Ultimately, it's the conversation with Jim Murphy that really convinces Dean that they are in danger of losing Sam.
Dean ended the call and tossed his cell onto the empty seat next to him. Like a balm on burned skin, he enjoyed his sporadic conversations with Sonny. The kindhearted ex-con was one of the few civilians that had earned Dean's respect over the years, and was important enough to Dean that he always made sure that his former caretaker had a current number to call.
Whether for help, or just to shoot the breeze and catch up.
So far Sonny had never needed to send out the bat signal for their particular brand of assistance for which Dean was grateful, not wanting the boys at the home to ever have to deal with any of the Winchesters' usual playmates. Despite the fact that Sonny had always been supportive in his own way, Dean was reasonably sure that his old friend didn't actually believe in any of the supernatural stuff anyway.
Which was fine. Sometimes it was nice to just make conversation with someone who cared without having to talk shop.
Dean didn't share these conversations with either his father or brother. Not that he was under any delusions about Dad's ignorance of them. John Winchester was always laser focused on any outside influences on his boys, which was why despite being raised in the life his kids knew very few other hunters.
Dean was positive that there was no way his father didn't know about the occasional calls on his cell either to or from the area code where he had left his firstborn for two months.
Anyone who thought that John hadn't spent those two months hovering in the near vicinity of Hurleyville, tense as a predator ready to pounce, while he taught his son a lesson on money management, responsibility and not fucking getting caught, didn't know Dean's father.
At all.
And Dean had wanted to stay. Wanted it like he had never really wanted anything else besides having his mother back. For the first time since...ever...Dean had been given a reprieve from the heavy responsibility of his little brother's care.
Sure, he felt guilty about thinking like that. Guilty in a way that had torn at him enough to make him puke his guts out when he let himself feel it completely. In the darkness of the bunk room, lying awake in his warded bed among the other boys, Dean's mind had warred with frenzied worry over where Sammy was at the moment.
Was he with Dad? With Uncle Bobby? Or one of their other occasional guardians? Was he alone in a motel room, sick with worry about where his father and brother were? Was he safe? Was he hurt? Was he hungry?
Did he even miss Dean at all?
In the break of day, with the sunlight chasing away the dark shadows that plagued him, Dean could push his lingering fears to the back of his mind. There was work to be done on the farm and he found himself enjoying physical exertion that didn't involve his continuing education into becoming a trained killer.
Even at school he was able to relax. Less guarded without the near constant hyper vigilance of being alert for any threat to his little brother's safety in a strange place. Dean knew he could handle himself so he didn't worry for his own safety. Didn't have that ever present tension that took his focus away from lectures and assignments.
He did well in school there. Not just well but flourished. For the first time he actually got what always had his little brother so enthused about education. Math and Sciences came easy to him and Dean quickly soared to the tops of his classes. For once getting praise for his academic endeavors instead of dismissal.
He loved being on the wrestling team and sparring just for fun and no other reason. Making friends with the other boys on his team who saw his strength as an asset. Not something to be scared of, like the students at the dozens of schools he had attended had always viewed the new kid, subconsciously moving out of the way as Dean strode by.
He loved walking down the hallway with his arm around Robin. Spending the evenings after dinner and chores with her on the couch in Sonny's living room. Her long slender fingers softly strumming the guitar strings as she sang painfully beautiful ballads in her gently lilting voice.
Sonny had reminded Dean a lot of his father and maybe that's why he had taken a shine to him initially. Like his dad, Sonny was a flawed man with violence in his past. Although the two of them might have chosen different paths to deal with that, Dean saw that each of them worked hard to save people, leaving the world a little better place than it would be without them.
When Dad had eventually returned to retrieve him, finally ready to bestow the largesse of his forgiveness on his wayward son, Dean had wanted to stay ensconced in his new found life. A life where he could just be a stupid high school kid with no greater worries than exams and acne.
But one look out the window, seeing his kid brother in the backseat of the Impala, young, vulnerable, and already at constant odds with their father, and Dean knew there was no choice at all.
So even now, years later, Dean didn't make his friendship with Sonny obvious. To this day Sammy didn't know the real story behind his big brother's absence during that time and as far as Dean was concerned he would never know. He would never admit to his little brother that there had been a time when he contemplated abandoning him, regardless of how incredibly brief that thought had been.
Dean would never randomly confess to Sam that his gung-ho hunter of a brother had once wanted normalcy too. Not that Dean wouldn't admit it if he was asked directly.
He might not care and share every aspect of his life with his family but he wouldn't lie to them either.
It was actually hard for Dean to hold back information from the other Winchesters. Unlike his father and brother he didn't keep many secrets from them. Dad had always kept his boys on a need-to-know basis and Dean accepted it. He didn't like it, but he accepted it as part of the way his father ran things. Dad was the C.O. of the Winchester Army. Dean and Sam only grunts who were expected to fall in line and do as they were told.
Whatever it took to get the job done.
As for Sam, the older the younger Winchester brother grew the more he looked, sounded and acted like their father. In fact, most of the time these days Dean often wondered why his parents hadn't named his little brother John Winchester, Jr and have just been done with it.
Sammy rebelled against learning everything their father tried to teach them regularly, but on the subject of keeping secrets Dean's little brother was becoming a master second only to John himself.
And didn't that just figure.
It was Sam's stubborn nature that was responsible for the empty seat in Dean's car right now. After a dozen arguments between his father and brother over Sam's enthusiasm, or more specifically his lack thereof, in helping them research the last hunt, Dad had decided that Sam needed a refresher course on responsibility, professionalism and chain of command.
Normally Dean would have tried to intervene, if only because he didn't want to be the one dealing with a pissy Sammy after the kid had spent the morning cooped up in the pickup truck while Dad gave him the Hunter's Riot Act. More than once after arriving at their destination following one of these pep talks Sam would storm out of the truck spitting nails and spoiling for a fight, usually with Dean as the nearest available target.
But Sammy had been acting a little more squirrely lately. More secretive and jumpy, and Dean was all out of patience with the kid these days too. Not that his little brother didn't have a few valid points. Dad was driven, no doubt, and military disciplined in a way that his sons, having never been to war themselves, were not quite at the level yet.
That didn't mean that the whiny emo little bitch didn't need to be taken down a peg or two at times. As anyone in their immediate acquaintance could attest, having been given front row seats to the long running Broadway performance of 101 Reasons Why My Life Sucks Out Loud by Little Sammy Winchester.
Dean could see the figures of his father and brother ahead of him in the truck's cab as they drove along the interstate towards Blue Earth. Every once in a while John's right hand would make a jabbing motion in the air, signaling what Dean knew to be his dad's emphasis on a particular lesson he was trying to impart. In the passenger seat Sam sat, usually facing away from their father, his shoulders stiffening and slumping in equal measures.
Peachy, Dean thought to himself, already resigned to the upcoming in-person bitch-fest. Just peachy.
He didn't have long to wait after he ended his call with Sonny. Less than thirty minutes later Dad turned off the main road and headed towards the parking lot of a little greasy spoon with a sign out front that promised Real Home Cooking.
It should have been a sign to keep them driving. The more sketchy places always tried to use warm and fuzzy descriptors to entice unsuspecting travelers into their dining rooms, only to then offer mediocre fare that had spent too much time under warming lights and presented with the tired, grudging service of wait staff who would rather not be bothered.
Dean had done some Real Home Cooking in his life as well. But just because the Mac & Cheese with Marshmallow Fluff had been cooked in their home, it didn't mean that anyone besides his weird little brother should want to eat it.
Sam had already hopped out of the truck by the time Dean swung the Impala into an empty space a few cars away. Grabbing his cellphone from the seat at he exited his sweet ride he saw his father standing hunched at his little brother's side. Dad was leaning close to Sam's ear and talking low, a cautionary hand on the back of his brothers neck, and Dean inhaled a deep sigh because all signs indicated that their conversation was clearly going to spill over into the restaurant.
Inside they are shown to a round booth towards the back at John's request because Dad didn't step a foot into a strange place without scoping out the room for potential threats and quickest exits. He sits first and Dean slides in after him, attempting to put a little distance between his father and brother at least for as long as their late breakfast can last. Sammy reluctantly follows, slinking into the booth next to Dean with all the attitude a teenager could muster and ignoring the menus that have been plopped down in front of them.
"Two coffees, for us," Dad orders, indicating himself and Dean, "and orange juice for him," he finishes, nodding towards Sam.
The waitress says nothing as she jots it down on her pad and is already trotting towards the kitchen before Sam can object or correct her. Instead he glowers at the table in front of him and Dean can feel his brother's body tense next to his.
John's eyebrows are drawn together in annoyance as he stares at his scowling son. He begins to form a sharp rebuke and then stops himself, already weary after an entire morning in the truck lecturing the kid.
"You've been drinking nothing but coffee all morning, kiddo," he reminds Sam, in a voice that while not exactly gentle is at least calmer than Dean expected. "It's a researching evening, not an overnight stakeout."
Sam doesn't respond, either out of petulance or anger. Either way Dean is grateful for the lack of complaint that would ignite the powder keg he is sitting between. When the waitress comes back with the drinks Sam ignores the juice, as well as everybody else, as he chews the nail of his pinkie finger. A habit Dean has been trying to break him of since he was six years old.
To lessen the tension Dean turns on his fullest megawatt smile as he orders his usual greasy bacon cheeseburger and artery clogging chili cheese fries, cocking a playful smile at his father which stops John from immediately protesting his boy's habitually unhealthy diet.
"Short stack and a veggie omelet," John orders, gifting the tired waitress with a smile of his own before turning patiently to his pouting younger son. He's not exactly feeling guilty about his executive decision in ordering the juice but he'll put extra effort into into calling a ceasefire with his kid.
"What do you want to eat, Sammy?"
"Not hungry," Sam mutters, pushing the menu away and slumping further into the back cushion of the booth without even the barest attempt at civility.
John takes a deep breath and frowns, counts to ten in his head.
"He'll have what I'm having," he says firmly, ignoring the affronted huff from his youngest as he gathers the menus together and hands them back to the their server.
John desperately needs food and caffeine after the long drive and his patience with his children is rapidly slipping to a place where it will become impossible to rein his temper back in if they don't stop pushing his buttons. He just wants a quiet meal with his kids for Christ's sake.
"And he will have a side of steamed broccoli with his heart attack special," the perturbed father continues, indicating Dean with a pointed look whose head then jerks up in surprise. "Thank you, sweetheart."
The waitress says nothing as she adds the last order to her pad, used to bickering families with moody teenagers. She grabs the menus, warms up the coffees and darts off again leaving the uncomfortable atmosphere of the round booth in her wake.
"What did I do?" Dean asks indignantly, but is quickly silenced by his father's dark frown.
"I thought I told you to stow that attitude outside, Sammy," John rumbles darkly.
Dean closes his eyes in resignation because he hasn't even had half a cup of coffee yet, shit is already starting to brew, and now he has to eat rabbit food.
"Why?" Sam snaps, sharp enough to be heard by the couple in the booth next to them who give them judging stares. "Because I'm capable of ordering my own beverage? Because I don't want to eat whatever science experiment they're growing in this place?"
"You mind your tone, boy," John growls, pointing his finger at his mouthy son to impart the message that a line is being crossed. His boys haven't been raised to be disrespectful. "We've already had this discussion once, today."
"So it's a crime now to avoid salmonella?" Sam persists, every bit as stubborn as his father.
John is like a cobra about to strike, now leaning halfway across into Dean's personal space with a murderous look in his eyes that promises nothing good for the youngest Winchester.
"If I tell you it's time to eat, you eat," John says sharply. "We aren't going to descend on Pastor Jim like a plague of locusts and eat him out of house and home."
John's eyes are dark and snapping as he stares down his youngest, and when Sam doesn't capitulate he ups the ante.
"Maybe you need a reminder of respect for my orders and appropriate behavior when we're in public or guests in someone's house?"
Sitting in the eye of this approaching storm, Dean sighs and realizes that whatever has been said in the truck is about to come to a head in this small diner, and apparently he seems to be the only one remembering that they don't need this amount of attention. Dad doesn't take kindly to orders not being followed, and when Sammy digs his heels in over something he'd rather get whipped than back down. No matter how stupid the fight.
When Sam doesn't answer the direct question he's given, choosing instead to hold his ground and stare at a crack in the table's formica, Dean feels his father start to move from the booth. John has and will drag a disobedient son outside to the car for discipline if he's pushed too far. Dean knows this and Sam does too, although the youngest Winchester has a terribly bad habit of forgetting the fact. On his other side Dean feels his little brother involuntarily flinch but he doesn't back down.
It's about to get very very ugly and Dean is simply done with the bullshit from both of them. Well experienced in his role of the Winchester family cooler, Dean decides it's time for the tried and true method of distract/deflect/diverge.
Bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his eyes, he groans pitifully.
"Could you guys knock it off for a while, please? My freakin' head is killing me." Distract
John is still glaring daggers at his youngest but the underlying current of misery in Dean's voice catches his attention and his fatherly instinct kicks in, grudgingly overtaking his annoyance.
"What's the matter with your head, kiddo?" John asks, shooting one more heated glance at Sam now curled fingers before taking in the pained expression on his older son's face.
"Honestly, Dad?" Dean responds, rubbing his face again and gearing himself up for an award winning performance. "Too many beers last night while I was hustling." Deflect
As Dean intends, his father immediately launches into a scathing tirade that makes his irritation with his youngest pale in comparison.
"What?" John demands, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and worry as he turns his full attention to his eldest. "You know better than that, Dean! That's a rookie move! You know better than to let your attention to your surroundings get too impaired when you hustle."
"I know, Dad," Dean mumbles, eyes cast down with just the right balance of shame and guilt. "The mark had a sober friend. He was watching my intake. I just lost count. M'sorry."
Head down and eyes averted, Dean lets his father fume for another few seconds before he rubs his temples. Eventually, his dad's stronger protective side wins out and the dressing down is over. Before John's attention can get refocused on his little brother, Dean makes a preemptive strike of the ultimate sacrifice.
"Would you mind if Sammy drives the Impala the rest of the way?" he asks his father as he squints from phantom head pain. "I could really use a nap." Diverge
The request takes seems to take John aback because he has seen his son drive the car while bleeding all over the black leather seat. Dean is either seriously feeling ill or he is trying that desperately to keep the peace. Not particularly fooled, John nods his consent because he's not actually in the mood for more confrontation with his youngest either.
"Sammy, go get your brother some Tylenol out of the truck," he orders, going along with the ruse if it allows them to have a quiet family meal.
While Sam darts outside Dean squirms because he's pretty sure he's about to get called out but John just drinks his coffee and pulls out his journal, ignoring his son's discomfort. He doesn't say anything to Dean until Sam is back with the pill bottle, instructing Dean to take two and watching carefully as his oldest swallows them down before returning to his notes.
Dean notices that Sam is trying very hard to suppress his excitement over the prospect of driving and getting away from their father for a few hours and becomes mildly irritated that the kid is going to be rewarded for acting like a little asshole, but then he feels the affectionate nudge Sam's knee gives his own under the table thanking him for defusing the argument and he sighs. Relief superseding his irritation.
When the food comes Dean is starving and salivating but he knows that his father will call bullshit on his inability to drive if he tears into his meal. He forces himself to pick at the awesome smelling burger, even though he wants to devour it, the fries and, possibly, the plate itself.
Grumpy, he scowls at the small dish of broccoli until inspiration strikes.
"I'm gonna get this all to go, okay Dad?"
John doesn't allow his kids to waste food and Dean knows it. He can wait a little bit longer until his father and brother finish their meals, and then he will be free to inhale his own in the comfort of his car. The broccoli can have an unfortunate accident with a trash can when they get to Pastor Jim's.
John doesn't even look up from his plate, running a large forkful of pancakes through the puddle of syrup.
"Sure thing, kiddo." Slight pause. "Eat the broccoli so it doesn't stink up the car and we'll box up the rest for you later."
Dean's eyes go wide with surprise, only to be met with his father's knowing stare as he realizes that he is busted. Resigned, he pulls the dish of limp green vegetables towards him and obediently chokes it down under John's watchful eyes.
Sonuvabitch
In the end it's worth it when he sees his little brother digging into his own food, his earlier aversion to eating gone.
They're back on the road twenty minutes later, John leading in the Sierra as Sam carefully cruises behind at the Impala's wheel. As soon as they pull out of the parking lot Dean rips open the to-go bag and snorkels his way through his delayed lunch, not the least bit deterred by the fact it has grown cold at this point.
"Thanks."
Dean looks up from his burger and Sam is smiling gratefully at him.
"You so owe me, bitch," he says around a mouthful of limp fries. "Eyes on the road."
Sam laughs, a carefree happy sound, relaxed for the first time since they woke up this morning and he was forced to spend hours captive while his father lectured. It's not that he's not used to his father pointing out his many inadequacies as a hunter. To Sam, it feels like he's been disappointing his father for years.
Dean has always been the perfect son. Attentive, responsible, respectful and obedient, and still their father is critical and hard on him. So if that's what John thinks of his good soldier, what could he possibly really think about Sam?
He gets jealous sometimes. Really he does. Because he and his father don't actually have a lot of common ground or mutual interests despite Sam's secret wish that they did. Dad and Dean have always been their own little two man team, happy to spend hours together handling weapons, working on the cars, running, hunting, shooting, sparring.
It's enough to make Sam feel like the Odd Man Out most of the time. He will never feel the call of their life as it is. He just doesn't have the taste for it. Never will. He only slows them down with his disinterest and lesser skill.
They will be better off without him when he leaves. He's sure of it.
Dean looks up from his burger long enough to suss out the fallout from Sam and Dad's latest entanglement.
"How much trouble are you in?"
Sam's mouth twists into a frown and his eyes narrow briefly, his father's dressing down reverberating in his head.
"Double our cardio drill for a week. And I have to field strip and clean the entire arsenal tonight."
Dean lets out a low whistle, because that's harsh, even for Dad. He contemplates what to say that won't get Sam's back up further or undermine their father's authority over them. Either way he would be screwed so in the end he just gives his brother a sympathetic smile.
"Sorry, kiddo."
Sam shrugs, because that's just his life. As much as he wants to rail and scream right now, he won't. His brother has already gone the distance to separate him from Dad. Dean will probably also let him get off easily with the drills since Dad will make him count Sam out. He might even help Sam with the guns if Dad is too distracted talking to Jim to notice.
Dean demolishes his food in record time. Bagging up the trash and finally leaning back in the seat, surprisingly relaxed even though Sam knows it's killing him that someone else is driving. To keep his brother's mind occupied he suggests a game of I Spy to pass the time.
They haven't played the game in a while and the idea pleases Dean in a way that Sam doesn't really understand. They've spent a million hours passing away the miles engaged in distractions like this. Two restless boys trapped in a car with only a preoccupied father and each other for company.
Sam had always assumed it was for his benefit. A way to busy a chatty little brother without annoying their dad with endless questions that didn't always have a happy answer. Once he was older Sam began to bury his nose in a book for the long drives, releasing his big brother from the chore of entertaining him.
Now he wonders who the games were for.
As they cruise down the two lane asphalt, they play. And if Dean is stretching the rules using an unfair advantage of automotive knowledge, Sam doesn't call him on it. He's got things on his mind and wants his brother in a good mood when they talk about it.
"D'you think Dad would let me spend the school year with Pastor Jim?"
Dean's head snaps back like he's been slapped and his eyes blink rapidly. He throws his brother a disbelieving look, trying to figure out whether or not the kid is serious.
"Okay, Random. Where did that come from?"
Sam grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white as he shrugs.
"I dunno," he answers, attempting to be casual and failing. "It's just a thought. Might make it easier to hunt if he didn't have to worry about dragging me from school to school."
Dean snorts and shakes his head. Seriously. This kid
"I'm sorry. Have you met our father?"
Sam doesn't have to look to know that his brother is giving him the 'my brother got dropped on his head as a baby...repeatedly...' stare.
"Sammy, Dad isn't going to leave us behind at Pastor Jim's. Or Bobby's. Or Caleb's. Or anybody else's place," Dean reminds him, attempting to be reasonable and gentle in the face of his little brother's obvious dumbness today.
There is a slight hesitation as Sam's mouth puckers into a frown, hands tightening even more into the stranglehold he has on the wheel.
"Not us, Dean," he says quietly, avoiding his brother's shocked face. "Just me."
A rising tide of hurt edges up in Dean's throat for the briefest of seconds before he manages to choke it back down. He takes a beat in an attempt to convince himself that Sam couldn't have mean that like it sounded.
"Just you?" he asks, struggling to keep his voice calm.
Sam risks a quick peek at his brother's face but Dean is staring straight ahead to the road, revealing nothing.
"Eyes on the road, Sam."
Sam snaps his attention back to his father's truck ahead of them and clears his throat, knowing that without Dean on his side he'll never convince his father to leave him behind. He needs this. No decent school will give him a shot if he can't stabilize his school records.
"Dad needs you to keep hunting with him," Sam begins, trying to sound reasonable while he exploits one of his brother's weaknesses. "And I'm not a kid anymore. You don't need to stay behind and watch me all the time. It's not fair to you."
For his own peace of mind, Dean chooses to believe that that is what Sam meant. That it's his concern for his big brother's happiness that has him thinking about being left behind alone, and not because he wants to distance himself from Dean as much as from their father.
The alternative is too painful to contemplate. Especially since Dean himself had more than once chosen family over personal desires.
"There's no way Dad will leave you behind that long anywhere without me, Sam," Dean replies, unwilling to expound further into territory that might be harmful to their brotherhood.
There's truth and finality to Dean's simple statement of fact. Sam knows it. He may not want to admit it but he knows it. For a brief second his hopes and plans slip a little further from his grasp but he subconsciously racks his shoulders back as he begins to ponder other alternatives.
Engrossed in his own thoughts he doesn't realize that his brother sees his tell, Dean's mouth stretching into a grim line as he turns away to stare off into the distance.
They don't speak until Dad signals for them to pull over for a restroom break. Aside from a quick question about the state of Dean's fake headache their father doesn't say much and he also doesn't demand Sam's return to the truck. Freed from obligation to keep up the ruse Dean slides back behind the wheel with Sammy as reluctant shotgun.
Approaching the exit for Blue Earth, Minnesota, Dean catches a glimpse of the hulking, whimsical statue coming into his view. A familiar sight since childhood, he can't help the corny jingle that came unbidden into his mind.
Too many hours left alone to their own devices in motel rooms with an inquisitive little brother that literally never shut the hell up. So sue him. Sometimes the television was the device of last resort for a kid who just needed a few moments of peace from the constant chattering of an overactive little brother.
Up in the valley of the Jolly Green Giant
Over and over again, the commercial for canned vegetables would play between episodes of Thundercats and every other ridiculous program that Sammy could be persuaded to watch and give his big brother two solid minutes of peace between the endless questions.
Dean had dreaded seeing it start, knowing that his little brother would begin to squeal in delight as if expecting Pastor Jim to walk through the door, only to be disappointed when Dean had to remind him that they were far from the actual statue that resided in Blue Earth.
Sitting in the passenger seat oblivious to their surroundings, Sammy's nose was deep in a book as they drove, their previous discussion long discarded.
His current choice was The Old Man and the Sea, and Dean had rolled his eyes when seeing it pulled from his kid brother's slightly ratty backpack. Another selection from the long established tradition that the little geek imposed his own reading list for the summer.
As if their father didn't already have them reading a metric fuck ton of lore books in the first place.
For some reason Sam seemed to be on a Hemingway kick this summer and Dean made a mental note to find a book store in town while they were visiting. If the kid insisted on wearing his eyes out by age eighteen then it was time to introduce the boy to some real reading material, like Vonnegut.
The looming green figure was growing larger as he followed his dad's black Sierra towards one of the few places they had actually spent significant time in growing up. As children, Pastor Jim's rectory had been almost as much a home as the Impala and both the Winchester brothers had fond memories of their stays there.
The large, leaf toga wearing man had always been a gatekeeper of sorts.
A sign that they were minutes away from the neat and cozy rectory with its soft beds that were always crisp and clean smelling. A casserole unfailingly bubbling in the oven made by one of the many church ladies who had deemed it their Christian duty to keep Pastor Jim's waistline expanding. The rec room with its numerous shelves filled with toys and games occupying restless children after services.
Dean couldn't help the smirk on his face as they drove past the visitors entrance, the twinkle in his eyes a combination of happy childhood nostalgia and the mirth of youthful indiscretion.
Then
Four Years Ago….
Dean was seventeen and feeling his oats.
Along with Sam he had been left behind at Jim's while their father and Caleb, one of the few other hunters John trusted, set off in pursuit of a Vetala in the area near the Florida Everglades. Expecting to be gone a couple of weeks, hunting a monster that preferred young men as prey, John had once again entrusted his sons to his old friend and firmly forbidding his oldest from joining him.
Dean's bruised pride had him mouthing off to John and questioning orders. An occurrence even more rare than Sammy agreeing to move without throwing a tantrum.
Hurt by what he perceived to be his father's lack of faith in his blossoming hunting skills, Dean had lashed out in an unprecedented way and as a result found himself grounded for the duration of his father's absence. Sentenced to attend Pastor Jim's evening bible study classes with his driving privileges revoked.
John and Caleb were taking Caleb's much more utilitarian Jeep in case their chase took them into less forgiving marshy terrain, leaving the Impala, jet black and gleaming, to sit in Jim's side yard, mocking Dean's inability to drive her anywhere.
It didn't help his mood that Sammy, the little suck up, was more than willing to sit through bible study. Happy to spend evenings around normal people doing normal things and rationalizing his enthusiasm by declaring that the Good Book was a huge resource for obscure lore that might come in handy some day.
Dean had been practically spitting fire when his little brother made that pronouncement. Sam had to be dragged by his floppy hair kicking and screaming to do research normally. The little bitch was trying to get under his skin on purpose and for once Dean felt like punching his baby brother.
It wasn't like they had a choice in the matter. Dad said they were going, so going they were.
Faced with his father's abandonment and his little brother's holier than thou attitude, Dean was grudgingly dragged into the community hall after dinner that first night, horrified when the vacant seat to his right was suddenly occupied by a stout middle aged woman with hair shaped like a football helmet, an odor of overcooked cabbage clinging to her like incense, and judgment in her eyes.
For two evenings in a row Dean slumped dejectedly in his chair. Sammy chipper and curious to his left and Cabbage Lady to his right making pointed insulting remarks under her breath and throwing him the occasional glare that clearly stated that Dean's spirituality was sorely lacking.
Dean hated religious hypocrites.
If it hadn't been for his long time affection and healthy respect for the good Pastor he would have told Helmet Head to cram it where the sun don't shine, but as it was Jim was a good friend of their father's and had always been unfailingly kind to both of the Winchester boys, so he kept his mouth shut.
It was on the third evening that everything changed.
As the boys walked across the parking lot towards the community hall after dinner Pastor Jim had informed them that it was Youth Night, and with a poorly concealed smile had hinted that they might have a few surprises waiting for them inside. Surprised they were.
On more than one occasion the boys had been left with Jim for long periods of time. Enough time to meet and get casually friendly with some of the local kids. One stay had even involved them being enrolled in the local school for a few months when Dean was thirteen and John had been banged up enough to need real bed rest.
It had been the one other time that Dean had been reluctant to leave a school and join their father back on the road until his time at Sonny's place.
Sam had no trouble recognizing some old friends from that stay and he hadn't even bothered to say goodbye to Dean and Jim before sprinting off to join them. Dean had been more relieved than hurt by his brother's quick abandonment because although he loved Sammy the kid was really getting on his nerves lately.
Dean had made friends, good friends, for the first time. They were troubled kids from dysfunctional homes, but considering how Dean and his family lived he never looked down on them with the typical disdain that most of the upper middle class community that made up the parish had. With Sammy well watched at Jim's house, Dean had finally felt a few moments of breathing space where he could just be a kid, and the ragtag bunch of social outsiders had embraced him as one of their own.
Now, stepping into the side meeting room where the evening's attendees of his age group were assembling, a warm wave of nostalgia washed over him as he slowly identified the maturing faces of old friends. Recognizing Dean immediately, they came barreling towards him, shoving and punching him like most guys that age do in greeting each other and happier now he felt some of the weight lifted from his head as they started catching up.
Renny, the unofficial leader, had a wad of cash in his pocket, proudly telling Dean that he ran errands for a local drug dealer. Only seventeen years old, he was paying his mother's rent and for the first time in years they weren't on the verge of being evicted. Dean was profoundly sad that this was the direction he was choosing to go because Renny was smart, Sammy smart, and with a little encouragement from his alcoholic mom or a teacher that gave just a little damn he could go places.
RJ's older brother was now at Duke with a full athletic scholarship and you could see the pride in RJ's eyes as he told Dean about it. RJ was going to try for one too, and Dean got the impression that his days hanging out with the others might be numbered.
Dennis was a good natured stoner who kept everyone laughing with his weird humor and willingness to make an ass of himself. Dennis was a perpetual foster kid, in and out of group homes. He had a kind heart and never said a bad thing about anyone. He spent time at Jim's because it kept him from getting beat on at his current group home and the food was good. Feeling protective, Dean made a mental note to pay a visit to Dennis' tormentors.
The sixteen to eighteen age group was theoretically being led by Ms. Purvis, a woman who owned the local flower shop, dressed in twin sets and pearls and had a nose that was permanently raised in the air. Renny assured Dean that she really only came for the gossip. After passing out worksheets that she never collected, she abandoned their group for coffee and pastry in the community hall kitchen with the other women.
Shutting the door and cranking open a side window, Dennis threw Dean half a pack of Kools and he shook one out, lighting it up and taking a drag. He coughed a little because it had been forever since his last one and the boys laughed like crazy at him.
Under his father's watchful eye Dean could never allow himself to become addicted to them, and if it had been Sammy lighting up he would have wrung the kid's neck. It was a social thing more or less. Dean didn't really like cigarettes. They tasted awful and interfered with his running. You couldn't run from Wendigos with lungs full of black tar.
Besides, it's not like he could hide it once Dad got back. John could smell it on his kid ten blocks away and had once threatened to make Dean smoke an entire pack in one shot if he ever caught his oldest having another one. But Dad was in Florida.
Without Dean.
So screw him.
Finally relaxed and enjoying himself, Dean was lounging on the chair closest to the storage closet, his stomach a little queasy from too much tuna noodle casserole and nicotine, so he was taking small sips of a Pepsi grabbed from the main hall's buffet table hoping that it would keep him from puking in front of his friends.
There was a small group of latecomers making their way through the door and Renny jumped up and trotted over to meet them. Smiling like a fox he threw an arm around a petite blonde, another girl following them closely.
The girl standing slightly behind Renny was the closest thing to perfection Dean's seventeen year old eyes had ever seen.
Swirls of long black hair snaking their way down her low cut shirt, giving just a peek of the swell of her perky breasts. Her shirt was tucked into skin tight black jeans that emphasized all the curves in all the right places and he felt his groin ache and his breath catch.
But it was her eyes that did him in. Ice blue and shining with mischief, he couldn't stop leering at her like some sick perv in a trench coat.
She giggled, showing small even white teeth inside her rosebud red lips, shiny with gloss, and Dean was sure his face blushed nine shades of crimson from getting caught when she winked at him. The other guys were snickering at his obvious infatuation and general dumbness but she didn't seem to pay any attention to them. She just kept smiling as she slowly walked over with the strangest look on her face.
Almost amused and expectant, she stood directly in front of him like there was a joke being shared that Dean wasn't in on and he practically had a heart attack when she parted her legs, straddled his hips and sat down on his lap. She leaned over slowly, giving him ringside seats for ogling her full round breasts and he could smell a mix of ocean and rain coming off of her. It was intoxicating.
"Long time no see, stranger," she whispered, her breath sending a warm wave of air into his ear, brushing her lips against Dean's left cheek before nipping his earlobe.
Jesus. Christ.
Being a guy that age is hard enough when you're just sitting in class. Your trouser snake was regularly possessed by the devil, doing whatever it wanted whenever it wanted on a good day. Right now Dean's was already painfully trying to escape his jeans and the ear bite didn't help.
He was counting backwards, wordlessly reciting the Latin alphabet, mentally reviewing the entire White Sox roster and going over Trig homework from his last school in an effort to not explode like Old Faithful and completely humiliate himself.
She clearly sensed his struggle and laughed again, moving her hips slowly to press harder against him. Dean was losing the battle, squeezing his eyes tightly in an effort to think of something, anything, that would take his attention away from this beautiful and sadistic creature currently killing him.
A fleeting thought of the influence of Sirens got distractedly discarded by an especially insistent thrust of her hips.
She leaned over closely again and nuzzled his ear. Her breath warm and moist and Dean groaned as he felt his resistance slipping.
"Don't you remember me, Dean?"
The question surprised him because who could possibly forget perfection? So he opened his eyes with his mental focus thankfully redeployed as he searched her face for some recognizable trait.
She pulled back slightly and Dean scrutinized every feature of her with not even a tiny clue which made his hunter-in-training brain absolutely crazy. She made a fake pouting face, those perfectly kissable lips pursed and glossy, while the guys laughed at both his confusion and his aching groin but he had nothing.
Just as he was about to tell them off for messing with him she reached up and began twirling a lock of her hair with her right index finger, rattling an old memory from the dusty back corners of his memory.
"Beth?"
It couldn't be. But just as sure as Dean knew his own name he knew it was her. She giggled again, clearly pleased that he had finally placed her, and she leaned over once more and kissed him gently on the mouth.
Her lips tasted like strawberries.
"Good boy," she praised in a quiet breathy voice as she slowly climbed off of his lap.
He sat up straighter in the chair, attempting to discreetly adjust himself as she starting talking with the other guys. Face flushed and head was spinning, he blinked his eyes in confusion because this was definitely not the Beth that he remembered.
They had met the summer Dean was twelve, once again temporarily in Blue Earth while John took a few of the more dangerous hunts, comfortable that his sons were safe and protected. Thrown together at Jim's vacation bible school and assigned to be study buddies because her last name was alphabetically ahead of his on the attendance roll.
She was a tomboy then. Straight angles, skinned knees and hair always in a messy ponytail. Her second hand clothes often had small stains either from the previous owner or because Beth could get down and dirty at play as good as any boy in school. Her mom liked to drink. Her dad was gone. Mom had lots of boyfriends and sometimes they hit her. Sometimes they hit Beth too.
Beth came to bible school cut and bruised on several occasions and Dean once overheard one church mom tell another that it was probably the reason Beth played so aggressively, so that she could blame rough housing for the abuse she was getting at home. He remembered being angry about that. That these good, Christian women could gossip about an abused child but not act to help her.
Dean's protective nature had him itching for payback to whoever was hurting her, even at only twelve years old. He knew hand to hand combat already. Could handle knives and a shotgun too if he needed to, but he couldn't risk getting into trouble when Sammy still needed his protection more.
He wasn't entirely helpless. Because Dean's charm also worked on reformed and faithful clergymen Beth was often invited to spend time at the rectory, away from booze addled mothers and abusive boyfriends, and for a while the bruises and cuts were fewer and farther between.
Dean hadn't seen Beth since that summer. A few months later at Christmas Sammy would find Dad's journal in their seedy motel room in Broken Bow. With the innocence of his younger son shattered, John had decided to regularly start bringing the boys along on hunts instead of parking them in Blue Earth every few months.
Until the next year.
With Dad recovering from a bad encounter with a rawhead, Dean had looked for her at school but a change of address had her zoned elsewhere. Then not too long after their arrival they had been on their way again and sadly Dean hadn't really thought anymore about her.
He was thinking about her now though.
She was a fully developed seventeen year old girl and he couldn't take his eyes off of her as she moved around the room with the fluid ease of someone confident in their own skin. The guys laughed at his obvious infatuation, having fun at his expense, but he didn't care. They could tease him all they wanted but he couldn't stop staring.
She knew he was watching too and she liked it, purposely brushing up against him as she walked around, giving him birds eye views of both her amazing breasts and voluptuous ass straining the seams of those tight jeans.
Not that Dean was complaining. It was like having his birthday, Christmas, the Fourth of July and a perfect werewolf hunt all rolled up into one ocean breeze scented package.
He completely tuned out any effort at conversation from the other guys and, to their credit, they picked up wing man duty like pros, leaving him free to gawk and lust. Beth sat down in a chair facing him, her legs crossed and her right foot swinging slowly in high heeled boots.
She didn't say anything to Dean, just stared intently with a little smile on those beautiful lips, her ice blue eyes dancing with excitement, or danger, or lust. He don't know. Dean was proud of his good looks, used getting his share of admiring glances, but her attention had him feeling like a pimple faced freshman.
She stood up after awhile and stretched cat-like, flipping her hair back and causing her shirt to pull tighter across her chest.
"I want candy," she purred at Dean and he immediately jumped to his feet to be of service.
"I'll go out and grab you some," he gushed at her. There were always various and sundry snacks on the table in the main hall, and if he had a tail this is the part where he would be wagging it.
She smiled at him, biting her bottom lip in a way that was both adorable and dirty in equal measures and the ache in his groin came running back at lightening speed.
"Not the candy out front," she objected, her mouth curling into a small pout. "That's just the cheap generic stuff that the mothers try to get rid off."
"Okay," he agreed quickly, ready to run to freakin' Hershey, PA itself if she wanted him to. "I'll go find a store. What kind do you want?"
She strolled slowly over to Dean, her mouth still beautifully pouting, and took his hand.
"There's chocolate in the storage room," she purred. "Pastor Jim saves it for the youth meetings after Sunday services. He won't mind if we help ourselves. But it's up on a high shelf and I can't reach it."
Dean knew every inch of the grounds and didn't remember ever coming across a candy stash. He would have clearly made note of that. Couldn't remember an after services candy grab either but he was so entranced by her that he wasn't thinking clearly.
He also didn't hear the other guys laughing and, honestly, they could have been doing stand up comedy for all he knew. Beth easily led him to the storage room door and he was prepared to climb a shelf, build a scaffold or fight an angry spirit to make sure she got what she wanted.
She pulled him inside and snapped on a light switch next to the door. The light had only one dim bulb that buzzed pathetically like any second of use could be its last, casting a faint shadow over a small, cramped room that had almost nothing on its shelves and smelled like disinfectant.
She shrugged her shoulders at his look of confusion, not appearing to be too put out.
"No candy," she said, with no hint of sadness in her voice as she pulled Dean towards her.
Slowly she backed up against a wall, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to meet hers. Her lips parted and Dean dove right in to the softness of her mouth, completely oblivious now to anything but the electrical sensation of her curious tongue.
It could have been five minutes or it could have been five years. Dean lost all track of time and his surroundings as he surrendered himself to her kisses.
Moving more confidently than she probably should have, Beth grabbed his right hand in her left one and guided it first under her shirt, and then under one lacy cup of her bra, allowing him explore the soft flesh of her warm breast. She put her other hand down the back of Dean's pants and under his boxers, grabbed his ass and squeezed hard and he moaned deep in his throat with heady thoughts of how they just got to second base with her at the wheel.
He kind of liked her take charge attitude.
In Dean's blissful state he didn't even notice the door being flung open and it wasn't until someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and roughly pulled him away from her that he even realized what was going on. One minute he was in heaven and then the very next he was staring directly into the furious face of twin set and pearl wearing Ms. Purvis.
Without hesitation he was frog marched directly to Pastor Jim with Ms. Purvis' preachy diatribe of trouble-making sinners taking advantage of good Christian girls ringing in his ears. Jim had been surprisingly kind about it. Gently scolding Dean with a lengthy discussion on abstinence and temptation instead of being as angry as he should have been.
Thank God for his father's absence at that point. Because although Dad had no love for a God that allowed his wife to burn, Dean knew that even John Winchester would draw the line at his son feeling up a girl in church.
Of course they were closely watched after that episode.
Beth had started attending the daily study sessions instead of just the weekly youth meeting. Jim had pointedly seated her across the table from Dean, away from the temptation of grabby hands. But it hadn't stopped her from angling a wandering foot up and down Dean's legs as they faked interest in the reading materials, sending shock waves of pleasure up his spine.
For the next few evenings there were casual brushes against each other at the snack table. Smoldering looks above open pages of biblical texts. Stolen, passionate, strawberry flavored kisses behind the door of the community hall kitchen after they volunteered for clean up duty.
By the time Pastor Jim's housekeeper told the boys that he was called away on hunter's business a week later, Dean's balls were bluer than a smurf.
Presented with the perfect opportunity to skip out, there was no hesitation on his part to grab the Impala's keys with one hand and Beth in a shockingly short skirt in the other and make a break away from the watchful eyes of helmet heads and twin sets.
She directed him easily to the parking area near the iconic giant statue. Late enough in the evening to be safe from the prying eyes of visiting tourists. Withe the Impala's engine still warm from the short drive, an enthusiastic make out session in the front seat rapidly progressed to the back seat. Frenzied kisses and groping hands becoming fumbling maneuvers to move clothing out of the way.
Dean lay willingly on his back as Beth climbed on top of him, scarcely comprehending the reality that this beautiful girl was about to become his First Time,. With a determination that took his breath away she nipped him repeatedly, his pleasure sensors on overload, as if she were claiming him.
He was happy to surrender.
Close by, the big green man stood sentry behind them, steadfast and strong at his post, and Dean's last rational thought was that Beth had seemed very skilled in the way she had wrangled him into a condom. He didn't mind. In fact, he was grateful. At least one of them should know what they were doing, after all.
The urgency kept building and building, steamed windows and creaking leather as soft flesh rocked together until Dean had fireworks of pleasure explode in his brain, rendering him unable to speak while his legs shook from the aftereffects.
Beth was still on top, giving him the full cowgirl, when the Impala's back door was ripped open.
Things got noisy after that. Beth was pulled off of him, afterglow turning to tears as Pastor Jim wrapped her slight form up in his suit coat. Mortified, Dean struggled to get dressed as he stared wide eyed at Beth being bundled into Jim's pick up.
A struggle that had only become worse when he caught sight of his father's imposing form, strong massive arms reaching into the interior of the car to bodily extract his oldest son. Dean positively freaking out and tripping over his pooled up jeans in the process.
John had dragged Dean, hyperventilating and half dressed to the back of the Impala, already pulling his own belt from the loops of his jeans that were covered in mud from the ditch where they had wrecked Caleb's jeep.
The older hunter's emotions were running high from the stress of the car accident he had just been in thirty miles outside of Blue Earth, bleeding into the abject fear and worry over his missing son. Car gone and Sammy alone at the rectory having no clue where his brother was. Only to stumble across his boy going for glory in the backseat where the kid himself had probably been conceived.
Mary had loved that car.
With his father's unwielding hand holding him bent over the trunk, Dean had his recently deflowered bare ass whipped all the colors of the rainbow. Right out in the open in front of God and Jolly Green.
It had also cost him two painful hours sitting on a hard church pew while Jim lectured on sin and salvation. Besides being grounded practically forever for a list of offenses that his dad was happy to reiterate repeatedly when they headed out the next day for an eighteen hour road trip to the next hunt.
To this day, Dean still felt that it had all been worth it.
Now…..
Dean's small smile turned up at the corners to a full grin as they zoomed past the Green Giant statue. They were old friends, him and Jolly Green, and he found himself flipping a jaunty salute to the character that had born witness to one of his most awesome experiences.
Good Times.
Pastor Jim's place never changed. There was a warm feeling of comfort and familiarity as the two Winchester vehicles pulled up in the driveway. The man himself was waiting for them on the porch as they climbed out of the cars, stretching and popping muscles from the long day on the road.
Sam bounded up the stairs and greeted Jim with a hug, like the affectionate puppy that he was. The Winchester brothers had little in the way of close family and the good pastor was part of their small circle.
Dean wasn't much of a hugger at his age but he did give Jim a warm handshake and hearty pat on the back. The pastor herded the boys into the kitchen where his housekeeper laid out some sandwiches and iced tea that they snacked on while their father and Jim talked quietly in the den.
When the two older men finally joined them in the kitchen quite awhile after their arrival Dad reminded them that they had PT to do so Sam and Dean grabbed their bags out of the car and changed into their sweats. It was late in the afternoon but still beautiful outside with plenty of daylight left, and the large well manicured side yard was the perfect place to do their drill.
It didn't take long for them to fall into the regular rhythm of the mandatory workout that John had them follow religiously, firmly believing that hunters needed to keep physically fit at all times.
Boys! Is your body an asset or a weakness?
Dad would routinely bark this question at them when enthusiasm for early morning runs was less than stellar. Genetic luck with rapid fire metabolisms kept them slim despite Dean's love affair with grease and pie. But even skinny kids needed conditioning to build up strength and speed.
Dean did the workouts because his father ordered them done and that was that. No questions asked, because he was a good son. Fortunately Sam didn't mind them too much, preferring a healthier lifestyle anyway, and a good natured competition had grown over the years as he caught up to his older brother in size and strength.
Days spent cooped up the car made the exercise even more attractive to two active young men, sets of sit ups, push ups and crunches expending pent up energy from sitting still too long. Moving side by side in unison on Jim's lawn as they counted out their sets the brother's enjoyed some quiet camaraderie.
Somehow their father's sixth sense had the man stepping out onto the porch as the boys finished up the usual drill.
"Boys! Come up for a minute and hydrate."
Sweating and breathing hard, they loped up the stairs and gratefully took the bottles of water that Dad held out for them.
"How's your head, kiddo?"
Dean looked up at his father's knowing eyes, a ghost of a smile on the man's lips.
"All better," he replied, cocksure grin wide and confident.
John nodded, paternal stare successfully getting the message across to his oldest that today's subterfuge was a one shot deal.
"Sammy, not too much water. You better get back to your second round before you cool down too much," John ordered, not angrily but his voice making it clear that it wasn't a suggestion.
Dean also stood up as Sam reluctantly pulled himself up from the porch chair but his father's strong hand firmly pushed him back into his seat.
"Sam can do this one on his own, Dean. You count him out."
Dean was getting ready to protest when Sam shook his head every so slightly. There was no reason for Dad to be annoyed with both of them. Without a word the younger boy headed back out onto the lawn and dropped down to begin his sets again.
His father gave Dean a quick pat on the shoulder and headed back into the house. Irritated and restless he sat helplessly in his porch chair and watched his little brother push himself through another full workout. Dean was going to stuff the kid's face with food himself tonight at dinner. Sam was skinny enough and he didn't need to lose the calories from an extra round of PT.
When the door opened behind him, Dean averted his gaze to avoid making a disrespectful comment to his father. It was John's place to handle his sons but it didn't mean that Dean always agreed with him. He was surprised when it was Jim that took the seat next to him instead of his father.
"How are you, Dean?"
Jim's voice was kind and concerned as always and he had a way of looking at Dean and seeing past all of the emotional masks and defenses that the young man had built up over the years.
Dean could have talked to him about anything and known that the good pastor would keep his confidence. He could talk about Sam's suspicious behavior and growing distance, or his father's increasing stranglehold on the kid. Of Dean's own weariness of the fights and fears for his little family.
But he didn't.
Even with someone as close and trusted as Jim was, Dean was loyal to Team Winchester, and talking about his father or brother behind their backs was an act of betrayal to his young mind. So, as usual, he changed the subject.
"Do you remember Beth?" he asked, smiling mischievously.
Jim laughed, shaking his head slightly and leaning back into the chair.
"Of course. She definitely left an impression."
Dean chuckled, managing to look a little chagrined over the slightly embarrassing manner in which Jim had last encountered Dean and Beth together.
"I was thinking about her today while we were driving here," he admitted. "Does she ever come around anymore?"
Jim's smile tightened and his eyes had a wave of sadness peek into them.
"No. She doesn't. Actually, no one has seen her for almost three years."
Dean blinked hard at that news. Partly from the guilt of never having asked Jim about her during the couple of brief visits the Winchesters had made to Blue Earth since that last stay.
"You remember that she had a troubled home life?"
Jim's question was gentle and kind and Dean nodded jerkily, recalling the numerous injuries that had littered Beth's face and arms when they were kids. He pushed his memory further and finally remembered them still present, yellowing and faded, but present when they had their romp in the Impala's backseat.
"She just left one day," Jim said sadly. "No warning, no message. One morning her mother just found her room empty. Hasn't heard from her since."
Dean sat quiet, stunned, as he took in that information. That Beth had wanted to escape her life was not surprising. There were years of pain and unhappiness in her home and a person could only take so much. What did surprise him was Beth cutting off contact with her mother. For all of her mother's faults, Beth had always given him the impression that she loved her mother deeply.
As if reading his thoughts Jim continued softly.
"Sometimes when someone is unhappy they make drastic decisions to do what is best for themselves. I think Beth knew that things at home were never going to change. And no matter how much you may love your family, you may find yourself needing to leave them behind."
Feeling cold all of sudden Dean stared out across the lawn and watched as Sam powered through his sets. Teeth gritting with determination and eyes narrowed. His recent secretiveness. Longer than usual trips to the library. An extra strong reluctance for Dean to be anywhere near his duffel bags.
It was starting to click.
Sam was unhappy. Really and truly unhappy.
Dean knew it. Dad knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. His kid brother wasn't one to suffer in silence. The question was how unhappy? Unhappy enough to bail on his family? The boy had run away more than once, after all.
In that moment, sitting in the late afternoon sun on Jim's porch, Dean realized that he needed to do something. Now. Otherwise he might just be here again someday. Talking to Jim. Only this time they might be talking about how Dean and John hadn't heard from Sam in three years.
And that wasn't a future Dean was ready to live with.