Big Brother Dean, and my other faces
Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to Ridley C James and Tidia for their amazing Brotherhood characters.
A/N: My own foray into Dean dealing with Stanford. Again, many thanks to Ridley and Tidia for letting me borrow their awesome characters, and an extra thanks to Tidia, for polishing this fic in epic fashions!
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"Goodbye Dean. Take care of yourself."
Six words. Six words, spoken with all the inflection of a stranger.
Was it possible for six measly little words to break someone so completely?
From the right person, yes. Yes, it was entirely too possible.
Dean Winchester sat forlornly in the driver's seat of his car, contemplating the words his baby brother, one of the largest reasons for his existence, spoke to him before cutting him out completely. Just six words, maybe, but when they were spoken to you by the boy you spent your life practically raising, loving with every inch of your heart and soul, and spoken to you as though you were nothing more than a passing acquaintance? Then those words definitely had the power to break him, one of the world's greatest hunters or otherwise.
Patting the dashboard of his beloved Impala, Dean sighed cavernously, for once allowing himself to give in to his grief. In solitude. In isolation. Those were the times the young hunter allowed himself to feel the crushing pain in his chest, the all too familiar stinging in his eyes, the bone-weary tiredness that came from a costly defeat, an unforgivable failure.
He failed to keep his family together. After more than a decade of fighting tooth and nail and bearing the brunt of two scarily similar tempers, Dean Winchester failed to stop the epic clash of the fire and ice that was John and Samuel Winchester, and the result of his failure had been his baby brother packing his bags and leaving them, with the ominous promise of it being forever.
Two months. It had been two long, torturous months since the brothers had spoken, the longest that Dean had been out of contact with Sam since freaking Flagstaff. The hollow ache inside him grew larger, more gaping, until Dean wasn't sure if he had ever not felt it.
After spending the better part of 18 years playing the role of sibling, parent, caretaker, protector, role model, mentor, best friend, and every other role Sam needed him in, Dean wasn't entirely sure anymore who he was; what he was; his role as Dean Winchester the Man, instead of Dean Winchester the Big Brother. Who was he without Sammy to take care of? Did he have a place other than that?
He thought briefly about his father, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Bobby and Mac. The members of the Brotherhood were his reasons to exist at the moment, or he would have curled up in a ball of inactivity the night Sammy left. For them, he got up every morning, put one foot in front of the other. He stopped eating, only now and again putting something down his throat for sustenance, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted what he'd put in his stomach. He'd lost some weight, not all too visible underneath the strictly maintained muscle rippling his physique, and he rarely spoke to anyone anymore. He knew they were all worried about that the most, knew he had coped in a similar way after his mother's death and that worried the hunters who were witness to the months it had lasted. But for as much as he could bring himself to face empty days and crushing loneliness for them, he just couldn't find it in himself to retreat from his shell for them again. The first time, it had been Caleb to bring him back to talking and interacting with more than just Sammy, but Sammy and his father had played a part in that too. A big part. Now, he just couldn't bring himself to talk to them, because while he could project that image of strong and sturdy and resilient Dean Winchester, he didn't think he had the energy to expend to give off his trademark sarcasm and cocky litany of reassurances that he was fine when he was really not.
His mind was his retreat. What everyone read as brooding strength, was actually just him closing in on the quiet solace his mind provided him in the wake of a storm of despair and helplessness and grief.
In a moment of weakness, he let his head loll back as he looked to the heavens and mouthed in a desperate whisper; "Please help me."
He wasn't so sure who he was asking anymore, given the fact that he didn't quite believe the way Pastor Jim and Sammy did.
For how long he sat still and quiet in the Impala, Dean couldn't be sure. It had begun to drizzle slightly outside, and Dean knew he should pull away from his parked off spot on the side of the road and drive the last few miles to Pastor Jim's farm before the storm really hit.
Taking a few more minutes to compose himself, Dean idly tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, beating out a staccato rhythm that spoke volumes of the unease that had settled and taken up permanent residence in his soul. Gradually, he built up the courage and turned the ignition. As the car roared beautifully to life, the familiar sound a vestige of comfort in Dean's turbulent life, he flicked on his turning signal and eased back on the road.
If not for the flash of white, he might have missed the beautiful woman standing on the side of the road not 10 minutes later.
She seemed ethereal, for how blindingly beautiful she looked; her skin was golden to match the halo of curls framing her heart shaped face. Big, doe green eyes were framed by thick long lashes and as her full lips curved into a smile, her simple jeans, t-shirt and trainers seemed undeserving of her inner radiance.
Dean wasn't sure what surprised him more; the fact that he felt he had met her before, or the fact that he felt worshipful towards her in a way that held no lust or physical attraction. He stopped impulsively, not questioning the pull he felt towards the woman. He briefly entertained the thought that he could be in some sort of danger, but even his hunter instincts immediately squelched that idea, as an overwhelming feeling of safe and home enveloped him, making him feel like a toddler wrapped in his favorite old blanket.
Of course, if he was in some kind of supernatural danger, those feelings weren't exactly trustworthy, but then Dean decided to ignore that little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his dad's.
The woman made no move to come into the Impala, and Dean watched, perplexed, as the rain came down harder with still no move from the woman.
Feeling compassion and mild annoyance in equal measure (which was still a giant step-up from feeling numb these past two months) Dean grabbed his leather jacket and held it over his head as he cursed, and left the sanctuary of his car to run towards the immobile woman.
"Mam? Excuse me, Mam?" he called out, disregarding the fact that the stranger seemed close to his own age.
She turned to look at him, not even shivering in the face of the icy torrents of wind and rain. She smiled brightly, and Dean's heart clenched with warmth. What was that feeling? That glow in his chest that seemed to help even the gnawing, gaping Sam-shaped hole in him? He found he couldn't get any words out, his throat thick and for all the world tangled like a mass of cords.
"Did you stop for me?" she asked, and her melodious voice struck another cord of familiarity in Dean. Where had he met this woman before, and how could he have forgotten her? Why did he feel so strongly towards her? "Well," her smiling, warm voice brought him back to reality, or whatever twilight zone he'd fallen into, "that was very kind of you."
"Oh," he blushed slightly, looking down, "that's okay. Here," he maneuvered them so that they were both under what little coverage his jacket afforded. "You're getting soaked. Come on to the car, I'll give you a ride to where you need to be."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly…" she started with a smile.
"It's pouring out," Dean shrugged, finding himself unwilling to leave the woman in the cold. "I couldn't possibly leave you out here in the storm."
"You're my little angel," the woman murmured with a soft smile, and a flash of memory blasted across his vision, gone again too impossibly fast for him to grasp on to it. Where had he heard those words before?
Unable to let it go again, he turned to the woman next to him, careful to keep her covered from the pouring rain.
"Do I know you? I feel like I've met you before…and I swear that's not a pick-up line," he added hastily, blushing again.
The woman laughed, and even that sound triggered strong feelings in Dean of a long-forgotten memory; a long-forgotten time.
"We've met before," she revealed cryptically. "Let's just say it was a different lifetime ago."
Dean nodded thoughtfully, rifling through his memory bank with a vengeance. "Are you okay?" he asked suddenly, wondering why the woman was out here in the rain to begin with.
For the first time, she hesitated a second. Dean waited her out patiently, feeling déjà vu wash over him from the days he had to wait for Sammy to figure out the words he wanted to say before he said them. A pang of sadness resonated sharply in him and he tried to focus on the woman in front of him.
"I had to leave my family," she said softly, deep anguish and sorrow tainting her voice and features.
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, this woman's pain striking him hard and fast, leaving him reeling as though the pain were his own.
"My parents died when I was younger," she explained. "I married my boyfriend at the time and we had two kids together. I had to leave them to keep them safe."
"Safe from what?" Dean asked, his protective instincts on high alert, emotion running high after so long of feeling nothing. "I can help you," he offered. "Whatever it is, I can help you."
"Not with this," the woman shook her head sadly. Immediately, thoughts of demons and spirits and other things that went bump in the night filled his mind.
"Try me," he challenged. "I've been around, hunting many different…things," he ended cryptically.
"You're a hunter," she observed, as though she were stating the weather around them. Dean grinned at her nonchalance.
"You too?" he asked curiously. She returned his grin with a slightly sadder one of her own, holding up her slim wrist. Adorning it, was a gold hunter's bracelet. Adorning it, were gold charms, some fashioned into miniature demon traps, others showing a pentagram, a cross, and various other protective insignias. Dean nodded once in respect and acknowledgement and she mirrored the gesture.
"This is a problem even a hunter can't solve," she said sadly.
"What about two hunters?" he argued, feeling a desperate need to get the woman back to her family.
She smiled even in the face of her despondence. "No. This is something no-one can fix."
"So you're just going to leave them?" Dean asked disbelievingly, irrational anger filling him to the point where he was uncaring of the fact that they were arguing in the rain now.
"They'll be okay," she said with a confidence that wasn't affected by her grief. "As long as my eldest is with them, they will be okay."
"So all that responsibility now falls to your eldest?" he asked bitterly, feeling for the position he had once held in their own tenuous family. "That's all he or she is worth for now?"
"Never!" the shock made the woman's eyes even bigger, and Dean felt momentary guilt for bringing his own issues to the plate. "He's my baby boy," she continued. "He's so much more than he'll ever know, if he can just allow himself to find himself away from big brother and son. He's got the most amazing things in store for him, and he needs to learn many things, another being that he can't take responsibility for the family's mistakes."
"Don't leave him, then he won't have to worry about learning all those things," Dean tried in vain one last time.
"I wish I had that choice," she shook her head dejectedly. "But I have every faith in the world that he'll be okay. He has more people than he knows, he just needs to remember that they're there for him. They all love him so much, he needs to remember that."
"I'm sure he will," he murmured in what he hoped was a comforting tone.
"Most of all," she turned her gaze to Dean, pinning him fiercely with it, a blaze in her eyes, "he needs to remember me. He needs to remember how much I love him. He needs to remember that he's my baby boy, and that I'm proud of him and love him more than the sun and the moon. He needs to remember that I'm always watching over him."
The elusive answers Dean had been searching for suddenly seemed on the frays of his mind, just out of grasp. Green eyes locked on green, and in a last-ditch attempt born from desperation, Dean blurted out; "What's your name?"
She smiled at him, and the warm feeling in his chest multiplied. Finally, he realized that feeling was the same one he had when Sam took his first steps. When he said his first word (Dee) and when he had brought home the picture he drew of himself with "the bestest big bruther in the hole wurld".
Love. All encompassing, to the depths of his soul, familial love.
How was that even possible?
"Mary," she answered with a secret little smile full of love. "My name is Mary."
The color drained from Dean's face as the missing pieces slotted themselves into the puzzle in his mind. Before he could react, a loud bang sounded from behind him. He turned instinctively, hand going to the gun tucked in the back of his waistband.
It was just the Impala door slamming shut. Hadn't he closed that?
He turned around.
The woman was gone.
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Dean thought about the woman the rest of the drive back to Pastor Jim's. There was no way that was his Mom…right? It was impossible, his Mom wasn't a hunter, and besides he would have recognized her if it was. He had the picture of her engraved permanently in his heart and mind. She looked familiar, sure, but to actually be her…and she definitely wasn't a spirit, that was flesh and blood he'd seen. An aunt?
That would work, except that Mary Winchester was an only child. Damn.
Pulling into the long driveway, Dean began to think on the mystery woman's words. Grabbing his jacket, he ran up to the porch, where Pastor Jim was waiting.
"Dean, son, you're soaked to the bone!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Did you get caught in the storm?"
"Something like that," Dean murmured, too tired for his usual banter. Likely sensing this in the way only the Pastor could, he nodded wordlessly, holding out an old blanket in silent offering. Dean managed a wry smile as he shook off his dripping jacket and pulled the warm quilt over himself.
"Go get into some dry clothes, I'll make some sweet tea," Pastor Jim offered, his solid, low, reassuring timbre bringing Dean some measure of comfort. He went straight to the old room he used to share with Sam, changed into old jeans and a V-neck and pulled on his customary plaid over-shirt.
Grabbing a towel, he headed down the stairs while running it through his wet hair, unable to spend more time in that room that was absolutely necessary. He was surprised to hear voices coming from the kitchen, and managed another small smile for the man he considered another father figure, by all rights and demands.
"Hey Mac," he greeted, his voice sounding rough and tired, even to his own ears.
"Hey, Son," Mac smiled broadly at him, the ever-present concern still visible in that too-cheerful grin and those deep hazel eyes. "How have you been doing?"
"Fine," Dean answered automatically, a familiar and bitter taste hitting the back of his throat at the lie. Mac must have seen through the façade, ill-hidden as it was, because a glint of determination flashed through him.
"Dean, I've been cooped up here with nothing but tombs of books for company for the past week. What say we head out tomorrow? I have a friend not far from here, a complete James Dean buff. I'm sure you'd love to meet him, get a hand on all the collectables he's acquired over the years."
Dean recognized the gesture as one made of love, and the desire to comfort, and it warmed his heart to know Mac would sacrifice an afternoon with his beloved books in favor of spending it with him, talking about something he couldn't really be bothered with.
Before he could reply, and reassure Mac that the offer wasn't necessary, the sound of an engine pulled them from their discussion.
He'd recognize the sound of the Jeep anywhere, just like he'd always recognize the sound of his baby.
Caleb was here.
Mac's face brightened, and not for the first time, Dean wished his father would show that kind of enthusiasm to see him. Dismissing the thought as soon as it came, because he could never begrudge his best friend the love and care Mac showed him, Dean got ready to paste on a smile and face his greatest opponent yet, because God, Caleb knew him better than anyone in the world.
As he turned to leave, a hand grasped his shoulder firmly. Pastor Jim.
"There's sweet tea and apple pie ready when you want it, Dean," the older man smiled softly, and Dean appreciated the show of unspoken concern, nodding once and briefly squeezing the Pastor's hand where it still rested on his shoulder.
"…better than dealing with Johnny's surly moods, I guess," Caleb's voice drifted towards them before the man himself came into view. "Deuce!"
"Hey Damien," Dean forced out a shadow of his usual cocky smirk, returning the one-armed hug his friend pulled him in. "Had fun with that poltergeist in Omaha?"
The psychic snorted derisively. "I could have ganked the bitch in my sleep Deuce, but I had to wait for Bobby's ancient ass."
"Language, Caleb," Pastor Jim admonished gently, and Reaves grinned wryly, apologizing.
Dean shook his head, smiling indulgently at the golden-eyed hunter. "We don't hunt alone, Damien, you know that," he reminded him lightly.
"Which is why I'm here," Reaves clapped his hands together, rubbing them delightedly. "Haunted strip club in Vegas. You and me, Deuce, tomorrow morning. Best. Case. Ever."
Dean knew this was a typical gesture of comfort from his friend; a hunt, women, and booze, combined with a hallmark moment somewhere in the mix. He really appreciated the concern behind the gesture, but he didn't want to possibly be taking his friend away from his Tri-Corp responsibilities.
Before he could beg off, Bobby walked in, greeting the room as a whole before aiming his attention at Dean.
"Got in a '66 Charger yesterday, Kid," he announced gruffly. "Think you could lend a hand? We could rebuild the whole thing."
The gesture spoke volumes to Dean, since the rough-around-the-edges mechanic rarely showed the concern he felt for them. Mac and Caleb jumped in, overriding the apology and gratitude Dean was about to convey to the other hunter.
Apparently, all three hunters came to an impasse, all having made plans for the same time. Silence reigned for a few minutes, until the sound of John Winchester's truck filled the air around them. Dean felt some of the darkness weighing his heart down, lift, taking the comfort he could find in the confirmation that his father was alive. The man himself walked in a few minutes later, eyes skipping over everyone else, roving until they found his son. When his gaze landed on Dean, there was a silent question there, and the younger hunter smiled slightly in answer.
Yes. He was okay.
Ever so slightly, the tensed set to his shoulders relaxed, and John leaned casually against the door jamb, appraising his son with a critical eye. Dean cringed, knowing his father would undoubtedly pick up on the weight loss and lack of sleep. To his surprise, his father said nothing, even if his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly in pain.
"Hey Ace." The gravelly voice sent a wave of calmness crashing over Dean's turbulent emotions, in the way only his father's steady voice could. "If you're not too busy…"
"He's busy!" Three voices called out immediately. John's eyes widened at the outbursts of the mechanic, the Scholar and the future Knight. Silence hung heavily in the air, as Dean took in the dumfounded expression on his father's face, as well as the chagrined faces of his family around him.
Then, for the first time in two months, Dean Winchester laughed.
An out-and-out, full-belied chuckle.
Because in that moment, Dean realized how lucky he was to have people who cared enough about him to do anything in their power to see him happy. All at once, the mystery woman's voice played back in his head: He has more people than he knows, he just needs to remember that they're there for him. They all love him so much, he needs to remember that.
Looking around him, he could see the love; Mac's love for him, as though he were the Scholar's own son. Pastor Jim's love, who treated him by every right as his grandson. Caleb's love, as a brother and a best friend. Bobby's love, even, as a nephew.
His father's love, fierce even in its obscured and hidden ways.
"Why don't we all just relax, and have some of Pastor Jim's pie and sweet tea?" he suggested when he finally stopped laughing. "Then tomorrow, I'll head out with Caleb, join Bobby when the hunt is down, and not subject Mac to hours to discussing James Dean by meeting his friend alone when all this is over and done with. Yeah?"
Four sheepish smiles were sent his way, and he shook his head again, grinning ruefully. Looking to his father, Dean was met by a slightly smiling John.
"I was just going to ask you to fetch something out of the cubby," John answered the unspoken question in his son's eyes. Dean nodded, grinning and jogging out to the truck. As he got into the front seat, he sensed someone coming up from behind him.
Caleb.
"Hey Deuce?" the psychic clapped a hand to Dean's back. "For what it's worth, you played the Big Brother role really well. Now it's just time for you to explore and get used to the other roles. The other masks."
Reaves winked and left him, Dean warmed by the words. Reaching into the cubby, he was surprised to find a box inside.
Opening it, his breath left him in a whoosh.
There, sat a gold hunter's bracelet, identical to the one he'd seen not one hour ago.
I put an old picture of her in the locket, from when we dated. This way, you have something of hers with you.
Dean read the note from his father, and with shaking hands, opened the locket…To find the woman he'd met on the side of the road.
Several things hit him at once.
You're my little angel.
We've met before. Let's just say it was a different lifetime ago.
As long as my eldest is with them, they will be okay.
He's so much more than he'll ever know, if he can just allow himself to find himself away from big brother and son. He's got the most amazing things in store for him, and he needs to learn many things, another being that he can't take responsibility for the family's mistakes.
He needs to remember me. He needs to remember how much I love him. He needs to remember that he's my baby boy, and that I'm proud of him and love him more than the sun and the moon. He needs to remember that I'm always watching over him.
Mary. My name is Mary.
"Mom…" Dean whispered reverently. He remembered looking up and praying to someone…something, for help. Had he seen his mother, and not even known it?
He's my baby boy. He needs to remember how much I love him.
"I remember," he murmured. "I remember."
Putting the bracelet with utmost care into his pocket, Dean felt better than he had in years. It would take time, but things would be okay again. He walked to the house, smiling at the sight of his family through the window, laughing and fighting with no real heat. Before he could go in, his phone rang.
"Yeah?"
"…Dean?"
Dean stopped at the sound of his baby brother's voice; a voice he hadn't heard in two months. He sucked in a breath.
"Sammy?" his voice sounded like he'd run a marathon.
"Dean…" Sam's voice caught a little and Dean's protective instincts kicked right back into gear.
"What's the matter, Sammy?" he demanded, already calculating how long a drive it would be to Palo Alto, and grimly considering enduring a flight if it meant getting to Sam quicker. "Somebody messing with you? I can be on my way in two."
"No one's messing with me…" Sam refuted, and Dean could almost imagine him shaking his head. "I just…it's been two months. I missed you."
"I miss you too, squirt," Dean swallowed convulsively, allowing himself a chick flick moment given the circumstances. "How's Stanford, College-Boy?" he teased.
"It sucks," Sam snorted, still sounding choked up. "It's parties every day."
"Sammy, Sammy," Dean tutted, smiling a little shakily. "Have I taught you nothing? I would be ripping those college parties up."
"You could visit," Sam suggested hopefully. "I could take you."
"Maybe sometime, Sammy," Dean smiled. "What's on your mind, little brother?"
There was a small pause before Sam broke. "I don't know if this was such a good idea, Dean, maybe Dad was right, maybe hunting is all I'm supposed to do, can you come get me? I'll apologize to dad and we can go back to hunting and we'll forget all about Stanford…"
"Whoa, Sammy, hold up," Dean stopped him abruptly, his heart squeezing in pain at the forlorn tone of his brother's voice.
"You don't want to hunt with me anymore?" Sam asked in a small-ish voice.
"That's not it Sammy, and you know it," Dean denied firmly, but gently. "I thought you wanted Stanford. What changed? Are you that miserable that you want me to come get you?"
"I just…" Sam hesitated, and Dean sighed.
"Sammy, this is your dream. I'm not bringing you back now. I love you and I miss you like hell, but I can't do that to you. Hunting isn't all you're destined for. You're gonna make it just the way you want."
"I'm afraid," the younger brother finally admitted.
"Afraid of what, Sammy?"
"We haven't spoken in two months, Dean," he repeated. "I guess I'm afraid you'll stop being my big brother. I don't want to lose you too."
Dean exhaled shakily, brushing impatiently at his treacherous eyes. "Sammy, no…" he thought about his mother's words, and smiled in understanding. "I'm a lot of things, but above everything else, I'll always be your brother. Nothing can change that, you understand me?"
"I understand," Sam replied, sounding calmer now. He chuckled suddenly, a breathless and relieved sound. "You grow feelings since I left, man?"
Dean chuckled, feeling that vice grip on his heart loosen slightly. "Shut up, bitch."
"Jerk."
The brothers laughed. After sharing some idle talk, they hung up, feeling a part in them that had been missing for two months, come back.
Dean knew, now, that he was more than his brother's protector. He just needed to figure out his place without Sammy around. And no matter what, he would have his family there.
Even the ones he only had a piece of.
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A little over two thousand miles away, Sam Winchester drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, knowing that for all his roles and faces, Dean was, and always would be, his Big Brother.
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