Strangers and Angels
Part 6
I'm completely making up how Sam left for college.
xxxx
Jo put her book on the bedside table, and reached for the lamp to turn out the light. She hesitated. She'd been thinking about the leftover macaroni and cheese in the fridge for the last 30 minutes. She shouldn't.
No.
She really shouldn't.
She turned out the light and lay there for five minutes.
Mmmmmm. Mac and cheese.
She sat up, and swung her legs off the bed, fumbling for her slippers. Oh well.
She could see the kitchen light on from the top of the stairs. Dang it. If one of those boys had deprived her…
When she reached the bottom and turned into the kitchen, it was Dean she surprised, sitting at the table, a forkful of macaroni and cheese halfway to his mouth. He startled up out of the chair.
She smiled at him ruefully. "Hey."
"Hey," he said. He looked acutely embarrassed. "I'm sorry." He put the fork down and pushed the bowl away from him a little. "I couldn't sleep, and…" he trailed off.
"And the macaroni and cheese called to you?" she asked, reaching into the cabinet for another bowl. She'd told both Sam and Dean they were welcome to raid the fridge, so she pretended like she didn't notice he was acting like he was guilty of something.
"Yeah," he said sheepishly, still standing awkwardly like he was waiting for her to chastise him.
She opened the fridge and pulled out the casserole dish. She spooned macaroni into her dish. There wasn't much left.
"You want the last of this?" she offered. "No point in leaving it."
Dean blinked, hesitating. Then he nodded, holding out his bowl. She split it between them.
"You want it warmed up?" she asked absently.
"Thanks," he said, sitting down again. "I like it cold."
She smiled, joining him. "Me, too." She hooked a foot around the leg of one of the other chairs, pulling it close. She propped her feet up on it.
"Nice p.j.s."
Jo looked down at her legs. She'd forgotten what she was wearing—a pair of royal blue fleece pajama bottoms plastered with large Tinkerbelles. Her robe covered the top—a t-shirt with a winking Tinkerbelle that said saucily, "In Your Dreams." She was pretty sure that Tommy, the giver of this particular gift, had not gotten the innuendo. Luke, on the other hand, who had taken the boys Christmas shopping for her, had waggled his eyebrows at her when he'd asked how she'd liked her gift.
She took another bite, choosing to ignore the slight smirk on Dean's face.
"Thanks."
The smirk turned into a grin, and he ducked his head back down to his food.
Surreptitiously, Jo watched Dean eat the leftovers as she ate her own. The Winchester boys had been in her house for less than a week, and Jo had a hard time remembering life without them. How was it possible that she'd come to love them both so much?
In the years since she'd started the motel, she'd made these kinds of connections with guests before. There were just times when you "clicked" with someone. She kept up with several people who had started as guests and become, almost overnight, fast friends. Emails and Christmas cards and occasional phone calls kept her connected with people who had never seemed like strangers even on first meeting. That was one of the things she loved about her life—meeting new people, hearing their stories, sometimes caring for hurts or sharing joys. She got to see so much through the people who came through her motel.
Jo had been mulling over the stories Dean and Sam had told on Sunday afternoon – the two of them with their father on the road; Sam and Dean on their own, making a path together.
Dean had told one story that was just him and his dad, and the dynamic between the boys had changed completely. Initially, she'd thought Sam's silence came from the fact that he hadn't there. But it was more than that. Sam's eyes had been down, and Dean had studiously avoided his brother's gaze. Normally, Jo had noticed, the boys were constantly in visual contact. She'd never seen two people communicate so effectively just through the looks they gave each other. But when Dean had started in on this story without Sam, they hadn't looked at each other once.
For all their avoidance, though, she'd also realized that they'd been acutely aware of each other. Sam had been almost vibrating, so intently was he focused on Dean. And Dean's voice had softened imperceptibly as he'd talked, his manner and tone strangely gentle, almost apologetic, as he'd negotiated telling the story without Sam's input. Like Sam, Dean had seemed hyper-aware of his brother. Though he'd never so much as glanced at Sam, it had been clear to Jo that Dean's attention had been completely on the young man sitting across from him.
And Jo had wondered.
"It must have been hard when Sam left for school," she said suddenly, questioning.
Dean's eyes came to hers, then dropped back to his bowl. He lifted a shoulder slightly and smiled somewhat wryly.
"Yeah."
Jo didn't pursue it. They ate in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.
"It was weird," he said suddenly. He looked at her swiftly and away. "Not to have Sam around."
"I bet," she said. "I can't imagine what it will be like when Michael goes, and I've got two more around as back-up."
"Well, Michael will probably call." He said it casually, but there was an underlying something there as well.
Jo had been surprised and it must have shown clearly on her face.
Now Dean looked uncomfortable, and he shifted in the chair. But he didn't retreat. "Dad and Sam had a huge fight the day he left, so…"
"How long did y'all not talk?" she asked quietly.
"We talked some the first couple of years, but he was so pissed at Dad, it just got too hard; so the last two years pretty much not at all."
"Dean, I'm sorry. That must've been…"
But he talked over her. "It was OK. Sam needed to figure out who he was." Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. "Or something. And, you know, Dad and I. We did OK. " He shook his head. "Sam wanted normal. Safe. And I guess …" he trailed off.
Normal. Jo could see that. It sounded like their childhood had been hard, fragmented. She knew their mother had died when they were young, and from the stories the boys had told, they'd moved around a lot. But safe? Jo found herself troubled by that word. She frowned slightly, but Dean had continued on.
"Sam was always so damn smart, you know? He loved school and teachers loved him, talked about how bright he was, how gifted." She could hear the pride and a certain note of longing in his voice. "We moved around so much and when he got older he always wanted to stay. And we never did. Never could." He shrugged. "It was hard, and it got worse when he got in high school. He blew the top off every test he took, and everyone started talking about colleges and scholarships. And dad…" He was lost in thought, remembering. "Dad didn't want to let him go. Thought he couldn't keep him safe…"
There it was again. Safe.
"But Sam couldn't see that. He thought he could get something safe, something normal, away from … away from the life we'd been living." He paused. "Away from us."
Jo was confused. And more than a little disturbed. What had made their life with their father unsafe? Why had it been such an issue with Sam, and apparently not one at all for Dean?
Dean looked up at Jo. "He applied for college without telling either of us. Took the SATs, paid the application fees, arranged for interviews." There was a certain amount of surprise and hurt in the tone as he said it. Although again, the pride. Like he still couldn't believe that Sam had done that. "He had a place to live and a ticket to California when he told me and Dad."
A significant pause.
"Dad was beyond pissed." No mention of his own feelings.
"And scared, I think, now," Dean acknowledged. "But, of course, Dad wouldn't say that. Just went completely ballistic." Dean's face when she glanced at him had gone completely still with the memory.
"They'd gone at it before, but… God," he whispered. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Sam said he was leaving he didn't care what Dad said. Dad said if Sam left he should never come back."
Dean cleared his throat slightly. "And Sam walked out the door."
Jo's own throat was tight at the pain she heard so raw in Dean's voice. He looked at her suddenly, self-conscious that he'd said so much. He looked down quickly again, focusing intently on the remainder of his macaroni and cheese.
Jo didn't say anything in response, just let him collect himself. She wondered how much he'd said of this out-loud to anyone before.
After a couple of minutes she said questioningly, "So, you and your dad stayed on the road?"
Dean cleared his throat.
"Uh, yeah. Did jobs, traveled."
"Sounds lonely," she said, without really thinking. It did sound lonely to her—no roots, no connection.
"Sometimes," he allowed quietly.
He met her eyes briefly, giving her a sweet smile she'd never seen before.
"Mostly I liked it, though. Working with my Dad, helping people. I missed Sammy, I guess."
Now the smile was rueful, not wanting to admit it.
She smiled at him in return.
"What changed?"
He cocked his head at her, unsure.
"The two of you together."
"Oh." He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Well, Dad was gone for a couple of days on a hunting trip. I got worried and asked Sam for help finding him. He came and we, uh, found Dad, but when I took him back to Stanford, that's when Jessica had been killed." He stopped abruptly. Jo noticed that he wouldn't meet her eyes. "We just decided to take some time."
There was more to this than he was telling her, she knew. But she wasn't going to press it.
"How's Sam doing with that?"
"Better. He's … dealing."
Jo nodded. "I'm sure it's a help for him to be with you."
Dean looked at her and shrugged. There was something in his eyes that made her heart ache a little. "I don't know. Sam's pretty strong. He doesn't really need me that much."
"I think you're wrong about that."
Dean dropped his gaze. Again with the shrug, focusing on his now empty bowl.
She watched him in silence, debating.
"He adores you. You know that, don't you?"
His head came up, and she saw a flush spread over his cheeks, pleasure and embarrassment.
"He thinks I'm a pain in the ass."
Jo rolled her eyes.
"Well, he's your little brother. Of course he does. But he also follows you around like a puppy." She smiled. "An enormous, teasing, floppy-haired puppy admittedly, but still."
Dean laughed. She could tell he wasn't completely buying what she was selling, but he was thinking about it. Who would have thought that he couldn't see what was so obvious to everyone around him?
Dean stood, taking his bowl to the sink. He grabbed hers on the way, rinsing them both and putting them in the dishwasher.
"Thanks," he said. "See you in the morning."
"Good night, Dean."
Jo sat for awhile, enjoying the quiet and the stillness of the house at night. In the silence, she reflected on the last half hour. There was something about late-night talks—the darkness outside, the safety inside— that seemed to inspire confidences. Her favorite conversations with her nephews always happened sitting on their beds in the dark, listening to them talk about their days—confessions about girls they liked, or teachers they hated, fights and friends, fears and joys—glimpses into their hearts that were sometimes so tender and bittersweet they left her breathless.
She felt a little awed that she'd just had such an encounter with Dean Winchester's heart. And she pondered what, if anything, to do with that knowledge.
xxxx
"See?" Dean pointed at the diagram he'd drawn. "See how it will work?"
They were sitting in one of the back booths of the diner, and Dean was explaining the solution he'd worked out regarding the location of a built-in set of bookshelves Jo had asked him to include in the remodel. Both Luke and Jo had been watching the presentation with interest. Jo could see exactly what Dean had planned, and she approved. Luke was nodding as well, and when Jo met his eyes, she could tell he was impressed.
Jo smiled at Dean's pleasure. He was rightfully proud of what he'd come up with and Jo was pleased with it. He'd kept her in the loop as he'd worked out what he wanted to do, and she'd enjoyed listening to him talk through his ideas. She'd wanted Luke to see it because she felt like he had a better eye for these type of things, and Dean had been eager to show it to Sam. Sam had joined them just as Dean was finishing and had listened with a slight smile on his face at Dean's enthusiasm.
But now Sam was shaking his head. "Dude, no one's going to want a bookshelf there. If you build it there…" Sam continued on, ripping to shreds Dean's work and logic. Jo had never heard either of the boys speak to the other that way before. She and Luke exchanged startled looks.
Jo watched the smile on Dean's face falter, hurt and embarrassment flashing into his eyes as his gaze flicked to her and Luke. The grin was back almost as soon as it had been gone, but the light in his eyes didn't return as Sam finished.
"Yeah. Well." He cleared his throat, and shrugged, eyes on the plans in front of him. "It might work." There was an awkward silence as Jo tried to think of something to say. "Well," he said again. "I need to go see…" Dean slid out of the booth, and walked away, jamming his hands in his pockets as he went.
Sam was shaking his head and he rolled his eyes at Jo, trying, she felt, to make her complicit in his humiliation of his brother.
She stood.
"May I talk to you for a minute, Sam?" she said stiffly.
Startled by her reaction, Sam put his mug down. "Uh. Sure."
"In the kitchen." She stalked off.
"Am I in trouble?" he asked Luke uncertainly as he stood.
The sheriff looked at Sam thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I think you are."
xxxx
Sam stepped hesitantly into the kitchen behind Jo.
"Sit down, please."
Sam lowered himself into one of the chairs at the table, feeling the pit in his stomach start to grow. He'd witnessed this scene a couple of times already—usually with Jacob. That couldn't be a good sign.
"Do you know how hard your brother worked on the plans for those bookshelves?"
Sam swallowed. He did. Dean had been mumbling over them for a couple of days.
"Do you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then why would you do that?" she asked. "Why would you belittle him in front of Luke? In front of me?"
Jo watched Sam's face fall.
"I didn't mean … I didn't… I was just pointing out that he hadn't thought about…."
"You basically called him stupid and dismissed hours of work he'd done on that project."
"I did not call him stupid!" Sam was indignant. "I…"
"Maybe not in so many words," she cut him off, "but you questioned his logic, his numbers, and his abilities. You certainly made it sound like you didn't think him capable of doing the job." She had her hands on her hips and she was glaring at him.
"You hurt him, Sam."
Sam snorted. "Hurt Dean? How?" He sounded incredulous. "Dean doesn't care what I think," he said. "I'm just Sammy, pesky little brother." He actually sounded petulant. "If he cared about what I thought, he could have asked."
Good. Lord.
Was he hurt that his brother had worked on this project by himself?
She sighed. "Sam…"
But now Sam had a head of steam going. "Look. You're wrong. Dean couldn't care less what I think. He never has. You don't know him. You don't know us." Sam's jaw had set, and his face had hardened. It was a look she'd never seen from him before.
"You don't know anything about my brother and me," he said coldly. Back off.
"Maybe," she conceded. There was nothing like another person's anger to take the starch out of her own. And she recognized that she'd overstepped. "But Sam…"
He stood, ready to walk out, and she spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"Will you listen to me for just a second?"
He paused, not looking at her.
"You're right. I have no idea what your history is with your brother. But I know what I've seen the last few days. I know what I've heard when Dean talks about you." She kept her voice deliberately steady, and waited for a second until she knew she had his attention.
"And if you think that Dean doesn't care what you think, you're doing your brother and yourself a real disservice, Sam. I honestly don't know that there's much Dean does care about except you—what you think and how you feel."
Now Sam's eyes came around to her. There was no acknowledgement of what she'd said there.
"But you should realize that he needs to know that you respect him, the same way you want him to respect you. If you think that he doesn't, you're not paying attention."
The set look on Sam's face shifted subtly. He nodded tightly before he walked out the back door.
xxxx
Jo went out front and found Luke still seated at the booth. She slid in and looked at him.
"So, how'd that go Mama Bear?" he asked.
She put her head down on the table.
"Will you have dinner with us tonight?" she asked plaintively.
"Coward."
xxxx
Luke, of course, had pity on her and showed up a few minutes early to start grilling. She didn't know why she felt like she needed a buffer so badly, but she was dreading facing Sam again. She hated that she'd jumped into the middle of things so thoughtlessly. Sam and Dean were not her children; they didn't need or want her to negotiate their squabbles. She'd just… Gah. She hated this.
Dean entered the kitchen first, Sam following slowly behind. Jo was setting the table.
"Hey, look." Dean pulled out the piece of paper he used to make his careful plans. He spread it out in front of her. "Look. Sam had a couple of ideas that I think are really going to work."
Jo put down the knives and forks she'd been placing around the plates. Dean's voice was excited, and when she looked over at him, he was grinning.
He pointed to a couple of places. "See if we change this—here and here—we can add a little more room, and make it more convenient from the bed."
Jo risked a hesitant glance at Sam, who was still standing by the door, leaning back against the wall. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, and his eyes were on Dean. When he realized Jo was watching him, he turned somber eyes to her.
"Well, I think… I think that sounds fine," she said softly. Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile, and she could see the apology in his eyes.
She smiled her acknowledgement and an apology of her own.
Sam nodded and pushed off from the doorjamb. "You want me to finish that?" he asked, reaching for the silverware she'd put down.
"Yes, thank you, Sam." She reached out and squeezed his forearm.
"Dean, will you take the meat out to Luke?" Dean folded up the plans and grabbed the plate as the younger boys tumbled into the room.
"Sure."
xxxx
A few days later, Jo had finally found someone to take Carol Anne's place, so Sam and Dean were switching to working full time on renovating the rooms. She found herself missing having one of them around, but shook it off, reminding herself that they'd be gone completely sooner than she liked to think about.
The hiring process had been complicated by the fact that the Tommy had brought home a fairly stubborn flu that he'd shared with his brothers and Jo. She'd had two or three of them home over the last several days even as she'd sniffled and coughed and ached her way through their care. All three were back in school today, and while she was still tired, she knew she was pretty much well herself. She was just thankful she'd had a mild case.
When Sam and Dean came in for breakfast, she watched them shuffle over to a table, Dean in the lead, Sam close behind, almost stepping on his brother's heels. He was bent over, saying something to his brother that Dean shrugged off with an irritated glance.
"Dude, stop," she heard as she approached with coffee.
"Mornin'," she said.
Sam smiled at her. "Mornin'."
Dean reached for his mug, grunting.
Jo raised an eyebrow at the non-greeting.
"Everything OK?"
Dean was nodding even as Sam said, "Dean's sick."
"Sam. Shut up." Jo could hear the congestion thick in Dean's voice. He coughed.
She turned to the older boy.
"You think you caught what the kids had?"
Dean shrugged.
"I think he has a fever," Sam contributed.
Dean glared at his brother, growling low in his throat. He coughed again.
Not thinking, Jo put the order pad down and reached out to lay a hand on Dean's forehead. He startled at the contact, but let her leave her palm there for a couple of seconds. She removed her hand from his head and pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. He did feel warm.
"I think you might," she said.
"I don't." Short.
Jo glanced at Sam who grimaced and shrugged. But Jo could see that there was worry there as well.
"I have a thermometer in the kitchen. Come on back. It'll only take a second."
Dean stayed seated. Stubborn.
Jo watched him thoughtfully. She'd really tried not to play the "Mom card" with either of the Winchester boys—almost catastrophic incident with Sam aside. For one thing, obviously, she wasn't their mother. For another, they weren't children. And finally, she suspected that Dean particularly wouldn't respond very well to any attempt to mother him. She wasn't sure why, but there'd been something about him that had said, Don't. As she'd gotten to know the brothers, she'd begun to understand the reason for that, and she'd respected it—kept things friendly, maybe sisterly, but not motherly.
She wondered now though what would happened if she pulled out the big guns with him.
"Did I say something to make you think that was a request?" she asked quietly.
There was a sudden stillness at the table as both boys froze at her tone.
Dean's eyes flicked over to her, and she looked back at him steadily, stepping to one side so that he had a clear exit from the booth.
Without saying a word, Dean slid over, and stood up. He didn't look at her as he passed her and made his way back to the kitchen.
Jo looked over at Sam, meeting his wondering gaze. "Wow."
She couldn't help but laugh. Sam moved to get up as well, but Jo put out a hand to stop him.
"Why don't you let me see what I can do? With two of us, he might feel like we're ganging up on him."
Sam back into the booth, nodding. "He's so pissed at me right now, anyway, I doubt I'd be any help."
Jo turned to go and then looked back.
"He mentioned being sick when y'all first got here," she said hesitantly. "What…? Should I be looking for anything?" She sounded fearful even to herself.
Sam looked at her, surprised. "He told you that?"
"Just briefly. Said he'd been sick, and you were worried abut him."
Sam's glance went out the window. "It was his heart," he said softly. Jo was stunned.
"His heart? But…"
"He got… electrocuted," Sam's voice cracked on the word, "a few weeks ago. It damaged his heart. Really bad." He swallowed convulsively. "They told us he was going to die."
Jo felt like the breath had left her body.
"Sam," she whispered.
"I took him to a faith healer," Sam admitted. "He was so mad." An unsteady laugh. "But he was healed." His eyes went to Jo. She could only stare.
"I know that a cold isn't going to… Won't…" He couldn't seem to complete the sentence. "I just…"
She nodded, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to his cheek. His eyes slid shut at the contact and the comfort.
"We'll get him well, Sam."
xxxx
Dean was standing against the counter when she came into the room. Arms crossed over his chest, he was staring at his shoes. Ah, the male ego, she thought, knowing full well that he felt horrible and probably wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed. Or at least sit down.
She ignored his sulking and crossed to the drawer where she kept her downstairs medical supplies.
"Sit down," she said calmly, pulling out the thermometer.
He went over to the kitchen table and dropped into a chair.
"I'm fine," he said.
She looked at him. "I'll tell you what. If your temperature is under 100, I'll leave you alone and you can do whatever you want. If it's over 100, we'll talk."
"Can you get Sam off my back?"
"If it's under 100, I'll tell Sam to lay off," she agreed. Jo had no doubt his temperature was over 100. His skin had been warm enough, and he had a slight flush that concerned her a little.
Dean sighed and acquiesced. He turned his head toward her and she put the electronic thermometer in his ear.
It beeped.
102.5.
She showed it to Dean.
"Dammit."
She chuckled. "Watch your language."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Honey, I'm sorry." And she was.
Exposed, Dean slumped in his chair, putting his head down on the table. "I feel like crap."
Now she laughed outright. For heaven's sake.
She went back to the drawer and pulled out the flu medicine she had left from her own bout with whatever bug this was.
"Hold out your hand."
He did and she put a couple of gelcaps in his hand.
"Take these and then go back to bed."
Dean eyed the pills.
"I've worked sicker than this," he said. She could tell he didn't want to, but felt like he should.
He tossed back the pills and rested his head on his folded arms again.
"Dean. The best thing you can do is get well. And you'll get well faster if you rest and take care of yourself."
He made a groggy scoffing noise.
She considered. "And you know Sam's worried about you."
Not so much with the scoffing this time. Although there was a bout of coughing that brought tears to his eyes. Jo rubbed his back trying to soothe the convulsions.
"He'll feel better if he knows you're going to let yourself heal."
Dean sighed and struggled to his feet.
"OK."
"Good."
He looked at her resignedly. "Any way you can get Sam off my case?"
She smiled. "I'll do what I can," she promised.
xxxx
