This is how it begins.
A wide-eyed boy, four years old with a baby in his arms, standing outside an open door in the middle of the night and looking in on the end of his life. The baby shifts and curls up one tiny fist, blinking up at him with a sleepy grin. (He's got your eyes, John, just like Dean. My three green-eyed boys. She laughs her tinkling little laugh and his father's face lights up.) His entire body trembles and he clutches the fragile bundle closer to his chest.
……………………………
A nine-year-old and his baby brother in a hotel room, spaghettios in a pot on the stove and a box of lucky charms in the cupboard, nearly empty. There's only enough for one bowl and he hasn't had any yet. Doesn't matter, though, since Sammy wants lucky charms not spaghettios. Dean grabs the kid a bowl.
A chubby outstretched fist and an earnest expression: Do you want the prize? He has no ability to stay mad at that face.
Anything you want, little bro.
……………………………
A month shy of fifteen and already a stunner, this freckled blond with cupid's bow lips and broken eyes. He's got that edge of danger, all compact muscles and hard lines belying his more feminine attributes and he's never been on a date because Dad doesn't want him out nights. (I can't always be home and someone needs to take care of the kid.)
A tug on his sleeve and liquid eyes. What? Too loud. I mean, what is it, Sammy? Too weary.
Sorry.
Sorry – sorry for what?
That you have to look after me.
Oh, hey. A crooked smile, small but genuine. Don't worry, little man, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
……………………………
Twenty-two years old and living for everyone but himself. A hateful brother who can't leave and an absent father who won't; a high-school diploma and credit card scams, he hustles pool on Friday nights. There's a heated argument going on in the kitchen and he drags himself upstairs, too worn out to deal with the drama. He lies on the bed with his eyes closed, humming Metallica. Sammy flings the door open and hauls his duffle out from under the second bed. He closes his eyes again.
Were you even gonna tell us?
Oh, for fuck's sake, Dean, I don't need this crap from you, too.
Well, were you? Or were you just gonna take off in the middle of the night, maybe leave a note if it wasn't too much trouble?
Dean, please …
Were you?
A long pause, a deep breath. I was going to let you know once I got there. Dean? Dean, talk to me. Dean, I'm sorry.
Goodbye, Sammy.
……………………………
This is how it begins.
A baby brother all grown up and looking to get himself killed in a fight he's spent most of his life running away from; a father gone missing, most likely dead already; an unending trail of cheap hotel rooms and vengeful spirits.
Dean in the shower, scrubbing off the remnants of their latest kill, an egg-shaped lump on the back of his head and a red line, still raw, where a knife had been pressed to his throat; Sam pacing right outside the door, waiting to chew him out for being so goddamn reckless. He turns off the water. The shower curtain opens and suddenly there's a hand on his hip, another tangled in his hair, a mouth on his. Everything's spinning and Sam slams him against the wet tiles, hand moving to his dick. He's mouthing you stupid son of a bitch into Dean's neck over and over, jacking him hard and fast, just this side of painful, and Dean can't catch his breath. Sam untangles his free hand from Dean's hair and grips hold of Dean's hand, guiding it to his own cock. Dean closes his eyes and pumps. Everything's still fuzzy and he can't breath and he can't move and Sam's mouth is on his again and Dean's afraid he might actually pass out. Sam comes with a loud groan and then Dean does too, shaking and trembling with his eyes clenched so tight he's seeing stars behind closed lids. He doesn't open them for a long time and when he does Sam is gone and he's freezing cold. He throws up once in the toilet, flushes, goes to rinse out his mouth. He's always known it would come to this and he's always known he wouldn't say no, not to Sam, not even to this. Especially not to this.
He wishes he could believe he wants to.