A/N: And here we go, the second installment of 'Little Lost Things'. I think the next chapter will wrap this project up. Might get a little AU, though.
So, let's see. Prisoner Of War updated last night, and All The Pretty Monsters will probably update today. Tuesday's Child is such a blast to write, and I think that will update tomorrow.
Reviews are love, and the slap-an-alert-on-it remains in effect for this story, since it will probably be late November before I wrap this one up.
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: If this was my sandbox, we would have seen this in the show, and I wouldn't have had to write it.
Little Lost Things – Part Two
"Hard Won Victory"
Dean was a hunter by nature. Some people were just born for lives like theirs, and Dean was, perhaps even more than John, in some ways.
After all, John had been settled down happily (well, semi-happily, anyway) with Mary for years before everything went to hell and she was killed. That was when John had turned to the vagabond, hunter's lifestyle they now lived.
But Dean had transitioned over even more successfully. He liked hunting, liked the game of it, the danger and the adrenalin. He liked the feeling of being the dangerous gunslinger who blew into town only to blow out again.
Sure, Sonny's place had opened his eyes to a different way of life, and it had been a good life, but the honest truth was, Dean liked hunting.
Dean was a hunter, it was etched in his bones.
So now, facing his most wily and wary prey to date, Dean knew he would need cunning and ingenuity.
And patience.
Dean was stalking his little brother.
He was determined to push past Sam's weary, lonely, knee-jerk fear reactions and find the little brother he'd lost four months past.
Sonny's had been good, that was true. It had felt nice to be a kid, to not always be expected to carry all the weight, to have all the answers. It had been nice to feel taken care of. But Dean had walked away from all that willingly, without so much as a glance back, because of Sam.
And he'd do it again.
Because no matter how good it had been at Sonny's, nothing, nothing was worth Sammy.
And Dean was going to get him back.
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Sam didn't know how to feel, now that Dean was back. He was confused, and somehow, having Dean back felt even more lonely than when he'd been 'lost', because now that Sam understood what must have really happened, there was a giant, yawning chasm between the brothers.
Sam had driven Dean away.
Sam could come up with no other reasonable explanation. He'd been to needy, and too demanding, and Dean had run away from him.
Sam knew now how bad things could be for their family, how tight money could be, and even, he suspected, food, though Dean never said too much about that.
But for years he knew he had simply been a demanding, selfish brat. How many times had Dean given him the last share of the cereal, or the juice, or watched a cartoon he hated just to appease Sam?
How many times had Sam come out of his elementary school to see Dean waiting for him in the rain, or the snow?
It had always been that way, and honestly, Sam hadn't ever really questioned it. Other kids had parents who did things like that, and while Sam didn't have a mom, or even a dad most days, he had Dean.
Dean was who Sam remembered soothing the nightmares, or squinting at the bottle of cold medicine, trying to figure out the correct dosage when Sam's cough had kept him up at night.
It had never occurred to Sam that Dean might get tired of him, of taking care of him, because Dean had always simply been there, but obviously he did, and now Sam was terrified.
Because as lonely as it was with the all the distance between them, at least Dean had come back, and what if he decided to leave Sam again?
So Sam determined not to be such a burden. Maybe if he wasn't so needy, so greedy, Dean would stay.
Maybe, if Sam just tried a little harder to be good...
Maybe he wouldn't leave Sam all over again.
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"Sammy, wait right here after school. Your class gets out fifteen minutes before mine, okay?" Dean said, purposefully using the name Sammy, instead of Sam. John had stopped calling Sam 'Sammy' around the same time Sam had discovered his journal, and realized that monsters were real.
Most of John's friends, like Caleb and Bobby, had followed suit, so now the nickname was the sole property of Sam's big brother, which was fine by Dean.
Sammy had always been his anyway.
"You don't have to do that, Dean." Sam mumbled, looking anywhere but at Dean's face. "Home's the other way. I could meet you..."
Dean shook his head adamantly. "No way, kiddo. I'm not leaving you outside of a high school for some asshole bully to screw with. Just wait here. I'll come and get you, and we'll go home together."
After a moment, Sam nodded jerkily, but that afternoon, Dean was more resigned than surprised when he saw an awkward Sam standing by the high school bike rack, looking like a lost puppy.
"Sam!" He scolded, looking around worriedly. He knew first hand just how big of a jerk some kids could be, and Sam was small, even for ten. Not to mention, some well meaning teacher or secretary would take one look at Sam and see for themselves just how out of place Sam was, and that could spell big trouble.
"It's fine, Dean. The walk was fine, and no one bothered me." Sam said hurriedly, cringing from the angry tone in Dean's voice.
Dean altered his timbre immediately, internally cussing himself out for taking his concern out on Sam.
Sam obviously thought things had changed between the two of them doing Dean's absence, and the poor kid was just trying to find his footing again.
Dean knelt down, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. "It's okay, Sam. I'm not mad at you, I get it. But your school's not just a couple blocks away, there's a major highway in between. I know you know how to cross the street, but you're only ten, kiddo. Besides, some of these guys are creeps, and Dad will bust my ass if I get into a fight the first week of school."
Sam nodded slowly, biting his lip. Dean sighed, standing up and looking around to make sure no one was paying them any undue attention.
"Come on, kiddo, let's get out of here."
It was a pattern Dean would come to be familiar with.
Sam seemed almost frantic to no longer rely on Dean. He'd do anything Dean asked, eat whatever he cooked, watch whatever he wanted to watch. He went to bed without so much as a rebellious glance when Dean told him too.
At first, Dean had thought he had misread the situation, and Sam really was mad at him, and this was Sam's version of the silent treatment.
Eventually, the truth made itself known, though it made Dean almost sick to his stomach.
Sam was scared.
More precisely, he was scared of Dean, of needing Dean too much, and Dean leaving him again.
It made Dean sick to his stomach, the way Sam was so afraid of bothering Dean he wouldn't even ask for help with his homework anymore.
Dean didn't know how to broach the subject. John had forbidden Dean to talk about it, Sonny's, the theft, any of it. It made Dean furious, that John would use Sam's pain as a means to teach Dean a lesson, but a lifetime's worth of obedience was ingrained in Dean, and he obeyed, however reluctantly.
So how to convince Sam that Dean hadn't chosen to abandon him when he couldn't say any of the things that would give Sam the proof his methodical mind demanded?
Sam had obviously weighed the facts, and come to his own conclusion. It was the wrong one, of course, but it was a logical one, given the information Sam had to work with, and Dean didn't blame him.
So Dean did the best he could to provide Sam with proof of his own.
He upped the ante.
Sam was independent by nature, and John and Dean had fostered that independence, knowing it was a trait that might some day save Sam's life.
But now, Dean purposefully moved backwards, taking on task's for his brother that Sam hadn't required help with in years.
He ran Sam's shower water. He zipped up Sam's jacket for him. He didn't just walk Sam to his school, he walked him to the door of his classroom.
Sam pushed back, of course, in his frightened, quiet way, but Dean was having none of it.
He hovered, he pushed, he got into Sam's personal space.
Never a particularly affectionate person, Dean know made it a point to foster physical contact, much like they had had when Sam had been younger and solely dependent on Dean for everything from help washing his hands to crossing the street.
The first time he'd hugged Sam out of the blue, the kid had stiffened, and Dean could have sworn he heard him whisper the word 'christo'. It took a few days, but eventually Sam no longer startled every time Dean reached out and smoothed down his hair, or hugged him one-armed.
Dean found that he had actually missed the contact, and hadn't even realized it.
John was far from affectionate, and for years, Sam had been Dean's only real human contact. As Sam had gotten older and more independent, the physical contact between them had dwindled, which Dean had told himself was natural, they were guys, after all, not chicks.
But over and over again at Sonny's, Dean had witnessed casual affection, pats on the back or shoulder, the way Sonny would tip up a boys head so they would look him in the eye. Sonny wasn't afraid to hug, either, even though the boys usually reacted in the same startled, stiff way that Sam did.
So he took a page out of Sonny's book, and he invaded Sam's space. He sat by him when he did his homework. He sat next to him at dinner, instead of across the table. He took Sam with him to the library, whenever he had to research for Dad, instead of leaving him in the room to do his own homework.
He asked Sam questions, over and over again, until Sam actually started answering them again, and Dean rejoiced at hearing the hint of old Sam in his voice.
He made sure that every time his kid turned around, he was right there. He'd leave school early, just to beat Sam out the door at his middle school. He became Sam's second shadow, determined to convince Sammy that Dean wasn't going to leave him again.
And something strange happened.
Dean realized he liked it. Liked being needed, liked relearning all Sam's quirks and foibles, liked knowing the meaningless details of Sam's day. No one had ever needed Dean, not really, no one other than Sam, and Dean liked it. But the truth is, Sam had never really decided before on his own accord to need Dean.
Dean had simply been the older brother, and quite often, the only one there when Sam was growing up.
This time, Dean felt a little like he was earning his little brother back, and when Sam finally started to open up to him, to lean into the hugs, and look happy instead of just surprised every time Dean showed up when he promised, Dean felt like...
Well, he felt like this time, Sam had chose him.
For nearly a month, Dean campaigned for Sammy's trust back, and it was working.
The fear started to fade, and the uncertainty. Sam no longer hesitated so much when he needed Dean's help with something, and he began to give his own opinions again.
Dean still missed Sonny's, still struggled with the weight of the responsibility that was Sammy, but this time, he had chosen Sam as well, and he wanted it.
And then John showed up one night, bruised and a little bloody. Dean and Sam got him patched up, poured him into bed.
The next morning, he declared that Sam was going to stay by himself for a few days, while Dean helped him hunt a pack of black dogs.
Just like that, with just a few simple words, Dean watched every inch of improvement he had won with Sam disappear, as that carefully blank look took over Sammy's face.
