See trigger warnings and notes on Chapter 1.
Jimmy had come after him? Dean didn't understand. The concept refused to compute. Why would Jimmy drive four hours to come after Dean? If anyone else was in the car, Dean couldn't see them, and they weren't coming out. Jimmy had thrown his homespun jacket over his pink t-shirt, and his hair was a tangled bird's nest. His eyes were tight and dark, his stubble thick, and his expression impassive. Silently, Jimmy crossed the space between the two cars, swung onto the hood of the Impala next to Dean and gazed up at the sky as if he didn't notice the intensity Dean's stare. Conflicting emotions tore at Dean until he had no idea what he should do. Nothing in his life had prepared him to know how to cope with such a mixture of apprehension, hope, affection, and dejection.
"How'd you find me?" Dean finally broke the silence, voice gruff. Jimmy could have made Dean's life a whole fuckton easier by never showing his gorgeous face again.
One angel was hard enough to deal with. Why'd I have to go and fall for two of them?
"Sam turned on the GPS on your phone," Jimmy explained, his wry smile audible though it was only barely visible.
Dean snorted. "He is such a little bitch."
"If it helps, he made me promise to tell you what a jerk you are." Jimmy leaned back to get a better view of the sky, the Impala creaking beneath his weight. "Beautiful night." In the darkness, Jimmy's skin looked paler than it actually was, nearly grey to Dean's night vision. Starlight sparkled faintly in the depths of his eyes. Jimmy reached up and ran a hand through his hair, long fingers curling, strands settling in all directions. Jimmy's chest made a graceful curve as he arched back to take in the view, his hand splayed on the hood of the car, supporting his weight.
Yeah, beautiful.
No. Dean's mind was made up. He couldn't keep dealing with this shit. It was too fucking much for him, and it wasn't fair to the twins.
It's not fair to the people I love.
"Why the fuck are you here, Jimmy?" Dean made the words as harsh as he could manage, hoping to get a rise from the man, but instead Jimmy took a slow, deep breath in and sighed it out. His eyes remained fixed on the sky.
"Did you know you're only the second person I've ever said 'I love you' to?" said Jimmy. "I mean, sure, I said it to my family. All those people who say it to you, and you say it back automatically without thinking about it. All those people that society says we're supposed to love, says it so often and so loudly that it's fucking taboo to take two minutes and think if it's actually true. So, if I'm being honest, I guess I've said it a lot, to my parents, my grandparents before they died, Hannah and Luke and Mikey and even fucking Zack, everyone knew that was a lie, aunts, uncles, all kinds of people, all bullshit, unsurprisingly, except for you, and except for Cassie."
Dean opened his mouth to interrupt Jimmy angrily, but the words died unsaid in his throat. The words sounded almost rehearsed – knowing Jimmy, the twin had spent the entire drive out here thinking about he wanted to say – and the distant look in Jimmy's eyes, the studied neutrality of his tone, the way that he barely acknowledged Dean's presence, all drew Dean in, left him curious to hear what was to come. With one chance to talk to Dean and tell him anything, what did Jimmy feel was important enough to share?
"The other day…not gonna lie, I've been freaking out about it," Jimmy chuckled. "Like, seriously, what the fuck was I thinking? I never shoulda gotten involved in this…whatever…with you two. Jimmy fucking Novak's stellar relationship record culminates in finally, finally falling ass over brains in love with his own brother and his brother's best friend. Cause that'll end well. There's never been a place for me in this picture, just like I'm out of frame in that shot of you and Cassie and that ridiculous trophy hanging in the bedroom. From the first time Cassie approached me, saying he thought you'd like it if I joined in, I told myself I was being a dumbass, that I was making the biggest mistake of my already sordid life. Nonsense, I tried to convince myself. I've been with hundreds of people. None of that ever meant anything. This would be just the same, just sex, just fucking awesome sex. It wouldn't be any different than being with anyone else. Bullshit, of course. But I had wanted you – wanted both of you – for so long. With you there, I could pretend it was only about you. Also bullshit, of course. It was a monumentally bad decision, a selfish one, and I knew it, and I fucking did it anyway, inserted myself where I wasn't truly wanted. I couldn't look Cas in the eye, lie to him, claim that I didn't crave both of you, dream of both of you. I couldn't pretend that the vision of being in a threesome with you two didn't come to me when I was with other lovers and have me creaming so fast they didn't know what the fuck had hit them. It'd be a one-time thing, I told myself, maybe twice, just to get it – get you – out of my system. When it was over, I'd smoke a joint and return to business as usual.
"Before I could fucking think I was hip dip in love. Underneath all my crap, I think I always had been. Mindless fucking stupid thing to do. All I could do was fuck everyone and everything up. All I could do was end up alone and miserable. I'd always be on the outside looking in, always be the third wheel. You'd always pick Cassie in the end. I wanted you to pick Cassie. He deserves you. I don't. That's what I thought when we were apart, anyway, when I was supposed to be researching my dissertation in the library and I'd find myself getting hard between the stacks at the mere thought of the night to come. Stupid fucking pathetic Jimmy, the black sheep of the Novak family, such a sexual deviant that he gets off on being the switch in a dom/sub relationship. Is there even a fucking word for that? I should end it, get my own place, leave you two to it. Then I'd get home, and you and Cas would be parked on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and all that misery fell away. It was so easy to join you, drape myself over Cas' back, bullshit about how crappy Enterprise was. It was so fun to dance around each other in the kitchen getting dinner ready, so comfortable to slip into bed together. It was so fucking hot to wake up with your morning wood against my leg, to slip my hand around your cock as Cas rutted between your legs, feel both your hands covering my body until I lost it. When we're together it's so amazing that I don't even think about how fucked I am until we're apart again and reality comes crashing to earth. Sound familiar?"
In the pause left for Dean to answer, he finally mustered the defiance he should have spewed all along. No matter what Jimmy said, it changed nothing. Dean was going to Lawrence.
"Get to the fucking point, Jimmy," Dean tried to sound angry, defiant, but he had to acknowledge that more than anything, he sounded tired. "I'm sorry our mini-orgies have been causing you an existential crisis. You don't have to worry any more. I'm going home." A glimmer of hope quirked Jimmy's lips, lit his eyes. "I'm going to Lawrence," Dean clarified quashingly. A wave of nausea nearly plowed Dean to his hands and knees beside the car. Thinking it, planning it, was one thing. Saying it aloud, saying it to Jimmy, was quite another. The hope vanished from that stunning face, Jimmy flinched, his eyes tightened and pooled with wetness that shimmered in the headlights of a passing car. If Dean reached out, he could wipe those tears away, tell Jimmy that everything was going to be alright. Nothing was going to be alright until Dean left. Dean's stomach heaved again.
"Great idea, Dean," said Jimmy sarcastically, as if Dean's words hadn't moved him at all. "You do that. I'm sure that'll fix everyone's problems. That's what you really think, isn't it? With you gone, everything will be all fine and dandy again. Somehow, despite everything, you've gotten it into your thick skull that having you around is a bother to Sam, that you've forced your way into living with Cassie and I, that whenever you leave the room we bitch about what a pain it is to support your broke lazy ass." Dean scowled and turned away, looking down the highway. Exactly. Just like Cas, Jimmy understood Dean way too well. "All your live, you've given and given and given, so much that you forgot how to keep anything for yourself. When life deals you some reverses that are completely out of your control, you somehow convince yourself it was all your own fault, that you should have prevented the damn mechanic from going out of business, that Sam would be happier if he didn't have to work so much and that it's on you to work more to fix it, that, after Casssie knocked on your door in December and a blonde chick answered and said she'd never heard of you, we didn't spend months trying to figure out where you were staying and why you hadn't fucking told us that you'd moved. When you finally get something for yourself, it's so inconceivable that you assume you can't have it. It's pitiful to watch, Dean. The only thing more pitiful the past couple weeks has been rubber-necking my own mental breakdown. I started a betting pool in my own head. Your bottomless hole of worthlessness versus my ocean of self-disgust. Wanna know the over-under on which of us I thought would melt down first after our love-in the other week?" Dean had no answer, and Jimmy pressed on as if he didn't expect one. "Spoilers. I thought it would be me, and I thought it'd be a week ago. We both exceeded my extremely low expectations. Go us."
"I don't get you," snapped Dean. "What the fuck do you have to be upset about? You get exactly what you want with me gone."
"Wow. Sometimes I wonder how the fuck your brain comes up with this shit." Jimmy shook his head. He shot Dean a quick glance, a flash of navy blue, before laying back on the hood of the car and staring blankly up at the Milky Way. "You're not the only fucked in the head, Dean. All of us are. You know why Cassie isn't here? Because he knew that if he came, you'd cave simply because he asked you to – not because it was what you wanted, but because you'd think it was what he wanted. Though he's never told me so, I'm positive he feels that he has asked so much of you that he can't possibly ask more. He broke down and sobbed after you walked out the door, and I knew that no matter what I said, he'd never pursue you. He's with Sam, by the way. I was afraid to leave him by himself."
Dean felt another sick lurch in his stomach. Sam was supposed to be at work that night. Cas was crying over Dean's worthless ass. Even trying to do the right think, all Dean did was fuck things up. "This'll be better for him in the long run," said Dean with what conviction he could muster.
"I appreciate that you believe that," said Jimmy neutrally. "When Cassie is hurting, he looks for someone to take care of, because he can lose himself, lose his pain, in helping another heal. That's why he's in psychology. That's why he's a dom. He doesn't know how to not look after the people he cares about. It eats him up when you won't let him give you aftercare, but he understands that you need space. He wants to be what you need him to be, because he adores you and always has. Cas wants to wrap you in love and give you everything that you've been denied, everything you've denied yourself, and he doesn't expect anything in return, doesn't need anything in return, because he derives true satisfaction from being there for you. He's really that fucking angelic."
Dean's heart ached. He knew every word of that to be true, had seen it himself. Kind, gentle, affectionate Castiel, always ready to forestall his pleasure in the name of Dean's.
"Jimmy—"
"And then there's me," continued Jimmy, tone steady as if Dean hadn't opened his damn mouth. "We live in a world where two thousand year old religions somehow dictate modern morality, where incest is utterly taboo even when there's no danger of producing some genetic freak of a baby, and where being gay can still get you beaten to death even in the most modern, forward-thinking countries in the world. With all that hanging over my head, I've been in love with my brother since before I was old enough to understand what it was I actually wanted from him. And I ain't talking brotherly feels, no, I mean full on homo-fucking-sexual hot-for-the-cock love. Before I had a single erotic impulse, I knew that something was wrong with me for feeling the way I did. He was my brother, I wasn't supposed to want to run my fingers over his skin, wasn't supposed to feel joy from his presence, wasn't supposed to stare at him while he was changing and think how damn beautiful he was. I sure as shit didn't feel that way about any of my other brothers." Jimmy shuddered at the thought.
"It wasn't because he looked like me. I might play up the narcissistic crap, just like you do, but we both know that's bull, don't we? It was because he was nothing like me. All the ways I was busted and rebellious, all the ways that I was an embarrassment to the family, all the ways I was lazy and inept, he was hard working and stoic and devoted and determined and strong. Those things weren't any easier for him than they were for me; it wasn't that he had some innate talent that I didn't possess. It was hard for him, but he was strong enough to be the son our parents wanted and I just wasn't and fuck did I envy him for it. My parents were always telling me to be more like Cassie, but Cassie always told me to be myself. I starved for his approval and he never withheld it, not once. When there was no one else, there was always Cas. At the time, I worshipped him for it, didn't understand why he bothered. As an adult, I see now it was just the same for him. When our parents looked at Cassie, they saw his staid behavior and praised him for it, precisely how a good little Christian boy should behave: never act out in church, always go to school, don't talk about your feelings, don't make trouble, God forbid you fucking smile one in a while. That was what those two sad excuses for role models wanted from Cassie, and he did it to make them happy, and I was the one who ever saw the toll it took on him. I think he encouraged me to act out because I did all the things he couldn't, just like I was devoted to him because he was able to exercise the self-control that I lacked.
"On the dark nights when the thunder storms would sweep across the plains, we'd both get scared, we'd both cry. The first time, we left went to our parents. They were pissed that we'd woken them up, told us that thunder was the sound of God's voice as he touched the world and we had no right to be afraid of our Father of Heaven, that we had no reason to be frightened unless we'd sinned, and that we should go back to bed. That's how we learned that God was fucking terrifying and would punish us if we went even a little astray. That's how we learned that, if we were scared or unsure, the only one we could go to was each other. And so we did. I acted out more. Cassie behaved better. Our parents thought we were too close and sent us to different schools, were worried I would be a bad influence on him. It didn't change anything. In the quiet of the night, I'd climb down to Cas' bottom bunk, wrap myself in his warmth, and hold him if the storms came.
"We were depressingly sheltered, but even so, we knew a little bit about the secret things adults did together. Looking at Cassie, I knew that what I wanted was what grown men wanted from grown women, I'd see his lips and wonder what it would feel like it kiss them, I'd long to run my hands over his skin. Then I'd think of the thunder, of that fucking omnipotent douche bag watching over us, judging us. Lust was a sin. Homosexuality was a sin. Incest was a sin. What would God do to me when he learned that I lusted? That I lusted after men? That I lusted after my brother? I'd go to hell. What would happen to Cassie if I acted on my criminal impulses? Would I doom him too? It terrified me. I stopped sharing his bunk. I stopped holding him. He'd whisper my name in the darkness, the unspoken question of 'why' loud in the darkness, and I'd pretend I hadn't heard him, pretend I was asleep, pretend I couldn't hear him weeping. I could have self-control. I could be like him. I could protect him from temptation and sin. I could protect him from me."
Jimmy paused, took a shuddering breath, and Dean was too rapt to interrupt, to tell him to shove it. Neither twin had ever spoken to Dean of their childhood. Dean had seen their affection from the first time he met them together, had envied how close they were. Their dirty talk during sex made it clear that they'd done more together than brothers should, but it was always flippant, it was always said in a way that was intended to gratify Dean's dirtiest fantasies. He'd wondered, of course, why they shared a bed, how intimate they had truly been, but it was none of his damn business, then or now. He should be on the road. He shouldn't be desperate to hear every word, shouldn't long to better understand the twins he cherished.
"The first time I woke up hard, dripping, Cassie's name was on my lips, his face was in my dreams, the ghost of his touch was fading from my body. No one had explained that puberty shit to us, because it wasn't like that was information we needed, right? I had no clue what to do, tried not to wake him up, but he heard me whimpering, heard me whispering desperately for him despite all my efforts not to, and he climbed up to the upper bunk. He was as confused as I was, but he had to take care of me, he had to tell me it was alright and that I'd done nothing wrong, he couldn't fucking help himself, so he wrapped his arms around me. Fuck, that felt good. It felt right, like coming home. At my insistence, we hadn't shared a bed in two years. I should have told him to stop, but it was everything I'd ever wanted. His touch soothed that incomprehensible need. My first orgasm was that night in Cassie's arms, his fingers nervously stroking my cock, my face buried in his shoulder as I cried, his name on my lips like a frantic prayer for forgiveness. By the time I was done he was the one whimpering, he was the one whispering 'Jimmy, Jimmy please…' It was my fault he felt like that. I couldn't leave him lost and wanting, couldn't leave him feeling the way I had felt before he helped me. I hadn't the least fucking clue what I was doing, but I rubbed at the front of his pants until he came apart sobbing. All I could think was how fucking beautiful and perfect he looked in that moment, how I wanted to see him make that face every night. I wanted to be the one to make him feel like that, forever, over and over. Dean, we were fucking ten years old.
"It happened again, of course – again and again. We never spoke to our parents, we never told anyone. We did what we'd always done. We took care of each other. We explored each other's bodies. We learned how to make the other feel good, feel great, feel amazing. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was going to hell. I knew it was my fault, that Cassie would never have done something like that if I hadn't begged for his help that first night. My brother was going to burn forever because of my sins. I was such a selfish fucking bastard, claiming that I loved him, claiming that I did what I did because he liked it too, deluding myself that he needed me the way I needed him. Bullshit. There would come a time when Cassie would meeting someone else and what we'd had would fade away, a childhood mistake, product of youthful naiveté, embarrassing and unmentionable. When he moved on, he'd be saved. I'd bear the punishment for both of us, hellfire and damnation and all that jazz, like I always had, like I always should. There would be no moving on for me. With all the certainty of thirteen, I knew that I would never, ever love anyone else.
"The first time I heard your name, Cassie was moaning 'Dean, Dean' in the bathroom. I knew that tone, the hint of aching desperation that tinged Cassie's voice just before he came. We never masturbated in the bathroom. Our bedroom was safe. No one went in there except us. We could take care of each other there. The bathroom had a thin door and faced the hallway. Anyone could hear him. But, then, I'd never heard him say anyone's name in that voice except my own. I'd expected it to be painful, but fuck if it didn't feel like tearing my fucking heart out and burning it. I had never met you, but I fucking hated you, for making him happy, for making me hurt. No more than I deserved, I reminded myself. Eternity was a long time, and I would have suffered more and longer to spare him perdition. He was finally getting on with his life. I thanked God for that.
"And then I met you.
"I hated your jock good looks and your smug smile. I hated the easy, confident way you moved about the house as if you fucking owned the place. I hated the easy, confident way you shared space with Cassie as if you fucking owned him. I hated that you were a fucking coward, hiding in that same fucking bathroom moaning my brother's name when he had no idea you cared for him. I hated the flippant way you described your current girlfriend to him as if you couldn't see the pain in his eyes. How could this fucking asshole be the person who'd stolen Cassie's heart from me? I could give him up for someone who deserved him, but for you? I'd never let anyone have him who was only going to cause him pain just like I always did. How could it be you? That whole afternoon, I watched you, seethed, wondered how the fuck I was going to get Cassie away from you without hurting him even more. I was a selfish bastard. I kept saying Cassie needed to find someone else, but when he did I immediately devoted every thought to ruining it.
"The reality of the situation slowly intruded on me despite my resolution to loathe your ass. Your words were insensitive and your attitude was brusque, but your actions were caring and affectionate. Every tiny signal that he gave, you picked up on. You stopped talking about that girlfriend. You noticed how his eyes flicked to the bookcase and you segued easily into talking about the books on there. When he licked his lips you got him a cup of water even though you were his guest. In all kinds of subtle ways, you read him and took care of him. All our family, all our friends, everyone saw how calm and self-controlled he was and assumed he was fine, that nothing hurt him or swayed him. You weren't fooled for a fucking instant, and you took steps to help him without ever saying a word, without commenting, without expecting anything in return. No one treated my brother that way. I could see why he wanted you. By the time you left that night, I wanted you. I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to treat me the way you treated him. Like I said – I was a selfish bastard. My brother couldn't have something good for three fucking hours before I wanted it for myself.
"Cassie figured it out, of course. I had my own share of wet dreams, and it wasn't long before I woke up from one high on green eyes and Cassie climbed to the top bunk, blew me, and told me after whose name I'd been breathing before I woke up. I thought he'd be angry with me, thought we'd become rivals. Instead, he shared. He thought you didn't care for him, thought he'd never have you, so he took what little of you he did have and let me have it too. Fucking angel. He told me about how you played football. He told me about how you hated class and didn't do your homework. He told me about how you worked at the store at the gas station after school and on weekends. He told me about your brother Sam, how he was in middle school, how you loved him and took care of him. He told me about how you idolized your dad. He told me that your mom had died. He showed me the stupid faces you made when people took your picture. He told me how you sometimes chew with your mouth open and it should be disgusting but instead it was kind of adorable. He convinced you to hang out at our place as often as he could, and he told me how much it hurt that you always seemed to resistant to doing so, and that it hurt worse that you didn't seem to want him at your house at all. He told me that he thought you were ashamed of him.
"As he got to know you better, he told me other things, too. He told me about meeting your dad on parent-teacher night, that John was piss drunk and told the teachers not to bother with you because book learning wasn't for idiots who were never going anywhere with their lives. A roomful of teachers, parents and your classmates stared as he tore into you while you were standing there listening."
We're not wasting money for on sending a moron to college. Sam's the one with potential.
John's voice, memories, not mere inventions of his own mind to berate himself, sent a shudder through Dean.
"He told me about passing you outside Harvelle's. You were trying to carry John home, even though your dad had 50 pounds on you easy. He told me how John was fucking laying into you, telling you how lazy, disgusting, ungrateful, rude, selfish, irresponsible, you were, and you just took it and kept helping him."
That night was etched in Dean's mind, easily one of the worst of his life. Drunk almost incoherent, John had found Dean in the alley behind Harvelle's, doing what he had to do to earn the money for Sam's lunches.
What am I seeing here, boy? Why the fuck are you on your knees? Was that a fucking cock in your mouth? Are you fag, boy? Is my son a fucking faggot? There's no way. Ain't no fuckin' way. No son of mine is a fairy.
The man Dean had been blowing fled. John's hand wrapped harshly around his shoulder and dragged him into the street, John screaming Dean's infraction for all to hear.
"He asked mom to stop so that they could give you a ride home. Your dad reeked of booze and slumped in the backseat and didn't let up shouting at you despite how loud the noise was in the car, despite Cassie and mom in the front seat, despite the tears streaming down your face."
Just when Dean didn't think the evening could get any worse, Cas and his mom had pulled up, all sympathy and kindness, as if they couldn't hear the words pouring from John's mouth.
Oh, so you were just trying to help? Just trying to pay my bar tab? On your fucking knees? You fucking liar. You fucking loved it. Look at that fucking bulge in your fucking pants. I don't need your whore money, boy, and don't you know it. Gonna use it on drugs? Gonna use it to buy a whore of your own? Yeah, that's what I thought, you selfish, ungrateful bastard. You don't give a shit about this family. All you care about is yourself.
All Dean could do was sit, stiff backed and determined, and hope that very proper Castiel and his very proper family thought that, in his drunken stupor, John was making shit up.
"That night, mom told us not to be friends with you anymore."
After they'd finally, mercifully returned home, John had only grown worse.
You blow people for free, too? You blow that pretty boyfriend of yours? Let him fuck you? Bet his mommy would love to know kind of boy her son is hanging out with. If I ever see him around this house again, I'll tell her. I'll tell her exactly what kind of cock sucker you are, you disgusting son of a bitch. I'll take her to that alley and let her see you on your knees with a dick half way down your throat. I can't even fucking believe it, Dean, a fucking fag, a fucking whore. I should kick you out of the house. I will, I fucking swear I will, unless you can show me that you're a man. Are you a man?
At least Sam was asleep, at least his brother didn't have to listen to John's account of Dean's every damn sin.
"The next day, Cassie was crying when he got home. He told me that your sides were black and blue when he saw you in the locker room the next day. He told me he could make out a handprint around your arm."
You gotta be a man, Dean. Can you do that, you little bitch? Don't you fucking cry, you fucking nancy. I'll teach you how to be a man. I'll beat the gay out of your whore's ass. Show me how you take pain, Dean. Show me that you're a man. Prove to me that you're my son.
"Cassie fucking hated himself because he didn't say anything, didn't help you, didn't protect you, didn't soothe your pain, didn't tell a teacher. He was scared of what would happen to you if he said anything and John found out, scared you'd be mad at him, scared you'd realize his feelings for you and leave. Turned out he was just as selfish as I was, so afraid he'd lose you, so afraid that Social Services would take you away. He stood aside and let your father fucking abuse you and treat you like shit when he literally thought you were the most wonderful person he'd ever met."
The next day, Dean acted like nothing had happened. Flash some teeth, smile, laugh it off, everything would be fine as long as Cas didn't say anything. Changing in the gym with Cas was always torture, catching a glimpse of his slim body and finely-toned muscles was fucking boner city, but that day it was awful for completely different reasons.
Don't look at me, Cas. Don't look at my body, my bruises, my sins. Don't ever look at me. I'm disgusting. I don't deserve for you to look at me. I don't deserve for you to talk to me. I don't deserve for you to be my friend.
"Ever wonder why Cassie didn't tell you that he cared for you back then? That's why, Dean."
It hurts, Cas. It never stops hurting. Help me. Please, help me, angel!
"Ever wonder why Castiel dropped out of KU after a year, left Lawrence, joined me out here and never came back? That's why."
"Why the fuck are you telling me this, Jimmy?" Dean snarled, his voice shaking with pent-up emotions. "So, Cas and you – you left Lawrence to escape me? Good. Fucking perfect. I should never have followed you. I'm no good: never have been, never will be. I never told Cas I wanted him because if my dad had found out he'd have fucking killed Cas and left his body in a ditch. I dated all those girls cause I had to do something - fuck someone - or else I was going to lose my damn mind. I had to show my dad that I was a fucking man. And I loved Cas, because through it all he was always fucking perfect. Anyone else would have called me out on all that shit, ratted us out to Social Services. The government would have come, and either they would have left us with John, who'd have assumed I'm the one who told them and beaten me stupid, or they'd have taken Sam and I away, split us up. I couldn't lose my brother. I had to take care of him. Anyone but Cas would have told me it'd be alright someday or spewed some other meaningless Hallmark Card bullshit. Not Cas. He always knew what I needed, and he always gave it to me. He knew it wasn't alright and would never be alright. He knew what a fucking waste of space I was, I am, and he was my best friend anyway." Dean took a ragged breath and quelled the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. There was so much he couldn't say. There was so much he didn't dare let show on his face. "Fuck, Jimmy. I can't keep doing this to him. I can't keep making him cry. You must understand that. If you really love him like, if you really want to protect him, you've gotta let me leave."
"It's too late for that," Jimmy said quietly, turning at last to face Dean. Tears streaked his cheeks, though Dean hadn't heard a hint of sorrow in his voice as he'd related his narrative, only passion, anger, self-loathing. "I think it was probably too late the minute you two met. Certainly, it's been too late since you moved to California. Haven't you been listening? He's not some perfect fucking angel who you're dragging down into the pit. I threw myself into the pit to protect him. You were thrown into the pit by that dirt bag pathetic ass father of yours, and Cassie...he jumped into the pit after us because he cared too much not to make the leap when he knew we had gone without him. He loves you." Jimmy laughed, a cold sound unlike any Dean had ever heard pass through those normally irreverent lips. "God help us all, he loves me, too, and I sure don't mean platonically. We're all in this fucked up thing together."
"No," Dean said. "You're wrong. I'm a fucking worthless douche bag who takes everything you two offer. Both of you have this pathological need to fix things and try to make them right, as if any of what's wrong with me was ever your fucking responsibility to fix. I get that you think he cares about me, that you think you care about me. I know things weren't easy for you two growing up. I'm not the answer. I am no one's answer. I've never been able to fix anything. All I do is break things worse." Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. "Don't even try to bullshit me by suggesting that I've done anything other than fuck shit up between you two. You said it: before I showed up, you and Cas were happy together, and, you know, in love with each other and shit. I fucked that up. I came between you. If I go, you can focus on Cassie again, he can focus on you – he likes domming you just as much he does me, fuck, I think he likes it better – and I can quit mooching off you two, and do right by Sam. In Lawrence."
"Dammit, Dean, can you quit being a martyr for 2 seconds and listen to yourself?" Jimmy sat up abruptly, and despite the tears swimming in his eyes his expression was fierce. "You came between us? When you came to California, Cassie had been single for three years and I'd dated 40 people in 60 weeks and damned if I can name 5 of them now. Different coping strategies for the same fucking problem – we both feel like fucking criminals if we come anywhere near each other. Dean, you're the glue that holds us together, because we love you, because you love us. When I'm with you and Cassie I don't feel like I'm fucking broken because I think my brother's cock is the second hottest dick on the planet. And yes, yours is first, and don't let it go to your fucking head. You don't treat us like we're broken or weird, you treat us like we're family, and that sex is just another thing family does for each oth...er..."
The words trailed off. Jimmy looked at Dean as if he'd never seen him before. Sick horror washed over Dean. Jimmy thought Dean had sex with his family - had sex with Sam? Sam was just a kid! It wasn't like Jimmy and Cas, who were the same age, who discovered each other together.
"No," growled Dean
"Dean-"
"No," Dean repeated furiously. "That thing you're thinking. No. That never happened. I'd have fucking castrated myself before I would have ever let it happen."
The words brought Jimmy up short. "Wait, what are you thinking?"
"Sam! And no."
All Dean's life, his one job, the only thing he'd ever been good at, the only thing he'd ever succeeded at, was looking after Sam. Dean would never have violated Sam's trust like that. That Jimmy could even believe it of Dean was nauseating.
He caught Jimmy's eyes, saw the concern in them, the horror and disgust painting his features.
"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Dean demanded. Jimmy probably felt judged, felt that Dean's condemnation of the possibility that Dean had touched Sam amounted to a condemnation of Jimmy and Castiel's love. As if the many differences between the two situations weren't fucking patently obvious!
"Knock it off, you son of a bitch!"
"Dean..." Jimmy said tentatively. "Did John...?
Dean was floored. That was the last thing he'd expected Jimmy to say. It was also utterly inconceivable. No matter Dean's suspicions on the sources of his father's virulent homophobia, John Winchester would never have laid hands on another man, he'd never have laid hands on Dean.
John would have needed to respect Dean first.
"Is that why...all of this?" Hesitancy caused the words to come slowly, Jimmy's cautious expression making it clear he had no idea how Dean would react. Dean should punch him in the fucking face. "Is that why the taking care of others, and the protecting Sam, and the 'family and love equal sex,' and..."
The words stirred agonizing, shameful memories, soliciting men outside Harvelle's, offering a pretty face, pink lips, a sultry mouth to soothe a needy cock in exchange for pocket change. That was all Dean was worth, and even two jobs didn't earn enough for Sam's school things, for new shoes for the boy growing so fast that Dean couldn't keep up, for Sam to have pocket money and Christmas gifts. Any pennies that were left Dean hid against the years of college to come, every back alley blow job paid for a minute or two of class at Stanford.
"Drop it, Jimmy." There was no way Dean was ever sharing that, though. How much more disgusted would Jimmy look if he knew the truth? At least John was family. At least if it had been John it would have meant that his father had ever wanted Dean just because he was Dean. Instead, Dean had solicited strangers, no questions asked, no complaints if their hands strayed on his body, the endless whisper of fear wondering what would happen if one of them every tried to take more than he was willing to give. He'd not have been able to stop them. It was only thanks to a miracle that none of them had.
"...and the acceptance of us, and the insistence that your emotional, physical, and sexual needs are irrelevant as long as the other person is having a good time, and the need to give over control so completely?"
"I said DROP IT." It has been the best way Dean had to make the money his family needed. He did what he had to do, then as always.
Leaning forward, Jimmy reached out towards Dean, delicate fingers curving, about to cup his cheek.
"I swear to God, Jimmy Novak, if you touch me right now I will get in this car and drive to Lawrence and I will never look back."
Jimmy froze, hand still outstretched.
If Jimmy touched him, he'd break.
John had never treated him the same, never looked at him the same, never respected him again. It was like Dean ceased to exist. He was beneath notice. No amount of playing the man ever fixed it, no amount of working more, no amount of loyalty or respect or "yes sir" or covering bar tabs or caring for Sammy ever got Dean what he wanted, what he needed, from his father.
If Jimmy touched him, he'd shatter, there'd be no putting him back together again.
"You don't know shit about my dad, you understand?" roared Dean. "You don't know a damn fucking thing about him, and you don't know a damn fucking thing about me. I did what I had to do for my family. I kept us afloat, and I got Sammy through school, and he's almost there – he's almost where he needs to be, where he deserves to be. Just a little bit more and he'll be there, and then he can have what he deserves, and I can have what I deserve, and it'll be done."
"What do you deserve, Dean?" Jimmy's quiet words fell like shouts into the still night air.
"You know the answer to that," said Dean.
Jimmy slid off the hood of the car and stood before Dean, expression angry and earnest.
"I really don't," Jimmy said with an emphatic gesture. "All you ever talk about are all the things you don't deserve. You don't deserve pleasure, or happiness, or a roof of your head, or security, or an education, or three square a day. You don't deserve Cas. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve to be touched in ways that bring you pleasure. You don't deserve to be given aftercare. You're all about what you can't have. What can you have, Dean?"
"Ice cold margaritas on a beach in Tijuana," said Dean flippantly, hopping down from the hood of the Impala and circling to the driver's door, dodging Jimmy as he did so. He couldn't do this anymore. He had to leave. He had to go to Lawrence.
"You're such a fucking asshole," said Jimmy, tone incredulous and filled with wonder.
"You know you love it," replied Dean unthinkingly with a cocky grin. He pulled the car door open.
"Yes! I do. For fucksake Dean, I really, really do!" Jimmy closed the space between them, slammed the car door shut, and shouted in Dean's face, "I love you Dean Winchester." Despite himself, Dean winced at Jimmy's violent movements and loud words, more memories roiling of nights, so many nights, wondering what John's mood would be, what new crime he'd think of to condemn and punish Dean for. "What the fuck do you think that means? You're not disposable to me. You're not a means to an end. You're not temporary. You're not replaceable. You're not a quick fix. You're essential. And I'm not sitting on the other end of the line making demands, either. It's not because you're useful, because you clean the apartment or because you pay for Sam's textbooks. It's not because you're the best fuck ever or because you're fucking gorgeous and toned and have the cutest damn dimples over your ass or because you behave well for Cassie. It's not because you have a cool car and a leather jacket and a carefully cultivated bad boy attitude. It's not because you're a good mechanic and make decent money when you've got full time work. It's not even because you take care of Cassie and make him happy. I love you because you're you, and when I'm with you, I'm me and Castiel is Castiel. We can be ourselves together, no need to put on an act, no need to watch every word, every gesture lest we give ourselves away. We've never been able to be ourselves with anyone. You asked me before what I want, Dean? It's fucking simple. All I want is for the three of us to be together. That's it. I don't give a shit if you want to leave, because I'm better – we're better – when you're around. No, not even that. I am when you're around. When you're not around, I'm just...not. I lived as not for almost 7 fucking years before you came to San Jose. I never want to feel that way again, not now that I know how it feels to be. What do you want, Dean? That's what I can't wrap my fucking head around."
Jimmy's anger and pain washed over Dean in waves and his resolution crumbled. Jimmy needed him. Cas needed him. It didn't matter if Dean wanted to leave. It would be selfish for Dean to cause both of them to suffer just because staying was difficult for him. He had to stay, for their sakes.
A hand slapped hard against the roof of the Impala, rattling him, and Dean flinched and crouched in on himself slightly, subtly shifted away from the car and Jimmy's temper.
"Don't you fucking dare go into fucking 'honor and duty' mode on me," snapped Jimmy. "You think we can't tell the instant you retreat from just being 'Dean' into being 'Sammy's protective older brother,' 'unreliable John's reliable son,' 'Cassie's best friend in times of need,' 'the Dean whose slept with the whole cheerleading squad.' You should see what it does to your fucking eyes...you're unbelievably fucking gorgeous eyes...when you withdraw like that." Jimmy deflated with a huge, shaky exhalation. When he met Dean's eyes once more, he looked lost. "It's like you die, man. You're still there, but you're fucking gone, saying what you think we want you to say, doing what you think we want you to do, acting how you think we want you to act. You used to be like that almost every time I saw you, except sometimes when you were with Cassie you'd smile for no other reason than that you wanted to. It was beautiful, like watching the sunrise after a night of listening to God thunder across heaven. After John died, you'd seemed more relaxed. Without him constantly reminding you of how miserable you should be, sometimes you almost seem happy. After you got fired, though, you reverted to the old Dean. When Cas comes up with the right scene, we get you back for days, weeks occasionally, and it's fucking wonderful.If you can't stay with us because you want to, because you deserve to, than I'd rather you leave. Anything is better than living with you day in and day out with that look in your eyes."
Speechless, Dean stared as Jimmy breathed hard, hand tensing and relaxing against the top of the Impala.
"That's it," Jimmy said, tired and sad and drained. "That's what I came out here to say. You know what I think you deserve – what Cas and I both think you deserve. You know what we want. We love you, Dean." There was a pause, but Dean couldn't bring himself to say the words in his heart. "You said you loved us, but it's cool if that was just the endorphins talking. If it's a fucking lie, we're better off without you. I won't let you hurt Cassie by dragging him through this bullshit over and over again. If I had my way you'd come back and never leave, but it's not up to me. You know what's best for you, Dean. That's what you have to do. Not what's best for me, or what's best for Cas, or what's best for Sam. For once in his fucking life, Dean Winchester has to do what is best for Dean Winchester."
"Jimmy..." Dean trailed off. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to wrap the beautiful man in his arms, offer him comfort and hollow promises. That's all they'd be, though, empty words, as worthless as everything else about Dean.
"I'm out, Dean," Jimmy said with a weak attempt at a casual, light tone. He gave a coy wave. "See ya around, or something. Take care of yourself." Turning on a heel, Jimmy strode to his car.
"Jimmy!"
Watching him go was like the last fading glimpse of heaven.
There was no answer, no glance back. Jimmy got in the twin's Charger, the engine gave a sour coughing noise as the car started, headlights destroyed the dark of night, and Jimmy pulled out onto the service road, driving north back towards San Jose.
In the utter quiet and black that reigned in the wake of his departure, Dean had never felt more alone in his entire life.
...I promised angst, didn't I?
A couple people mentioned to me wanting to know more about the twins' backstory. It was awesome to get that request, since I already had this scene mostly outlined by the time people asked for that. :)
As of now, that's all I've got written - the rest is outlined. Now that this is all up, I'll get writing to finish up. Subscribe if you're worried about missing updates, but the whole thing should be done by tomorrow (Monday, July 13th) or Tuesday at the latest.