All right. Back by popular demand (Jeez, guys, lay off, will ya? LOL) is "And That Was That." Please enjoy it. I sure had fun writing it.
Just a note: flashbacks are in italics!
Two Months Later
He was starting to get used to it. The late nights and early mornings. The barely squeaking by from day to day, week to week. He couldn't get a job. He didn't want to leave his brother home alone, didn't trust anyone else with Dean, not since the kid had decided to open up, not since he'd decided to come out of his shell.
Sam heard soft footfalls treading across the creaky floorboards behind him and turned to see his brother padding into the kitchen.
"Morning, kiddo," Sam greeted, setting two plates of breakfast onto their chipped wooden table.
Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, innocent eyes, the eyes of a trusting child, and Sam couldn't help but smile. There had been a time when he'd thought he would never see that trust.
o0o0o0o0o
Dean jumped out of the bed, his body literally leaving the mattress, and Sam had to reach out and grab him to keep him from falling off the bed. "It's ok, it's ok," he muttered, pulling the tiny body close as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Dean struggled, tried to worm his way out of his brother's strong grip, but Sam wouldn't let go. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry," Dean moaned, his voice cracked and plaintive, so young and yet so old, so tired.
"For what?" Sammy asked, his body stiffening as something wet slipped from his brother's face and down his own bare chest. Dean was crying. "What's wrong," he ran a shaking hand through his brother's hair.
Dean turned wide, scared eyes up at him. "I woke you up," he whispered.
"I was already awake," Sam admitted, immediately regretting the words as Dean paled visibly in his arms.
"You heard?"
"I heard," he said slowly, "but it's ok-"
"It's not ok," Dean shouted, struggling from his brother's grip and falling onto the floor. He scooted backward across the faded carpet until he was leaning against a wall, his eyes never meeting his brother's. "I'm a freak. And a baby. It's no wonder dad hated me."
"He didn't hate you-"
"You didn't see the way he looked at me."
"Dad had problems, Dean," Sam muttered, "but you're not a freak, or a baby. I mean, you said that Bobby-"
"Don't tell him!"
"I wasn't going to. But why would it matter?"
Dean hung his head, swiping at his eyes. "He was asleep. He never knew. I'm sorry. I didn't think-"
"And I said it's all right," Sam interrupted, sliding from his bed onto the floor and slowly approaching the cowering figure of his brother, "it's ok. You never got what most kids got. You were too busy taking care of me. The least I can do is return the favor."
The boy looked up at him with hurt eyes, hard eyes, untrusting eyes. Sam realized that, as much as the curse had changed him, Dean was still Dean, and he had learned a long time ago that people just couldn't be trusted. Especially family.
Sighing, Sam spread his arms wide. "Come on," he said, flashing the boy what he hoped was a comforting smile.
Dean's eyes widened again, the mistrust flashing across his face. "You'll pretend?" he whispered.
"Yeah, I'll pretend."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
His eyes still showing his doubt, Dean slowly made his way across the floor and into his brother's arms.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"What are we gonna do today?" Dean asked through a mouthful of eggs, his little legs kicking under the table, missing Sam's own gangly limbs by mere centimeters.
"I figured we could go to the park. You up for that?"
Dean nodded. He looked over the table at his brother, his eyes suddenly no longer so young and innocent. "What about money?"
"What about it?" Sam asked, trying not to give too much away in his voice. They were running out, running out fast. He needed a job, or a free night, or anything, but he just couldn't get away. The last time he had tried…
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, man," the now-older brother smiled, "part of our agreement, remember?'
Dean smiled again, that youth flooding back into his eyes, erasing the subtle lines on his face, banishing all doubt. "Yeah, I remember."
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Sam woke up to find only one body in his bed and the sweet scent of fresh waffles wafting through the air. He sat up to see Dean standing on a chair in the kitchenette, waiting for their breakfast to pop out of the toaster. "What are you doing?"
Dean actually jumped, nearly losing his balance. "Um, making breakfast."
"Why?"
"I was hungry."
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
Dean shrugged, dropping his eyes. "I can take care of myself."
Sam sighed. "You don't have to. Thought we established that."
The boy turned wide eyes up toward his brother. "It wasn't a dream?" he whispered.
Sammy couldn't help but smile. "No. It wasn't. And I was thinking about it last night. Things are gonna change around here. For one," he slid out of his bed, crossed the room, and scooped his brother off of the chair, "no more responsibility. That means no breakfast, no lunch, no dinner, no money. You let me worry about that."
"What about-?"
"Housing, food, gas, driving, everything is on me now."
"Are you sure? Because that's a lot."
"You had to deal with it."
"Yeah, but I was used to it."
"Which is why you need a break," Sam smiled. "So, what do you want to do today?"
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Come on," Dean called as he rushed across the playground, kicking up woodchips as he ran toward the rickety swing set. Smiling to himself, Sam followed, watching as the boy jumped up into one of the cracked blue swings. "Push me."
The simple request was like music to his ears. He set his hands firmly on the child's back and pushed, careful not to send him falling face-first into the woodchips.
There had been a time in the beginning, a time that seemed to have been eons ago, when Dean had been afraid to ask for anything. He had just stared up at Sam with those wide, innocent, little boy eyes, as if willing him to understand, to understand the fear and mistrust, the fact that nothing ever turned out the way it was supposed to.
It had taken some coaxing, but Dean had finally settled comfortably into his role as Sam's surrogate son. He seemed happy, happier than Sam could ever remember seeing him, and all it had taken was a simple scare, a betrayal of trust.
He sighed, still pushing his brother, keeping the swing going, trying to prolong the kid's fun because he had no idea how long it would last. Not after what happened in South Dakota.
He shuddered, forcing his mind to go back to something else, anything else. He settled for his own childhood, the happy days when he had begged Dean to take him out to the playground, even though their father had ordered them to stay in the motel room. Dean would cave in and take him out, only to sit on the bench and watch the younger boy have fun. He was too scared that something would happen to do much else.
Sam blinked, bringing himself back to the present. Maybe that was why the kid liked playgrounds so much, why he always seemed to want to be there. He was making up for lost time.
And now he actually asked to go, instead of just giving Sam that wide-eyed look as they drove by on the way into town. It was nice.
Smiling, he pushed his brother again, sending the kid flying up into the sky, and looked across the grassy expense. Standing across the street, watching the brothers with an intense gaze, was a familiar figure.
"Higher, daddy!" Dean said, but Sam didn't hear him, could only hear the rushing of the wind in his ears. It was impossible. They had been found, had been caught, and that couldn't be good.
Dean's tennis shoes hit the woodchips hard, stopping the swing almost immediately. He turned toward Sam, his face pale, eyes wider than they'd ever been before, licking his dry lips. "I didn't mean it," he muttered softly, sliding off the swing and stumbling away from his brother, "it slipped, man, I swear-"
Sam didn't listen, just wrapped an arm around his brother and ran.
o0o0o0o0o0o
Dean had been quiet all day again, and Sam was, again, worried. He'd thought things would get better with their new understanding, but apparently he'd been wrong.
They'd started off the morning by eating breakfast, and if he'd thought things were strained at the table… well, he hadn't seen Wal-Mart coming.
Dean wanted to know why they were buying him new clothes. Why couldn't they just go to Goodwill like always? Sam had heard the tone in his brother's voice, though, had seen the hopeful spark in the usually-older man's eyes. He was so used to hand-me-downs that it was time for something new.
After getting that established, it had been a fairly nice experience for both brothers. The only trouble was check-out. Dean had headed to the bathroom while Sam paid. As soon as he had started unloading the cart, he'd figured out why.
"I know it's none of my business," the cashier said, flashing him a charming smile, "but your boy's a little young for Harry Potter, isn't he?"
Sam blinked. "What?"
"The book," she held up the copy that he'd absently pulled from the cart.
"I didn't," he began, looking back into the cart. The British boy wizard wasn't the only intruder. A small plastic bag full of green army men had been buried amongst the food and clothes, as well a stuffed bear. Shocked, he turned his gaze toward the bathroom to see Dean peeking carefully around the corner, watching him with wide eyes. "He's advanced for his age."
And that was that.
So, was it worth it? Drop me a line and let me know.
More to come soon!