—Sam Winchester—
"She'd love to meet you," Dean wheedled. Sam bit his lip, looking between Dean and his Dad.
"I just don't think it'd be a good idea," he said.
"Sam, you're still hurt. You could use some downtime. Cassie makes a mean lasagna."
"Does she know about hunting?"
Dean nodded, surprisingly enough. Sam swallowed. He had no reason to say no, technically. He just felt off . . . off kilter. Needed to get on his own, like being put in solitary in prison.
"Fine," he agreed reluctantly.
Dean bounced up, grinning. "Awesome. Can I drive the Impala?"
Sam twitched in irritation but acquiesced with a fake smile.
"Dean," John murmured, drawing Sam's brother aside. They exited together, talking softly. Sam followed, listening intently at the door.
"Dad, c'mon, what are you so worried for?"
"Sam's different than you remember, Dean. We have no way of knowing what he's become, what he's been through."
"Dad, you're being ridiculous. I'm getting Sam, you go on ahead."
Sam retreated, going back to pack his bags. He would give them two weeks.
—Dean Winchester—
Dean had never been so happy in his life.
He wasn't stupid enough to think that everything would be fine and peachy. But seeing Sam, alive, walking and talking . . . it was more than he'd ever dreamed.
Walking and talking, of course, was a bit of a stretch. Sam didn't say much, wandering around Dean's house with flat, wary eyes. Dean could practically see the tension making Sam's entire body taut with anxiety. Dean had no way of knowing why Sam was so on edge, because whenever he opened up conversation, Sam gave monosyllabic answers in response. A far cry from the endless chatter Dean used to put up with. It was almost like he wasn't really Sa—
Dean cut off the thought before it could go anywhere. Sam was Sam. Just older, hurt more, and needing Dean's help. Dean could handle that.
"I got some burgers, you want one?" He held one out.
Sam plucked it from his grip with tentative bony fingers. And there was another problem as well—Sam was on the edge of starvation, from the looks of him. Sharp cheekbones and a neck that looked too long because of how thin it was. Sam covered everything with thick layers, but Dean was willing to bet that his ribs were visible.
"How are you doing?" Dean winced as the words left his mouth. How awkward was that?
"Fine," Sam offered meaninglessly.
"You interested in doing something? Cards, a movie . . . whatever you want."
Sam's slanted eyes flickered over to Dean. "I'm okay."
Dean repressed a sigh—he'd been doing that a lot—and forced a smile. "Okay. No pressure."
They ate in silence, Sam only picking at his food.
"Would you like to go to church with us tomorrow?"
Sam blinked, obviously thrown. "Church?"
Dean brushed his hands clean. "Yeah. You know, singing, preachers, the whole shebang."
Sam shook his head. "Not my thing."
"Alright."
There were a myriad of questions waiting, but Dean couldn't seem to voice any of them.
"Have you been here the whole time?" Sam preempted his questions.
"Five or six years."
Sam 'huh'd quietly.
"What?"
"I was in St. Louis. When I was thirteen and fourteen."
"So close," Dean whispered.
Sam just eyed him, like he was worried Dean might flip out and attack him. All Dean wanted to do was drag him into his arms and hug him until he smiled.
Not to be a girl about it or anything.
"Craziest hunt you've been on?"
Sam looked momentarily terrified before his eyes flattened out. "Crazy?" he checked.
"Yeah, y'know. Weird, funny, whatever."
Sam licked his lips, a nervous gesture. Dean catalogued it silently in his mentally re-opened file on everything about Sam Winchester.
"I, uh, I heard about some weird occurrences, missing pets, one missing persons down in Florida. Couldn't get any kind of background info to get me anywhere, so I went after it with the standard supplies. Anyway, turned out it was this freak swamp monster. Thing was made half out of sentient vines, half out of this nasty goop. Got thrown around for a bit before I managed to open my pack and get the salt out."
"And then?" Dean prompted.
Sam smirked. "Dissolved when the salt hit it. Took me three days to get the nasty stuff out of my hair."
Dean shuddered in commiserating disgust. "I woulda set it on fire."
Sam rolled his eyes, a gesture Dean remembered from when he was twelve; nostalgia clogged his throat without warning. "Dude, the slime would not have burned. Trust me."
Dean grinned. "Wish I had been there."
"No, you really don't." Sam's expression went dark.
Dean took his opportunity and scooted forward on the armchair. "Sammy."
"Yeah?"
"You know you can tell me anything."
"Okay . . ." Sam picked at his jeans. "Sure."
"I mean it. Whatever's happened, whatever you aren't telling me . . . you're not alone, anymore. I can help you."
Sam shot to his feet. "I gotta . . . I need to go to the library, I'll be back soon." He made his escape and Dean watched him go sadly. Sam was there, but it was so hard to reach him.
—Sam Winchester—
Sam had learned long ago that there was a comfort in routine that he could never, ever rely on. Once a person started relying on patterns, it was nearly impossible to break them. And patterns would leave you vulnerable.
Dean's life was full of patterns. Patterns that put him and his wife at risk. The first night in their house, Sam waited until they were asleep and then got up. Dean had decent warding: lines of salt hidden around the entrances to the house, a couple protective sigils carved in the door, but not nearly enough protection against the things Sam had seen. Sam spent the night making up protective hex bags for the corners of the house, painting devil's traps beneath the carpet, any wards he knew. The next night, he did the same for John's nearby cabin.
It was the domestic stuff that threw him for a loop, though.
"Amen."
Sam glanced around awkwardly around the table, wielding his knife and fork.
"Would you like some peas, Sam?"
"Yes, thank you." Sam held the fragile dish and focused on not dropping it.
"So, Sam, you ever meet any girls?" Dean asked.
Sam stiffened. "Yeah. A little while ago."
John had come over for a 'family' dinner. His eyebrow raised. "And?" he prompted.
"Didn't work out." Sam used the excuse he had already exercised with several hunting acquaintances. "Her dad was a cop. Didn't want an ex-con with his daughter."
It took Sam a moment to realize that the table had gone far too quiet. He looked up, finding Dean, Cassie, and his father all staring at him.
"Ex-con?" Dean asked faintly.
Sam suppressed the urge to swear violently. "Just juvie," he lied. "I was, uh, joking. Sorry."
The laughter was shaky, but enough that Sam was able to breathe again.
After dinner, Dean hovered nearby, as he tended to, now. Sam looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Sam, if you've been hunting all this time, did you ever . . . did any other hunters know?"
"Of course."
Dean's eyes reminded Sam of emeralds—sharp and hard. "Did Bobby Singer know about you?"
"Sure."
The curses Dean let fall from his lips were a little shocking to hear in such a domestic setting.
"What?"
"He didn't tell us," Dean growled. He pulled out his cell phone, but Sam intercepted him before he could dial. For a moment, Sam watched him, resentment building up like bile in the back of his throat. Did Dean think he could fix everything by getting angry and blaming others?
"He didn't know it was me. I don't go by my real name in the hunting community. Or, well, anywhere."
"Oh." Dean let the phone drop. "Man, this is so screwed up. I don't even know what to do with this."
Sam shuffled his feet, resentment bleeding into guilt. "I can get out of your hair. Sorry."
Dean groaned. "Geez, stop apologizing. I wasn't meaning it that way, idiot. You have no idea how much I missed you, Sam. Starting a new life here was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I did it because I thought it was what you would have wanted. And now you can have it with us." Dean's entire face was lit up. It was funny. From Sam's vague memories, he could recall Dean being the pessimist in their family. Sam had been the optimist.
Yeah. Funny.
—Dean Winchester—
"Dean, you sure this will be okay?"
"Cassie, it's no big deal. Just a family dinner, yeah?"
Cassie glanced out at the table where John and Sam sat in silence. "A family dinner with a long-lost relative present," she muttered. "That'll go smooth."
"It'll be fine." Dean briefly pressed his lips against her temple. "For me, sweetheart?"
"Of course."
Dean balanced the dishes—ribs and potatoes, Cassie knew him well—and brought them to the table.
"Dean, will you say grace?"
"Of course."
Dean said the blessing and then dug in, conversation picking up as he asked Sam whether he had met any girls.
The conversation continued, Dean listening as he chewed on his potatoes.
Until Sam mentioned that his girl's dad didn't like him. Because he was an ex-con.
Dean stared, probably showing Sam a mouthful of food with his gaping mouth.
Sam stammered out an excuse: juvie, a joke, but Dean knew a true statement when he saw one. Maybe.
He was so unsure. What if Sam had been telling the truth? Had he really been stuck in prison?
"Dean, any fires recently?"
Dean jerked himself out of his head and back into the conversation. "Nah, no big ones. Just a couple grill fires going out of control, the usual."
"Why did you become a fireman?" Sam asked suddenly. His eyes were, for once, alive and sharp, and Dean swallowed in sudden trepidation.
"I, uh." Both Cassie and John were now also watching him. Dean ducked his head. "Dad and I were getting out of hunting because it was, well, because I thought it was what you would've . . . what you would've wanted. And, um, firefighting I could help people. And be normal."
He glanced up to find Cassie's soft gaze and a smile; John's solemn nod; and Sam's flat non-expression. Dean waited for Sam's reaction, but there was nothing.
"You ever get a job?" John interjected, looking at Sam.
Sam's face spasmed. "Yeah. Office job at J— at a friend's college." He looked down at his food, pressing his lips together. "Thank you for the dinner, Cassie. Excuse me."
He slid away, wraith-like, leaving the three of them looking at each other in despair.
A/N: making our way to the finale, guys! Thanks for sticking with me. All the love :)