Regression, Chapter 9
Wow. Over a month. I truly suck.
So sorry it's taken this long to get another chapter posted. Work is completely overwhelming with no slowing down until April. (No, I'm not an accountant or a tax lawyer. ) I will try to do better, but please be patient with me. It's coming, I promise!
xxxx
When the Winchesters got back to the Sweeds', Sam pulled up to the house, easing the Impala into park. They both sat in the car.
"I'm going to get the laptop and go use the wireless," Sam said.
Dean nodded his understanding, ignoring the twitch of anxiety in his gut.
"You want to come with me?" Sam asked. Are you OK with that? unspoken.
Dean shrugged, looking toward the house. "Nah," he said. "I'm gonna go in."
"OK." Sam didn't move for a second. Then reached for the handle, pushing the heavy door open. He got out of the car and walked around the hood, catching up with Dean as the boy climbed the stairs.
They parted ways at the door to the kitchen, Sam heading for their bedroom, Dean hesitating at the sound of water running and Jo singing softly to the radio as she worked on supper. He shuffled into the kitchen to find her standing at the sink peeling potatoes.
"Hey," he said.
Jo turned. "Hey, sugar."
Dean moved a couple of steps further into the room.
Jo watched him. "Where's Sam?" she asked.
"He's getting the computer, then he's gonna…"
"Sam?" She spoke over him, eyes shifting over Dean's shoulder. Sam came up behind Dean in response to her voice. He had the laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
Pleased to have caught his attention, Jo went on. "Honey, supper's going to be late. The boys were eating cereal late, and I just couldn't get myself started. Are you going to starve if you have to wait a little while?" She included Dean in her question with a glance.
Dean half-way shrugged, and Sam said easily, "I'll probably grab something at the diner to tide me over. Don't worry," he smiled at her. He looked down at Dean, "You going to be OK?" he asked again, laying a hand on Dean's back.
Dean moved out from under Sam's touch. "I'm fine," he said, not looking. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it.
There was a moment of silence before Sam said, "OK."
"I'll call you when we're ready to eat, Sam," Jo said.
"Thanks."
When Sam was gone, Dean couldn't help the glance over his shoulder at the spot where his brother had been.
Jo had turned back to the task at hand.
"Where's Luke?" she asked absently. The casualness of the question made Dean realize she didn't know what had happened. Didn't know what Luke had done. He swallowed heavily.
"He went back to the station. Said he had some stuff to finish up."
Jo nodded. "How was giving your statement?"
She hadn't asked about the doctor, and Dean wondered if she was mad. He bit his lip before he answered. "I didn't give my statement," he admitted. "Tomorrow."
She turned from the sink, potato in one hand, paring knife in the other. She frowned at him. "You've been gone for hours," she said, confused and now worried. "What…? Are you…?"
"I'm fine. We just…" Dean slumped further into his chair. "My x-rays are always, you know, questionable, I guess, and the social worker…" He trailed off.
Jo just gaped at him. "What?" When she finally spoke there was no mistaking the fury in her voice. "I'm sorry, but what?"
She was practically brandishing the knife in her hand so broad was her gesturing.
Dean felt himself flinch slightly in surprise. "She… She thought maybe Sam…"
Jo's face flushed bright red, and she slammed the knife she'd been holding down on the counter top. "Who?" she demanded, storming to the phone and yanking the receiver off its base.
Dean blinked. Holy crap. "Jo…"
"I want to know who had the nerve in light of what had just happened to you to dare to suggest that Sam… that Sam…" she sputtered to a halt, anger radiating off every line of her body. She stood with the phone clenched in her hand, glaring her anger at Dean.
He knew her well-enough not to take her evil-eye personally, and he eased out of his chair. "Jo, it's OK…" he started soothingly.
"No," she said tightly. "It's not. It's not OK that…" Her voice had started to shake slightly. "I can't believe…" She looked down at the phone, over at him again. "Who was it, Dean?"
He took a careful step toward her. "We're fine, Jo, we are." He didn't figure anything good could come of her talking to someone about this right now. Maybe not ever, he thought ruefully. He quirked a cautious grin at her. "You think me and Sam can't work one small-town, newbie social worker?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
Jo's fingers were slowly relaxing their grip on the phone. The grim look on her face began to ease somewhat. "Yeah?" she asked, kind of peering at him.
"Yeah," he said scoffed. He put all the self-assurance he could into that one word. They were close enough to touch, but Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, going for "casual."
Jo continued to watch him carefully. "Honey, I'm so sorry." He shrugged, and she put a hand up to his cheek. "I know you can handle it. That doesn't mean it's fun to go through, though."
Without even thinking about it, Dean took the last step toward her and sighed as her arms came around him. He didn't take his hands out of pockets, just leaned into her. "Luke was there," he admitted. He rested his cheek against her shoulder, relaxing under the stroke of her fingers through his hair.
He sighed. "Jo?"
"What, darlin'?"
"I'm sorry. About earlier."
There was a pause in the motion of her hand against his head before it resumed. "That's OK," she said.
"It wasn't you. I just… I needed Sam," he whispered.
"Oh, sugar." She didn't say anything else for a while. Then, "Honey, I know I can get a little… mother-hennish sometimes."
Dean snorted softly, and she pinched him lightly on the nape of the neck. "Hey," he protested half-heartedly.
"But," she ignored him, "I really do try to back off when I realize what I'm doing, OK? So, just tell me, alright, sweetie? Don't… Don't shut me out like you did."
Dean turned his head slightly, hiding his face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
She slid her fingers over the short hair on the back of his head and gave him a gentle shake. "I know you are, honey, and I'm sorry, too. But I'm not a mind-reader, Dean, and…"
Dean's muffled snort stopped her. He pulled back from her a little bit. "Jake says you are," he teased.
"Pffft," she raspberried dismissively. "Jake. Every thought that goes through that boy's head passes clear across his face. Tommy can read him like a book."
Dean laughed as he took another step away, felt the tension finish draining out of him when she grinned in response.
"Help me with dinner?" she asked.
"Sure."
xxxx
They'd just started to eat when they heard the front door open and close. Everyone paused, waiting for Luke to join them. Confused glances went around the table when he didn't, and the sound of boots on the hard wood floors upstairs could be heard.
"I'll be back," Jo said, pushing her chair back. "Y'all keep eating."
They did and finished up without Jo or Luke returning.
"Can I be excused?" Tommy asked, eyes going from Michael to Sam and back again.
"Sure," Michael said. He shrugged at some thought he didn't share. "Take your plate over, brat," he added when Tommy started for the door.
Heaving a sigh, Tommy stomped back to the table. He picked up his own plate and Sam's.
"Get Jake's," Michael instructed and the younger boy scowled suddenly. He took the two plates in his hands to the counter and on return to the table paused before he actually picked up Jake's plate.
"Why doesn't he have to…?" he started.
"Because he's on crutches, Tommy," Michael said impatiently. "He can't carry dishes, right now."
Jake looked surprised and then smug at having been excused from clean-up duty by Michael.
"Have you taken your medication, Jake?" Michael asked, already reaching for the prescription bottle in the center of the table. Jake hadn't complained, but he was a little drawn, and he held out his hand for the capsules Michael shook into his palm. "You need help to the couch?"
Jake got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, but got his balance with just Sam's hand to his elbow. "No, I got it," he said.
Tommy watched all this seriously, but couldn't seem to help the whine. "Do I have to the dishes all by myself?"
"I'll help, kiddo," Dean said easily, scooting back his chair a little gingerly.
"I will, too," added Sam. Then, "Dean, have you taken your meds?" It earned Sam a frown, but a grudging shake of Dean's head, as well. "They're next to the bed," Sam said, unfazed.
On an eye-roll, Dean did his own stomping as he left the kitchen.
Michael had already stood and made to follow Dean out of the room, unable to stop himself from checking on his own younger brother. "I'll be right back," he said with an amused grimace at Sam, who shook his head.
Sam had just set Tommy to wiping down the table when Jo and Luke came back in. They were both pale, and Sam felt his stomach clench painfully when he realized that their eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
"Hey." Michael's voice faltered when he also registered the expressions on his parents' faces. "Are… are you hungry?" he asked uncertainly.
"I could eat something," Luke said.
"I'll get it," Jo said with a brief smile at Michael, and a hand brushing his arm. "Thank you, sweetie."
Michael nodded, brow creased as he watched Luke.
"I'm finished," Tommy announced, taking aim at the sink with the rag he'd been using. "Can I be done?" He drew back and released the cloth, grinning when it landed gracefully over the faucet. Yes! he mouthed.
"Sure, honey," Jo said, and Tommy ran for the door. "Where's Jakey?" she asked.
"Watching TV," Michael told her. "He was hurting and…"
"That's fine," she assured him.
Luke wandered out into the family room, and they could hear the murmur of his voice and Jake's and Tommy's over the sound of an explosion from whatever movie the boys were watching.
There was momentary silence in the kitchen as Jo reached into the fridge for leftovers.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked, eyes on Jo's back where she stood at the counter.
Sam and Dean were putting the last of the dishes in dishwasher. Sam could see that Dean was holding himself stiffly, his hand shaking slightly as he put a glass in the rack.
Jo turned to answer Michael, but flicked quick, anxious eyes toward Dean before sliding them over Sam. And Sam realized she didn't know that Dean knew that Luke had killed the man.
"Not… not right now OK, sweetheart?" Jo said softly.
Michael's gaze had followed Jo's to Dean, and though the confusion was plain on his face, he didn't press. "OK," he said.
Dean straightened as he closed the dishwasher, shoulders hunched, not turning around or seeming to know what to do. Sam didn't know either. But when Dean turned to Sam, face tight, looking for guidance, Sam said easily, "We done?" At Dean's nod, Sam continued, "You want to go watch TV?"
Dean nodded again and fled.
Sam's eyes met Jo's, and he said quietly, "Dean knows."
Jo took a shaky breath. "OK."
Michael didn't say anything, just watched the exchange.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered, at a loss for what was appropriate in this situation.
"Oh, honey," was all Jo seemed capable of. She stopped fussing with the food on Luke's plate and rested her hands on the counter. The eyes she finally lifted to Sam were wet, but she smiled at him. "He'll be OK. He will. It's just… overwhelming." She turned to Michael, trying to address the growing concern and fear on his face. "Baby, we'll tell you, OK? We will. You and Tommy and Jake. But, can you…"
"It's OK, Mom. I'll wait. It's just… is Luke sick? Is he…?"
"He's not sick, Michael. It's nothing like that, OK? He's not hurt or sick. Something happened and…" She bit her lip, then said softly, carefully, "Luke's the one who killed the man who took Dean."
Michael blinked. "Oh," he breathed.
"It was self-defense, but…" Jo cleared her throat. "But it's…"
Michael was nodding. "Yeah," he agreed gruffly, clearing his own throat. He looked at Sam. "And Dean knows," he said, understanding.
"Yeah." Sam waited then added, "I was with Luke when it happened, and he probably saved my life, too." Sam felt the muscles of his shoulders tighten in frustration and memory. "He was just faster pulling the trigger than I was," Sam said, meeting Michael's eyes. The kid swallowed and nodded.
"We need to talk to all of you about it," Jo said into the silence. "People are going to know, and we want you boys to be prepared, in case anyone says anything to you, but Luke's just so raw right now. I wanted to wait until he's steadier…" her voice faltered.
With a quick look at Sam, Michael got up and crossed to his aunt, putting his arms around her. "Mama," he whispered. "It'll be OK. He'll be OK."
Sam stood for a second, awkward and an intruder, before he slipped out of the room.
In the den it was just Luke and Jake and Tommy watching the movie. Sam gave them all a small smile. "Dean?" he asked.
"Said he was tired," Jake answered without taking his eyes off the television.
Sam nodded and his eyes met Luke's briefly. Luke shrugged at him, and with a shrug of his own, Sam made his way back to the bedroom.
Dean was lying on his bed. He didn't acknowledge Sam's presence when he entered, just kept his eyes on the book in his hands.
"Not interested in the movie?" Sam asked casually. He picked up the laptop from where he'd stowed it when he'd come in for dinner. He fiddled with it, trying to get a read on Dean's mood. Was this a "leave me alone but don't go away" kind of deal? Or the more standard, "get the hell away from me" vibe?
"Hu-uh," Dean mumbled. But his eyes met Sam's – just a flick of green.
Sam took that as an invitation to stay. He sat down on his bed. "Yeah, me either."
Dean was chewing on his lip, attention seemingly on the book, although Sam knew it wasn't really. Sam untangled the computer from its case and got comfortable on the bed, stretching out his legs and perching the machine on his lap. He figured he could read through some of the things he'd downloaded that afternoon.
"Luke told Jo?" The question was quiet.
Sam turned toward Dean. "Yeah," he said, watching his brother for a moment. But when Dean didn't return his gaze, Sam let it go. Trying to stare Dean into talking rarely worked.
If there was anything Sam had learned since Dad had died, it was that badgering his older brother to share never got the results Sam was looking for. It had been a painful lesson for both of them. But what he'd also learned was that once Dean was ready to talk, he would. If Sam could just make himself be quiet and let Dean do things in his own time.
This 14-year-old Dean didn't seem to have the same defenses his adult-self had, though. And Sam wondered if a little push here would work better than it might otherwise.
"You okay, man?" Sam asked, ventured carefully.
Sam had realized as he'd mulled things over in the diner, that the conversation in the car would not be the end of dealing with Dean over Luke's involvement in the shooting. Sam could try to lay claim to that guilt all he wanted. The reality was that Dean's stubborn sense of responsibility for everyone he cared about would never let him relinquish that claim without a fight.
Dean's face crumpled, and he hunched in on himself, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Eyes squinched closed as he took a couple of deep, shaking breaths. He was trying so hard not to fall apart.
"Hey, man, hey," Sam felt a sudden holycrapholycrap, Dean, please don't start crying kind of panic start to take over. He couldn't decide if a hand on Dean's shoulder would help or just complete the breakdown. "It's OK, Dean. It's going to be OK."
Throwing caution to the wind, Sam shifted the laptop to the side and moved to sit next to his brother. He put a cautious arm around Dean's shoulders. "Man, it sucks, but it's going to be OK. Luke's going to be fine. He's fine."
Dean didn't move – didn't ease closer, didn't pull away – and Sam could feel the tightness in the boy's shoulders like a rock against his arm. "It's going to be OK," he repeated helplessly.
Dean brought his knees up and pressed his face into them. Sam didn't offer any more attempts at words to comfort, but kept his arm where it was, waiting on his brother.
"I hate this," Dean finally whispered, muffled. "I hate being helpless, that Luke…" he didn't finish.
"I know, man," Sam said. "I know. But…" Sam was unsure where to go from here. "But, you know … we were there to get you, but… in that moment, Luke fired to protect himself. To protect me."
As the words were coming out of his mouth, Sam realized that unconsciously he'd probably hit on the one thing that would ease Dean's feelings of guilt. That Luke was protecting Sam. If it was hard for Dean to accept that Luke had to kill to protect Dean – even tangentially – that same action to protect Sam would be perfectly acceptable. And it hurt Sam in a way he hadn't expected.
There was a slight shift in the shoulders under Sam's arm, and he went on softly, "You didn't create that situation, Dean. Luke didn't. That monster is the only person responsible for anything that happened."
Dean sighed haltingly, and Sam felt his brother relax next to him. They sat together without speaking until Dean finally raised his head to look at Sam. His cheeks had pinkened where they'd rubbed against the denim of his jeans, his lashes dark with a dampness that didn't seem to have gotten any farther. He looked impossibly young, and Sam felt such a fierce jolt of protectiveness and love for his brother that he was momentarily left dizzy, reeling from the force of it.
"Did they… did they say anything?" Dean asked, blinking uncertain eyes at Sam.
Sam blinked in return, struggling to breathe around the emotion lodged in his chest. "What?" he stammered.
"Did…? Was Jo mad?"
"Mad?" Sam thought he'd finally rejoined the conversation, but it wasn't making sense. "Why would Jo be mad?"
"I don't know." Dean's eyes jumped away from Sam's. "That Luke…" He trailed off, and Sam thought Dean himself wasn't exactly sure why Jo would be mad. Was just worried that she was. Like he'd worried about Dad being mad.
"No. She's not mad, Dean," Sam reassured him. "She's sad," he admitted. "Sad for Luke. Sad for you. But she's not mad. I promise."
Dean nodded and there was some further easing of the tension in Dean's thin frame.
Sam wasn't sure how long he should sit here with his arm around Dean. He was trying to figure out if there was an optimal time to pull out. One where he'd stayed for the maximum comfort, but the minimum awkwardness. Because at some point, if he pushed it, he knew Dean was going to accuse him of being a girl. It was like a law or something.
"Did Luke say anything to you?" Dean asked, hesitant again. Sam shook his head, taking the moment to remove his arm from around his brother. But even as he did, Sam shifted slightly closer to Dean, keeping his presence there solidly.
"No, he didn't," Sam admitted.
Dean chewed on his lip. "OK," he said.
Sam waited for a minute before he asked carefully, "You alright, man?"
Not looking at Sam, apparently lost in thought, Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said.
xxxx
Luke pushed off with his feet, setting the porch swing in motion. He wasn't sure where the rest of his family was, but he was content in the silence of the evening just to sit.
It had been another long day. One that entailed taking Dean's statement and finishing his own. Luke scrubbed a hand over the top of head and took a long pull of the beer in his hand. He'd be glad to get this whole situation behind him.
"Hey."
With a slow blink, Luke dragged himself out of his reverie and took in the boy standing awkwardly off to the side of the swing.
"Hey," Luke offered with a smile. "How's it going?"
"OK." Dean shuffled forward, waiting for the swing to make its slow arc toward him. He looked hesitantly at Luke and, seeming to take Luke's lingering smile as permission, dropped into the chair when it nudged his knees.
The chair jerked on his landing, but the motion soon evened into smoothness. They swung in silence.
"Hey, Luke?"
"Yeah, kiddo?" Luke asked absently, watching the stars begin to make their appearances in the gathering dusk.
"I'm sorry you had to kill that guy," Dean said softly.
Luke felt his blood chill, and he hoped the stutter of his heart in his chest didn't show on his face. He forced himself to take a steadying breath before he turned toward Dean. "Me, too," he said honestly.
Dean bit his lip, eyes still on Luke almost nervously. "Are you OK?" Dean asked unsurely.
Luke had to clear his throat around the lump that had stuck there suddenly. He raised the arm that had been draped across the back of the swing so that he could scuff his palm across the back of Dean's head. "I am," he said. "I will be." Luke skimmed his hand down Dean's hair, resting it on Dean's neck where it curved into the boy's shoulder. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
Dean nodded slightly, but he still seemed worried.
"Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You know that I didn't shoot him because of you, right? It wasn't because I was angry about what was happening – even though I was. I fired because he had a gun, and he would have shot me or Sam if I hadn't stopped him." Luke bent forward, trying to see Dean's face in the gray light. "You understand that, don't you? That it wasn't your fault I shot that guy."
"Yeah," Dean whispered, head bowed.
Luke squeezed the thin shoulder under his hand again. "You do," Luke pressed.
"I do." Dean's head came up and he looked at Luke. "I just feel…"
Luke breathed out an understanding breath. "Yeah," he agreed. "But don't." He gave Dean a gentle shake. "Got it?"
Finally, a rueful murmured laugh. "Yes, sir."
And Luke pulled Dean closer, kissing him briefly on the temple before he dropped his arm fully over the boy's shoulders, pushing the swing back into motion with his feet.
xxxx
