was a faint ringing noise. It dispersed into dust when the door swung open and John and Sammy stumbled inside, grocery bags in hand.
I'll never forget the look of fear on the light's face when the key opened the door.
…
Have you ever read a really good book? Like, you can't bring yourself out of it and you don't really want to, as your world falls away and you enter a dream state? Yeah. Adam wrote stories like that.
He was fifteen the first time he approached me with something that wasn't for school. This thing of paper must've been a whole ream's worth. It had rubber bands around it and red pen all over it and sticky notes with illegible words. Adam handed this monster stack of paper and said, "Please tell me what you think. It's probably not fantastic but since you like to read so much Mom said that when you come into town next I should give you a copy. Don't be afraid to be critical. It probably isn't-"
"Whoa, kiddo," I said, and tugged him onto the couch next to me. "I'm sure it'll be great. Besides," and here I remember leaning in close as if to tell Adam a secret. He had a faint smile on his face. "It can't possibly be worse than Sammy's essays."
Adam laughed.
See, one thing that makes me really hate myself- aside from the more obvious things, like losing both my brothers at once, breaking the world or my world, my Cas, or the way I just… look, that sort of thing- is that Adam knew Sammy. He knew him vicariously through me, but Sammy didn't know Adam.
Not a damn idea about the child that meant so much to me.
Means so much. I still think about him, about how I abandoned him, and I saved Sammy instead. It tears me up inside when I thought, when Death made his offer- who do I love more?
The horror and the shame that swallowed me whole after that still haunts me.
It's when I think about the moment when Adam loved me most- I could see it in his eyes- that I have to excuse myself from whatever it is I am doing.
Fuck. Fuck, I just. Please leave me alone.
…
Remember how I said that this story doesn't end well? Yeah, here we go. I think before I can say much more I should tell you the ending. This story hasn't had a set start, middle, or end yet, so why start now?
It ends with a girl named Charlie Bradbury and a computer program.
It ends with a quiet explosion. It ends there because I don't really know the end of my own story yet- I'm sitting here, talking to you, aren't I? So how can I know. I mean, I can guess, with this Mark, but.
Right.
Charlie Bradbury is among the loves of my life, along with Cas and Rhonda and Cassie and Kevin and Adam and Sammy and, painfully, hesitantly, Michael and Lucifer and Gabriel.
The thing is, with Kevin and Charlie. I didn't see them die. I found out later. It kills me, every time.
I wish I could give my life for theirs. But I can't. No demon in hell will even consider making a deal with me except for that bastard Crowley, but like hell I would ask him for that.
But anyway… I haven't felt much since they died. Even as a demon I felt more than I feel now, with my best friend gone and my boyfriend locked in his room. His head just isn't in the game anymore.
It ends, not with a battle, or with some fantastic moment, but with this quiet implosion inside me. Sammy knows, Cas knows, hell, even Crowley knows. It ends like this, I say it ends this way, because I can't bear to think of anything worse. If Sammy and Cas were gone… I would be, too. I'd kill myself.
…
One time, John looked at me and seemed to really see me. It was a pretty scarring experience.
He was black-out drunk, as I recall, and he just, kind of stared at me. I was sitting on the bed in some shitty motel in northern California, looking through the magazines, and he said, "You disgust me."
Then he passed out. I was nine.
That was the time I started acting more like him, more macho and less and less like the metrosexual I actually am. I crawled into the bed with my five-year-old brother, who immediately curled into my side, and I cried into his hair. He, at the time, was the only one who cared.
…
I haven't worn boxers since my dad died. Just. To tell you how freeing it really was.
…
Charlie was my little sister. I loved her like my own blood.
I will never forget the first time she and I seriously went LARPing. I still don't remember having so much fun in my life.
"Dean!"
I stared at her, and raised my eyebrows slowly. She paused, and smiled lightly, pulling on her corset and smoothing the leather of her tunic. "Right. My lord," she corrected, and I nodded, smiling wildly.
It was a freeing experience. "Your Majesty," I bowed, and she nodded decisively at me and held out her arm. I linked our elbows together and escorted her to the dining hall.
When she died, my heart shattered. I had failed all of my siblings- Sammy, Adam, Kevin, and now Charlie.
Even as a four-year old, I had never hated Sammy more.
…
When I was twenty-seven, I made a deal that cost me life, but gave Sammy his.
We had a case in Minnesota and I cried in Kate's arms for practically three straight days while Sammy rang my phone and rang and rang and rang. Adam was really upset, screaming abuse at me and he told me he never wanted to see me again.
So I let him have that.
Hindsight is always 20-20. I didn't see Adam for the rest of that year. I shoved him out of my mind. He called me two days before the demons would come to collect.
"Dean?"
"Yeah," I replied, shooing Sammy back to his seat. He rose when my phone rang, since we were searching for Lilith, and I guess he figured it was something he should know about. I stepped outside and shut the door behind me.
"Dean. I. I'm sorry," Adam said, sounding close to tears. "I don't hate you. Can you come see me?"
It would take more time than I had to get to him. "There's no time, kiddo," I said regretfully. He sobbed over the phone. "Adam, Adam? It'll be okay," I soothed, panicking slightly over the sound of his crying. "I will be just fine, and so will you, and your mom. Don't worry. Here, call Sammy if you ever need anything, or my step-father Bobby Singer. They're hunters and they get it, though, Bobby is more likely to understand that John has a mysterious little kid out there than Sammy is because when I go he's going to go on the all-time high defensive system…"
Adam choked a laugh and sniffed. "You rattle on, don't you? How does Sammy take it?"
"He talks way more than I do, kiddo," I said. Adam snorted and took a deep breath.
"So I guess this is it, huh?" he said.
"I'm sorry, Adam. I love you, little brother," I said. Adam began to cry again.
"God, I feel like an eight year old," he said, sounding repulsed. "I haven't cried like this in years."
It hurt, I'm not gonna lie. I didn't let him know that. "Well, to me you'll always be the red-faced sniveling baby I met seventeen years ago…"
"Shut up, asshole," Adam interrupted. I snickered. "But for the record," he continued, sounding hesitant, "I love you, too, Dean. I won't forget you."
"Good. I'd kick your ass if I ever heard that you forgot me."
Adam laughed again, a short, choked noise. "Goodbye."
I felt my heart break. I felt like crying. "See you around, Adam."
I hung up the phone and I guess Sammy saw me because he came out to meet me. When I actually started crying he looked a little shocked but snapped out of it and tugged me into a hug. "Who was that?"
"Someone really important, Sam," I said. "Ask Bobby about John and Minnesota when I'm gone, you hear? You ask and you ask about Kate. Then you go and you meet them but not until I'm gone. I don't want to think about it anymore, Sammy."
"Meet who? Dean, what are you talking about?"
I learned that Sammy never asked Bobby like I told him to. I also learned that Sammy was apparently hell bent on killing himself after I died.
…
Meeting Cas was something out of a movie. The explosions and the dramatic walking and the wings were all a bit much. Really showy.
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he said.
I remember it being one of the biggest moments of WTF in my entire life.
He told me later that night that he was sorry, again. That before hell, I had seen him twice without repercussion. He assumed it would stay that way, but I guess the purity of my soul disappeared when I got off that rack.
…
I paused. There is a knock on the hotel door. I glance over and stand. "Hold on," I muttered.
My gun was a familiar weight in my hands.
I opened the door and splashed holy water on the person before the door was even all the way open.
I nearly dropped my gun in my shock.
I should've known, really. Every other Winchester has been resurrected at one point or another.
…
Adam called when he and Kate were attacked. They both got away because Adam shot them in the head, but they were severely shaken. Unluckily for me, Sammy answered the phone.
I was in the other room at the time, digging through some book about vampires. "Hello?" I had heard, and passed it off as nothing.
"Um, yeah this is Sam Winchester, who the hell is this?"
At this point I figured out that Sammy was on my phone and not his. I stood quickly and dropped the book on the table, bolting into the other room.
"Uh, I don't have-"
I snagged the phone and Sammy pulled a bitchface, asking what in the hell was going on with his eyebrows alone. I pointed at the chair behind him and he sat down with another bitchface. "Adam?" I asked.
"No, Kate," a feminine voice replied. "This is Dean, now, right?"
"Yeah. Hi, Kate," I said. "How are you?"
"Severely freaked out. I thought you were dead and then I got a voicemail from a Bobby Singer saying you weren't anymore and now we've been attacked and-"
"Attacked? Are you alright? Adam?" I demanded, reaching for the back of Sammy's chair. He looked confused and I ignored this.
"We're fine, we're fine. Thank god for you, Dean Winchester. I always was vaguely annoyed that you taught Adam how to shoot and about the monsters in the dark but his knowledge saved our lives."
"What got you?"
"A ghoul, I think. Adam shot them in the head and I guess that could kill a lot…" Kate muttered.
"Less than you would think," I said sardonically. "Do you need me to come?"
"Yes, I think. I think that would be best. We need to see you, sweetie."
"On my way, Kate," I promised, and started packing my duffel bag. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow."
"Okay. Love you, sweetheart," she said, and I muttered at her and she laughed. "Same old you, allergic to feelings unless it has to be during trauma," she said.
"You know me too well."
"I know it. See you soon."
I hung up the phone.
"What the hell was that?" Sammy yelled as soon as my phone came away from my ear. "We don't have a step-mom or a half-brother-"
"We do."
Sammy snapped his mouth shut. "What?" he managed to croak after a second.
"Kate and Adam. I've known Adam his whole life and Kate just as long. I read Dad's journal long before he started tearing out pages, Sammy, and I knew about his little romance with a fisherman's daughter."
"What the hell?" Sammy asked again, and I couldn't really blame him. It's a bit unbalancing, learning about a new younger brother…
I would know.
I finished packing and swung the bag over my shoulder. "I'll start the car, we're going to Minnesota," I said, reaching for the doorknob.
"I- okay," Sammy replied, voice distant.
The conversation wasn't over.
…
I told Cas about Adam one morning while Sammy was out buying groceries. He held my hand and rubbed circles on my hip while I told him everything.
"Sometimes I wish I hadn't read Dad's journal because I wouldn't feel so guilty."
Cas was quiet. "It sounds like you love him, though. I think you wouldn't be as happy as you are now," he said slowly.
I snorted. "Happy? I don't-"
"You smile when you stare at me. You sing when you cook. You tease Sam often, and the two of you laugh well into the night when the days are quiet. You still get joy from television shows. I think you're happier than you think. And yes, Adam is gone. But I saw Michael before he went into the cage. He was afraid. Not for himself. He knows he was stronger than Lucifer. But for Adam. I know my brother cared for yours. I think Adam is protected there."
"You think?" I asked, and I stared at his face, the slight stubble and the bright blue eyes.
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it," he muttered, and leaned in to kiss me.
…
We met Gabriel the first time when he worked as a janitor. He took one look at me and his eyes went wide. "The hell-" he cut himself off. Sammy didn't seem to hear, but I stared at him for a long time.
"So how long have you been working here?"
"I've been mopping this floor every day for six years."
Remember how I told you this was a story about smoke?
I guess Sammy and the Trickster had something of a thing for one another, before we tried to kill him. I caught Sammy looking a little lost for several days after we left the college. "Alright?"
Sammy jerked. Stared at me, looking a little rough around the edges. "What? Oh, yeah, 'm fine, Dean."
Liar.
After that, it was harder and harder to keep track of Sammy. He fell in love with monsters left and right, drinking too much demon blood and getting into trouble. It was like he was trying to kill himself.
By smoke, I meant my little brother Sammy.
…
I love him as much as I hate him these days.
…
Adam got to be really smart.
He was pre-med at a local college and I wonder often how I got to be the only stupid one in the family.
Sammy slammed the door when we got to Kate and Adam's, looking like a five-year old. I smacked him and scolded, "Be nice. He hasn't done anything to you."
"I would've liked to know about him, Dean!" Sammy whispered harshly, staring at a figure in the window.
The figure whisked away, rustling the curtains. Adam. "I know, Sammy, but it never really came up and I had to keep it a secret from Dad; he'd flip if he knew I knew so that meant keeping it a secret from you."
Sammy snorted. I rang the doorbell. Kate swung the door open immediately, tugging me close for a hug. "Dean!" she said in relief, running a hand over my head. I hugged her back, burying my face in her hair.
"Hey, Kate," I said. We pulled away and Kate looked to Sammy. She tugged him down to her height and ignored his squawk of surprise.
"Sammy, right?" she said, hugging him too. Sammy looked a bit lost and I stage-whispered to him.
"This is where you hug her back, bitch," I said. He glared at me but wrapped his arms around Kate anyway.
"Jerk," he whispered back and Kate snorted, releasing Sammy.
"I can just tell you two are going to be a comedy act," she said fondly, opening the door and stepping back. I walked in and Sammy followed, looking around while I started on the stairs. "I have dinner in the oven and it's got five minutes left on the timer, Dean!" Kate called. I gave her a thumbs-up.
"I'll let Adam know! Come meet Adam, Sam."
"Thanks, sweetie!"
Adam wasn't in his room when we walked to the door, so I waited on the edge of his bed until he came out of the bathroom across the hall. Sammy was more hesitant, standing there awkwardly.
The door swung open and the blond teenager walked over to stand in the doorway. "Hey, Dean," he said. I rolled my eyes and Adam grinned at me, coming over to sit next to me. I tugged him into a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair. "Dammit, Dean," he said, irritated, and I laughed.
"Adam. This is Sammy."
My younger brothers stared at each other for a long time. Kate started yelling. "Dinner!"
Adam jumps a little. Glares at me. "You knew she was going to call us down, what the hell?"
"Slipped my mind," I shrugged, and both Sammy and Adam rolled their eyes.
"Forgetful bastard," Sammy said, and Adam snorted.
"Got that right," he agreed. I threw my hands up, standing.
"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to introduce you two if you're just going to stand there and insult me," I said loudly, stalking away while I smiled to myself. It was going to be okay.
…
Cas and I share our kisses in the night. It made Sammy vaguely uncomfortable and sad, to see us, so I convinced Cas to keep it quiet. He was unhappy, but he understood and didn't want Sammy to be upset anymore than I did. I guess now it's just habit.
It started after Sammy and Adam went to the cage. For about a month I found myself at Lisa's, but I guess Cas couldn't stand it. He came to me while Ben was at school and Lisa was at work.
"Dean?"
I leapt almost a foot in the air, swinging around with the pliers in my hand outstretched. "Who are you?" I yelled. My heart had been racing.
"Castiel," the man said slowly, still looking just like Jimmy Novak. He was confused, I could tell. "Dean, I'm sorry I didn't come for you, after Sam-"
"Don't talk to me about Sammy and Adam," I snarled.
Cas looked wounded. "I- I just. I'm sorry," he said, and I can't remember what he looked like. I do know that he started walking away.
"Dammit, Cas," I said, and I was weary. The weight of my grief was a heavy burden.
He turned.
I held out a hand and he stumbled back to me, dragging me into a hug. "Oh, Cas," I said, feeling him shake. "I'm sorry too," I said then, and buried my face in his shoulder.
Cas pulled back after a second. I looked at him, and he seemed to regain confidence. He put his hands on my cheeks and just when I was going to ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, he kissed me.
It figured that Ben saw us.
"Dean?"
I pulled back. "Hey, Ben," I said. "Listen, I-"
"Just go," Ben said. "Take your stuff and go and I'll tell mom you were gone when I got back."
It hurt. It still hurts, whenever I think about it. But I nodded and dragged Cas with me and told him the Impala was in the garage. I turned back to Ben. "Listen, kiddo. I love you and your mom, and I always will. I never expected Cas to come back. I'm so sorry, kiddo."
Ben waved me away. "I know. But you love him more. This was never the life you needed."
"When did you get to be so observant?" I asked, and Ben smiled at me.
"I learned from you."
…
Adam loaned me books from his house whenever I came over. Titles like, The Lace Reader, Just One Day, Pathfinder, Ender's Game. I devoured them and returned them that before I left for the next case.
My favorite one that he lent me, when he was about thirteen, was a story about a prince who had been abandoned at an orphanage and searched for but never found. The boy contested against others to return to the palace as a false prince and it was revealed that he was the real one toward the end. I liked it most because it was a story about how bad people can be fooled into doing the right thing.
It reminded me of my father. He wasn't really a good man, which I can see now more than ever. But in his search for revenge, he saved so many lives.
I told this to Adam. He looked at me and sighed. "You know him better than I do," he said.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," I said.
I've said those words so many times through my life, and it never seems to be enough.
…
One of my biggest regrets, believe it or not, was abandoning Gabriel to die.
Sammy had been furious and grief-stricken for months after.
I still haven't seen him take to anyone like he took to Gabriel. I didn't know Jess really well, but I know that the way he looked at her wasn't the same.
I still maintain the hope that Gabriel has been in contact with Sammy. He's happy now, and lately isn't glaring at Cas whenever he's with me. He was particularly bitchy about a month ago, anyway.
I blamed it on his PMS and moved on but lately. I'm not so sure. I can only hope, anyway.
I caught them together once, after Mystery Spot. They'd been standing close, and Sammy had pulled away with a yell before turning back around and dragging Gabriel up for a kiss. I backed away pretty fast. I never brought it up to Sammy. I couldn't, can't especially not now. Not unless the bastard decides to show up somehow.
…
"Adam?"
My voice cracked. The blond, looking worse for the wear and bone-tired, smiled at me. "Hey, Dean. Mind if I come in?"
I reached around the door and tossed more holy water in his face. He spluttered, looking shocked. "What the hell?" he demanded, just as I cut his hand with the silver knife in my back pocket. "Good god, Dean, what are you doing-"
"Had to know," I said tiredly, close to tears. "Had to know it was really you."
Adam shook his head. "Yeah, okay. I'm exhausted, Michael is out there looking for a vessel, and then he'll be here. Mind now if I come in?"
"Michael?" I eyed Adam nervously, and he must've catch the look on my face.
"He protected me from the damage of the cage. I remember nothing but snow."
I stare. The guilt that has plagued me for years began to wash away.
…
Maybe this doesn't end the way I thought.
…
Sammy told me, a week before Adam showed up, that Gabriel contacted him through dreams.
I almost sank to my knees in relief. Instead I blinked at him, shoveled more food into my mouth, and gestured at him with my book as I sank into a chair. "Good for you, man," I said. He wrinkled his nose.
"God, Dean, can't you eat with your mouth closed?" he bitched.
I rolled my eyes. "Go dream about your boyfriend, lover boy, and leave me to eat in peace," I said dismissively, watching him as he rolled his eyes and wandered off.
"Like you're one to talk," he said loudly as he walked off.
I choked.
…
Sammy and Adam got along well enough. They were hesitant, evasive, when they first met, and now is no different.
So Adam joins me and Cas in my room, dropping himself into the chair with a heavy sigh. "Sam is hard to get along with," he says tiredly.
"I don't-" Cas starts, but I hush him quickly.
"You just have to let him warm up to you. He has some serious trust issues and you're an anomaly to him," I explain. Adam sighs again.
"Show me something," Adam changes the subject. "Anything."
I consider, and exchange glances with Cas, who nods and disappears.
"Let me show you my box of treasures," I say, getting up and fishing out the box full of pictures and other little knickknacks I've gathered over the years. Adam laughs and joins me.
I flick through the pictures of Sammy and I, and I show him the one of my mom and our dad, and Adam smiles sadly. "The only good that came from him was you and Sammy," he mutters, under his breath so I guess I wasn't meant to hear it. I move on.
I get to a picture I forgot about.
Charlie and I are standing in front of her banner, in full costume and make up, and the two of us aren't even looking at the camera. My throat closes and I take a deep breath. The wound still hurts. She died only three weeks ago.
"Who is that?" Adam asks, gently. I realize I have been silent a while.
"I loved her like she was my sister," I say. "She died three weeks ago. Her name was Charlie."
"Damn, Dean, I'm sorry," Adam stutters, and I wave it away.
"Never mind," I mutter. "But don't say anything to Sammy. It was his fault," I say, bitter, and the tone shocks me.
Adam nods.
"She would have loved you," I say, and put the pictures down.
…
Sammy told me about the acceptance letter two days before John found out. I couldn't stop staring at him.
"What?" I can't remember having any breath to say it with.
His eyes were swimming in tears. "I got into Stanford, Dee! Stanford! Aren't you- are you at all happy for me?" He had the damn puppy eyes and the broken look on his face as I shook my head.
"He's going to lose it, Sammy," I said, and my voice broke. "You won't be allowed within ten miles of him ever again. I. I thought. I thought we would get away from him together, Sammy, but I can't follow you there…"
Sammy folded the letter and pulled away from me, expression shuttering.
…
I can count five times in my life when my heart broke. Truly. A ten on the pain scale, crying, screaming, wanting to die type broken heart.
One. My mother died.
Two. Sammy left for Stanford.
Three. My choice between Sammy and Adam.
Four. When Cas walked into that lake.
Five. Sammy had to see me as a demon. When I nearly hit him in the head with a hammer. At the time, I didn't know nor care, but I think about it now and I can't breathe.
The sixth time, was when I stood in front of the fire for Charlie Bradbury.
I think about it a lot. It never gets any easier.
…
Sammy is distant.
I closed my eyes against it and tried to ignore it.
I have enough to deal with, with Michael under my roof and his constant annoying presence. If he didn't make Adam so happy, I would deep fry him.
…
Kate called.
It's Adam that picked up the phone.
I stood in the doorway and watched Adam cry, promising to meet her soon and that he's so, so sorry. That he just didn't want to open her old wounds.
"I'll drive you," I said when the phone call ended, and Adam jumped a little.
"Hey," he said, scratching the back of his head and shifting a bit. "Uh. Thanks, Dean," and I knew where this was going.
"You're not backing out of it, and I need to see her, too, so we'll make it a family trip," I said firmly, and this was the moment Sammy wandered in with a collection of beers.
"What are we doing?" he asked.
Adam threw his hands up. "Okay, okay. Let's go, then."
I grinned at Sammy and take one of the beers. "Get packing, we're going to Minnesota."
…
Gabriel is at Kate's, and apparently that's why she called in the first place.
I would too. Anything wacky and ridiculous I usually want to high tail it the other way.
But, for Sam's sake, I stay with him.
Cas is already there too, but he's sitting in the bushes outside the front window, "being sneaky," and so I punch him in the shoulder and tell him that's not a good thing.
He stares at me and Sam clears his throat pointedly while Adam starts snickering.
I scowl at them and barge into Kate's house without knocking. Gabriel waves at me cheerily and Kate whips around, gun in hand. I smile at her and she leans on the counter, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Ever heard of knocking, Dean? I know you were raised by wolves but come on," she demands, sounding exasperated. Sam and I, ever the same person, start howling and then bust up laughing.
I'm so fucking tired, and Kate knows it because she starts laughing too, all the while Gabriel and Cas are grinning but slightly puzzled.
Kate pulls Adam to her and tugs at his ear, speaking quietly and it's all so sickeningly domestic I could cry. Instead I slide into the chair in front of the island and lean on the counter. Cas wraps his arms around me and I lean into him and I feel at peace.
…
Smoke is a funny thing. It seems solid when you look at it from a distance, because when you have different colors to it or it's a pillowing cloud of it, it can suffocate you. But it really is just colored air.
Sammy is smoke. He drifts in and out of my life and hurts me and loves me and it's hard to deal with him sometimes. But you know that story.
Charlie was smoke, too. And Kevin. And Kate. And John. And Mom. And all of the ex-girlfriends.
Cas is. He vanishes into thin air- literally- and it bothers me more than I will ever say to him. But I love him fiercely, more than I can say, because he just understands.
Adam is smoke, though he's the smoke that comes from burning houses, like Sammy. I walked away, every time, only to come back to his burning embers.
But you know that story, now, too.
Sincerely.
Dean.
Okay. I wrote this during the time of "I Beg, But Not for Me", after I'd finished that but it was still being posted. And Man, this was hard to write. Getting everything in place and in order and yikes that sucked. But I love the result. It took so many turns I didn't expect and it wrote itself sometimes and other I beat it with a stick, but I got it! Hooray.