oOoOoOo
Another afternoon found the house forcefully quiet. To Sam and Dean that meant one thing: the adults where whispering.
Dean wasn't overly curious what they were whispering about. To him, it was pretty obvious. They had two kids in the house who weren't there a week earlier. There was a ton of crap they needed to discuss and figure out. What they would decide, that's what concerned Dean. Sam, however, was more of an optimist. His head was filling with dreams and each scrap of intel he gathered being around John and Mary only made him grow more excited.
"I heard them talking about a house," Sam said eagerly. "Do you think that means we're getting our own home?"
"I don't know," Dean said sullenly. He was tired and cranky and the aches and chills in him wouldn't stop. His throat felt raw still, and all he wanted to do was sleep. "I guess I kind of hope we stay in this hellhole for a while longer."
"Why?" Sam asked, but he suspected he knew.
Dean liked talking to Bobby. The older man didn't always seem to say nice things to Dean, but he reminded Sam a bit of the rabbi, a man they knew in Chicago. No one ever sought out the rabbi to talk to him except Dean. He, too, was kind of grouchy when he talked to Dean, but his brother never seemed to mind. Plus, he taught Dean a lot of pretty cool things, like a weird form of karate and how to open locked doors with paperclips.
"Just tired of moving around, that's all," Dean sighed as he lay back on the bed. "Besides, I'm still not sure they've decide what to do with us."
Dean heard the words come out of his mouth and wished they hadn't. He was tired, too tired, to play question and answer time with Sam. He could feel his little brother's hard and worried stare on him.
"I don't think they're going to cut us up into little parts and eat us," Dean said, trying to make a joke to deflect his baby brother's concern.
"You mean you think they don't like you," Sam surmised.
Not that he was surprised. A lot of adults didn't like Dean. They had always been interested in Sam. More than a few wanted to adopt him, but they were never all that keen on both boys. Some said Dean was too old to bond with a family; others said he was too difficult. Some just wanted only one, but the state rules wouldn't allow them to break up the boys.
"What's not to like?" Dean yawned, but Sam heard the admission in his tone.
"We're a family, Dean," Sam insisted. "We're supposed to go home and… and… live there, together. All of us."
How Dean wished Sam would stop talking, stop asking questions, stop bothering him, for just five minutes so he could get a quick nap.
"Then why didn't we go there first?" Dean asked grumbled. "No, they're not sure what we do next, Sam."
"They seem happy to see us," he offered, hopping onto the bed beside his brother. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Maybe," Dean replied. "If it lasts."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, flopping backward, again mimicking his brother's relaxed posture.
Dean turned his head and looked into his little brother's expectant face. He didn't look afraid or worried. He was a bit anxious about this sudden turn of events, but Dean saw the light in the kid's eyes when John said he was their father. He heard the breathy anticipation (the sound everyone else took for fear) when Sam first looked at Mary and said hello.
Sam wanted a normal family with a real home and maybe a dog. Dean knew his little brother wrote a pathetic letter to Santa every year asking for just that. Dean vowed, for as long as he could remember, that would get that for Sam. Somehow. First, he thought adoption was the answer. Surely someone would take them into their home and give them what the kid wanted.
Only, that never happened. No one wanted two stray kids. Sam was cute and little and just what they wanted in a little boy. But the state had rules. Two boys, brothers, equals joint adoption unless a judge found cause to separate them. Dean was glad for that law, made sure to read it once he was able to find it in a book so that he would know it and understand it. It kept him and his brother together, but it also kept Sam from getting what he wanted and needed, a real family. Sure, Dean was his brother, but the kid deserved more, better, than just him.
Dean didn't try to sabotage any visits from people who were looking to adopt. He legitimately wanted the people to take a liking to them so he could get Sam out of the group homes and the foster homes. But that just never happened. They would smile and coo over Sam. They were polite, generally, to Dean, but he knew by the time he was six what they were thinking: Damaged. He'd been in the system too long. Like a carton of spoiled milk, no one wanted to take him home. Eventually, Sam expired on the shelf too, thanks to the brother no social worker could sell to prospective parents.
Now, Dean knew why. Their actual parents were still out there.
The precise reasons behind why they were taken and never found were not fully explained yet. Dean wondered if maybe John and Mary weren't sure either. That level of cluelessness was not encouraging in his mind. Still, at first glance, they didn't seem too horrible. Then again, he reasoned, they were still in the happy stages of finding their long lost kids again. What they would be like once the surprise and newness wore off was a looming question.
"Don't worry about it, Sam," Dean said, his eyes closing rather than stare at the boring ceiling again.
"Think we'll get our own rooms?" Sam asked excitedly. "If we do, I want orange walls."
"Orange?" Dean asked. "Why?"
"'Cause it's different," Sam smiled. "And it would be like a summer sunset, even in the winter."
"Freak," Dean scoffed.
"Am not," he said crossly as his face screwed up in the expected pout.
Dean jutted his lip out to mock the expression, sending Sam into a predictable fit of flying fists. They tumbled quickly off the bed as the wrestling match escalated into an in-the-room cage match with Sam, all sourness over the name calling forgotten, leaping off the bed to tackle his older brother. Dean yelped in a quick shot of pain as they crashed to the floor. The thunderous sounds filled the house and sent John tearing up the stairs and throwing the door open.
"What the hell is going on in here?" he shouted, looking around for an intruder or something equally as dangerous.
"Nothing," they answered in tandem as they picked apart their tangle of limbs and stood up.
"Sounds like a lot more than nothing," John said, willing his heart to quiet down as his adrenaline pumped by the bucketful into his blood stream.
"We were just messing around," Dean shrugged, massaging a dull pain that shot through his left side. In that instant, Sam leaned close to him under John's stern gaze.
"You should be more careful," John said then looked carefully at Sam. "Sam, are you bleeding?"
The man's expression grew concerned, and he knelt down in front of Sam to rub his thumb gently on the boy's bottom lip. The red smear was evident. Sam sucked the flesh into his mouth and shrugged. It didn't hurt. He didn't even feel it when it happened. He was about to say so when he felt Dean squeeze his shoulder slightly, transmitting the unspoken signal to step away from him. Sam obeyed and looked at his brother warily.
"What the hell did you do?" John demanded of Dean.
Dean's response was simply a stony stare.
John caught Sam's fearful expression and his eyes darkened. To John, it looked as though Sam was getting a nonverbal order to shut his mouth. Dean was older and stronger than Sam. The boy had a fascination with Dean that at first John found touching, but now he was beginning to worry about. Anytime he or Mary spoke to Sam, their youngest looked to Dean—as if seeking permission to listen or respond. It was as if Dean was a warden and Sam his prisoner.
Silent messages between the boys was one thing. Intimidating his younger brother to cover up an injury was the last straw for John.
"Outside," he said crossly to Dean. "Now."
Sam opened his mouth to speak but caught a quick hand signal from Dean to be quiet. Sam slouched then sat on the bed as John gripped Dean's arm and pulled him roughly into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Sam moved quietly to the hinge area and pressed his ear against it to listen.
"What the hell was going on in there?" John asked. "And don't tell me 'nothing.'"
Sam mouthed the word 'no' and shook his head. He knew precisely what Dean would do when pressed like this. Sam folded his hands the way the priests at the home taught him and started quietly praying for someone to step in or say something that would fix what was about to happen.
Outside, Dean met John's eyes with a challenging gaze. After a moment, he shrugged.
"Okay then," Dean answered. "How 'bout: None of your damn business."
"What was that?" John asked, his temper spiking with the adrenaline and the attitude he was facing.
"I said none of your damn business, John," Dean replied. "I don't think I stuttered."
"What did I tell you about respect?" he asked hotly.
"That you seem to think you've got a god-given right to it because you were a Marine, or at least that's what I got out of your little crap speeches so far," Dean nodded as he spoke in an antagonizing tone. "You really need more persuasive material."
"I've had it with your backtalk, you know that?" John replied in frustration.
The kid knew every one of his buttons—which had hair triggers at the moment since no one in the place seemed to be sleeping between the stress of the situation and the soaring 90 degree heat.
"I'm getting that, yeah," Dean replied smugly. "Okay, how about this, John: It's none of your damn business, sir. Does that work for you? Think it over and get back to me."
Sam next heard Dean's feet scuff on the floor, signaling to his little brother he was drawing the angry man away from Sam, which he knew was Dean's goal from the start of this. Dean did not like angry or aggressive adults near Sam and would draw their fire whenever possible to put distance between his baby brother and whoever he saw as a threat to the kid. Sam appreciated it and never liked when it happened. He was getting bigger and could take care of himself. He didn't like that Dean still treated him like he was a baby.
But what he didn't like even more was what happened to Dean quite often when he did this. Tears began to dribble down Sam's cheeks as he prayed harder that even if someone didn't come to stop this that John would not be so angry with Dean that he would teach him one of those lessons they learned in foster care, the kind that left red marks and bruises on Dean that he would pretend didn't hurt even though it was so apparent to Sam that they did.
"Where do you think you're going?" John demanded.
"Looks like this way," Dean offered and his feet could be heard on the stair treads. John's quickly followed.
"I'm not done talking to you," John said loudly.
"But I am done listening," Dean replied as he breezed through the kitchen toward the door. "Seems like this little chat is over."
"No, it's not," John insisted following fast on his heels. "Stop right there."
"Make me," Dean tossed over his shoulder.
Dean was amazed when he made it out of the house without being grabbed. He could practically hear John grinding his teeth. Dean took the steps two at a time and walked hurriedly into the maze of crushed cars that littered the backyard.
"What the hell was that?" Mary charged out of the living room and glared at her son's departing back.
"They were fighting, I guess," John said. "Sam's lip got split open, and Dean…. I don't know. I don't know if Sam was afraid of him or trying to be brave in front of me. They weren't answering my questions, that's for certain. And one thing we are certainly nipping in the bud is that kid's mouth."
"A Marine virtuous about his language?" she remarked. "That's a first. Where is Sam? How bad is his lip?"
"Fine, I guess," John sighed as he rubbed his neck and watched his older son scuff his feet across the yard. "He didn't seem to realize he was even bleeding. It's not really that bad."
"So why were you yelling?" she asked.
"I heard a crash and I went in and…," John began hotly. "Look, they were piled up on the floor and when Sam stood up I could see blood in his mouth."
Mary sighed and walked to the stairs. She called nicely, sweetly even, to her baby, asking him to come downstairs. For several long moments, there was no movement. She called again and the door opened hesitantly. Sam slowly, reluctantly came down the stairs. His lip, slightly puffy with a tiny crack in it, was evident but not concerning.
"Do you need some ice for that, sweetheart?" Mary asked. Sam shook his head.
"Where's Dean?" he asked.
"He's outside cooling off," John said. "You don't have to be afraid of him."
"I'm not," Sam said sharply. "Where did he go?"
John shrugged. The boy had disappeared behind one of the car towers. His precise location wasn't important to this discussion. Bobby was out there as well. He would keep an eye on the teen.
"I need to find him," Sam said moving toward the door.
Mary caught his arm and gently pulled him to her.
"Just leave Dean be for now," she said kindly. "Everybody needs to take a breath and have some quiet time."
Sam looked hard at John. He liked him, he thought. John hugged him like he meant it. He smiled at Sam like he was glad to see him. He looked at Sam like… well, unlike anyone Sam had ever met, except maybe Dean. It was like Sam had just done something great and was getting applause even though he didn't do anything at all. He could just be standing there, and John would look at him like he won a spelling bee or scored a goal in the game. No one ever looked at him like that, other than Dean. Sam liked it, and he wanted to like John even more. He even found himself wanting to call him Dad, but he was worried how Dean would feel about that.
Sam didn't see John giving those same looks to Dean, not always. He looked mad when he came in their room just now, and the way he led Dean into the hall scared Sam. Dean didn't seem scared, but Dean never seemed scared. In fact, Sam had learned that there were times when Dean didn't look afraid, but it would turn out that he was actually very scared in those moments. Sam wondered if this was one of those times.
"I want to see Dean," Sam insisted.
"Not right now, baby," Mary said petting his head and looking at him warmly.
Mary's eyes were softer and lighter than John's. They were a lot like Dean's in fact. She smiled with them, just like Dean could. Sam liked her, too. She was a lot like what he thought a mom should be. She touched your face and talked softly and made pancakes. She listened without interrupting and nodded when Sam spoke so he knew she was listening. She had a lot of tears in her eyes, but they didn't look like sad tears. She liked to hug, too. Hers were not as tight as John's, but hers lasted longer and she rocked a bit when she did it. Sam didn't like nicknames much—he wasn't a baby after all—but he didn't mind when she called him 'baby' or 'sweetie' or 'sweetheart.' He even liked the way it sounded when she slipped and called him Sammy. Her voice was kind and sweet when she did that, and it made Sam want to smile, blush even.
Dean said they were their mom and dad, and Sam believed him. It made him happy in a way he had never been before to know them. Parents meant a family, and a family meant a home. A real home. Sam wanted those for as long as he wanted anything. Dean had promised, since Sam's earliest memories, that he would get those for Sam someday. Now, someday had arrived, except it didn't feel as warm and easy as Sam hoped.
Dean wasn't happy. Dean was grouchy and worried and was acting like he wanted to fight with everyone or just curl up in bed and sleep all the time. Over the last few days, Sam noticed that his big brother didn't smile as much as he used to. In fact, the only times he did were when Bobby would speak. Bobby sort of growled when he talked and his expressions weren't all that friendly, but Dean didn't mind him and had started sitting beside him at the table and following him around the yard to talk to him, which was weird because Dean never talked to adults unless he had to.
Suddenly, Sam felt a knot in his stomach that made him feel sick: What if Dean decided to stay with Bobby and not John and Mary? Sam wanted to go with his parents, but he couldn't go without Dean. What if John got the wrong idea about Dean because he and Sam were play-fighting? What if he thought that Dean was bad? What if he thought what all the others thought, that because Dean was brave that he didn't need parents?
"You can't leave him here," Sam said suddenly, griping Mary's hands and then looking beseechingly between she and John. "I won't go with you if you don't take us both. I won't."
"What are you talking about, buddy?" John asked, cocking his head to the side and gazing at his youngest with a puzzled expression.
"I won't go with you unless you take Dean," he said quickly as he began to shake with fear. "You have to take both of us. That's just how it is."
"Honey, why are you so upset?" she asked. "Did Dean say something to you?"
"No!" he screamed. "It wasn't Dean. He didn't do anything. Why does everyone think he's bad? He's not. He's good. He takes care of me and protects me. Just because you can't boss him around… He doesn't need you. So I don't care what you think!"
"What do we think?" John asked.
"You think Dean's nothing but trouble, and no one in their right mind would want him around," Sam cried. "Well, you're wrong! You hear me? You're wrong!"
He wrenched his hands away from Mary and darted back up the stairs. He slammed the door promptly leaving his parents staring at each other with dumbfounded expressions.
oOoOoOo
Dean scuffed through the yard, kicking up little tufts of dust from the dry and cracked ground. His thoughts were vicious and screaming at him so loudly he didn't know where he was going until he rounded the corner and found himself in the auto shop where Bobby was bent over the open hood of a car. Dean wandered over to him with his hands stuffed into his pockets.
"Gravity extra hard on you today?" Bobby asked. Dean looked at him questioningly. "Your feet don't seem to want to leave the ground. Ice skating in the dirt and on cement can't be all that fun."
Dean scoffed and threw him a sour look that the man did not have the good graces to even notice. Instead, Bobby sighed.
"What are you thinking?" Bobby asked without looking up from the engine that so interested him.
"Nothing," the teen answered.
Bobby looked up and grunted in agreement as he nodded.
"Not a thought at all in your head?" Bobby remarked. "Yeah, from you I can believe that."
Dean scowled. The thought of slamming the hood shut on the old bastard's head came to mind pretty quickly, but he held back. He wasn't sure how he felt about the crotchety man, but even when he made his little digs at Dean, the look in his eyes was still easier to take than what he saw on John's face. Bobby might not be warm and cuddly (and who wanted that anyway), but at least Dean knew where he stood with the guy. He said whatever was on his mind, even if it wasn't nice or polished. Dean appreciated honesty. There was also something about him that made Dean feel safe. The guy wasn't a pervert or a church-junkie or a head shrinker. He was just a guy, kind of smart (look at all the books he had) and seemed confident without being an jackass about it. Dean had decided that of all the adults in this house, Bobby was the one he trusted.
"Do you think they're gonna leave soon?" Dean asked after a respectable pause.
"Who?" Bobby asked, again focusing on the engine block.
"Mary and John," he growled thinking the answer was pretty obvious before he said it.
"You mean your Mom and Dad?" Bobby wondered.
"Whatever," Dean shrugged. "When are they planning to leave?"
"Ask them," Bobby said.
"When are you kicking them out?" the teen persisted. "You don't want a house full of people you don't know and don't like."
"Says who?" Bobby remarked. "I never said I didn't like anyone, and I didn't say they couldn't stay."
"Didn't say they could and don't give me a bullshit line about liking your guests," Dean scoffed. "Dude, I may not know everything, but I know people. You are no fan of the Winchesters."
"Your little brother ain't so bad," he offered.
Dean nodded, agreeing with that and choosing not to feel any sting from being left out of who Bobby liked. Sam, of course, wasn't a Winchester in Dean's mind, at least not like John and Mary. Sure, it was a way cooler last name than Hardy—yet another thing he screwed up in his life by forgetting his last name years earlier—but the name wasn't what he meant. And liking Sam didn't count, in Dean's mind. Everyone liked Sam. It was like not liking school vacation or money. There was something wrong with anyone who didn't like his baby brother.
"You know anything about cars?" Bobby asked looking with a puzzled expression at the project in front of him.
"Just how to hotwire 'em and drive 'em," Dean shrugged.
He looked at Bobby with a challenging glare. Bobby's gut read the expression and decided at least part of it was true probably, which part he wasn't sure but he wasn't willing to bet it was the driving part just yet. The kid was cagey and daring him to call the possible bluff, but he wouldn't.
The more he looked at Dean, the more dangerous the kid was. Not because he was a ticking time bomb or a threat or real trouble of any sort. No, it was the damn smartass charm. Bobby had a weak spot for it, and the kid had grown on him, quickly. The little one was cute and a bit shy despite the millions of questions he seemed to ask, but it was the older boy who Bobby felt an affinity for first. He could see the pain and uncertainty in the kid, and it hurt the old hunter that he couldn't make it go away. Bobby knew the root of it. He diagnosed it from the hurt in the boy's eyes. Dean expected pain and figured the world had his number; he didn't wallow in it; he didn't want pity or help even. He was just too tough for his own good, like a little miserable Zen master falling down seven times and getting up eight because he knew the next felling blow was right around the corner anyway.
"Well, then add this to your repertoire, Einstein," the hunter said. "This is call a carburetor…"
oOoOoOo
Upstairs in the boy's bedroom, Sam lay on his bed facing the wall. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, trying to coax him to speak with her. He was adamant he would not.
"Just go away," Sam insisted. "You have no reason to be in here."
"I want to talk to you," she said calmly.
"No reason to do that either," Sam said. "You're not important. You're no one to me."
His words tore at her, cutting little holes in her still mending heart. She reached toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He jerked quickly out of her gasp as if her touched burned.
"Sam, I'm your mother," Mary said through tears.
"My mom's dead," he replied.
"No, I'm not," she replied.
"You should be," Sam scowled.
"Why would you say that?" Mary gaped.
"You left us, or you threw us away," he said angrily as he sat up and edged closer to the wall. "You didn't want us. You didn't come get us. That's not what a mom does."
"Baby, I did look for you," she said approaching him gently. "I looked everywhere, in every way I could."
"You didn't look hard enough," Sam said. "Now get out of here. Leave me alone!"
"Baby, I can't do that," she said. "I won't."
"I don't want you near me," he said backing up into the wall. "I want Dean."
"I'm sure he'll come see you in a little while," she replied. "Do you want to tell me what you were talking about downstairs?"
Sam shook his head but from his expression she knew it was a lie.
oOoOoOo
Evening arrived and bled into night. Dean remained outside all afternoon, within view of the house, just barely, staring at the graveyard of cars. He heard Mary calling to him to come in for dinner. He refused to acknowledge. He wanted to eat, but he didn't want to eat with them. He was tired of the staring and the act, like they were happy and nothing was wrong. Nobody was happy (except maybe Sam), and everything was wrong.
He ached all over. He was tired. Whenever he tried to sleep, he couldn't. It was 100 degrees in the room, and Sam kept mumbling in his sleep. Anytime Dean did get his eyes to close long enough to fall asleep, confusing dreams of a dark room with kids toys in it filled his mind; a man appeared, as if by magic and then the room was filled with light and his ears hurt. Other times, Dean found himself standing in a living room looking down a Sam as a baby and waiting for John and Mary to show up, but they never did and Sammy would begin screaming. Dean would shake himself awake and find himself soaked in sweat.
Sitting in the yard near the auto shop in the stillness of the evening was peaceful and, if not for the growling of his stomach, would have been wonderfully quiet. As the mosquitoes began to feast on him, he made his way back to the house as quietly as possible.
Dean entered the house through the side window. Sure, he could have gone in the door, but he didn't want to face John and Mary. He knew they were waiting for him in the library. He just wanted to go upstairs and crawl into bed without talking to anyone. His stomach was twisted with hunger, but he was used to that feeling. He would get up at some point during the night and grab something if it got bad. He didn't think Bobby would mind. He'd bitch like he did, but Dean doubted the man was as gruff as he acted. He hadn't taken a swing at Dean yet, or even threatened to; he hadn't ordered him to get the hell off his property or let him know he could do it if he felt like it. Bobby was grouchy, but he was a softy inside, Dean was certain.
Again, the man's surly sincerity was winning serious points with the teen.
As Dean crept over the window sill, he saw both sets of doors to the library were closed. Curious about the secret powwow, Dean sidled closer and pressed his ear to the door. John and Mary were in there having a tense discussion.
"You heard what I heard," Mary said. "Word for word."
"I can't… who would…," John groused. "Dean's nothing but trouble, and no one in their right mind would want him in their lives."
John gaped in disbelief at the words and shook his head at a loss for what to say about them.
"I know," Mary replied, seeing the shock and dismay on John's face.
He sighed and shook his head firmly.
"Okay, that's a problem for tomorrow," John sighed. "What are we doing about Sam?"
"He's all set," Mary answered. "I'll explain everything to him after he's had some rest. He's still so exhausted from everything that's happened."
"We'll talk to him it together so that he understands," John insisted.
Outside, Dean felt his heart freeze solid.
So it was true—again. They really didn't want him. They wanted Sam, that made him happy, but they truly didn't want Dean, and that blow never stopped hurting, no matter how many times he caught it.
They had decided he was trouble and not someone suitable to be a part of their family. In the past, there was never a choice. The state was in charge, and they wouldn't let anyone split up the brothers. But now? The state wasn't involved. Dean figured he could call and report himself and Sammy to the cops, but there was something funny about these people and the ones who took them so smoothly out of Chicago. He knew it was crazy to think they were spies or part of some big crime ring, but they definitely had secrets and friends in odd places. None of them seemed too dangerous—if they had, he would never have let Sam go with them—but it made Dean doubt a call to the authorities would work.
But that really wasn't an option anyway.
Sam liked these people.
More than that, he was starting to love them. Dean could see it. Just a few days with them, and his little brother was growing attached. He had even called Mary "Mom" at breakfast the other morning. She smiled, nearly cried, but did not make a big deal out of it in front of anyone. However, the light behind her eyes when he said it sent off fireworks in her face. John, too, seemed to glow a bit.
So Sammy was staying with them.
Dean wasn't so sure about John on his own taking care of Sam. The guy seemed a little reactionary and strict. Mary said he had been a Marine. Dean could see he still was on some level. It wasn't a bad thing if it kept Sam safe and out of trouble, but Dean felt better knowing Mary (who was no push over, he was certain) would be around to keep things calm. Sam needed that balance and if they could give it to him, Dean was going to let them.
What he wasn't going to do was get placed back in foster care or stick around and screw things up for his little brother. Sam would insist they take both him and Dean. Dean wouldn't let his baby brother sabotage his chance to have a real home and be happy. That left just one thing to do.
oOoOoOo
