Chapter Notes:

Just a short chapter here (or short for me, anyway). I'm wrapping the summer up beore we start school, but there's quite a bit that happens so I'm going to be breaking the summer down into 2 or 3 chapters. Here's the first installment. I hope to have the next one ready soon(ish). And if I've done my job well, you'll all have a certain song mentioned in this chapter stuck in your heads. ;)

Chapter 14

When his father warned him that training with Navy Seals wouldn't be a cakewalk, he really, really wasn't kidding. Every square inch of Dean's body ached, throbbed, or screamed plaintively for reprieve, from hours of gruelling exercises. When he wasn't slogging through mud with two hundred pounds of gear on his back, he was struggling through obstacle courses designed for men twice his body weight and many inches taller than him. Not to mention the fact that he was expected to keep up with the rest of the recruits who were training with him – all of whom were fully grown men who'd already gone through basic military training and had been in the armed forces for several years. Dean was fourteen and, though physically fit, was nowhere near their calibre.

Being fourteen didn't earn Dean any special treatment or favours, either. He was expected to hold his own or go the fuck back home: and going home was not an option. So Dean did what he did best. He grit his teeth, sucked up his pride and any and all feelings of inadequacy, and he got the job done. He pushed himself harder than he'd ever been pushed before. He approached each new task with a tenacity that rivalled the Energizer Bunny. He scaled insurmountable walls and landed proudly on the other side, to the complete amazement and surprise of the other, older men training with him. He struggled through it all and, by some miracle of God, made it through.

At first it had been very hard and he'd been tempted several times to just give up. The other recruits hadn't taken kindly to being trained with a kid – which they saw as insulting to their own macho pride and indulgent on the part of their superiors. They took him for some spoiled rich kid getting a taste at being a tough guy, and their ribbing and needling and insults had been downright hurtful.

But he was a Winchester, and a soldier, and he knew how to buck up and take his lumps. He knew that military units were all about order and respect and he wasn't about to sulk about it or complain like some whiny bitch. So he took their comments about him being a pretty boy. He took their crude jokes about him being a spoiled rich kid using Daddy's influence to play at being a real man. He took their laughter and derision about being weak and unable to keep up.

But when one of them made an off comment about his bandy legs and what that implied, Dean decided that enough was enough and gave a little back.

"Don't know what you're playin' at kid," Herschfelder, a stocky jarhead with rusty red hair and freckles covering every inch of his hard-muscled body commented with a sneer. "You can pretend to be a man all you want – but we seen the way you walk."

Dean had done his best to ignore the comment, opting to focus instead on making his bed while the others milled about in the bunkhouse. It wasn't the first time someone had made fun of his legs, and it wouldn't be the last. Still, it was an incoming insult that he'd be hard pressed to choke down, because he knew where it was going.

"Now, as I was sayin' to the guys," Herschfelder went on. "There's one of two ways a guy gets a swagger like yours." He grinned and a few of the other recruits snickered.

Dean continued to ignore them. If he got angry and showed it, Herschefelder would only get confirmation that his insult had stung, or worse yet, that it was true. So Dean pushed his feelings way down and fought hard to maintain the cool mask of indifference that had already carried him through the rougher moments in his life.

"Either you're a cowboy and you've spent your life in the saddle," the redhead drawled. "Or..." he paused, waiting for Dean to raise his eyes to meet his. Dean's heart was pounding in his chest, but he did his best to look unaffected.

"Or," Herschfelder continued, his grin widening when he saw that he had Dean's full attention. "Or someone's been ridin' you. And by the looks of that cocksuckin' mouth of yours, I think we all know which position you're most comfortable in."

The other men laughed harder, some of them 'ooohing' in acknowledgment of the proverbial line that the taunting recruit had just drawn in the sand. Dean didn't rise to the bait, but wasn't going to sit back and ignore it. No way did an insult like that go without comment.

"Maybe," Dean said with a shrug, getting up casually to stroll towards the lumbering freckle monster so he could peer up at him with his best, most well-practiced smirk.

"I'm guessin' by the way you've been makin' eyes at me since I got here that you'd know all about porking little boys."

"Ho-hoah!" the crowd laughed incredulously.

Dean leaned in close, close enough that he could smell the man's deodorant, and tilted his head up, licking his bottom lip slowly and peering up through his long lashes with cocky, languid grace.

"Either way, it doesn't matter," Dean smiled brazenly, bordering on a sneer. "I wouldn't let you touch me with a plastic one."

He proudly sauntered away to the sound of uproarious laughter as the remainder of the men in the barracks guffawed good-naturedly at Herschfelder's expense.

And later that day when it came time to practice hand-to-hand combat, Dean gladly laid the pompous dick flat on his ass with a few well-aimed and well-timed punches. He used his smaller height and weight to his advantage, zipping beyond the man's striking reach with fluid grace and ease, economizing his movement, saving his energy, and striking hard and fast when the moment presented itself. Herschfelder went down without managing to land a single blow.

From that moment onward Dean was given a wide enough berth. The older trainees didn't bother him, and occasionally even opted to help him out when it looked like he was going to drown or pass out or kill himself during an exercise. They didn't spit in his food or hide his bedding anymore, and when the two weeks were up he received more than a few well-wishes before he left. Several of the men had even been so good as to get him stumbling drunk in celebration of his surviving two weeks of Navy Seal bootcamp.

A little taste of hell, Dean thought ruefully, sighing in contentment as he sat slumped in the bucket seat of the Wesley's minivan. The hangover wasn't so bad – not nearly as bad as the 4th of July hangover – and he had the excuse of training to mask it. 'God my muscles are sore!' he'd groan, and Peter would wince in sympathy and return his eyes to the road. Dean couldn't wait to get back to the house to call his Dad and tell him about how things had gone.

It hadn't been the full training – the recruits would be there for another six weeks, minimum, before they were finished – but it had been more than enough for Dean regarding weapons and combat training. He felt certain even his Dad couldn't have taught him some of the moves and tactics that he'd learned with the Navy Seals, and a part of him was itching to get the chance to try some of them on the old man when he got out of jail. It would be beyond sweet to be able to beat his Dad some day, considering his Dad was the strongest, most badass hunter Dean had ever heard of.

Nobody stirred up any kind of fuss when Dean got home and made his way to his room to crash and sleep for a million years – a definite bonus. Sam was at a friend's birthday party and so Dean was spared the endless questions. Thank the god he didn't believe in for small favours. Suzie, on the other hand, was literally bouncing on the bed with excitement at his return. She didn't ask questions like Sam would: instead she showed her enthusiasm in a much more visible, physical way. She climbed on his back like a monkey, she scrambled over his lap and nearly drove her knee into his crotch in her attempts to peel him away from the bed because 'It's daylight and you're not s'posed to be sleeping in the daytime, Dean!'

Eventually they settled for watching a movie. Dean dozed and Suzie spilled cracker crumbs in his bed. That squawking brood of brats sang and danced onscreen and Suzie sang along, horribly off key but looking and sounding so cute Dean had to crack an eye open to watch her, a smile ghosting across his face in spite of how bone-deep tired he was. Then in the afternoon Dean got up and had a snack and took Suzie to the pool, where they played Marco Polo and other assorted games until they were wrinkled to prune-like perfection. Sam returned from the birthday party early in the evening, so full of questions and 'Can you show me how to do a choke hold?' and enthusiasm that Dean found himself grinning so much his face hurt.

When he fell asleep that night it was with the almost unnerving feeling that maybe things were going to be okay. Dean drifted off without the intrusion of painful memories or nightmares, his whole body relaxing into the bed as he allowed himself to feel at home for the first time in five years.

888

She never would have thought it possible, but the boys visiting John Winchester in prison had been the best thing that could ever happen to her family. Ever since then Dean was like a new person: vibrant, confident, and so alive with restless energy it was almost infectious. And Sam, too, seemed to step out of his own self-imposed shell, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his small frame, allowing him to breathe freely for the first time in months. Jane hadn't wanted to think about it too deeply, because it made her worry about all the ways that she was failing her little boy, but he'd been often-times subdued since Dean arrived. He worried and fidgeted and hovered like a mother hen, and no matter how many times she told him it was her job to fuss, Sam had insisted on being his big brother's protector.

But now he was all dimples and smiles again, full of natural little boy energy and enthusiasm for summer sports and games and food. Good lord, the boys were like bottomless pits, eating everything in sight and then some! With Dean around Sam was more active, always sparring and playing and rough-housing, and the constant activity called for frequent refuelling. She would swear the boys were going to get fat if she didn't see with her own eyes that they were constantly moving.

She shook her head in wonder at the ingenuity of their eldest boy, who seemed able to stir up trouble even when he was trapped behind a desk and buried in school work for eight hours a day. He could make a game out of anything, Jane figured.

With August underway, time was really of the essence with Dean's schooling. He had three weeks left to get caught up and pass all his entrance exams for Albright Academy. The pressure was on. They were all confident that Dean would pass the majority of his subjects, math and science with flying colours, but English was still proving to be a problem. That Platt girl Dean had befriended was a real help, but there was only so much reading a below-level reader could do in a few weeks' time, and the truth of the matter was that time and practice would prove to be the best tutors where his reading, writing and comprehension skills went.

Which was a real problem in light of certain traditional Wesley vacation plans.

Sam was over the moon excited about their yearly trip to the beach house in Long Beach, which the Wesleys had been doing since before Sam or even Dean was born. He talked about surfing and jet skiing and entering the sand castle building contest with barely contained enthusiasm, getting Suzie more riled up by the day. The two of them talked about it non-stop, promising Dean that the food and games in Long Beach were better than anywhere else in the world, buttering him up for what promised to be the best family vacation ever.

Neither Jane nor Peter had the heart to tell the kids that they wouldn't be able to go this year. She thought about lying, claiming that Peter couldn't get the time off work, but there were a variety of reasons that wouldn't work – number one among them being the fact that Sam would know it was a lie. Peter had booked the time off months ago and everyone knew it. Besides, lying was a sin Jane really would rather not commit, unless someone's life depended on it. But the truth felt like a sin too.

How could she let them down with the truth? It would be a major disappointment to Sam and Suzie: it would be devastating to Dean. He was the reason they couldn't go.

'He's still behind with his English,' Peter had said despairingly, ringing his hands through his hair as though he could strangle some kind of solution out of the soft, brown strands. 'If we go it's likely he won't be caught up enough to pass the Admissions exams.'

'We can't not go,' Jane had admonished. 'He'll know it's because of him – because of his schooling. He'll think he's ruined our summer!'

'I know.' Peter had sounded so defeated and helpless. 'Honey, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this. He's been working so hard…' And he'd looked at her with his big brown eyes pleading. 'He deserves a vacation!'

In the end they'd been left with no solution and the heavy weight of disappointment tasting of ash on their tongues. They couldn't go. It was as simple as that. They would have to forego their yearly summer trip to the beach house so that Dean could finish up his summer studies and pass his exams. Still… Telling them that they wouldn't be going was a task neither parent was keen on doing.

They were supposed to tell them at dinner, but somehow all the throat-clearing and foot nudging under the table, amongst many secretive and significant looks, couldn't make the words come for either Wesley parent. Dean had inevitably dropped his utensils with a heavy sigh and commanded that Peter and Jane should either spit it out already or go gargle with some salt or something. They gave up their abortive attempts and ate in silence.

It wasn't until late evening, just before Suzie's bedtime, that Peter finally mustered the courage to speak. The kids were all gathered in the living room, sprawled in heaps on the couch and loveseat in front of the television, their eyes glued to the screen as they watched "The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: Secret of the Ooze" for the dozenth. Sam was lying on his back on the loveseat with his feet up on the backrest, and Dean and Suzie were sprawled on the couch, Dean with his head on the armrest and Suzie lying comfortably on a pillow on his legs. The boys were laughing uproariously, throwing their heads back at the pathetic excuse for witty banter in the film, while Suzie laughed at the jokes because she actually thought they were funny. When Peter stood in front of the television to get their attention, all eyes turned reluctantly to him.

"Hey, uh… you guys got a minute?"

Suzie yawned and stretched and then surreptitiously poked a small finger into the underside of her big brother's foot, eliciting a startled yelp and knee jerk from the lounging teen. Dean mussed her hair and sat up straighter, tucking the recently-tickled foot into the cushion of the couch to safe it from further little sister attacks. Sam, Peter noticed, stiffened and sat up at full attention.

"Your mother and I have talked it over," Peter began. "And we've decided that…" He tried not to gulp at the prospect of continuing on. By the rigidity of Sam's back alone, Peter knew that there would be one heckuva fight coming when he finally broke the news about their cancelled vacation plans.

"We're going to bring the Platts along with us to Long Beach," Jane suddenly burst in, looking flushed but intensely relieved. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling broadly.

"What?" both Dean and Sam exclaimed at the same time.

"Why?" Dean asked.

Peter wondered the same thing, actually.

"Well," Jane hedged. "I was talking with Vicky the other day and she said that she and Robert were headed for Greece for a function, and she was saying how much she regretted not being able to take Angela and Adam on any kind of proper vacation this year, so… I thought we could take them with us."

Peter was about to argue, or call his wife aside to ask her what she thought she was doing inviting more kids along to a vacation they couldn't take, but his wife stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Now Dean, I know we've promised you a vacation, but you'll still need to put some school work in," Jane said somberly. "Since Angela will be there, she can probably help you out with some of your English assignments. If you get stuck…"

My wife is a genius, Peter thought. If they brought Angela along they could ensure that Dean put in a few hours' worth of work every day, with Angela there to help him out – which of course she would. The girl was in love with Dean, as far as thirteen year-olds were capable of being in love. Also, having Angela on the trip would provide Dean with a bit of a reprieve from his big brother duties. He'd have someone his age to hang around with so he wouldn't be tempted to spend all his time looking out for Sam and Suzie and missing out on his chance to just be a free, normal kid his age.

Peter tried not to think about the fact that Dean would never really be a free, normal kid his age. The poor boy's scars were too deep for that.

Sam was clearly excited at the prospect. He scooted forward to the edge of the couch, nearly hanging from his seat, his face alight and his cheeks dimpling.

"Hey Dad, can me and Dean and Adam and Angela rent jet skis? I can ride with Dean and Adam can ride with Angela."

Peter frowned. "We'll see."

"So wait," Dean said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're bringing the Platts all the way to California with us because their parents asked you to?"

Jane shrugged.

"The Bible says 'Love thy neighbour,' Dean." And Peter thought maybe his wife was smirking.

"Right!" Dean snorted a laugh. "And this has nothing to do with the fact that I still suck at English and Angela's been helping me out? And my entrance exam is three weeks away?"

"You don't suck at English," Jane admonished. "And I don't appreciate the language."

Peter nodded in agreement.

"You're just behind, is all," she said more tenderly. "The Platts are good kids. Angela's your friend, isn't she? I'd think you would want her to come."

Dean shrugged and pouted in thought. "She's my friend, sure. But it's not like I want to live with her for two weeks."

That much Jane didn't doubt. Dean was such an intensely private person that somehow 'bonding' had become something of a four letter word in the Wesley house. Anything that looked like it promoted 'closeness' was 'lame' or 'gay' or 'pansy-assed' in his book, and he shrugged it all off with the same casual indifference with which he approached most things. She worried that he wouldn't bond with anyone other than Sam and Suzie, that his friendships would never be closer than casual acquaintances. She wanted Dean to have people that he could turn to – people other than just his family. He needed people he could rely on to protect his fragile heart, people he could confide in.

"It's only two weeks," Jane scoffed casually. "Besides, it'll be fun."

"Right… fun." Dean didn't sound convinced. "Most kids think it's a laugh riot when their parents bring their tutors along for family vacations. That's how you spell F-U-N."

"His spelling's improving," Sam quipped with a dimpled smile. "Angela's definitely a good influence."

Dean's retort was lost in a series of shouts and a tangle of limbs as he leapt off of the couch and tackled his little brother. Skinny arms and legs flew in a mad flurry to deflect and defend, but Dean was much bigger and much stronger, his reflexes honed and his movements efficient and precise. Within a matter of moments Sam was pinned on his stomach, his arms held behind his back as his big brother straddled him and grinned triumphantly.

"Right, well…" Jane said. "I'll leave you guys to get back to your movie."

She and Peter grinned the entire way to their bedroom, the distant sounds of bickering and plaintive whining from Sam to be released and Dean's orders that Sam had to admit he was a girl fading in the background. It would be nice to hit the beach for their first ever family vacation with their newest addition, both Peter and Jane agreed silently.

888

Dean was lucky he didn't get carsick. He sat with his back to the door, propped up against it, his feet tucked up on the seat next to hers as he read aloud. Angela felt a little jealous of him for that because any kind of reading in a moving vehicle made her head swim and her stomach roil. It was vomit-inducing with 100% accuracy. Even now, with Dean reading aloud and her listening, it was hard to focus on the words, to check his pronunciation and clarify for him for words he didn't understand, while the van made its way along the highway. Motion sickness was this traveler's worst enemy. She would much rather listen to her walkman and tune out the drive altogether, but Dean had insisted that the six hour drive would be a perfect opportunity for him to get some work done – 'more time for fun in the sun when we get to California, Ange.'

At first she'd hated him calling her 'Ange.' It sounded so… mono-syllabic and nonsensical. Ange. Everyone else called her Angie, which she infinitely preferred to Ange, but Dean was having none of that. He would hiss as though in pain whenever anyone called her Angie, and when she asked for an explanation it was always the same.

"Angeh," he would sing plaintively. "A-haaain-geh! When will those clouds all disappear?"

And that was enough for her. He could call her whatever he wanted so long as it didn't involve his bad (though admittedly hilarious) imitation of the Rolling Stones. Besides, it was kind of cool that he had a nickname that only he called her. It was special somehow. Private. Theirs.

She watched his lips as he stumbled through his reading, looking slightly pouty as he mumbled out the words on the page, pausing every now and then to look up at her for reassurance or confirmation or correction. She thought maybe she could stare at his lips all day and not get tired of it – and with him busy reading, he didn't even notice her looking. It was win-win, really.

Sam, Suzie and her little brother Adam were sharing the bench seat in the middle of the van, leaving her and Dean free to fill up the two-seater in the back. It was cool because it was darker in the back, further away from the windows and the glaring sun, and they had the illusion of privacy. Dean also had a secret stash of junk food in his knapsack that he laid out for her perusal, offering up the candy and chocolate and chips as thanks for her help while they drove. He was always good like that, sharing what he had.

". . . 'he's more myself than I am,'" Dean read. "'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.'"

He paused and pursed his lips in thought a moment.

"Why the hell is she marryin' this ass?" he asked at length.

"Because she couldn't marry Heathcliff," Angela replied.

Dean sighed ran a tired hand over his eyes.

"See? This is why I hate this book. It's freakin' stupid. That Catherine's a bitch and she's marryin' some guy she doesn't even like. And Heathcliff's a dick. They're both so evil that getting married to anyone else is just… wrong."

"Way to sum up Wuthering Heights, Dean," Angela grinned. "Just keep reading."

He huffed and shot her an irritated glare, but continued.

"'My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees - my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath - a source of little visible delight, but necessary.'"

He heaved an aggrieved sigh and dropped the book in his lap.

"I swear to God, this book is so gay I can actually feel my balls shrinking up and turning into ovaries!" he whined.

Angela ignored him and opted instead to resume with the tutoring.

"Any elements of speech in that last passage?" she quizzed.

Dean flopped back against the seat with another huff and opened the book, his lips resuming their pout as he pried the weathered pages open to scour for the passage to reread it.

"Uh… simile?" he said hopefully, his brow furrowed in a question. "Because…" building more confidence. "She's comparing love with something else – in this case 'the foliage in the woods' – using 'like' or 'as.'" Then he grinned triumphantly. "Simile."

Angela grinned back.