febuwhump 2k22

day 8 (alt 5) - left behind

fandom: supernatural (brotherhood au)

whumpee: Dean Winchester (and Sam Winchester)

caretaker: none

other characters: OCs, John Winchester (mentioned), Jim Murphy (mentioned), Caleb Reaves (mentioned)

summary: John sends Dean to handle the hunt Jim assigned - and Sam's protection from whatever child-targeting monster they're dealing with - alone, while navigating the curiosity and concern of church people at the same time.

tw: neglect, anxiety, (casual) suicidal thoughts

word count: 3,239

notes: I am extremely stubborn and while fully aware it is September, convinced I'm going to finish this year's Febuwhump, preferably before Whumptober. I had a different thing planned for this day, and I'll admit this is definitely a loose use of the prompt, but for now, we're gonna keep the other idea in the back pocket and call this good.

They didn't end up making it to soccer practice after all.

However, Sam's frustration upon being told to pack his things quickly disappeared when he was told where they were going. It was indeed a lifelong dream of the kid's to go to summer camp, and hearing that their hunt was taking them to one was the first time in a long time Dean had seen him excited about anything that had to do with their supernatural work.

They fed him a story about Dean just going ahead to research the case and John following behind to do the actual hunt once he'd tied up the lead on the demon, and his usual talent of seeing straight through fibs like that was put on timeout by his excitement.

Dean had never understood why the kid wanted this so bad, except that it was something it seemed like everyone did, and there was nothing Sammy wanted more than to be normal, but he couldn't help but smile at the way he immediately turned back into the excitable five-year-old Dean remembered so well at the news of that dream coming true.

The entire five hour drive to Colorado, Dean tried to remind himself that he was getting a dream of his fulfilled too.

He was finally being trusted with a hunt, and even if the rest of the Triad would never know, at least he could prove himself to his dad.

Except that remaining two thirds of Brotherhood leadership… and a certain psychic future-Knight… had been living rent free in his head for the entirety of that drive as well. Jim and Mac would both lose it if they found out. Jim hadn't even wanted him on this hunt, and now he was taking it alone. And while Sam was ecstatic and he planned to keep him far away from the danger, he was still dragging his twelve-year-old brother to the general vicinity of a child-hunting monster.

And as for Caleb?

Caleb would lose it.

He wondered, if he called the older hunter, if he'd agree to keep it hushed with his father and the Guardian and come out and help–just so Dean wasn't breaking the rule set in place for adult hunters with rings, nevermind sixteen-year-olds, never hunt alone.

He knew there was a good chance the answer would be yes–if only to keep Dean from stubbornly going it alone against all his orders while he scrambled to come and get him. But another couldn't imagine the psychic hearing that Johnny had sent his two minor sons to hunt something that was kidnapping children and not immediately leaving a voicemail which would mortify a sailor in his inbox and then calling Jim.

And for this?

Dean could see Jim taking his dad's ring.

It was something which had been threatened before, even if they thought he didn't know that, which the minister would probably never actually do.

But once again, he and Sam weren't supposed to be anywhere near this thing. That had been an explicit order, and John had lied to his face and then done the exact opposite.

Dean couldn't risk what could happen if that came out.

The worst part of this entire plan–second only to the guilt relentlessly eating at him the closer he brought Sammy to danger–was that, unfortunately for Dean, the kid wasn't the only one with a camp-packed duffle ready to go on the back seat. Dean's, of course, was stocked below its false bottom with all of the monster-hunting basics, but up top, they were practically identical.

He'd tried hard to convince his dad that he could just drop Sam off and go rogue, but John had insisted on signing him up for the high school program–Crew, as they called it. Because apparently some people actually paid real money to go and cook food for and clean up after three-hundred children for four weeks of their lives that they were never going to get back And his dad had insisted that he needed to have insider's access to potential witnesses, reasoning that he couldn't exactly pass for a federal investigator with that baby face, so their usual impersonation tactics were out. He'd added that it would be easier for him to look out for Sammy if he was attending the camp as well, and Dean had known he'd lost.

So, urge to call Caleb begging to be rescued from this entire mess pushed aside, he left his cell phone where it was, on the seat between him and his giddy little brother, and focused on driving.

It was an easy enough thing to do on this road. Switchbacks had turned to dirt road switchbacks, which had turned to washboarding and random holes would definitely send you over the mountain ledge if you happened to drive into them too hard. With every dip and sharp turn and cloud of dust, Dean found himself muttering apologies to the car he loved so much and wondering anew how exactly he'd gotten into this position.

After thirty minutes of the truly painful conditions, he finally directed the car through an open gate that promised the end of the torture. However, a wooden sign, hand painted in primary colors, quickly promised its ample replacement.

Once upon a time…

Awesome. This was just. Freaking. Awesome.

…on the very top of a mountain…

Maybe the monster would eat him and put him out of his misery.

… one Hero changed everything.

Why did it have to be a religious camp? Why couldn't it just be campfires and kayaking?

As they came around the last bend, they caught up to the line of cars he'd been babying the Impala too thoroughly to stay close to on the drive up, and he braked and tried to swallow his anxiety. The line of college kids in cheap costume crowns, helmets, and princess hats, waiting to enthusiastically great them didn't exactly help him there.

As Sammy hurriedly rolled down the window so he could hear what they were saying, Dean was having to remind himself how to breathe.

"Ain't no party like a Thunder Lake party, cuz a Thunder Lake party don't stop!"

"What?!"

"Ain't no party like a Thunder Lake party, cuz a Thunder Lake party don't stop!"

"WHAT?!"

Dean could use some of that thunder, and more importantly the lightning that came with it, to see he didn't belong here and kill him now.

They started miming pulling in a car a few places ahead of them, and just when Dean thought this couldn't possibly get worse, one of them spotted theirs mid-pull.

"Oh my gosh!" The guy was probably twenty, maybe a few inches taller than Dean, with shaggy dark hair topped by a lopsided plastic crown. And, he was very obviously absolutely wired on caffeine. "That's a cool car!"

Dean felt something inside of him die as fifty sets of camp counselor eyes were suddenly locked on him. Then, chaos exploded around him.

"Bro!"

"Bro!"

"Bro!"

"BRO!"

"When I say cool, you say car! Cool!"

"CAR!"

"Cool!"

"CAR!"

For the fiftieth time but the most heartfelt so far, Dean found himself murmuring an apology to the Impala.

"I'm sorry, Baby, I know it's embarrassing," he whispered, holding a little tighter to the steering wheel and trying to use the familiarity of it to ground himself.

Before he knew what was happening, another counselor was rushing up to Sam's open window, an invisible microphone help up to her mouth.

"I'm Jenny with Wonder Baked Lamps, and I am so happy to be the first one to tell you… welcome to camp!"

The crowd of caffeinated twenty-year-olds erupted in cheers.

"Now first things first," she continued, "I've gotta say… that's a cool car."

More cheers. From the one who'd noticed it first, "Decs!"

"Decs!"

"DECS!"

Maybe he was having a stroke, because less and less of what they were saying was sounding like English.

"But that's not what we're most excited about," Jenny went on in that animated, sports announcer tone.

"No!"

"What?"

"Who cares about a car?"

"Nah, man, we're excited because you're here!"

They exploded once more, screaming, jumping up and down, yelling that same nonsense word over and over again.

"Decs!"

"Yeah we are!"

"Decs!"

"Freaking makes our day, dude!"

"DECS!"

If there was a legal limit to caffeine intake, every single one of them would be over it.

"So what's your name, Mr. Makes-Our-Day?"

She held out the microphone in her hand to the boy she was speaking to, who had the emotions of a deer in headlights, a kid in a candy shop, and a middle-schooler who was way too cool for this written all over his face all at once.

"Uh… I'm Sam," he managed finally, quietly, looking to Dean for help or direction.

The teenager just shook his head helplessly.

Maybe he'd finally lost it. He'd had a breakdown over the soccer thing, and he was actually back in the apartment, waiting for Damien to come out and crawl into his head and try to put humpty-dumpty back together again.

"Everyone!" Jenny shouted back at her crowd of coworkers. "This is Sam!"

"Hi, Sam!"

"Everyone, that's Sam!"

"Decs!"

"Welcome to camp, Sam!"

If Damien could book it a little faster, that would be great.

With no sign of psychic best friend crawling into his shambled brain and pulling him out of what he was almost fully convinced had to be some sort of fever dream, Jenny continued interviewing his little brother. "Now tell me, Sam, what are you most excited about for camp?"

Invisible mic back in his face, Sam hesitated once more before saying quietly, "Everything, I guess. I've… uh… I've always wanted to go to camp."

"You've always wanted to go to camp?" she repeated like he'd just told her she won the lottery.

Sammy nodded.

"And you've never been?"

Sammy shook his head.

"Guys! Sam is excited about everything, because he's always wanted to go to camp, but he's never, ever been!"

Screaming.

"Decs!"

"Decs!"

"DECS!"

It was going to be a long day.

When they finally made it through the hoards, a slightly calmer staff member directed them to a parking spot, then pointed to a line of tarps stacked with backpacks and duffle bags and the check-in table beside them. Dean thumbs-upped his understanding, and, for just a moment after Sam rolled up his window, they were left in relative peace.

Dean stared once more at the cell phone on the seat, wondering if it was too late to call Caleb.

Then, he remembered what Jim had said about the service.

No chickening out now.

So, he snatched the little device from where it lay, shoved it into his jacket pocket and zipped it there, and looked at his brother.

"You ready, Sammy?"

"Yeah!" An enthusiastic nod, then a hesitation. "Just… do you know what decs means?"

Dean scoffed a little as he opened his door and moved to retrieve their bags. "Not a clue."

They made their way over to the line of parents and campers, and Dean felt a new wave of anxiety beginning to work itself in the pit of his stomach.

John had promised he'd called ahead and cleared them to check themselves in, but he'd also given Dean a high-up's name to drop just in case that didn't work, so he doubted it was as set-in-stone as he'd promised. And even if it was… he'd been going to parent-teacher-conferences and meetings with principals and school talent shows and soccer games since he was twelve years old. He knew the message it was sending, and he knew that was not a label he was interested in receiving at a religious summer camp.

The lady behind the table greeted them with a beaming smile. "Hello there! Welcome to camp! I'm Cynthia, I'll be checking you in today. What're your names?"

Dean swallowed hard and did his best to fabricate a smile in her direction. "I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dean and Sam! What's your last name?"

"Winchester."

"And what grades are you going into in the fall?"

"Eleventh and seventh."

"Perfect!" She flipped through one of the many binders in front of her for a moment before beaming in satisfaction. "Dean and Sam Winchester! There you are!"

She looked back up, then around and over their shoulders, and Dean felt his heart sink. "Are you parents grabbing your bags?"

Just play it cool. "No, um, actually…" He heaved a deep breath and held out the stack of signed papers John had also sent with them. "Our dad's out of town on a work trip, so I had to drive us up here. He called ahead and cleared it, and there's all the waivers he needs to sign."

"Your dad's on a trip?" she echoed as she uncertainly leafed through the papers. "And what about your mom?"

Dean cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Also on a trip. To… heaven."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked!"

He had to agree with her there.

"And you didn't have any relatives who could drop you off?" she pressed after a moment.

This time, Dean just shook his head.

"So who were you staying with?"

This lady was sure nosy for someone they'd just met.

"No one while our dad was gone," he replied, shrugging a little. "Just us at home. I mean, I'm sixteen."

"Does your dad leave you alone a lot?"

He loathed that compassionate, concerned look in her eyes, the way she was checking them over for bruises or signs of neglect, the CPS call she was rehearsing in her brain, but this was not going well, and as much as he hated to, he was going to have to use her sympathy to his advantage.

"I mean… yeah." He could feel the surprise in his brother's demeanor at his admittance of the fact. "He's–uh–he's gone more than he's around."

It was the most honest thing he'd said in the whole conversation, and it was working, so he pressed his advantage.

"It's mostly just the two of us, you know? But this local church sponsored us to come here, and it's always been a dream of Sammy's…we just thought we could make it work."

There was a long moment of silence. The turmoil in her eyes said he'd already won.

"You said your dad called ahead?"

He bit back a satisfied smirk with an effort. These people were too easy. "Yes, Ma'am. Said he talked to… Malachi Stewart?"

The director of camps whose name his father had found on the internet.

She finished examining the provided paperwork, setting them down in front of her and hesitating a moment, like his puppy dog eyes hadn't already made up her mind.

"Let me talk to Dave," she said at last, conjuring up another encouraging smile for them. "I'll do whatever I can to get y'all pushed through, alright?"

Dean just nodded, watching her leave before muttering to his brother, "God, they're suckers."

"Kinda terrible to take advantage of them like that," Sam returned softly.

"You wanna go to camp or not, Sammy?"

"Yeah, but–"

"And I wanna fry a monster. They wanna help out two poor, underprivileged kids. Everybody wins."

"I guess so."

Another few minutes ticked past, Dean trying to pretend he didn't notice the confused line of parents and their campers which was slowly growing behind them and their judgmental or concerned or simply annoyed looks and whispers.

Finally, Cynthia returned with a bearded man who was probably in his thirties behind her. She was beaming again, and that was good news for them assuming she wasn't taking serious pleasure in sending a twelve-year-old away from his life-long dream.

"Dave," she said as they got within comfortable speaking distance, "This is Dean and his little brother Sam. Boys, this is Dave Garcen, director of Resident Camps."

"Afternoon, Dean, Sam," the man greeted them with a small smile, and they responded with joint nods and mumbled greetings. "So, no Dad today, huh?"

"No, Sir," Dean confirmed. "Work trip. But the paperwork's all there, and he called ahead…"

Dave was nodding, holding up a hand to forestall anymore convincing. "Hey, you're talking to the right person. I can get y'all pushed through, don't worry about that. I just wanted to talk to you, make sure you're both okay."

"Yes, Sir." With an effort, he avoided any smug satisfaction at a game of proverbial poker well-played creeping into his voice. "We're alright."

"Because you're used to it?"

They'd been easy enough to smuse that he was beginning to regret the extent to which he'd laid it on, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well–well, yes, Sir, but it's, uh, it's not like it sounds. I mean, he–he's a good man." He was appalled at the effort it took him to say the words.

He was.

"A good father."

"Alright." He could tell he was less than convinced. "It's just unusual. And by unusual, I mean it's never happened in my seven years up here. So I had to check."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. But we're okay."

"Alright, then you're good to go. Cynthia has your cabin information…"

Hurriedly, the woman beside him retrieved the papers he was referring to from the binder where she'd first located their names, and Dean accepted them with an indistinguishable murmur of thanks.

"You can drop your bags on the tarps with your cabin names on them," Dave continued. "And then you can go ahead and meet up with your cabins. Sam, you'll find the sign with your small team name on it on the lawn there."

He pointed down the small hill they were standing at the top of, to where kids and parents were milling about in mild chaos, and Sam nodded eagerly.

"And Dean…"

Right. He'd been so focused on getting them through that he'd forgotten the hell that was waiting for him when he did.

"You'll be in the Lower D." Now, he was pointing at a simple, two story building to the left of the lawn. "There should be signs on the tables to find your actual cabin. Alright?"

Two heads nodded yes.

"Good. Let us know if you need anything, Boys."

"Thank you, Sir," Dean said one more time, and with another smile in their direction, the guy walked away.

"I'm so excited for you boys!" Cynthia exclaimed as he did. "Like he said, if you need anything, we're here to help."

"Yeah." Dean did his best to offer up his own smile despite the sickness only increasing in the pit of his stomach, and the way he was already sick of his little yes-sir act. "Thank you."

They moved aside for the next group to finally get their turn as he examined the papers he'd been handed. "Sammy, you're Cabin 32." A small scoff. "The Wonderstruck Warriors. Wow, Man, you're a warrior."

"Shut up," Sam mumbled, then smirked a little. "Jerk."

The little punk thought he wouldn't do it at a church camp.

As he brushed past the kid to drop their bags on the appropriate tarps, he returned the smug expression. "Bi–"

"Dean!"

The sixteen year-old spread his hands in innocence. "You asked for it, Kid."

"Okay, okay, you win," the younger brother groaned. "Now come on, I need to find my sign."

"You're the boss, Wonderstruck Warrior."

"Shut up, Dean!"