Sam was asleep.
They hadn't exchanged many words when they'd finally pulled apart. Of course, Dean had wanted answers, but he'd bitten his tongue. He could see Sam was in no fit state to be interrogated. But despite that, despite his fatigue, Sam had still tried. He'd made no headway though; his exhaustion and weariness having gotten the better of him within a few minutes.
Well, Dean thought, at least the whiskey had taken effect, because Sam was out before he'd even hit his head on the pillow.
Dean understood that. He could see it; Sam must've been awake for days on end, driving for days on end. Living on edge and running on empty, so if Dean's presence could provide him with enough security to let him finally rest for a spell, so be it.
Sam wasn't the only one who needed to give Dean some answers, because Sam's being there, with kids and mutt in tow no less, wasn't exactly something Dean had planned on seeing.
After having lined and warded all the usual entry points in all the usual ways he stepped out of their apartment and took several quick, long strides away to grant himself privacy.
"Cas!" he hissed when he was far enough from the door to not be overheard. "Get your feathery ass down here, now! We need to talk…"
There was silence in response.
"Cas!" he repeated, more angrily, head tilting slightly skyward.
But there was nothing. No tell-tale fluttering of feathers, no slight rush of air. He cursed under his breath before pulling out his cell phone and stabbing at the quick-dial number.
The call picked up on the third ring and Dean didn't bother wait for the receiver's acknowledgement before he hissed his demands angrily, pleasantries forgotten in the struggle to keep himself from shouting outright.
"What the hell Bobby?! Why the hell's Sam here?!"
"And a good morning to you too sunshine, even if it is 4AM! What the hell're you talking about?"
"Sam, Bobby! My brother, Sam, remember him? Tall as a moose, ex-hunter, ran away to play happy families and up until a few hours ago was, as far as I knew, managing a pretty damn good job of it too! He's here!"
"What? Why?"
"I don't know! How the hell'd he even find me? I mean hell! I didn't even know he was looking!"
But there was a pause, and Dean pounced. "You knew?" He could hear Bobby shift in his chair on the other end of the line. "Damn it Bobby!"
"Don't you take that tone with me boy! I didn't tell him squat!"
"Well you told someone something!"
"No, I did not! ... But... Well, 'bout a week or so ago I may have gotten a call from someone claiming to be your brother. But we've had our hands full ever since this crap-storm you got yourself into blew our way, you know that. I just figured it was some demon trying it on. So, like I said, I didn't tell him squat."
"Seems like you didn't tell me squat either!"
"There was nothing to tell! Unless you want me to call you up all hours of the damned night to inform your highness of every pointless little phone call I receive?!"
"Jesus Bobby…. And great job with all those eyes we allegedly have on him, on all of them! What the hell!"
"Well, what do you want me to say Dean! It's your angel buddies that are meant to be watching over him. And besides, you're the one there with him, what does he say?" This time it was Dean's turn to shift on his feet, giving Bobby his chance to pounce back. "You have asked him right?"
"Of course I've asked him!"
"And?"
"Well… we haven't gotten into it yet…. God Bobby! How could he have made it all the way here and us not even know about it?"
"I don't know. But I'll find out. In the meantime, you keep your eyes on him, find out what he wants."
Dean sighed. "Whatever it is, I just know it not gonna be good."
He heard Bobby scoff at that. "When's anything to do with you lately ever anything good?"
Dean snorted humourlessly at the colossal understatement, then sighed again wearily. "He's not with his wife, Jessica," he blurted out, suddenly feeling tired.
"You mean they've split up?"
"What?! No! … At least…. Oh God I hope not... But she's not here with him, and neither is his youngest kid… Aw hell Bobby! You don't suppose he's here coz he needs… I don't know, emotional support or some other such crap? Coz I swear Bobby, I swear, I have not got time to babysit my little brother through some midlife marital melodrama…. Dammit!"
"Well here's a shot in the dark genius, instead of pissing and moaning about it like an idjit, why don't you jus go ask him?!"
"I will Bobby! I will… I just... I need a minute."
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Bobby spoke again, voice more measured. "... Look, you're sure it's, you know, him? I mean, you've made sure?"
"Seriously Bobby?! Ya think it's my first rodeo?!"
"Don't get smart with me boy!" Bobby snapped. But then Dean heard him sigh, and when Bobby spoke again his voice was calmer, if still a little weary. "Look all I'm saying is, you know what we're up against here. Need I remind you just how big a crap storm it is we're in. And it's blowin' in at you from all sides, so just… Just make sure you're sure."
"I'm sure Bobby. It's him, it's Sam."
"Well all right then. I'll make some calls, see what I can find out. In the meantime, I think it's time you and the prodigal son there had a heart to heart. And it wouldn't hurt none if you gave your haloed BFF a call neither."
And with that the line went dead. Dean stared for a moment at the phone before shoving it back into his pocket, eyes drifting back towards the motel room.
He still couldn't quite believe that Sam was there. He didn't want to believe it. He'd done everything he could think of to keep Sam out of this life. At first, of course, it had been Sam who'd wanted out, Sam who'd kept the distance. But then in what turned out to be, with hindsight, his father's dying request, John had commanded Dean to make sure Sam stayed out of the hunting life. No fond farewell. No 'I'm proud of you Dean'. Just the age-old mantra: 'take care of your little brother', and that had grated on Dean something vicious at the time. Because just for once, didn't he deserve to be set free too? To be told he could stop fighting and live any other life he wanted? That his life was something precious, was worth something, anything, more than just the sacrifice it had become, and that he'd given enough of it now. Hadn't Dean deserved, just once, the last chance that John would ever get as it turned out, to be told 'Hey kid, I'm proud of you, you've done enough. Now go live your life.'
Because he had given everything, his whole life, since he was five damn years old, hadn't he finally earned the right to be granted the rest of whatever was left back and to try for something better?
Like Sam had.
Like John had seemingly let Sam have, right there at the end, in a brief talk with Dean before John had gone off on a hunt that Dean hadn't known at the time would be his father's last. But even then, it had been Sam, after so many god damned years, it had still been Sam that John had reminded Dean to protect. And the unfairness of it had burned Dean's insides, for just a spark, just a flash, burnt his insides almost to ash.
But ever the good soldier, Dean had stamped that fire out and had done as he was told.
And then, as things had intensified for Dean, of his own volition he'd done everything in his power and then some to keep Sam and his family out of his life. To keep them far away. To keep them safe.
But apparently, it hadn't been enough.
He sighed. His eyes drifted across the parking lot and came to rest on the Impala.
He had some beer left in there, and even though it was a crappy brand and even though it would be lukewarm, he strode over to Baby without any further deliberation. When he popped the bottle top and the golden liquid hit his tongue, he had to resist the urge to curl his lip in disgust. Lukewarm had been an understatement and crappy would be a damned upgrade. It tasted bad but he didn't care, swallowing hard and downing almost half the bottle in one go.
He couldn't believe Sam was there.
He wasn't sure how it would be between them either. He worried for the awkwardness. Their parting had been the night Sam had left for Stanford, and they hadn't fought exactly or parted on bad terms. Just… They hadn't really parted at all, there had been no big showdown, no trading of blows and slamming of doors. They were adults after all, not kids anymore, and it wasn't as if they'd simply had a fight over who got to eat the last of the cereal and now almost 10 years later they could make up like nothing had ever happened. Things weren't that simple, and yet somehow, they were much more so. Sam had simply left. Dean had simply stayed. And through those two simple acts, they'd just gone their separate ways, taken their separate paths.
Ended up worlds apart.
Of course, it had been different with John, and he and Sam had had the mother of all fights the night Sam had finally left for college. Had been fighting for weeks, if not months, if not years, leading up to it. It was John that Sam had been riling against, and Dean had just got caught in the crossfire, from both sides. As always. He'd come to terms with it, in a way. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. That didn't mean that more often than not, he'd just felt like a punching bag for their anger, a walking target for their emotional arsenal, and he still carried the wounds and scars and shrapnel from those battles.
After Sam had left, it was just too raw to stay in touch with him through anything more than the occasional phone call. And besides, Sam had made his feelings perfectly clear through his indefinite non-communications in the subsequent years. It had hurt of course. Hell! Had ripped Dean's heart half to shreds and then some, if he was being truthful about it. But it was what it was and it was done.
They'd met only twice since Sam had left for Stanford. Once, briefly, at Sam's wedding. And then of course, even more briefly, there had been John's funeral, the last time they'd met, the only other time since Sam had started his new life separate from Dean. And in all honesty, half of Dean had hoped Sam wouldn't turn up at the funeral and the other had been downright shocked that he had.
But by then, at the funeral, it was just… What? Too late? Too much? Dean didn't know. They'd barely even spoken, because there was just too much going on in Dean's life, in Dean's hunting life, that Sam simply no longer knew about. That Sam had turned his back on and had chosen to not know about. How could two people be close when one turned his back on the other and ran?
As the flames from the funeral pyre had climbed into the night air, as the embers had caught the wind and swirled up to heaven like some ghostly effigy of a phoenix, Dean's anger had slowly risen with the heat till he needed to do damage. He hadn't stayed to share a drink with his brother, hadn't even waited for the pyre to ebb or the cinders to emerge from the flames, because he just couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with him, with Sam.
Sam, who had a whole new life, a whole new family. A whole new support structure that didn't include Dean at all. But with John gone, what, who, did Dean have? Not Sam, that was for sure. Dean didn't fit into a white picket fence life. Even if Sam had offered, even if he'd tried, you couldn't just put a pile of crap in with a box full of roses and still expect it all to come up smelling sweet. Not that Sam had offered, not that Dean had given him the chance. But there was no place for Dean in Sam's newfound perfect life and even if Sam never said it outright, they both knew it.
With John's last words echoing in his head, that order to keep Sam away from the hunting life, reminding Dean that even till the last, Sam was the one John seemed to care more about, Sam was the one who their father worried about and wanted to protect, Dean couldn't stop those feelings of umbrage and anger from churning inside him as he stared across the flames. So maybe Dean had felt a little resentful and maybe he knew that Sam had needed him right then, the way Sam had looked at him while John's corpse was burning, pleading at him silently with those wounded eyes watering from smoke and sadness, and maybe that had only fuelled Dean's anger even further. And in the heat of that moment it made him feel petty and vindictive because maybe a part of him had left Sam there then out of sheer spite.
So now you decide you need me little brother? Now you suddenly remember that I still exist? Well screw you Sam. You're not the only one who can run away. You're not the only one who can turn his back.
You're not the only one who can be selfish.
And so he had been.
But then, after his anger and pain and pettiness had dulled, after he'd ferociously hunted down every single monstrous or demonic thing that had dared come anywhere near his line of sight, after he'd gone up against creatures even John would have balked at, after he'd built a reputation amongst hunters and prey so fearsome that even Bobby had looked at him with a newfound reverence and awe, after all that, when the fires of vengeance and rage inside him had finally been sated enough to return him to some semblance of himself, it was then that he realised what it was that he'd actually done on that funeral night. He'd abandoned his little brother. It was then that he realised he couldn't take it back. Couldn't go back in time and comfort his brother, couldn't mend the hurt he'd turned his back on, the hurt he'd allowed to fester and continue. Couldn't undo the shame and self-loathing he felt at having abandoned his baby brother, no matter what he'd felt at the time. Couldn't remedy the fact that he'd failed as a big brother, the one job he'd been given from as long as he could remember and that he had vowed to himself that he would never, ever, turn his back on, no matter what. And he couldn't find his way back from that failing, from that failure within himself. Didn't know how to man up and face Sam, after that abandonment. It had been far too long.
So he'd left it at that. And so had Sam, and neither had spoken since. And whenever the memory of it threatened to impinge on him, whenever he wanted to turn up out of the blue at Sam's door and ask for forgiveness, Dean would remind himself that the safest way to ensure their father's last orders were adhered to, was for Dean to stay as far away from Sam as Sam had made clear he wanted to be from Dean. Added to that everything that Dean had subsequently been through, including Hell, everything he had learned, everything that he was now a part of, something immense on a truly biblical scale, then, well…
He sighed, a weary heavy sigh. The beer really tasted like crap and he half toyed with the idea of throwing the rest. But he held on to it, if for no other reason than to give himself a reason to delay stepping back into the motel room.
He'd be lying if he tried to convince himself there weren't some residual feelings inside him from the parting after John's death, or from the original Stanford one. But he knew that right now, with everything going on, he couldn't afford to dwell on or indulge those emotions, whatever they were.
He sighed again. It was going to be stressful, one way or another. They were strangers, not even friends. Or they had become strangers. Who knew if they could ever become friends, so much had changed. There was so much Sam didn't know. So far he'd gotten away. So much crap Dean had going on. So much hell, actually quite literally, Hell, that Dean had been through. Alone.
But they were still brothers. They were still family. That would always mean something to Dean, even if he didn't know what that something was. Even if he didn't know whether it meant a damn thing to Sam at all.
Sam would always be his little brother, no matter what. Even if Dean knew he'd failed in his responsibilities the last time, after John's funeral, it didn't mean the job wasn't still his, for life. And more than that, now that John was dead, Sam was the only family Dean had left, and Dean needed to believe that it counted for something. That being family, it meant something. It was the reason he was doing everything he was doing, was at his core, the reason for his choices, after all. To keep his family, his baby brother, safe.
True, for a moment, in that motel room, just after the relief he'd felt at the knowledge that Sam wasn't a demon or shifter had ebbed away, Dean's first instinct had been to clock Sam one, hard and angry, on the jaw.
But something had stopped him.
It was that look in Sam's eyes, after all these years, the same look he'd had since childhood, the look he'd had at the funeral, aimed at Dean and it still always found its mark, smack in the middle of Dean's heart. The one that said Sam was utterly lost and that he was completely scared and that he needed Dean, needed his big brother. Dean had turned away from that look once before, only once in his life, but it had been enough to gnaw at him ever since. It had been enough for him to vow never, ever, again.
Dean had changed in the years since the funeral, wasn't the anger driven man he'd been all those years ago. Or, well, not quite as much. He'd matured, he supposed the word would be. He'd learned from his mistakes; regret was, after all, the sagest of teachers. Regret and Hell. He'd had a lot of time to think over his failings over the years, a lot of drunken angry nights where he couldn't face his own reflection for knowing how shamefully he'd behaved, not least when Sam had truly needed him, and for so many other things too. So many, many other things. And he thought he'd just have to live with it, all of it, carry that weight with him for the rest of his life like he carried the weight of every other guilt, and he'd thought it was all undoable, all set in stone. Had thought the damage between them was as irreparable as the damage he'd wreaked in Hell, and would stand unchanged for time immemorial.
But here it was, his second chance and it wasn't often in life you got one of those, but here was his so Dean wasn't going to screw it up. He wasn't going to turn away from Sam this time, no matter what Sam needed. Wouldn't turn away ever again. Especially knowing what he did, knowing how truly far Sam had run, knowing he wouldn't have come back were it not for something terrible. Knowing that he would never, ever, have brought his children into this godforsaken life.
His children.
Crap.
Dean had nothing in his bag or the Impala's well stocked trunk that would be suitable or necessary for the taking care of children. Maybe he could do a quick run to a local store, but he negated that thought immediately; Sam was still out cold, and salt and warding symbols might be all well and good at keeping monsters and demons at bay, but they would do nothing to stave off drunken motel guests form forcing their way in or to keep the youngsters already in the room from wandering out.
He threw the bottle with the rest of the beer untouched and re-entered the room cautiously, hoping to not stir any of the occupants, but the older child, the girl, was already sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. From behind small chubby fists, she caught sight of him entering and they both froze as their eyes met.
Dean knew that to her, he must be a complete stranger, so there was probably no good outcome of a scenario where a five year old spied a tall angry unknown man entering the strange room where she'd just woken up. Particularly as the kid was probably still suffering fall-out effects of god only knew what kind of trauma that would have ended in her brother and mother being gone (and Dean hoped to god Jess was just gone and not dead, the thought of which suddenly echoed with a horribly familiar resonance within him) and her father looking frantic and bungling them into a car for a days-on-end drive away from the security of their home.
He was still worrying about all of that, frozen in the doorway, when the child cocked her head to one side, gave him a startlingly measured stare and then, after checking on her still sleeping sibling, much to Dean's surprise quietly slid off the bed and walked right up to him.
"Hello," she said, extending a hand up to him in a gesture that was absurdly formal and grown up for one so small. "I'm Deanna."
Dean was so taken aback, that for a moment he did nothing but blink. Finally he slowly crouched down to close the distance between them, taking her hand and giving it a light shake.
"O… Okay. Well… Hi, Deanna… I'm Dean."
"I know," she said, as if affirming this. "Daddy showed us pictures."
That threw Dean even more.
"He did?" he blurted out, unable to mask his surprise. He hadn't even known Sam had any photos of him, let alone that he would have ever kept or shared them.
"Yuh-huh," she nodded, as if confirming the obvious. "You're my uncle."
"Right." Dean responded haltingly, still in surprise by the youngster's precociousness. "Right, I'm your …. I'm your uncle."
"I'm named after you."
"You are? I mean, right. … Of course you are... Well, it's a very pretty name Deanna. What… erm…. What else did your Daddy say?"
"He said we'd be safe with you. And you were gonna help take care of us till Mommy and my brother come back."
"Back?"
She leant in slightly closer, voice now hushed and whispering. "Daddy said they went away, but…" she shrugged, looking away.
"But what, Deanna?" Dean asked softly, tilting his head to catch her gaze.
"But… Mommy left without saying goodbye. She never doesn't say goodbye. And she didn't even take Kyle's favourite toy and… And I think Daddy's really scared."
Dean darkened a little. Suddenly he wished it had just been a lovers tiff, but when had Winchesters ever been that lucky? The youngster was still staring at him though and he quickly composed his features, putting a reassuring smile back on his face.
"Well you listen to me Deanna. Your Daddy's not scared, all right? He's just tired. And he's right. I'm gonna take care of you all till your Mommy and brother come back. Okay?"
She looked at him for a long time, as if assessing him, and Dean felt himself surprisingly nervous under the scrutiny. He'd faced off demons and angels and everything in between, for God's sake, but there was just something else about facing up to a child's imminent judgement that made him feel stripped bare, totally vulnerable and completely unarmed.
Finally she nodded, as if she had accepted his words to be true. But then her open, abundant confidence seemed to dissipate, and she bit her lip, her eyes shifting to the side, then looking down at her feet.
It was a look, an action, so reminiscent, that for a moment Dean felt transported back to childhood, babysitting a three-foot tall five-year-old Sam. He could read that look in an instant.
"Deanna," he ducked his head downward to catch her gaze once more. "Do you need the bathroom?"
She nodded shyly but didn't look up.
"I can go by myself," she supplied, slightly defiantly, before her tone became shy and hesitant again as she continued. "But… I don't know where it is."
"Okay." Dean assured, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's okay. I'll show you where it is."
He stood, reaching out a hand to her. She stared at it for a moment, before finally looking up at him, big hazel green eyes that were so familiar, they could have been Sam's at that age, and Dean felt them tug at his insides and make his heart constrict, as if his soul had been lassoed and pulled away from him. When she clasped her little hand around his fingers he felt something settle inside him and it was as though an unspoken bond had been forged. One that he would die before he would ever let get broken.
There was no way in heaven or hell he was ever going to let anything hurt this little kid, or her siblings, or any of Sam's family.
My family, he corrected, realising suddenly that there would be no other choice for him, as if his DNA were simply hardwired that way.
My family.
He was going to protect them, all of them. No matter what. That was all there was to it, the only option there could have ever been. And if anyone tried to do them harm, whether it was some Joe of the street, or Hell-spawn or even Heaven-sent, it wouldn't matter. He'd take them down without a thought.
Hell. If it came to it, for his family, he'd rip Heaven and Hell to shreds too.
tbc
Thank you for reading, I'll update again soon.
And thank you Guest/s & Shazza19 :-)
A question for anyone out there: did you pronounce Deanna as Dean-uh or De-anna? In my head it's Dean-ah but I realise the other is more obvious. I'm just curious!
