Dean sat on the lumpy plaid sofa, tiredly nursing a beer. His whole body ached. Bobby had him working on an engine rebuild all day and it was just being a complete bitch.
Not that he was complaining. Bobby had been damn good to them since the move.
He was idly watching the small television that was showing a decade old segment of This Old House. Bob Vila was giving careful instruction on grouting tile with far too much enthusiasm in Dean's opinion. Normally, he wouldn't give crap like this the time of day, but the downstairs bathroom in the rented house looked like hell, worse than most of the run down motel rooms that he had lived in over the years. Dean didn't know jack about home improvement, but he thought that Bobby might be willing to lend a hand and, whatever Bobby didn't know, Dean would figure it out for himself.
Not that they really had the money for renovations on a house that wasn't even theirs but, the longer they stayed, the more attached Dean found himself becoming. Realistically, he knew it was only temporary. Sammy would be done with school in the spring and then it would be back out onto the road with their dad. However, until that time, Dean didn't want his kid brother ashamed of bringing home the select few friends that he had made.
Bobby had been paying him decently, probably more than Dean's work was actually worth, but the monthly upkeep of the house and groceries to feed his kid brother's bottomless pit of a stomach took most of his pay. They always had enough, but just only enough. Sadly, he had realized early on that staying in one place made it impossible to live off of fake credit cards and hustling pool. Asking Dad for money was out of the question as far as Dean was concerned.
He felt guilty enough already that he wasn't helping his father shoulder the burden of their family crusade anymore. Without Dean's assistance, John was probably barely getting by as it was, the scamming and hustling much more difficult with only a party of one, and Dean figured that if he was bold enough to talk his father into this little arrangement, he should be man enough to keep them afloat on his own.
Unconsciously, he shoved his hand into the front right pocket of his faded jeans, verifying the wad of cash he had stuffed in there. Joining his father last weekend for the poltergeist thing in Michigan had been really good all around. Besides hustling almost three hundred dollars off of some local schmuck at the bar next to their motel, Dad had been missing them, and Sammy was actually in a decent mood for a change despite the fact that he had apparently been coming down with bronchitis.
The welcome shift in attitude between his father and brother had been good to see. Now that Sammy was getting in some "normal" time in his life, he didn't seem to resent the time spent with their father hunting. Between research and the salt and burn, Dad and Sam had actually talked for a change instead of just Dad barking orders and Sammy giving him lip.
Over the low volume of the television, Dean could hear the start of his brother's wet cough beginning again. Checking his watch, he noticed that it was almost time for another dose of the prescription cough medicine that they had picked up after their Monday night visit to the local Urgent Care clinic. Dean had been really proud of the fact that he could pay for his brother's doctor visit himself instead of relying on the phony insurance cards that their father had handed him back in August.
Pushing himself up from the couch, he climbed the stairs and gave Sammy's door a brief knock before coming in.
Sam was bundled in his bed, books and papers piled around him in what appeared to be an unsuccessful attempt to study. Dean frowned when he saw them, having specifically told his stubborn little brother to get some sleep when he sent him up earlier in the evening. He lifted an eyebrow in annoyance, earning himself a flushed face scowl in return, Sam looking all of six years old pouting under the blankets.
The older brother refrained from making any comment that might provoke a fight. Neither one of them had the energy at this point as Sam hadn't been sleeping well and when Sammy didn't sleep well, Dean didn't either. Dean refilled the small measuring cap from the cough medicine bottle and handed to his little brother silently. Sam keeping the scowl firmly in place as he reached for it, knocking it back like a shot of whiskey that somehow made him feel less childlike than just obediently taking his medicine like a good little boy.
The battle of silent wills continued after Dean washed the cap off and replaced it. Giving his little brother a 'don't mess with me' look, he proceeded to clear all of the study material from Sam's bed, daring the congested teen to say something about it. For all of his bravado, Sam didn't have the energy to argue, especially since he could already feel the wave of drowsiness that the cough syrup induced coming over him.
The congested boy turned over onto his side and burrowed into his pillow, his eyes already shut tightly in exhaustion. Dean reached out a hand, pushing aside the slightly damp bangs as he pressed the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. Even with his eyes closed, Sam still managed a fairly decent scowl, his only outward sign of indignation at the prospect of his big brother going all mother hen on him, the large rough hand surprisingly gentle as it searched for an increase in fever.
Satisfied that Sam's forehead was hovering in a normal range all things considered, Dean pulled away and straightened back up.
"Get some sleep, Sammy," he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. "I mean it, kiddo. I come back in here and find books on your bed again, I'll be throwing them in the woodstove to help with the heating costs. Got it?'
Sam managed a small grunt of assent as his slipped back off into a heavy sleep. Dean watched him for a couple of minutes to reassure himself that his kid brother was okay before soundlessly slipping out of the room and heading back downstairs.
Flopping back down on the couch, Dean watched the credits of the show roll, half annoyed that he had missed the final part of the segment. Oh, well. He would just have to figure the rest out for himself. Luckily for him, he had always managed to pick up stuff like that fairly easily. He might not have Sam's freaky almost photographic memory, but he did just fine for himself, thank you very much.
With nothing of any interest on the idiot box at the moment, Dean sat and sipped on the slightly warm brew, his mind wandering idly. He was fairly tired himself as it had been a long week so far. The hunt for the poltergeist, while exhilarating, had been long and taxing. He was still nursing a small bruise on his hip from being thrown into the hard wooden banister of the house while he had been diverting the little nasty's attention from his father, its real threat.
Slightly injured, the trip home had been hard enough, but he was also somewhat sleep deprived, having kept himself up most of the time since they got back to make sure that his little brother was comfortable and tended to. He didn't mind though. Besides his usual feelings of protectiveness over the little snot, Dean was so proud of the way that Sammy was making a real effort to get along with their father that he practically beamed.
Without Sam sulking, like he normally did on a hunt, John's mood had been considerably bolstered by his younger son's genuine participation in the job at hand, as well as his respectful "yes sirs" and "no sirs" that carried none of the usual underlining surliness. As such, for the first time in years, John found himself truly enjoying Sam's company, taking pains to compliment the boy's thorough research skills and earning himself a rare and mile wide dimpled smile in return.
As for Dean, without having to run himself ragged putting out the familial fires that flared to life constantly around his father and brother, he was finally free to enjoy the adrenaline rush of roasting the big bad without other worries. When the spectral prankster had been put to rest, the late night dinner that they had shared at the diner down the road had almost been surreal. Dad never once brought up the next job. Instead, conversation had been restricted to how Sam was doing at school and what Dean was doing at Bobby's. If Dean closed his eyes, he could almost imagine them as a normal family.
Dad had taken a slightly congested Sam back to the motel for a date with a shot of NyQuil while Dean hunted up action at the bar. His good mood definitely improving his game and resulting in the unexpected windfall that meant that he could splurge a little on tile and grout, as well as putting some aside for the second hand laptop he was planning on surprising his little brother with at Christmas. He didn't even feel tired when he jumped out of bed before the sun had finished rising the next morning, his father's strongly brewed coffee inspiring him to get an early start back to South Dakota.
Dragging his reluctant and still slightly drugged little brother out of bed, he packed the car quickly with their duffels, quietly observing the raw emotion on his father's face when a half-asleep Sam uncharacteristically burrowed himself into John's broad chest, quietly imploring the father that he barely ever spoke to with any civility to be careful. The scene was both touching to observe as well as a bit comical with Sam, unused to the rapidly increasing height that brought him nose to nose with his father, ducking his head into John's shoulder, his eyes still closed in a hopeful return to slumber.
Dean averted his gaze, not acknowledging the traitorous tear that slid down his father's rugged cheek as he pressed his face into his youngest's mop of brown hair, nor the choking sounds in his father's words as he quietly gave his promise. When Dad had somewhat reluctantly relinquished the embrace he had around Sammy, Dean watched John bundle the boy into the backseat of the Impala where a couple of small pillows and a thin blanket awaited him. John got his youngest to knock back another dose of the foul green liquid before settling himself into the makeshift bed and he couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on top of the unusually compliant child's head before closing the car door.
Sammy was already asleep by the time Dean finished his last check of the motel room, making sure that none of their few possessions were inadvertently being left behind. In constant consideration for his little brother's comfort and care, Dean had turned the car on earlier, warming the interior to ward off the early morning chill. With the welcoming warmth, Sammy had succumbed quickly, the familiar purr of the large engine lulling him back into dreamland just as it had since he was a colicky infant who had only found comfort when his daddy took him for long drives.
Their father had walked back with Dean to the car, an indecipherable expression on his bearded face. Dean had stiffened, fearing an unexpected rebuke for some unknown offense, years of being on the receiving end of John's ever unpredictable mood swings making him nervous. He had thought that the weekend had gone well, but when his father had approached him, the older man's demeanor was distinctly giving the impression of discomfort. John didn't speak for a moment, increasing his oldest son's unease and almost causing Dean to miss the quiet words that he first spoke.
"He looks happy, Son," John muttered, his eyes cast down to the pavement of the parking lot. "You're doing a good job with him."
Dean had taken in a sharp breath in surprise. The sharpness stemming from both the rare compliment as well as the horrific realization of what that admission was costing his father in pride. He knew without being told that his father was more or less admitting that Dean was better at parenting Sammy than John was himself. His father's words chilled Dean to the core.
In his wildest dreams he wouldn't imagine trying to show John up in anything. His father was Dean's living breathing hero and he would rather cut off his own arm than do something to make John feel less than himself in any way. Of course, after all of their years on the road with John running off to one hunt or another, Dean did have more actual experience in the day to day care of the youngest Winchester, but it was a topic that was never openly admitted to in conversation.
Switching gears to his usual mask of bravado, Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat and pasted a smart ass smirk on his face.
"Nah, not really. The kid gives me grief all the time. You're the good cop now," he assured his father.
John laughed softly for a second, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. Regardless of what Dean thought, he knew both of his sons too well to be fooled by his oldest's attempts to reassure him that he was anything more than a drill sergeant to them most of the time. He loved both of his boys with an intensity that frightened him sometimes, which only fueled his driving passion to do whatever needed to be done to keep them safe. Even if it came at the cost of their love for him.
In less than two months time, his twenty-one year old son had managed to tame Sammy's rebellious streak that John had been ripping his hair out over for years. Sammy had been respectful, enthusiastic, attentive and affectionate. Things that he had not been since he was eight and, truthfully, John had never again expected to see.
"Besides," Dean had continued, somewhat uncomfortably, "he's coming down with something. I'm not sure how that happened."
John, startled at his eldest's obviously guilty admission, turned to give the older boy a good hard look. Sure enough, Dean's eyes were downcast as he was prone to do whenever he felt responsible for something going wrong. John inwardly swore, not for the first time, his oft repeated commands to Dean to keep his brother safe biting him in the ass. He had never meant to make the kid feel like he had to protect Sammy from everything.
"Dean, this isn't the first or last time your brother is going to get a little cold, or whatever it is. You can't take that on yourself," he scolded, using the firm alpha male voice that Dean had always responded best to.
Dean had nodded, somewhat jerkily, and John could tell that his son was not entirely convinced of the sincerely of his words.
"Dude, you boys caught everything under the sun growing up. Do you blame me for that?"
Those words did get Dean's attention and he snapped back to attention, a look of horror on his face.
"No, sir! Of course not."
John allowed himself a small smile at his son's sudden realization and Dean, sensing an ease in the tension, grinned sheepishly at the older man. His father didn't say anything, just grabbed him in a quick awkward half hug and opened the driver's side door of the Impala for him. He noticed, with a small smile, the way John's hand still reverently stroked the handle of the classic car and Dean remembered that the old girl had been his father's baby before she had been his.
"Get going, you got a long trip back."
Dean had nodded and slipped in behind the wheel, the happiness he always felt driving washing over him. He gave his father one last nod, the unspoken communication between them filled with the emotional words neither one of them were any good at speaking out loud. When he pulled out of the parking lot, his father was still standing in watch over their departure, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, keeping an eye on his boys for as long as he could before they disappeared again.
Sam had slept almost the entire trip back, his congestion getting a little more pronounced. Dean had allowed him to go to school on Monday, but when he picked him up at three, they had gone straight over to the Urgent Care clinic.
Maybe he had been overreacting, maybe not, but Dean knew to his very bones that his father had entrusted both of his babies to Dean, and it wasn't a responsibility that he took lightly.