(Title): Dirty Pair
by Carver Edlund
published posthumously
(A compilation of the parts Edlund left out, since he feared it would make the Winchester brothers unsympathetic.)
A/N:
Written by Kaizen Kitty
Betaread by Lux Hart
Title in reference to the scifi anime "Dirty Pair" (original run July to December 1985, later adapted to an animated film called "Project Eden" released 1987). Focuses on two busty Asian beauties who solve crimes, but are publicly known to leave a trail of destruction behind everywhere they go – hence the nickname.
(Title): Dream Brother
1995
It was dark, only the neon motel sign lighting up the road around them, throwing shadows over the sleek black Chevrolet Impala, a sixties model. Not the safest ride to be carrying his boys in, having no seatbelts nor airbags, but John didn't care. The car had sentimental value to him. As long as he didn't violate the speed limit, his boys would be fine. They faced greater dangers than the car could ever pose, daily. Like the danger they had faced tonight.
For the first time, Dean had played a part in it, and he hadn't let John down. No, John had all the reason to be proud of his boy, his little soldier. Even though Dean was already sixteen and close to his father in height, John couldn't help but see the little kid in him. It was like watching a person and seeing their life unfold before your very own eyes: he saw Dean as a baby, as a child, and now as a young man – all at one glance. It frightened John, because he knew he was growing old. And his boys were not ready yet, not ready to know all the secrets and tricks of the trade. He vowed to keep them alive, if it was the last thing he did.
John spoke to the manager and got their stuff inside, rubbing himself warm against the chilly night air. He wanted to lock the car when he noticed his other son, Sam, sitting in the backseat, headphones on. John's shoulders sank under the added weight of dread, as he cursed the fact that Sam hit puberty a year early, turning from a difficult kid to a downright nasty one. The only one who still could reason with him was Dean, but they were fighting now – neither brother wanting to even see the other. John took a few steps toward the car, then turned, thinking better of it.
"Dean?"
He needn't say more. The older Winchesters exchanged a look, then turned their eyes on the vehicle. Dean hugged his canvas jacket closer, bit his lower lip, and ground out a tight-lipped "yes Sir", before he stumbled over the parking lot.
The parking lot was cold and wet from the rain, but inside the car was warm and dry, not five minutes ago the engine had still been running, so that was no surprise. Sam sitting huddled up on the backseat, knees to his chest and headphones over his ears was no surprise either, it happened all too damn often lately. Not to mention they were Dean's headphones – Dean's headphones, Dean's portable cassette recorder, and Dean's tapes. It was the only thing Dad had gotten Dean for his fifteenth birthday, and now he was forced to share. How fucking fantastic. And then Sam would bitch about how he didn't like the songs, and that his older brother had zero taste in music. Buy your own fucking tapes. Of course that was impossible, because Sammy here was only twelve years old, too young to get a job, and too frickin stupid to know how to hustle.
Dean tried keeping his temper down as he scooted closer to his brother, feeling the leather squeak under his behind.
"What're you listening to?"
Sam just glared at him, nothing else, oh yeah besides crossing his arms to show that he was 'mad'.
"Sammy, don't be like this. Dad wants you out of the car, it's time to sleep."
Sam settled down firmer, curling his toes around the front seat and pushing himself into the backrest. Dean had half the heart to storm out of there and tell his father he could go to hell. That is what he would've done, if not for the rain. It fell down in buckets, and all Dean could think of was that they'd left the protective gear back in the trunk, and he'd probably get soaked by the time he'd reach that. So he leaned back and tried making himself comfortable, cursing he fact that right now, he could be sleeping in a bed. A real, warm bed with fluffy covers and a new mattress – this was one of the better motels they had stayed in over the years. Dean barely had his eyes closed when he heard a muffled sound beside him, Sam. His little brother had switched the cassette recorder off, and let the headphones slide down to his neck, shifting to see Dean better.
"Why are you still here?"
Annoying little bastard. Oh, Dean was angry now. He was really, really pissed. In a shaky jerky motion, Dean sat up straight, instantly noticing how cold it had become. Even fully clothed, his limbs shivered.
"Obviously not for the pleasant company."
Sam huffed, rolling closer to the window, back turned on Dean. His breath clouded white and fogged up the window pane. Sam was shaking.
"Leave me alone," he said with little conviction.
It was ice cold inside the car, and the rain kept pattering on the hood, echoing. All their bags, all their cloths and jackets, everything was in the trunk, and part of it in the motel too. It was going to be a rough night, that Dean knew for sure. Especially if this jackass next to him wouldn't keep his yap shut.
"I'll keep watch on the car. Just go, go to dad Dean, he got a nice room this time, right?"
Almost like Sam expected him to answer that question, or to talk to him, or something. Sweet god of Jesus.
"Do you hear me talking?"
The way Sammy stared back, puppy dog eyes under that overgrown fringe, acting all innocent. Dean wanted to hurl something at him, only there was nothing nearby to grab, and the distance was too small.
"No," said Sam.
"Then shut up."
It was quiet after that, quiet for a long time. The rain had turned to a little drizzle and the bar by the motel got closed, as the customers walked out, covering their heads with their hands. Dean looked over at his brother, who sat up wide awake, limply holding the recorder in his palms.
"Okay, we're making a run for it. Last one at the motel is a wuss."
Dean nearly locked the Impala before he noticed Sam wasn't following. He pulled the door open.
"Sam! Come on, I'm waiting for you."
"I'm not going,"
"Wuss."
"I'm not a wuss! I just can't. I can't spend a whole night in the same room with that man."
Dean blinked. Sam was reaching whole new levels of bitchiness, if that was even possible. It kept on drizzling over his forehead, matting his short dark hair, and drenching the backseat. Rain water slipped in Dean's eyes.
"By 'that man', I hope you mean Dad. But you really can't be talking about him like that. If I hear you say that one more time, I'll…"
"You'll what, Dean? Tell on me?"
The look in Sam's eyes was challenging, a sly little grin crept up the corners of his mouth.
"No, I have a better idea. Give me my cassette recorder."
"And you left him in the car?"
John rolled over to his nightstand, and turned on a lamp, with his free hand he kneaded his forehead, groaning. He sat up straight and looked his son up and down, while Dean got his jacket off and hung it over the radiator. Dean slipped out of his shoes and stalked inside the bathroom, still shivering from the cold. Moments later John heard the water run, a toothbrush being used, swish swashing rapidly over Dean's teeth. When Dean came back inside the room, he had stripped down to a tank top and boxers, and wordlessly, like a zombie, he picked out a bed and fell face down on it, not even covering himself.
John dimmed the light and stood up, throwing a worn leather jacket over his shoulders. He was getting Sammy back even if it meant by force. This was ridiculous, kids were supposed to be in bed by this time. He knew Sam would thank him later, once he grew up with no health defects. But then Dean lifted his sleepy head, and said
"No, I'll go."
And you had to hand it to him, Dean was a great kid, but there are some things you just can't do alone. John shook his head and tied his shoelaces, Dean insisted. In fifteen seconds Dean was dressed, all signs of fatigue on his face gone. John sighed, the things you could do at sixteen…
"Dad, I'll talk to him. You should sleep."
"You need your sleep too, son."
"Not as much as you need yours – I'm not driving."
Shadows played over the dark motel room, headlights from the rare passing car. It didn't seem right to John, that he was sitting here safe and sound while his boys were in the car, where it was cold and damp and freezing. Okay, maybe the temperature did not drop below zero, but it came damn well close to, he thought.
John didn't sleep all night, and when he came to the parking lot next thing in the morning, yellow sunlight sparkling in the many puddles, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. They lay cuddled up on the backseat, his boys, covered under blankets and rugs, a backpack under Dean's head. Sammy had his arms wrapped around his big brother's shoulders, and his head on Dean's chest. John snorted. If only they could be like this when they were awake, too, but he knew that was never going to happen. With teenaged boys, especially brothers, it was a lost cause. John yanked the car door open, and bounced into the driver's seat. Behind him he heard soft murmurs of the boys stirring, he looked over his shoulder, putting on the sternest face he could muster.
"Five minutes!"
Dean sat up awake, jolting Sammy up with him.
"Yes Sir!" said Dean, and immediately started packing the rugs. Sam just glared at John, knowing full well there was no emergency at all, that Dad was only making them do things because he could. John saw all of that reflected in Sam's eyes, and it frightened him.
"Get the cross state map out of the trunk, Dean. We're going to Pennsylvania."
"Yes Sir."
I'm only trying to discipline you boys for your own good, John thought, still watching Sam through the rearview mirror. Because if I don't discipline you, someone else will. That thought filled him with an even greater fear than Sam's growing perceptiveness, and once they were set and ready, John hit down on the gas pedal, releasing his frustration on the car. Dean hunched over the map, making sure not to crease or tear it, and Sam stared out the window, listening to Radiohead's "Creep" at a louder volume than the Led Zeppelin song John played. Why was a song like "Creep" on one of Dean's tapes?
A/N:
Betaread by Lux Hart
Title in reference to a Jeff Buckley song from 1994