Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story
Chapter 3
Dean couldn't think, couldn't even try to take in the conversation he was clearly never meant to have heard. Seeing his father and brother, standing opposite each other like gunfighters in the midmorning heat, the anger and hatred? radiating off both of them, so tangible Dean could taste its bitterness. They both stared at him, shock evident in their expressions. Neither said a word, and Dean realised this was another contest, they were still trying desperately to best each other. His face tightened in anger.
"What the hell is going on?" He forced out through tense jaw. His dad's face was closed, a mask hiding his emotions, but the shock was still there, being forced down beneath layers of calm and patient blankness. His little brother was never good at hiding his emotions though, and Sam's face was a myriad of expressions, anger, shame, hatred, fear, panic, all scrawled haphazardly over him. The one that hit Dean most, however, was the desperate hopelessness that he had only glimpsed in his brother a few times before Sam slammed walls down around it. Now Sam had it displayed for anyone to see, an empty blackness in his soul that was darker than any night Dean had ever seen.
"I think we should go inside." John's quiet statement drew Dean away from his examination of Sam. As he turned to face his father, he saw Sam's head drop to stare at the floor. His father had collected himself while he was looking away, and his control was re-exerted over his sons. Dean nodded once, not willing to allow himself to be sidelined before he got some answers. He turned and walked inside, standing by the exit as John and Sam followed him in. John went to the chair in front of the desk, sitting down and facing towards Dean, never dropping his gaze. Sam sat on the floor with his back to the bed furthest from their father. His bad arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach, and the other was holding the hoody on his shoulder. He stared blankly at the floor a few feet in front of him, wrapped up in himself both figuratively and literally.
Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking at both of them. His mind was frantically trying to work out possible explanations, desperately avoiding those too awful to even contemplate.
"What were you talking about outside?" He started the necessary conversation. Might as well get straight in there.
"Dean, son, we didn't want to wake you. I woke up and saw…something disturbing, and I hoped Sam and I could get it sorted out before you got up." His father leaned toward him as he talked. "Sam admitted that certain…boundaries were crossed between the two of you while I was away. I wanted to know how far it had gone." Dean felt his cheeks start to flush, but he ignored it.
"Dad, you told Sam to leave." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam was motionless, still curled around himself on the floor.
"It wasn't meant like that. I wanted Sam to understand that what you're doing, what's between the two of you, is wrong, it can't continue."
"Dad…" His face was burning in embarrassment, and Dean couldn't help but glance at Sam.
"Dean, you know this can't continue." The declaration was clearly meant to end the conversation, but Dean still hadn't found out what he needed to know.
"Sam, why did you say that I'd question if you had a bloody nose?" Dean changed tack, turning towards his baby brother. Who if it was possible, appeared to make himself even smaller under Dean's scrutiny. The vulnerability of the pose and the pain Sam was clearly feeling right now made something inside Dean's chest crack. "Sammy?" Sam gave a quick glance up at their father, whose face betrayed nothing, and then he continued to stare at the floor.
"S nothing Dean. Drop it." Sam shut him down abruptly.
"No! Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" Dean snapped, but faced with two equally determined men, his outburst was pointless. He walked to the second bed and dropped to sit, head in his hands.
From the corner of his eye, Sam could see his father, sitting tall like a king on a throne. Dean was in front of him, slumped forward, face covered by his hands. Dean knew. He knew but he didn't want to say it, to admit to himself that the father he idolised had been someone completely different for his little brother. And it hurt, Sam ached to be able to take it back. Dean was never supposed to find out, it was supposed to be his secret to keep until death. When he was younger, he thought Dean could do anything. Dean was big and strong and unbreakable. To a five year old Sammy, his big brother was the best person in the world, he could fly to the moon and back if he wanted to. But he quickly learnt that there were some things Dean shouldn't find out ever, because even though he could fight monsters and fire a gun and protect Sammy with his life, there were some things he should never be asked to do for his little brother.
He raised his head to take in the two men. Neither were looking at him, and for a second his heart broke and he thought he was going to cry.
"I'm going for a walk." He was up before either could stop him. "I'll be back soon." He made it outside and closed the door behind him as he heard Dean call his name. The hot sun blinded him as he paced across the dusty parking lot, and he blamed it for the tears that he suddenly couldn't stop.
Dean was on his feet as Sam walked out the door. Leaving him again. Only now he wasn't so sure that leaving the first time had been entirely Sam's idea. Cursing as Sam ignored his call, he grabbed his bag from the floor space between the two beds where it was covered by the blanket he had begun the night sleeping on. Digging through it, he couldn't find the clean jeans he knew were in there. In exasperation he upended the whole thing on Sam's bed.
"What are you doing?" His father had stood up at the same time Dean did.
"Going after him." Dean didn't bother to look up. He was afraid of what he might see when he looked at his father. If his guess about that conversation was right Oh come on Dean, there's no way to misinterpret what you heard then his father was someone he didn't know. Someone he has never known.
"Leave him. He just needs some time to calm down." At that, Dean did look up at John, the anger he felt boiling over. He needed to know.
"I'm going to find Sam." He picked up some clothes at random and pulled them on, turning away from his father.
"Dean, this…relationship between the two of you, it's going to get you killed. Sam is a distraction you can't afford." John was almost reasonable, but Dean didn't want to listen. "I understand, after dealing with the situations we deal with, you want to feel alive, it's a perfectly normal reaction. But that's all it is. A reaction to a situation. It's not worth risking your life over." Dean looked at his father, trying to see past the mask.
He couldn't see the dad he had played ball with at three, before his mother was killed. The dad that had walked up and down the living room, bouncing a crying baby Sammy on his shoulder while Dean watched quietly from an armchair. The dad who had carefully laid Sammy in Dean's arms a week after he was born, telling Dean that he had to look after his baby brother now. Not even the dad who had taught him how to hunt, brought them both up as warriors, told him that if Sam wanted to leave then they should let him go and live his own life, be happy for him.
"It's Sam." He turned away and walked out the door, leaving John Winchester behind.
