Summary: A rough school, an angry gang, and violent retribution leave Dean broken. Can his family find a way to bring him back from his dark world? Hurt/angst Dean and Sam. Teenchester. AU. RATED M.
Don't own any rights to the Boys, songs, or Ridley James' Brotherhood AU.
This story steps outside the bounds of Brotherhood approval and is not approved of by the Brotherhood creators. If you do not wish to delve into a dark story of violence, rape and torture that in any way involves Brotherhood characters, then please do not read this story.
After Chapter 13 was posted, the Brotherhood creators expressed a wish to the community that future stories involving the Brotherhood avoid the topics found in Dragonfly. Dragonfly is all but written and a revamp to exclude the Brotherhood would be most difficult at this point. Not impossible, but difficult enough that I choose not to do so and can only offer apologies to Brotherhood fans who have found offense, and to the creators of the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood creators and I have talked. I offer this disclaimer as some measure of a compromise to prevent further upset to those involved with the Brotherhood fandom.
I do not condone in any fashion, the abuse, violence, rape, torture, etc. that occurs in this story. That such things occur in the world we live in is horrifying. The aftermath of such deeds lasts a lifetime for those affected, both directly and as collateral damage. I wish I could say many of the sorts of events I've depicted in Dragonfly are an exaggeration of reality, but unfortunately, I know better. I really didn't mean for the brutality the boys experienced to be the focus, but rather how the victims and family deals with these terrible events and the psychological impact events like these can have. This is a disturbing topic and some readers may find it beyond what they care to read. My writing is graphic in some scenes though I try to be as light-handed as I can, when I can.
This disclaimer will appear with every chapter
Rating: M. Warning. Some chapters have very mature themes of violence, torture, rape, murder, and attempted suicide.
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Breaking the Wings of Dragonflies
Chapter 2
I heard the men saying something
The captains tell they pay you well
And they say they need sailing men to
Show the way, and leave today
Was it you that said, "How long, how long?"
—Point of Know Return, Kansas
Then:
March 4th, Deidersville, IL
Dean propped himself against the cracked plaster wall, his arms folded across his chest. John Winchester, his father, looked tired to him, his face pinched and even a little gaunt. He knew his father hadn't been sleeping much and what sleep he got was fitful at best. He knew because he'd hear his father moan at night. Whisper. Startle awake from nightmares. Dean would get up and bring him water, or juice if they had it. If the nightmare was bad enough, he'd pour John two fingers of whiskey in a small glass and hand it to him wordlessly. Sometimes his father would take a sip, smile tightly at him, tell Dean he was fine, and that Dean should go back to bed. Other times he'd toss the drink back, his breath hissing as the hot fire rolled down his throat and into his belly. Dean would sit next to him for a few minutes and tell him about some inane event that happened at school. Or he'd make something up, preferably something that would make his father chuckle, even if it was just a little chuckle, even if the chuckle was as much a lie as the story Dean told him. Dean liked to think it helped, but he wasn't really sure it did.
"Dad, this school really sucks," Dean said as John continued to pack the military green duffel with clothes and supplies. John picked up the 9-mm from the beat up wooden table, checked the clip in the gun and, after putting the safety on and sliding the gun into its holster, laid the gun on top of a pair of old jeans in the duffel.
"Mine, too," Sam said sullenly from where he sat in the metal chair, his legs swinging back and forth, too short to reach the linoleum floor unless he stretched his toes downward. He knew he looked as miserable as Dean. He loathed where they were and wished they were back in Ohio, or at least with Pastor Jim. The school they'd left in Ohio had been the best school he could ever remember being in. Almost immediately, he'd been placed in the gifted program and he reveled in the challenge. He'd even made the soccer team which had gone on to win the division championship. His gaze flicked to the small gold trophy sitting in the living room by the couch and felt a moment of pride. Sure, he'd won a few—okay, a lot—of ribbons at science fairs, but this was a trophy. Never as fast as Dean, never the natural hunter Dean was, never the marksman, never…good enough, but for once, he'd seen pride in his father's eyes over him, not Dean. For once, he'd met his father's expectations and that meant everything to him.
Dean sighed to himself as he watched his father pack. Like Sam, he had loved the previous school. On the very first day, Dean had made friends with David Ascott, one of the in-crowd. Typically, Dean inserted himself with the bad-boys, his attitude usually a perfect fit with theirs. David wasn't anything like his normal crowd. He was popular and well-liked by most everyone and Dean thought it was just a little odd that a guy like David wanted to hang with a new kid with ripped jean, obvious second-hand clothes, and a smart mouth. What really cinched the friendship between them was their mutual interests. David listened to classic rock, loved to talk old cars, had an epic electric guitar that he taught Dean to pick out a few tunes on, and rode a motorcycle that he taught Dean how to ride. John about had a fit over that one and Dean was privately gleeful of that little rebellion against his father. Dean quickly decided David was cool as hell, and even broke the major rule, tellingDavid about what was out in the dark, hunting, and how his mother had died. David took Dean quite seriously and their bond of friendship grew even deeper. With David's encouragement, Dean racked up straight A's, and, at his insistence, Dean tried out for the baseball team and made first string. He hadn't been in any fights, hadn't even drawn a detention; Sammy proclaimed it a miracle.
Even John had taken to David's family, talking with Ruth and Jerry, David's parents, more than Dean could ever recall his father talking with "civilians." When the Ascotts insisted the Winchesters have Christmas Eve dinner with them, to Dean and Sam's shock, John agreed. Ruth made up Christmas stockings for all of them, the stockings stuffed with candies and homemade cookies, comic books, and car magazines. Presents under the tree included David's "old" leather coat for Dean, a box of used books of classic literature for Sam, and a new gun cleaning kit for John. Dean had proudly presented David a gift-wrapped box containing one of his favorite pocket knives (and a small vial of holy water and small container of salt—just in case) and Sam had found a dragon in a second hand shop and proclaimed it David's protector named Vidda. John, forewarned by Dean to expect presents, had Bobby make a handsome trunk of oak, inlaid with darker wood edged in fine lines of silver. The Ascotts made a big to-do over it.
For as wonderful as those four months were, Dean knew they came at a cost. John had spent all but his last dime just to give Sam and Dean that special present of a normal Christmas and a normal life. Dean also knew that staying extra long there had stretched the money too thin and it was the reason they were now living in the shit-hole called the Starliner Motel. The fucked up job John had in the beginning of the year should have been a clue as to what was ahead. That job had that left John with broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, and Caleb in the hospital from falling on John's shovel when the house collapsed. Helluva birthday present that had been for Caleb. If only Dean hadn't backed out of the hunt, wanting to go to Caleb's birthday party in New York City; if only his father hadn't been a bastard and made Caleb go in his stead. Maybe his father thought Dean had tasted too much of a candy-cane life and it was time for reality to set back in. Yeah, nice reminder of their "normal" life, Dean trying to choose whose hospital bedside to sit by, his father's or his best friend's. John had said they would stay with Caleb long enough for Dean's birthday, but they hadn't, and then ended up in Deidersville for a follow-up. Without a doubt, this year was shaping up to be the year from Hell.
John paused in his packing to look at his two sons and heard the edge to his voice as he told them, "I know we aren't in the best section of town, but boys, we're about out of money. You could be in better schools, or we can eat and have a roof over our heads."
"You call this a roof?" Dean muttered, looking at the cigarette-stained yellowed ceiling that leaked in three places, the tan walls with their numerous holes and peeling paint, the boarded up window, and the musty smelling gold carpet encrusted with more stains than a centipede had legs.
"Couldn't we go to Pastor Jim's for awhile?" Dean asked hopefully and saw the same hope in his little brother's eyes. They went to school there whenever they stayed for any length of time at Pastor Jim's and were always greeted warmly by their schoolmates. Dean was an outsider there and knew it, but at least it was familiar and he didn't have to prove himself to anyone.
John ran his fingers through his dark hair, feeling his temper flare. "I can't keep asking him to take care of you boys. I'm sorry, but no," he said, and went over to the cupboard and grabbed a box of rock salt, making sure the boys still had enough to keep the windows and door protected. "This hunt is a big hunt. Jonas is going to pay me five hundred dollars plus gas and ammo." He suspected Mackland Ames had a hand in seeing John get offered a hunt that paid, but he needed the money and was willing to pretend otherwise. "If nothing else, one of the credit cards is bound to come through soon. We'll see how money is come Spring Break and maybe we can afford to move to a new place."
Both boys saw the look in John's eyes and knew that was about as likely as them winning the lottery.
"As soon as school ends, we'll get out of this town, even if we have to camp at a park," John promised them.
Dean winced and Sam groaned. They both hated camping. Camping always correlated to them being broke. No TV or electricity, and community showers, assuming they could afford the nicer parks that had showers. It sucked when they had to bathe using cold water from the sinks. Dinners were PB&Js, beans, or anything else cheap they could scrounge. At this point, though, both of them would embrace camping if they could just leave now.
"Dad," Dean said quietly, "our schools are rough. It's not safe for Sammy." He hoped the potential threat to Sammy's welfare would be enough to make John listen and get them the hell out of the place.
"And Dean pissed off some guys at his school," Sam piped up and was rewarded with a glower from his brother.
"It's nothing," Dean growled.
"It's not nothing," Sam insisted and turned to his father. "Dad, they threatened Dean all last week. They're going to hurt him." Worry showed plainly on the pudgy twelve-year-old's face.
John's jaw clenched as he told himself his boys could handle themselves; they only had to get through these next couple weeks then, come hell or high water, he'd find a way to get his boys out of the cesspool they were enduring. He stared distractedly at the packed duffel, his thoughts constantly drifting back to the bruises he'd seen on the boys. John knew both Sam and Dean were right. They had to get out and soon, before trouble escalated. Until then, he had to let his boys know he had confidence in them. "They're just kids. You can handle yourselves against them. Both of you, just keep your heads down and stay out of trouble. I'm sure the two of you can manage a little while longer."
"Dad, Dean's in danger," Sam persisted.
"I'm sure Dean can handle it," John said before Dean could interject.
"Dad—" Sam started.
"Enough, Sam!" John snapped.
Dean cringed as he saw the anger building in both his brother and father. Sam didn't know when to back down and compromise wasn't in John's vocabulary, at least not when it came to his sons. Dean was getting tired of playing referee but resigned himself to the fact it was probably only going to get worse as Sammy got older.
"But—" Sam said.
John zipped the duffel closed, and threw it over his right shoulder. "I said, that's enough," John growled, his dark eyes flashing. "You both are just going to have to suck it up a few more weeks."
"Sell my car, Dad," Dean blurted out, before Sam pushed the matter any further. "It would get us a couple hundred. Then we could be someplace a little better. A little safer for Sam." He despised the thought of losing his first set of wheels, but he'd rather that than being stuck in this place another three freaking months. His school wasn't just rough, it was dangerous, what with half the students carrying weapons of one type or another and the vicious gang, the Dementors, all but controlling his school. Sammy's school wasn't much better. In the shadows at Sam's school, drug dealers peddled their wares while at Dean's, money and baggies of pills, crack, marijuana, cocaine, and a half-dozen other drugs, exchanged hands out in the open. Syringes and broken crack pipes were common litter just about everywhere. It shocked the hell out of Dean when the school—twice—called John about fights Dean had gotten into and then again for him missing a few days of school. They let the drug dealers pass their poison but the school whined at some fisticuffs and truancy? Talk about a pain in the ass of a paradox.
John scowled at his eldest. "Bobby gave you that car. I know it's not much, but it gives you and Sam a way to get around when I'm not here."
"We'll walk," Dean and Sam said in unison.
The last thing John wanted was his boys walking in this section of town if they didn't have to. He shook his head, a hardness coming into his voice. "The Impala could crap out on us any day. We can't afford to lose the GTO, not until the Impala's engine is rebuilt," he said, putting finality into his tone but desperately wishing it could be otherwise. The couple hundred they'd get for Dean's car just wouldn't be enough unless they headed straight out to Bobby's and the family took charity from the man. John loved Bobby Singer like a brother, but after a few weeks in close proximity to one another, they got on each other's nerves. Besides, he couldn't drag his two boys and himself there and expect Bobby to put them up for the next few months while John worked on rebuilding the engine. He knew Jim Murphy would welcome the family, but dammit, he was their father. He should be able to provide for his own boys. He hadn't been this fucking broke in a long time and was furious with himself for letting it get so bad.
Dean saw his dad's mind was made up about the car. There would be no winning this battle. Nothing to do but make the best of it. Dean nodded and tried to smile. He pushed off from the wall, walked over to stand next to his brother, and put his hand on the back of the Sammy's chair. "I understand. We'll manage," Dean assured John.
Gratitude colored John's eyes. He was proud of Dean for stepping up to face the reality of their current situation. Broke was broke and there was little he could do beyond taking the job when Jonas had offered it.
"How long will you be gone?" Dean asked, keeping the frustration from his voice with effort.
"I'm supposed to meet up with Jonas this afternoon; I'll be leaving the car at his place, and we're taking off in his truck. Once we get where we're going, it's at least a half a day's hike to the hunt. I doubt my phone's going to work where we're going, so stay out of trouble this week. I should be back somewhere between five and seven days. You've got half a tank of gas?"
"Yeah, and the fifteen dollars you gave me for more groceries if we need them. The rent's paid up for two weeks, right?" Dean asked, hiding his distaste of their current accommodations as well as he could.
"Ten days," John said with a grimace. He hadn't had enough for the full two weeks and still have enough gas money to get him to Jonas' and, just in case something went wrong, back again. He'd even had to use the "sock" money, the emergency funds they usually kept on hand, just to pay the rent and get the needed groceries. "But I'll be back before the ten days with enough cash to get us through to the end of the school year." Somehow he'd make damned sure it wasn't here, but he didn't dare get their hopes up if he just couldn't swing it. He reassured himself that he'd find a way to make it happen. If he had to, as much as it hurt his pride, he would ask Mac for another loan. Hell, he'd trample his pride into the ground if it meant keeping his boys protected.
"We know you will, Dad," Dean said, trying to sound confident. He looked down at his pouting brother and tousled his already unruly brown hair.
"Stop it!" Sam smacked at his hand and jumped out of the chair.
John smiled at the boys, but Dean could see the strain in it. "Be careful you two. Dean, you look after Sammy."
"You know I will, Dad," Dean said and pulled his brother into a headlock. Sam punched him in the side and Dean "whuffed" and let him go.
John paused at the door and measured his two sons. Dean had really filled out the past year and was approaching John in height. He wondered briefly if Dean would end up taller than he was and his pride rather hoped not. Dean's soft green eyes, his laugh, his natural agility, and, sometimes, the looks that would cross his face, reminded John more and more of his late wife, Mary. Little Sammy seemed destined to be on the short side, but he'd taken on his winter pudginess which warned John that Sammy would gain a good few inches come summer.
His boys looked positively miserable and he couldn't blame them. The Starliner Motel was probably the worst place, in the worst section of town, they'd ever stayed. Cockroaches and rats were common visitors; he put his boots on just to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because that first night three cockroaches had died with ugly squishing sounds under the soles of John's bare feet. It made his feet itch just to think about it. The heater functioned most of the time, at least. Only one burner worked on the 1950s era stove and the oven had two settings: on and off, but again, at least it worked. Dean and Sam shared a bed that Sam complained was lumpy and as soft as a board. John was stuck on the putrid-smelling threadbare brown couch that was a good foot too short for him. His back ached every morning when he got up, but it was better than sleeping on the vermin-infested floor.
He'd worked so damned hard to keep the boys in that school system in Ohio. He'd never seen his boys smile as much as they did in that town. When both his boys had gone out for sports and made the teams, he was almost ready to burst with pride. Sam and Dean had a chance to live something akin to a normal life and just be kids. He didn't want them to get comfortable and to settle into that illusory life, but he wanted to give them, even if only briefly, a vacation from the hard life they led. Unfortunately, after a few months, the locals knew him and he couldn't sucker anyone into any game with money as the stakes. Finances had been so bad, though he'd never tell the boys, he'd sold off two of his handguns and an older rifle just so they could stay through Christmas. He'd even tried to pick up a job at a local garage with hopes of staying in that town for the rest of the school year, but the owner had hired someone from town. There hadn't been much in the way of Supernatural activity and he'd argued to himself that they could afford to settle down, at least for a few more months. But affording it was something that they couldn't do, no matter how hard he tried to wrangle money, even with the small odd jobs he could pick up now and again. The last of his money was used up by the end of the holidays and he'd even borrowed a little money from Mac just to get them back on the road and to a place where he could bring in some cash. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, especially after that sorry salt and burn job and the resulting injuries that kept him from scoring cash through his normal means of odd jobs or hustling, and they ended up in wretched Deidersville.
John really felt like crap when Dean's birthday had rolled around, and they couldn't afford to go see Caleb, who was out of the hospital but on strict bed rest while his internal injuries healed. Mac had dropped in unexpectedly and tried to hide his shock at their accommodations. He invited the family out to dinner where he gave Dean a handful of nice presents, and then one very special and expensive present. Reluctantly, John let Dean accept Mac's outrageous birthday gift of two cell phones for the boys, each with accounts paid in advance for a year. When John tried to refuse the gift, Mac had given him a sterner look than he'd ever seen from the man. John Winchester didn't back down from much, but that look he did.
A few more weeks, he told himself firmly. They'll be okay for just a few more weeks. He took a deep breath, gave his boys a hint of a smile, and left.
The cold air that whirled into the room in their father's wake chilled both Sam and Dean.
"You should have told him," Sam turned and accused.
Dean shrugged and gave his brother a shove. "Ah, they just talk big."
"Dean," Sam said worriedly, folding his arms across his chest, "they're gang members. There are a lot of them." His brown eyes were full of fear for his big brother. He'd seen Martin Juarez and his gang. They scared him.
"And I'm smarter than all of them put together," Dean said looking around for his backpack. He refused to let Sammy know the gang worried him, too. Sam was right. This wasn't like the times he'd faced down other bullies. Bullies usually traveled in small groups and were all bluff and bluster. Sock them in the nose once and they'd run home crying to mommy. There were times the bullies didn't back down but they couldn't hold a candle to the fighting skills Dean had honed all his life.
The Dementors were in an entirely different category from others he'd faced. He'd identified at least fifteen gang members at his school and he'd seen how well they could fight. He could (and had) go up against three and still avoid drawing a teacher's attention. Elevate the number to five and Dean suspected he'd be able to take them down without taking too much damage but the result would surely be a phone call to his father. More than five and he figured he'd get his ass kicked and kicked good. Reluctantly, he'd forced himself to not fight back, walking away from encounters with the bruises to prove it. That had seemed to lessen the gang's focus on him, at least some, but it galled him all the same.
"A wolf pack is still a wolf pack," Sam said darkly. They were like wolves. Waiting for their chance to take down Dean when he least expected it. Worse still, Sam knew Dean hadn't made any real friends to help watch his back. That scared Sam more than anything else.
Dean spotted his backpack beside the couch and walked over to it, forcing a laugh. "Stop your worrying, Runt," Dean said. "I'll be fine. You just stay out of Stephen's way this week. We don't need the school calling for Dad because you got in a fight."
Sam snorted. "I'm not the one who keeps getting in fights."
"No, you've been playing punching bag," Dean said and opened his backpack. He pawed through the notebooks, folders, and books. He looked annoyed and scanned the room. His eyebrow lifted as he spotted his green notebook still on the table and he carried the old backpack over to it.
"You're playing punching bag as much as I am," Sam pointed out and made a face at him. "Besides, what am I suppose to do? Stephen's a foot taller than me!"
"You could fight back," Dean suggested as he thunked his pack onto the beat up table and gave his kid brother a smirk.
"You just told me to stay out of fights!" Sam snapped, glaring at his brother.
Dean grinned. "Just don't get caught, Sammy. C'mon, you can take that loser," he poked a finger into Sam's ribs. "We both know it. Hell, on a good day, you take me down and I've got a good foot on you."
"You let me win," Sam groused, scowling and jumping back from Dean's fingers. He was brutal ticklish in his ribs and Dean tormented him with that fact.
"I wish," Dean murmured.
Sam's gaze shot to him. "You don't let me win?" he asked doubtfully.
"Sure I do, Sam," Dean said easily. He turned from his brother and grinned to himself as he scooped up the green notebook and stuffed it down into his pack. He didn't want Sammy getting cocky, but a little confidence, that he could use. He sighed softly as he looked into the backpack and the half-done homework and the books that he'd hardly cracked. Without David there to keep him on the straight and narrow, Dean found himself falling into old habits of not studying or finishing homework, and smarting off to teachers.
"Do you let me win?" Sam demanded, grabbing Dean's shoulder and turning Dean to face him.
"Of course I do. You couldn't take me in a million years," Dean scoffed.
"You aren't letting me win!" Sam said, his face lighting up.
"Dream on, little brother," Dean said. "Now get your books. We're gonna be late if we don't get a move on. Your lunch is on the counter. And here's fifty cents for an ice cream from the cafeteria." Dean held out two quarters.
Sam's eyes widened. "We need that for groceries."
"Dad stocked us up pretty good. We shouldn't need much but some bread, few cans of ravioli or soup and maybe some more peanut butter. Besides, I've got a little extra cash I liberated from someone at school. Take it." Dean shoved the coins into his brother's hand and wrapped Sam's fingers around them. "C'mon. Mondays suck. Nothing like an ice cream sandwich to help you make it through the day."
Sam held the quarters tightly and beamed at his brother. "Thanks, Dean." He loved ice cream and hadn't gotten any since Dean's birthday.
"Yeah, yeah. Get your shit, kiddo. We need to roll."
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TBC.
See Ridley's wonderful story "Sorry" for the details on the job that went south on Caleb's birthday. I'll admit Dragonfly doesn't fully mesh (though I tried to make it fit) with hers as in her story John is adamant that Sam and Dean are not part of the "normal" world like Caleb tends to be. I would like to think that if John found a little town where his boys had a bit of real happiness, he'd let them have that small vacation. His lack of money, his guilt at not being able to keep the boys there, and maybe even guilt for letting the boys touch that world and then rip it way from them, might indeed provoke him into being an ass to Dean and Caleb with regards to that salt and burn in "Sorry." Although this story is not part of the official Brotherhood timeline, I've tried to fit it into that timeline all the same.
