"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" Tony knocked loudly on the door to the boys' room. "Sam, you better come downstairs for breakfast if you want to make it to school on time!"
Sam threw the covers off and hurried about the room, gathering textbooks and socks along the way before throwing open the door to a startled Tony.
"Hi, dad!" he called out before racing to the stairs.
The man was stunned for a moment, just looking at the back of the boy's head in awe, before shaking his head and noticing the lump under the covers of Dean's bed. "Dean? You okay?"
The teen grumbled in response. Panicked, Tony ran to the boy, expecting to see his son laying in a puddle of blood.
Instead, he found a very sleepy teenage boy, who swatted off the man's attempts to throw his blanket off.
"Stop it, Tony, I'm fine." Dean swatted the man away. "You don't need to make such a big deal about this."
The man looked at him funny but breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, Steve wants to talk as soon as the kids leave. Thor offered to drive today, and Steve and I both took the day off to monitor you. Where would you like to talk, Dean?" Tony asked. "Here? Steve's office? While you're eating breakfast?"
Dean sighed loudly as he resigned himself to the fact that he was not going to be able to sleep in today and mumbled, "Breakfast."
"Okay, sounds good," the man replied. "You still have about twenty minutes before the kids leave, but you might want to get a move on. You don't want to tear any of your stitches."
Dean heard the door shut as Tony left and huffed in annoyance. Tony was right. He pushed himself up slowly, testing the wound, and found that it was like every other set of stitches he had: yeah, it hurt, but nothing to bitch about. By the time he had finished getting dressed and brushing his teeth, he heard the kids calling out farewells to him up the stairs.
Time to face the music.
Dean trudged down the stairs to be greeted by the sight of Steve and Tony waiting for him at the breakfast table.
"Dean! How are you feeling sweetheart?" Steve stood and embraced the teen, not deterred at all when Dean stiffened before melting into the hug.
"Good. No complaints," he replied, and then moved to sit at the space with the plate covered in waffles. Tony offered him syrup and he dug in, moaning at the taste of the first real food he'd eaten in almost two days.
"Really? No complaints?" Tony pushed. "Do I need to remind you of your injuries?"
"I'm fine, just let it go," Dean brushed off the man, continuing his breakfast.
The parents eyed each other quickly. "Dean," Steve began, "If you're in pain, you need to tell us."
"But I'm not! Not really!" The teen was becoming agitated at the insistence of the men.
"Not really? Well, I would hate to see what real pain looks like, if this is fake," Tony spat, crossing his arms.
"So I got slashed up! Do you see me reaching for more pain pills? I can take care of myself!"
"And we don't doubt that!" Tony interjected. "But is this how you want Sam to behave?"
Dean's fork froze half-way to his mouth.
"What? What do you mean?"
"The way you're just pushing your wellbeing aside. Sam sees that, Dean, and he looks up to you. If you go about not telling us when you're injured or in pain, he's not going to, either," Steve explained.
"Sam would tell me."
"Are you sure?" the blond asked, leaning further across the table. "He wants to be an awful lot like his big brother."
"No, Sam is a smart kid."
"Maybe too smart." Tony saw fear in Dean's eyes as the teen stared at him.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slowly setting his fork down and giving the man his full attention.
"Sam told me he was used to taking care of you, Dean. Not only your fever but your injuries. How does he know how to treat injuries? I know the doctors don't think he knows about your abuse, but I think he knows something," Steve told his son softly.
Dean shook his head adamantly and resumed his breakfast. "No, he knows I get into a lot of fights. He's seen me scratched and bruised before."
"Does scratched and bruised cover head injuries and side gashes?" Tony sassed.
Dean simply stared at the man. "Yes."
"Alright, we're getting a little off topic," Steve held his hands up between the two, trying to keep the peace. "Dean, we have a list of things we want to talk to you about. Tony?"
"So, Dean. Do you want to go chronologically or in order of severity?" Tony asked, resting his head on his hands innocently. The question caused Dean to sputter, almost choking on his food.
"Tsk. Tony!" Steve reprimanded the man, rubbing the teen's back as he regained his breathing.
"I was being funny!" Tony defended. "It's the same order!" he continued, receiving a glare from both husband and son.
Dean finally swallowed his mouthful. "Well, I guess if I had to choose, let's go chronologically," he replied sarcastically.
"Okay, that would be you acting out," Steve helpfully supplied. "Although we found a solution for it, we do want to actually talk about it."
"Found a solution?" Dean questioned.
"You didn't realize? You stopped being a jerk when you and Steve started sparring," Tony reminded the teen.
"Really?" he asked, looking back at his behaviour over the past couple of months. "Huh. I guess you're right."
"Looks like you just needed to work off some steam," Steve smiled. "I was wondering if you think it's enough or too much. We could find you other activities to burn more energy, or we could scale back if you'd like. It's completely up to you."
Dean stuffed a piece of waffle in his mouth to avoid answering right away. The men waited patiently. "Um. I guess what we're doing is working? I–I'll let you know when it's not?" Dean answered hesitantly, judging the men's reaction to his thoughts.
Steve smiled a little brighter. "Sounds good. Just let me know!"
"Next! Bertha What's-her-name!" Tony interjected.
Dean rolled his eyes. "You know it's Becky Walters. And what about her?"
"Less about her, and more about you. So," Tony leaned forward and straight-faced asked the teen: "Were you being safe?"
"Oh my god! Yes, Tony, we were being safe!" Dean blushed, hiding in his plate.
"Oh, now he gets shy! Never mind when he's asking specific details about our sex life and rimming–"
"Oh my god, Tony, stop!" Dean shouted. Both Tony and Steve were laughing at the embarrassed teen.
"But seriously, kid." Tony straightened up. "Have you been safe with every person you were ever with?"
"Are you asking me if I'm clean?"
"Answer the question, Dean."
The three were quiet as the adults waited for an answer.
"Every girl I was with, yes," Dean finally muttered.
"So there are boys you've been with where you haven't?" Steve asked softly.
"Men," the teen whispered.
The atmosphere of the room shifted.
Dean stared at the table while the men processed the information. Their hearts hurt for the boy in front of them, and rage boiled in their stomachs for the men who dared touch their son. Pushing everything aside, Steve continued the conversation.
"And were you ever tested after those times?"
Dean shook his head. "I refused. I'm not about to let another perv near me like that."
"Oh Dean, darling, they're doctors! They would never hurt you!" Steve tried to comfort the boy.
Dean hung his head and whispered, "Just like adults are never supposed to hurt you? How they're never supposed to wake you up in the middle of the night to 'play' with you when your little brother is sleeping three feet away?"
Once upon a time he would've said the words in anger, but he was tired. Tired of the world kicking him down and expecting him to get back up again.
"Yeah, no. I never got tested."
Both men were fighting back tears at what the teen revealed.
"How about we try again?" Tony suggested. "We could see Dr. Cho again, you liked her right?"
"No."
"Dean–"
"No. I'm not getting tested."
"It's for your health, Dean–"
"I don't care."
"Are there no adults you trust with that at all?" Steve inquired. "Doesn't have to be a doctor, do you trust one adult to never force you to do anything of the kind?"
Dean paused and thought for a moment. "Well, Mr. Wilson, but I'm not letting him near me right now," he admitted.
"Fair enough. Anyone else?" Steve pressed.
Dean thought hard, then looked up to his foster parents. "You two?" he whispered. It was the most vulnerable the couple had ever seen Dean.
"Do you trust us to stop anyone else who might want anything like that from you?" Steve continued, as if the confession hadn't filled him with so much love he thought his heart would explode.
The teen nodded.
"This really is important, Dean. Would you be willing to consider getting tested with us in the room with you? Keeping you safe?"
Dean looked to the men, taking his time as he thought out the proposition. "You wouldn't leave me alone for a second?"
"We wouldn't dream of it," Tony assured the boy.
The teen nodded slightly, then asked to change the subject.
"Okay, then. Next on the agenda: where did you get the codeine from?"
This question Dean was expecting, but that didn't make it any easier to answer. Staring at his hands, the teen remained silent. The room was quiet once more while the minutes slipped by.
Seeing that Dean had no intention of answering the question, Steve prompted the boy, "Dean?"
"You said you don't want me to lie to you. So I won't."
"Dean, please. We need an answer," Tony pushed.
The teen remained quiet.
"Dean, we promise you won't get in trouble for telling us," Steve urged.
Dean didn't so much as blink.
Frustrated, Tony threw his hands up. "I see no reason why you can't tell us, Dean!"
Again, he said nothing.
"Okay. Here's what I think." Tony folded his hands on top of the table in a mock business pose. "You're worried that if you tell us where you got the codeine, you'll lose access to your supplier."
"What?" Dean finally spoke.
"This isn't the first time you've gotten drugs from this source, is it?" Tony accused.
"Tony!" Steve's Captain voice made another appearance, silencing the room once more. "We are not accusing Dean of having a drug problem!"
"Hey, it's what I would've done at his age!"
"You were doing cocaine at his age," Steve shot back.
"Actually, I started cocaine at sixteen, Mr. Know-It-All! Fourteen was ecstasy!"
"That was not the point and you know it. Anyways," Steve directed the conversation back towards the teenager. "To ease our minds, Dean. Have you ever done recreational drugs?"
"I don't put that shit in my body," he grumbled.
Steve raised his arms to present his case to his husband.
"Well, then there's no reason for him not to tell us!" the man responded, agitated at the lack of progress they were making.
"Dean," Steve looked the boy straight in the eye. "Do you have a good reason for not telling us where you got the codeine?"
The boy nodded.
"Will you ever willingly do drugs that were not prescribed to you again?"
"No promises, but I'll do my best," Dean replied, which was not the answer his parents were looking for, but they knew it was the best they were going to get from the teen.
"I'm guessing we just have to accept that. In any case, if you used your allowance to buy it, just a reminder that that's not why we give you that money. Spend it responsively and all that jazz," Tony sighed as he ruffled a hand through his hair.
Shooting a nervous glance to Steve, Tony rested his elbows on the table and made sure he had Dean's full attention. "There is one more thing I want us to talk about, Dean. How much do you remember from when you were feverish?"
Dean blinked, surprised. "Um, I think everything? I mean, I wouldn't really know if I forgot something, but nothing is really too blurry–"
"How about when you fell off your bed?" Tony guided the boy.
"When I–yeah, I remember that. Why?" The teen was truly confused as to why they were talking about his lack of coordination. "I was feverish and the concussion didn't help, why–"
"It's not about that, it's–" Tony paused, the man of many words struggling to come up with the right ones.
"It's because of how you reacted to Tony that we wanted to talk to you," Steve interjected.
"You were terrified of me, Dean," the father choked out. "I need to know that–we need to know that you're not scared of us like that. We would never hurt you! We need you to–"
"Woah!" Dean held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not scared of you two! You are the only parents I've ever had where I'm legit not worried you're gonna hurt me." The teen leaned closer to the couple, stabbing his index finger into the table to emphasize his words.
"I was delirious, and you thought I did recreational drugs. Of course, I thought you would hurt me. It's what I've known not only for the past couple years, but my whole damn life! If I came home high, you can bet my dad would've beat my ass!" Dean slowly leaned back into his seat, dropping his gaze to his twiddling hands. "And–I–when I saw that I had...made a mess on the floor and your shoes, Tony, I–I know that I forgot where I was, and if that ever happened with my other foster fathers…" he trailed off. "That's why I didn't want you to touch me. That's why I fell off the bed to get away from you. I forgot where I was and didn't remember you at that moment. I promise.
"You two are the only ones who actually give a crap about me. About how I'm doing and how I'm feeling. And–I can't apologize enough for how much trouble I've been." The teen took a deep breath and closed his eyes tight. "All the stress I've caused you with having to get me from school two days in a row, to me using those stupid pills and leaving you with that damn hospital bill. I'll do my best to pay you back, but I don't know if I ever can. I–I'm so sorry."
"Hey," Steve reached across the table to lightly grasp the boy's hand. "Don't you dare apologize for being hurt. Tony has more than enough money, and we wouldn't dream of asking you to pay any bill. The only thing we're upset about is the fact that you needed to go to the hospital in the first place!"
Tony nodded vigorously. "Do not be afraid to tell us when you're hurt, Dean. Self-medicating is dangerous and can cause even more problems, if it doesn't kill you straight out."
"We'll take you to a doctor any time you need us to, Dean," Steve promised. "We have money to spare, but we can't buy another one of you."
Dean looked at the men with wide, innocent, and unbelieving eyes and squeezed Steve's hand tightly, before shaking his head and clearing his throat. "Um, thanks. I–I'm still sorry," he said, somewhat awkwardly into his empty plate, taking his hand away from Steve.
"We know," Tony sighed. "Unless you have any business you would like to attend to, or any questions you would like answered, you should be returning to bed, young man," he instructed.
Dean shook his head and made to bring his empty plate to the sink, only to have Steve take it from his hands.
"I'll wash the dishes, Dean, don't worry about it. Oh! And before I forget, you have an appointment with Dr. Mills tomorrow night," Steve reminded the teen.
Tony helpfully called out, "Hopefully this one won't end up with you inside another girl!"
Steve threw a towel at his husband for the remark.
Tony glared at the man in feigned surprise and anger. "Ow?!"
Great, Dean thought about having to sit through another almost painful therapy session. More talking.