Part 2

Miraculously, there's not a cloud in the sky when Dean picks Sammy up from school on Friday. It's the second week in November and it's eighty degrees outside. Dean can't help but think back to all of those Novembers spent in different cities where the second week in November meant ice and snow. Kids are milling around the junior high school when Dean pulls up. Sammy's waiting for him near the curb and slides into the car seconds after Dean shifts the car to park.

He's wearing a frown. "What's wrong," Dean asks. Sammy shakes his head; he doesn't look at Dean. The buses begin to pull away, and slowly but surely the amount of preteens begin dwindle. Sammy's nose and mouth are pinched, like he smells a rotten egg. Something's wrong.

Dean reaches over and lightly tugs Sammy's hair. "Come-on moody. I can tell something's bothering you."

Sammy's shrugs him off. "Nothing." He looks out at the window and says, "Let's go to the beach."

Dean sighs but starts the engine. When his brother is like this, he just has to wait it out. Dean tries to start a conversation a few times, but his "How was school today?" and "Thanksgiving is next week. Looking forward to the days off?" are met with a curt "fine" and "sure." So he drives on in awkward silence. Traffic is heavy, and the ten mile route to the beach takes thirty minutes. By the time Dean spots the rolling waves and crowded sand, he can't wait to get out of the car.

Luck is with him, because just as he pulls into the parking lot a Buick pulls out. With the turn of the wheel he parks. He pops the trunk the same time Sammy pushes open the door. The sounds seem excessively loud. Since moving to Miami, Dean's learned to keep duffel bags filled with swim trunks, sunscreen, bug spray and beach towels in the car at all times. The bags seem lonely in the empty trunk, but Dean takes comfort in the fact that if he lifts up the fake bottom he will find a small cache of weapons, fake identities and cleaning supplies ready at a moment's notice.

Sammy yanks his duffel bag out and lunges to the men's bathroom across the lot. Dean frowns and takes out his own bag. What gotten up his ass? Dean thinks while locking the car. Duffel bag securely over his shoulder, he makes his own way to the restrooms. He slides into the stall next to Sammy's and changes to the sound of his brothers heavy breathing. Surprisingly, when he comes out, Sammy is there, waiting in his red swim trunks holding out a tube of sunscreen.

His eyes are lowered when he asks, "Get my back?" Dean can hear the apology in his voice and gently takes the tube. Sammy's skin is warm and dry as he spreads the thick lotion. There's a knot right between his shoulders, and Dean hands morph from rubbing to massaging. Sammy moans. "You sure are tense." The words are inviting. Tell me what's wrong.

The youngest Winchester slumps and releases a sigh. "Can we get some ice cream?"

Ice cream? Sammy is buttering him up . "Yeah." Dean holds out the tube, and wordlessly his brother takes it and spreads the chilly lotion across his back and shoulders. Dean hears the click of the cap being closed and the slide of a zipper being opened and shut. Dean flips his towel over his shoulder and heads towards the door. "Come on."

Side by side they head for the beach. The concrete sidewalk is covered with sand. Dean likes the way the tiny grains roll under his bare feet and crunch beneath his heels. There's a small ice cream stand on the left, stationed a few feet before the sidewalk ends and the beach begins. A mother and her little girl are in line before them, so Dean has time to pull out his wallet and take out a ten. Five dollars for an ice cream cone is a crime. He sticks his hand in the pocket of his trunks and fingers his small metal pocket knife. Dad had given it to him after his four weeks as a boy scout. Dean had loved the scouts. Camping, hiking, tying knots, and dozens of boys to kiss and grope. Fucking scout master had kicked him out. Dad had made that man sorry.

Dean imagines flipping the blade open and sliding across the vendor's throat. For being out in the sun every day, the man is amazingly pale. The contrast of his dark red blood and ghostly white skin would be beautiful. Then everyone at the beach could eat ice cream for free.

The mother hands her daughter a cone and the girl happily licks away. Dean steps up. "What'ya want boys?"

Dean raises his eyebrow at his brother. "A scoop of strawberry please," Sammy says.

"I want a scoop of chocolate." Dean has never understood why Sammy likes strawberry over chocolate. Chocolate is the flavor of the gods. The vendor hands over the ice cream and Dean forks over the money. The first lick sends a burst of flavor across his tongue. Ice cream rocks.

Dean follows Sammy. His feet sink into the sand as he weaves through people and litter. Sammy finds an empty spot and spreads out his towel. Dean follow suit. Chocolate drips down the cone like blood from a wound and puddles on Dean's hand. He licks it away. He sits down first, sand soft but lumpy beneath him. When Sammy follows, he presses his foot against Dean's and lets his arm bump his brother's. It's then Dean knows whatever Sammy's angsting about doesn't spring from something Dean's done.

The sounds of the beach are soothing. Voices chatting, both in English and Spanish, come from every direction; the endless crash of waves against beach is a stream of constant noise. The sounds help fill the emptiness of Sammy's silence. A hermit crab scuttles across the edge of his towel and he flicks it away with a toe. By the time he's crunching down on the bottom of the sugar cone, he's riding a pleasant sugar high. Sammy hasn't even gotten to his cone yet. He's still licking away. Dean knows he can't make the first move, so he locks his eyes on two college-aged guys playing Frisbee near the rim of the water.

One of the guys is really good. He flips the blue disk with ease and it soars through the air in a perfect line. The other guy catches it with a laugh and shouts something in Spanish. Sweat glistens from their toned abdomens and Dean can't help but stare when the one holding the Frisbee whips his head in laughter and water flies from his shoulder length hair. Saliva floods his mouth as the image of his body pressed between the two men flashes through his mind. One could lie beneath me as I sucked him and the other could thrust into me from behind. Their muscles promised strength, and Dean just knows it be a wild ride.

"They're good looking," Sammy's innocent tone slashes across his fantasy. Though there's nothing in his tone to suggest jealously, Dean can see it in the lines of his brother's face.

Dean replies with a shrug, "They're okay. Nothing special." Little rivers of pink ice cream vein across Sammy's hand, but instead of licking the melted treat away he wipes it on his towel.

His brother eyes return to the Frisbee players; his gaze goes dark. He's still looking at them when he says, "I've been keeping something from you."

Dean's stomach tightens. He sucks in his bottom lip then says, "Yeah?" Has he killed someone? Does he have a girlfriend? Is this about Dad? Thoughts fly through Dean's mind.

He turns to Dean. "A few weeks ago I found out something about Dexter."

Air pushes from his lungs like he's been punched. "What?"

"I think I know why he tried to kill you. Why he didn't want to work with you."

Dean digs his fingers into the sand.

"Do you remember when we first moved here, how the death of Miguel Prado was in the news every five second?"

He tries to think back to then, he vaguely remembers the stories in the newspaper about the death of some bigwig. "Not really."

Sammy's tongue sneaks out and wets his lips. "Well, he was the Assistant District Attorney. He was infamous for being harsh with criminals- to the point where people began to question whether or not he was giving fair trials." Dean nods; Sammy continues. "Supposedly he and Dexter were best friends."

Dean's mouth drops. He can't imagine Dexter being best friends with anyone. "Prado was even set to be best man at Dexter's wedding." Sammy must have gotten a crick in his neck, because he turns his body toward Dean and sits criss-cross. "All of that is common knowledge; you just need to know where to look."

"Okay."

Sammy takes a deep breath. "Here's what's not common knowledge. Dexter killed Prado's brother as well as the brother's drug dealer, Freebo. Prado thought the Freebo killed his brother and help hide the fact Dexter killed the man. From what I can tell, Prado wanted Dexter to help him kill criminals. For a while Dexter went along with Prado, probably taught him things." Just like you wanted him to teach you is left unsaid. "Then something happened. Prado killed Ellen Wolf, a defense attorney. From what I know, Wolf was a good girl. Save the world type."

Suddenly, pieces start falling into place. "She doesn't fit into Dexter's code," Dean whispers.

"No. She doesn't."

"Dexter killed Prado," Dean states. It seems obvious.

Sammy nods. "Yeah. I think that Dexter felt betrayed by Prado. He shared his world with him, and Prado tore it apart."

Dean imagines letting someone into his head, into his world, and having that trust betrayed. Disgust rushes through him. I would kill them too. Torture them. Something else nags at him. "How did you learn all of this?" Dean can't even imagine.

"Some of it by reading, going over old newspapers and police files. I also talked to some of Dexter's coworkers."

Fear slices through Dean's shock. "What? Are you nuts?" '

Sammy shakes his head. "Don't worry. I wore a disguise. Plus it's not like there's anything about me on file. No one recognized me or anything."

Dean tries to push away his discomfort. If anyone tries anything on Sammy they're dead meat. "So you think Dexter tried to kill me because he didn't want to let anyone else into his world? Because he had been betrayed by Prado?" He thinks back to yesterday, to the strange hope he thought he say in Dexter's eyes. I'll have to be extra careful. Extra trustworthy.

"Yeah." Sammy ducks his head. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I've felt guilty for a while."

Yesterday's meeting pops into his mind, and suddenly, Dean's the one flooded with guilt. "As long as we're being chicks and spilling our guts, I have something to tell you too."

His brother's head shoots up. His eyes narrow. "Yeah?"

Dean swallows the lump in his throat. "I uh… Dexter found me in the park yesterday," he rushes out.

"I told you not to go there!" Red anger flushes Sammy's cheeks.

"I know, but you know I'm not good at listening." He tries to make light of it.

"What happened?" Sammy scoots closer.

"We talked. I think at first he wanted to kill me, but I talked him out of that." Dean smiles as if to say, yes, I am that good. "We have plans to meet tomorrow at six."

"Dean…" Sammy warns.

"I know the risks Sammy, but I really don't think he wants to kill me anymore. He's just as curious about me as I am about him. Trust me."Sammy eyes narrow and he scowls. He doesn't respond. Dean reaches out and clasps his shoulder. "Trust me."

"Fine," he growls, "but I want to be kept in the loop. And you can't make any big decisions without me."

"Deal." He ruffles his little brother's hair. "Come on, let's go enjoy the water."

Sammy scans the beach then settles back on Dean. "Alright."

As his toes hit the chilly water happiness bubbles in Dean's chest.