Sam made a call to have his ride picked up, some high end above-and-beyond driver service at which Dean was appalled, seeming truly alarmed that such a thing even existed and that people could hand their cars over so easily to complete strangers. He actually shuddered as he murmured a vow never to let any such person get anywhere near his Baby.
It was well past mid-afternoon by the time all arrangements were made and they eventually piled into the Impala, the brothers up front, children in the back with Sunny curled up between them. Despite Dean's initial protest as the dog had climbed up and settled on the seat, he caved the instant Deanna gave him what Sam decided was going to be her 'please uncle Dean' look. Sam kept his mouth firmly shut and his face free of any smirks, but Dean still glared at him nonetheless.
As they pulled out into the back roads, the sky was still bright despite shadows of trees and farmhouses falling long across the land. Even twilight, when it came, seemed to hold on to the lightness of the departing day for an unreasonably long time, as if it were afraid to let it go. Afraid of what might lurk in the unknown journey ahead.
Sam found his thoughts drifting back to everything that had happened since he'd knocked on Dean's motel room, something which felt a lifetime ago now, despite not even 24 hours having passed.
His mind was still reeling slightly from the mention of demons. He'd heard of them, obviously. Knew without knowing details that John had died at the hands of one. He was aware of the lore and of their existence as a distant and vague memory. But he couldn't honestly remember ever having actually hunted any or having come across any first-hand possessions during his time with Dean and their father. But the way Dean had said it, like such a throwaway everyday incident, it made Sam feel even more lost, reinforcing his convictions of just how long he'd been out of the hunting life. Of just how out of touch and unprepared he'd become.
And it was strange to be back with Dean. They had spent more time in each other's company in the last 15 or so hours than they had done over the past eight or so years combined, and something felt different. Dean seemed different, but Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it. There had been looks, moments in which Sam had caught his brother's expressions before Dean could hide them behind his mask. What Sam had glimpsed troubled him. There seemed to be a sort of deadened look to Dean's eyes, a despondence, almost apathy, that Sam could never remember ever having seen in him before.
Perhaps it had always been there and it was only now that his experience as a lawyer had made him sharp enough to spot those things that he was finally able to see it. Or perhaps he'd simply forgotten it all because it really had been so long.
And yet despite all that, in some absurd way, one that scared him a little if he were honest, it all seemed to be coming back to him far too quickly, like slipping his hand back into a worn-in baseball mitt, his fingers finding the grooves, his muscles relaxing into the memories. He wondered whether, despite his fears, he wouldn't end up fitting back into the life he'd once abandoned far more easily than he might ever want to. He didn't want that to be true, even if it might help him get his wife and son back. Something made him feel he might not be able to get out of the life a second time round if he wandered back in. But hadn't he already wandered back in now?
But even then, he realised he'd be lying to himself if he tried to say he'd abandoned it completely. Dean had been wrong. Or, rather, Dean had been right; it would have been stupid of Sam to have not taken the precautions he knew he should, knowing what he knew about what truly existed out there. But Dean had been wrong in thinking Sam had completely given up those practices and rituals. They had, after all, been drummed into him with such military, almost fanatical, fervour throughout childhood, that he'd struggled to let go of them when he'd entered the 'civilian' life. For years after he'd left John and Dean, he couldn't sleep without laying down the salt lines and having holy water nearby. And while he may have stopped that eventually, he had marked the borders of his property with warding symbols and had even lined salt into the actual foundations of his and Jess' house. Hell, he'd even poured holy water into their outdoor water-feature, even if he'd hated himself for the compulsion to do it. But perhaps it had been naïve of him to believe that he could leave it at that and sleep easy for it. That it would be enough of a prevention to allow him and his family to exist safely because of it. And as the years had passed without incident, perhaps complacency had begun to creep into stupidity. But he pushed those thoughts out of his head, or at least tried to confine them to a corner. Blaming himself, second-guessing his choices now, it would lead him nowhere. It wouldn't help him get his wife and son back, and he felt a sickening panic rising within him again at the reality of the situation.
"So how'd you find me anyway?" Dean asked, breaking Sam from his reverie.
"You mean after Bobby blew me off?" Sam responded, quirking an eyebrow before shrugging and moving on. "Figured you still had Dad's old cell, even if you weren't answering, and I figured it was still on his default credit card. So I gambled and called the phone company, got a general location, then scanned the local newsfeeds for anything weird enough to be a case and took a shot."
"Hell of a shot," Dean allowed, unable to hide his admiration.
"I was desperate," Sam admitted, downplaying his efforts. "I'm just glad you hadn't skipped town before I got to you."
"You can thank Krissy for that," Dean grinned, wolfish and smug and full of innuendo. "Krissy with a 'K'. She and her charms convinced me to stick around."
"Not for long enough to stay goodbye though," Sam pointed out.
"No need. One night wonders Sammy. I'm telling ya, you don't know what you're missing."
The instant he'd said it, he realised his misstep seeing as Jess was AWOL. Before he could backtrack however, Sam changed the topic, not wanting to dwell on it.
"What was the case? I read something about people not dying but that's about it."
"Just some hex bags gone wrong." Dean replied dismissively, the lie tripping easily from his tongue. There was no way he was going to let Sam know what was really going on; Seals breaking and Apocalypse encroaching being just the tip of the abridged headline. The latest case, the latest Seal, had been the raising of Samhain and Dean knew it had been just blind luck that he'd won that battle. And battle won or not, the war was still very much headed his way.
A war that he had started, he reminded himself and with the memory, his mood darkened.
He shifted in his seat in response to his inner disquiet and Sam sent him a side-long glance. In the fading light, Dean's profile was a contrast of highlighted contours and darkened shadows. Sat beside him in the car, barely inches away, Dean seemed suddenly distant to Sam again, dangerous in a way he couldn't remember him being when they were younger. He was reminded of their confrontation in the motel room, of how predatory Dean had suddenly seemed. But equally, of just how quickly that persona had been shed, particularly around the children. Sam still wasn't quite sure which of those personas was real, and it seemed difficult to accept both as being so, so contrasting was the difference between them.
Dean's behaviour throughout their breakfast-slash-lunch too had continued to surprise Sam, in ways he hadn't anticipated, adding more mystery to the mix. True, Dean's eating habits hadn't seemed to have changed much since their teenage years spent together, having become if anything, more terrifying. Sam realised he'd wilfully forgotten just quite how enamoured his brother could get when devouring artery clogging food. And yet, throughout their meal it had been the other things he'd done, subtle little gestures and exchanges that collectively made Sam wonder how well he really knew his brother anymore at all. Oh, there was definitely something Dean was hiding, definitely something that made him restless and antsy and permanently on edge, but perhaps that was only natural, given what Sam had brought to his doorstep. But there had been other things too, the things which had been innocuous and comforting, like sliding another pancake onto Deanna's plate or wiping drool from Eric's chin before Sam had noticed it, which Sam found surprising and difficult to reconcile with whatever darkness was simmering just beneath the surface. Again, he wondered whether Dean actually had a family of his own now out there somewhere.
He wanted to ask but couldn't figure out how. In all the years apart, while admittedly they hadn't spoken frequently at all, they had still spoken nonetheless, albeit very rarely. And while Sam had told Dean about at least two of his children's arrivals into the world, the fact that Dean had never volunteered any such information about himself could only mean that if Dean did indeed have a family of his own, it was something he'd clearly never wanted to share with Sam. Despite knowing that Dean owed him nothing and that it was chiefly Sam's own fault that they had grown so far apart, that thought still made Sam unreasonably sad.
"You look like you got something to spit out but can't find a bucket." Dean stated unceremoniously, startling Sam from his musings. "You gonna share with the class?"
"Just…" Sam started, wondering whether to confess some of his queries or simply evade the questions altogether. "How is it you're so good at changing diapers?" he asked finally.
Dean shot him a quick glance. "You serious?"
"Well, you changed Eric's while I was asleep. I'm guessing it's not a skill you just pick up on the side when you stop off for gas."
Dean shook his head, almost disappointed. "You, that's how."
"Me?"
"Yeah. You."
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean, growing up." At Sam's blank expression, Dean huffed. "What? You think Dad took time out in the middle of burning bones and shooting werewolves to change your precious behind every time you stunk up the joint?" He huffed again as if incredulous at the thought, but Sam couldn't tell if there was any humour in the action. "And hell, he left us alone so much, it's not like I could just wait for him to get back if it needed doing, you know?"
"No… I guess not… Guess I never really thought about it." Sam admitted. For some reason, the revelation made him feel ashamed. "So…. you don't, you know, have like kids or a family or something I don't know about?"
"God no! ...Least I hope not."
Sam nodded, as much to himself as to his brother, trying to abate the downcast feelings that were beginning to return at the mention of their childhoods. Dean seemed to sense some of Sam's discomfort though, because he shifted in his seat again.
"Besides," he continued, voice softening a little. "Mom… she used to let me help with you when… before she…" But he left the sentence hanging between them unfinished, shrugging away the rest of the sentiment.
Sam straightened, staring out at the unwinding road. He didn't know why he'd felt that sudden stab of shame. Perhaps because his hopeful notion of Dean's life was so at odds with the reality of it. This reality which Sam had tried to outgrow, it made him feel naïve for believing things were that simple. Or perhaps, he realised, he just felt ashamed and ungrateful at having forgotten the reality of their childhoods, being oblivious to the reality of everything Dean must have done for him before he was aware of such things. He sat quietly after that, and if Dean sensed his sullenness, he made no further attempts to alleviate it.
Deanna who had chattered happily for a good hour or so as they drove, entertaining Eric with one story or song after another, had eventually run out of things to talk about, and her brother fell asleep soon afterwards.
After half an hour more of silence, Dean turned on some music but at Sam's instant unspoken objection, he begrudgingly turned it down low. He hadn't been quick enough to keep Deanna from picking up on it however and she immediately perked up from her light sleep.
"That's like the songs Daddy listens to when he's sad," she informed Dean somewhat sleepily from the back seat.
Dean quirked an eyebrow, first at her then at Sam, who looked caught in a headlight somewhere between shocked and mortified.
"Is that right?" Dean queried with a smirk, eying Deanna again in the rea view mirror.
"Uh-huh," she nodded earnestly, awakened and emboldened by the prospect of having seemingly found a receptive audience member in the form of her uncle. "He sits alone at night sometimes with his grown-up juice when he's sad and listens to them. He has it low but I can still hear it."
She seemed quite pleased with this, and Sam swivelled round in his seat to confront her as Dean gave him a side-long glance, one which Sam conveniently managed to ignore.
"And how come you hear it?" Sam asked her.
"Because I'm quiet," she supplied, proudly.
"Uh huh. And not because you get out of bed and sneak downstairs when you know you're not supposed to? Hmm?"
Deanna squirmed uncomfortably at that, knowing she had slipped up, and tried to avoid her father's scrutiny. Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid.
"Hey!" He spoke up, catching her gaze in the reflection and holding on to it with a grin. "Your Dad was just the same you know."
Deanna's eyes widened a little at this revelation. "Really?"
"Sure. Most nights I had to practically sit on top of him till he fell asleep."
Deanna giggled at the mental image while Sam glared at his brother.
"Seriously dude?" he shot, somewhat annoyed.
But Dean ignored him, still grinning at the laughing child as he carried on. "It's true. I swear."
"You couldn't fit on top of Daddy!" Deanna trilled at him from in between giggles. "He's too big."
"Well he's a giant now sure. But back when he was a kid, he was shorter than you. Till he was like… 15. Was practically a munchkin. Or an Oompa-Loompa… whichever's shorter."
"Dean!" Sam snapped, sending the older Winchester a look.
"What?" Dean asked, finally meeting Sam's gaze, looking innocent and confused. "You were a short kid. We used to worry."
"It's not all right for her to be sneaking around out of bed at night." Sam retorted, ignoring Dean's jibe.
"Oh like you didn't do worse when you were a kid." Dean said, brushing aside Sam's annoyance. "Remember Flagstaff? When you ran–"
"I had my reasons back then and you know it." Sam cut-in before Dean could finish the sentence, his voice so low it was almost a growl and his expression darkening to match his tone. "And forgive me for not wanting my kids to have the same childhood experiences we did growing up."
Dean's irritation flared and he opened his mouth to retaliate, but the look in Deanna's eyes, who had sensed the change in atmosphere and had shrunk back into her seat in response, made the anger and rebuttal in him instantly fizzle out to nothing.
He remembered that look.
It was the same one a five year old Sam used to wear when their father came home drunk. Or hurt. Or both. He forced a jovial smile onto his lips, just like the ones he'd use to wear all those years ago, when he would pull his brother in close under the covers and tell him they were just playing a game of hide and seek with their father. Would tell him there was nothing wrong, nothing to be scared of. He still didn't know whether Sam had ever believed him. It was a memory he'd forgotten till just then and he wondered if Sam even remembered it at all.
"Well," he said, swallowing the memory back down and grinning into the mirror at his niece. "Whatever your Dad might say," he shot a warning look at Sam, forcing all the seriousness he was keeping out of his tone to be focussed into that glare, hoping Sam would cotton on. "He used to hate going to bed when he was just a little kid."
For the briefest instant Sam appeared a little thrown by the emphasis, still a little annoyed, till comprehension dawned and he seemed to visibly stand down. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognised how truly traumatised he must be if Dean was behaving like the rational compassionate one, before he chided himself for the snideness of the thought.
"I had to read him all sorts of stories just to bribe him to stay there." Dean continued, meetings Deanna's gaze in the mirror again. "Must've poured a ton or two of cocoa down his throat too. At least."
"Yeah…" Sam said, picking up and carrying on the tone Dean had set and glancing back to address his daughter. "Yeah, well you can't blame me honey. It was hard to sleep when we were kids. Your uncle snored like a grizzly bear."
"I did not!" Dean shot back, instantly offended. It seemed almost genuine.
"Oh he did." Sam insisted, swivelling round again to face Deanna more fully. "There was this one time, the neighbours came and knocked on our door cause they thought we were using a chainsaw in the middle of the night. Turns out? It was just your uncle snoring."
In truth, he and John actually had been using a chainsaw; they'd needed to dismember some monster (Sam never knew what kind) which they'd dragged into the motel bathtub. Sam figured Deanna didn't need to know those specific details of the story though. The pertinent point was that somehow Dean had managed to snore and sleep through all of it, something which still mystified Sam.
"Really Sam?" Dean retorted. "Really? We're going there? Okay…" Dean nodded to himself. "Okay, well, your Dad was so clumsy Deanna, he used to trip over his own feet. Sometimes while he was just standing still doing nothing! Swear to god!"
"Your uncle once spent an entire hour looking for his sock only to find he'd put both on the same foot."
"Your Dad once ate the plastic toy that came with the cereal… Then cried for like an hour straight coz he thought I'd took it."
"Your uncle once forgot he'd put a half-eaten candy bar in his back pocket and he sat on it till it melted…. And then he walked around like that."
"Hey!" Dean snapped, holding up his hand as if Sam had crossed some sort of line. Deanna, who had been laughing, stopped instantly and even Sam looked a little worried. There was a long pause in which no one moved and everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
"That could've happened to anyone, all right?!" Dean clarified at last. "Come on!"
Deanna burst out laughing while Sam, also chuckling, reminded her that her brother was asleep and shushed her down to a reasonable volume. When he turned back around shaking his head, he caught Dean's gaze, surprised by the smile he was wearing which seemed genuine.
A comfortable lull settled in the car, with Deanna insisting she wasn't tired and Sam finally setting her the task of counting streetlights. Somewhere in the early teens, she was asleep.
"So, you remember that trick huh?" Dean noted as Sam reached into the back to check on his son and tuck a blanket around the now sleeping Deanna.
"What? ... Oh, counting lights," he straightened. "Yeah, one of your many fun car games."
"Hey, you fell for it every time."
"Yeah well… Funny the memories that are returning just from being back in this car." Dean sensed some of the joviality form earlier leaving his brothers voice as he made that remark.
"This car." Dean repeated, exaggerating Sam's tone. "You say that like it's something bad. Like she's just a car."
"It is just a car Dean."
"Don't listen to him Baby." Dean purred as he stroked the Impala's dash and Sam shook his head, smiling despite himself.
They drove in silence for a while, until Sam spoke again quietly, voice sombre and hushed, smile long forgotten. "I don't want this life for them Dean."
Beside him, he sensed Dean sighing heavily before he responded. "I know."
"I just… I feel… I tried protecting them so much, you know? All of them. From this life, from knowing about it. From everything… Just to end up back here. Driving through the night in this car."
Dean pursed his lips and nodded, but Sam picked up on the unspoken misinterpretation. The unintended offence he'd caused.
"Look I'm not saying it was all bad," he appeased softly. "Just… I've been out so long. This should all feel…. I don't know, different, you know? I should feel different. But I don't. I feel like I've been here my whole life. Like my marriage, my kids, my job, everything, I feel like it was all just a dream and I've woken up here and I feel like I never left. And then I see them in the back seat and I swear it's like looking at us and… man, it scares me Dean! It really scares me. I don't want to be back here. I don't want my kids to be here. And I mean come on, be honest with me. Looking back, would you really have chosen this life for us as kids if you'd had a choice? Can you blame me for not wanting it for them?"
"No." Dean admitted. One look in the rear view mirror would have convinced him of his reply, had he needed any convincing. "No, you're right. But this isn't like when we were kids Sammy. Those two, they won't ever have the memories we do. You've made sure of that and hell! This whole mess, whatever it is, whatever's going on, we'll sort it. And then you'll go back to your apple pie life, like this never happened. It'll just be a blip on the horizon. And as far as they'll know?" He indicated to the back seat. "They'll just remember it as that one time they had a road trip with their unbelievably cool uncle and their uptight stick-up-his-butt-as-usual Dad."
Sam scoffed. "I hope so man."
But despite the confidence of Dean's assurance, the weariness and worry in Sam remained and he sighed, turning his head away to stare out of the window. "I really hope so."
The road had long ago stopped hosting any street lights and in their absence the night suddenly revealed itself to be shockingly dark, the blackness of it seeming to have crept up on them from all sides almost without warning. Every once in a while an upcoming headlight would flood the scene for a brief instant, but it was a fool's gold, and it's transient brightness would only leave the deepening gloom even more bereft in its wake.
Sam was resting his head against the window but Dean didn't need to look at him to know he wasn't asleep. He also didn't need to be psychic to know Sam was doing his best not to think of all the possible horrors that his wife and son could be going through right then. Things oh so much worse than death.
Doing his best and failing.
Dean wished there was something he could say, but he'd tried and failed to avoid those same thoughts from entering his own head. Try as he might to convince himself that there truly might be nothing otherworldly about Jess and Kyle's disappearance, he simply knew in his gut that there was. It would just be too easy a life for him if there wasn't. He not only knew what lurked out there, he knew more than Sam did, knew more things to be worried about. Something happening to Kyle at six months, well that could just be coincidence, especially because it didn't really make any sense; Yellow Eyes was long gone, Dean had made sure of that. And as far as Dean knew, there were no new special children being created, hadn't been for decades. So it may well be a coincidence, but it would be one hell of a coincidence if it was. Dean had never been much of a believer in those, not where his luck was concerned.
But he knew better than to tell Sam more than he needed to know right then, not without any hard evidence. Just as he knew better than to tell him there were no such things as monsters. Or that bad things didn't happen. He'd learnt that lesson decades ago. Hell, they both had.
He glanced in the rear view mirror at the two sleeping forms and it almost stalled him as Sam's words echoed in his ears. In the half-absent light he could almost believe that it was the two of them, him and Sam, instead. The image sat uncomfortably with him and deep down, he knew Sam was right; he wouldn't wish that life on anyone. No matter how defiantly Dean defended John's choices out loud, deep down, his memories, his resentments, they murmured a different mantra.
But this wasn't the same, he told himself. This wouldn't be the same, not for those kids. Not for Sam. He would make sure of it, no matter what. The new life his brother had, it was miles away from this one and Dean was determined to deliver Sam and his brood safely back into it.
Except that the instant he thought that, he suddenly realised Sam had been right about that sentiment too; there was something far too familiar about how this all felt, as if they were slipping back into a routine that neither had ever set. Something about their situation, about Sam riding shotgun and them both sharing this feeling of nightmarish urgency as they raced through the night, something about it felt inexplicably well-worn, even though it really shouldn't. They hadn't done this, shared this, as adults.
Dean drove alone. Dean hunted alone.
Dean was alone.
Or at least he had been, for years now, since even before John had died.
Except that now he suddenly really wasn't. And as difficult and as uncomfortable as it should have been to have Sam by his side, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if this were what Dean had wanted all along.
The two of them shoulder-to-shoulder against the world, as if this was how it was always meant to have been.
As if it were fate.
For some reason, that thought terrified Dean.
Grimacing, he refocussed on the road ahead and pressed the gas pedal down harder, willing his Baby to somehow go faster as they sped further into the darkening nightfall ahead.
tbc
AN: The mention of Samhain wasn't important. I just needed a quick ending to the conversation that would leave Dean in a dark mood and Samhain was one of the Seals I remembered from the show. Lets just pretend that in this story/version of events, Dean managed just fine without Sam's help on that one.
Thank you Shazza19, Kathy and Natasha Walker :-)
And Natasha, it really made me smile to read about your little sister. I don't have younger siblings, but your sister sounds cuter than I imagine Deans niece to be :-)
The feedback from everyone has really helped me do some remedial work on this story as we go along. While I knew in my head how Sam had found Dean (the same way Dean found Sam when he returned from Hell in canon), it was only after reading the comments that I realised I hadn't actually explained it! Reading the queries and comments has been really helpful, so thank you :-)
From here on in I need to do more work to pull the story together (tiny little errant strands that need tying here and there etc.), so there may be longer gaps between updates sometimes, but I'll try to be fairly quick.
As always, to all, stay well and thank you for reading.
