Day Seven
John Winchester watched the sunrise through Bobby Singer's kitchen window. Sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, with the warm rays of dawn reaching out to him, he could almost believe that the events of the past couple of days had all been bad dream. The thought of losing his son- either of his sons- was too much to bear. Yes, he knew hunting was dangerous, that there were risks of course and that one of these days they might not be able to walk away but that was different. Getting killed on a hunt, defending people from monsters wasn't the same as how he'd nearly lost his youngest boy. To have Sam vanish into thin air, with no traces, no rhyme or reason terrified even John Winchester- and he prided himself on not scaring easily. To not know if his son was alive or dead, to not know if he was in pain, spoiled the quiet of the morning by sending a chill up John's spine.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Bobby enter the kitchen.
"I helped myself to some coffee," John told him, "Hope you don't mind."
His friend shook his head and brought a mug down from the cupboard.
"What were you thinking?" Bobby asked as he poured himself some coffee.
John took a sip of his own drink before speaking.
"How incredibly lucky we've been this week."
Bobby stood at the counter and nodded.
"How long are you staying here?"
John drained his cup and stood, taking time to make himself a second cup.
"Today, I think," he said, his back to Bobby so he couldn't see the other man's expression.
"Thought you'd stay for a little while," Bobby replied, trying to sound casual but John could hear the hurt in his voice, "At least until Sam's healed up."
John turned to his friend.
"You know I trust you," he said, "I'd trust you with my life… I have in the past but… I think right now we just need to be on our own for a bit."
Bobby nodded but it was clear from his expression that he didn't understand. He knew he should have expected it; John Winchester was as flighty as they came, never staying in one place for too long.
"You tell the boys yet?" Bobby asked and John replied by shaking his head.
"They were asleep when I checked on them."
"Just be careful, John," Bobby told him seriously, "I mean it."
The eldest Winchester nodded, drinking some of his coffee.
"And don't go looking for trouble," Bobby reminded him, "For God's sake. Just let this one go."
SPN
Sam startled awake. Something warm and wet was touching his feet. Drawing his legs up, he propped himself on one arm and peered towards the end of the bed. Rumsfeld crouched there, pink tongue hanging out, stub tail wagging happily.
Sam chuckled and reached out. The Rottweiler padded up the bed and laid down beside the young man, groaning as he did so.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice spoke from the bed across the room, "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam lay back down and put and arm around the large dog and closed his eyes again.
SPN
Dean stared up at ceiling for a long moment, listening to his brother's breathing slow again with sleep and the Rottweiler's panting. He smiled to himself. Sam had laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time since they'd rescued him from the Beta Theta Upsilon basement. Dean closed his eyes, feeling hope that everything was going to be okay rise within him.
SPN
Sam's expression was stricken when John informed his sons they wouldn't be staying at Bobby's.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Nothing's wrong," John assured him, "But we can't live on Bobby's hospitality forever."
"I thought we'd stay until Sam was feeling better," Dean argued.
"Is it because of me?" Sam asked, suddenly speaking up.
"No," John told him, "Of course not."
"Why can't we stay?" Dean asked, "Where would we go anyway?"
"Dean," John began but his eldest son frowned.
"This isn't about you, Dad," Dean hissed, "Haven't you realized that yet? This shouldn't be about what you want. It's about what Sam wants- no- it's about what Sam needs."
"I'm not-" John began but Dean waved a hand in a dismissive gesture before grabbing his brother's elbow, "C'mon Sammy."
John watched his sons leave the kitchen, Rumsfeld padding across the hardwood floor after them.
John looked to Bobby for help. The older hunter busied himself with his cup of coffee and didn't meet his friend's eyes.
SPN
"Sammy," Dean said his brother's name as Sam climbed into one of the junk cars sitting in the yard, the wheel-less rims propped up on cinderblocks, and put his cheek against the steering wheel, wrapping his arms around his head.
Rumsfeld whined and scratched at the side of the car, pacing nervously as he peered up at the young man.
When his brother didn't answer him, Dean crossed the yard, jimson weed brushing against his pantlegs, and climbed into the passenger's seat beside his brother. Gingerly, he reached out and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder.
Sam didn't look up.
"Sammy," Dean gripped his brother's shoulder, trying to get him to sit up.
Finally Sam lifted his head, his face streaked with tears.
"Sammy," Dean murmured and grabbed his brother in a hug.
"Is Dad even happy I'm here?"
Dean frowned, "What? Of course he is. Don't talk stupid."
Sam shook his head, "He keeps getting mad at me."
"Sam," Dean held his brother out at arm's length, hands cupping his sibling's cheeks, "Dad's not mad at you. He's mad at the situation. He's mad that he can't go gank all those guys that hurt you. He's mad he can't go kick Ellen's ass. Okay, that's all. He's not mad at you."
Sam sniffed, his expression uncertain.
"You know Dad," Dean forced himself to smile, "He's always been emotionally constipated."
"Look," Dean continued, "I'm sure Bobby's in there getting Dad to change his mind."
"What if he doesn't?" Sam asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Well," Dean paused, "We're not little kids anymore. We don't always have to do what Dad says, right?"
Sam nodded.
"If Dad doesn't want to stay, he doesn't have to but that doesn't mean we can't," Dean told Sam.
His brother's eyes widened.
"You'd stay with me?"
"Hell yeah," Dean smiled, "I'm never leaving you alone again for the rest of your life."
Sam laughed and hugged his brother tightly.
After a moment they looked up at the sound of the screen door creaking open and then slapping closed, Rumsfeld barking and growling the person approaching from across the yard.
John peered through the broken driver's side window at his sons as Bobby's Rottweiler nipped at his pants.
"Sam," John said and cleared his throat, "We'll stay at Bobby's as long as you need to."
With that, John turned and walked back into the house.
The brothers remained outside for some time, just enjoying the morning, before returning to the house.
"Let's see if we can take off some of those bandages," Dean said, leading his brother into the small half-bath again.
Rumsfeld, not wanting to be left alone, shoved himself through the partially open door and laid down on Sam's feet as he sat on the closed toilet.
Dean undid the bandages from around his brother's wrists and although they still looked raw, he decided to leave them uncovered so the air could get at them. The gash on Sam's brow that had reopened when he had shoved Magnus' face into the steering wheel was scabbed over again, and the scrape on the side of his face was nearly healed already.
Rumsfeld stood up as Dean put the bandages in the garbage and opened the door. Bum wiggling, the Rottweiler followed the brothers into the kitchen.
"Any chance we could get some breakfast?" Dean asked Bobby.
The grizzled hunter scowled, "Do I look like Gordon Ramsey to you?"
Dean, was about to apologize, when the grizzled hunter smiled, "What do you want?"
"Sammy?" Dean turned to his brother, "Anything in particular you want for breakfast?"
Sam glanced down, suddenly bashful.
"Uh, pancakes maybe?"
"Good choice," Bobby announced, "John, want to help me?"
It was clear that the eldest Winchester did not want to help make breakfast but with a look from his friend, he stood up and grabbed the ingredients Bobby listed off for him to gather.
SPN
Once the breakfast was eaten and John and Bobby were doing up the dishes- much to the eldest Winchester's chagrin- Sam and Dean went into the living room to watch some TV. As soon as the younger Winchester sat down, Rumsfeld clambered onto the sofa between the brothers before laying down across Sam's lap.
"Jeez," Dean grumbled, the Rottweiler letting off a silent but deadly fart right in his direction.
Leaning forward, Dean grabbed the remote from the coffee table and began surfing the channels.
"What do you want to watch, Sammy?" he asked.
"Whatever you want, Dean," Sam muttered. He was stroking Rumsfeld's head, the big dog drooling happily all over his pants.
After a couple minutes of searching, the elder brother finally settled on a COPS marathon and settled back for a few hours of mindless television.
W
Dean at his brother, head thrown back against the couch pillows, mouth open, snoring, with Rumsfeld sprawled across his lap, just as deeply asleep as the young man.
Leaning forward, Dean turned off the television and stood, making his way into the kitchen. John and Bobby looked up when he entered.
"Everything okay?" Bobby asked and went to the fridge, pulling out a can of beer.
Dean accepted the beverage and nodded, smiling.
"I think we may have to adopt Rumsfeld when we leave here, Bobby," Dean opened the beer and took a sip.
The grizzled hunter raised an eyebrow and went to the doorway, peering into the living room.
"Fine by me," he commented, "He ain't much of a guard dog anyway."
Dean sat down at the table across from his father.
"What are you thinking, Dad?"
John looked at his eldest son and shook his head.
"What?" Dean pressed.
"I'm just trying to figure out what's going to happen next," his father replied.
Dean frowned, "Why? What does it matter?"
"I don't like to be blindsided," John explained.
"No one does," Dean told him, "But what are you worried about?"
"Sam-" John began but Dean held a hand up, "I'm gonna stop you there before you say anything else. If this is going to be a sob story about how Sam somehow messed up your grand plans I don't want to hear it."
John scowled, "That's not what I'm talking about, Dean."
"Then what's wrong," his son retorted, "Tell me. Don't keep beating around the bush, Dad."
"You two gonna duke it out," Bobby chimed in, "Take it outside."
The two Winchesters ignored him.
"I was going to say," John snipped, "Sam is going to have some choices to make in the near future. He's been away from school for a week now and they may not let him back in… that is if he even wants to go back."
Dean relaxed, "Why wouldn't he? He's only wanted to go to college since forever."
John nodded, "I know that but if he doesn't that means he'll stay with us and I'm concerned well… he wasn't happy before so what's to say he won't be happy now?"
Dean hesitated. He saw his father's point.
"If Sam doesn't want to go back to school," John continued, "That's fine by me. But I just want to make sure that if he does stay with us, he's comfortable with that decision."
The sound of movement from the living room had the two older Winchesters sitting back in their seats quickly, trying not to look guilty. Dean heard Rumsfeld jump onto the floor and the click of his nails as he padded across the floor, following Sam to the kitchen.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sam asked, leaning against the doorway.
"You looked like you could use some sleep," Dean replied and took a long drink from his can of beer.
The younger Winchester crossed the linoleum and sat down at the table. Bobby's Rottweiler followed him and laid his head on Sam's leg.
"Sam," John leaned his elbows on the table, "We need to figure something out. Now, you don't have to answer right away, you can think on it, but-"
Sam interrupted, "I don't know anything else about Magnus or the Brothers."
"That's not what we wanted to ask, Sammy," Dean told him, reaching out to put a hand on his brother's arm.
"We wanted to know if you," John heisted, "Well, do you want to try and go back to Stanford once you're well enough to go?"
Sam blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, especially by the fact that it was coming from his father.
"Don't say anything right now," John told him, "You take some time to think about it and then let us know."
"Oh… okay," Sam muttered.
"Do… do you want me to go back?" he asked, looking at his father.
John shook his head, "It doesn't matter what I want or don't want, Sam. It's up to you."
Sam lowered his gaze, looking down into Rumsfeld's liquid brown eyes. He had completely forgotten about even going to college.
"No," Sam answered, reaching up to touch the amulet still hanging around his neck, "I don't want to go."
"You're sure?" John asked, surprised.
"Sammy, you can go back if you want to," Dean said, squeezing his brother's arm.
Sam nodded, "I know but… just thinking about having to go back to Branner Hall… to look at all the other kids and know Terry and the others are gone…"
"Okay Sammy," Dean murmured, "We get it."
He drained his beer and said nothing else. It made him sad to think that Sam didn't want to return to Stanford. His brother had been so excited to go. Now, out of fear or guilt or something else he couldn't understand, Sam was turning his back on the dream he'd had since middle school.
Dean was still hopeful that once Sam had had a chance to recover, he'd be in a better frame of mind and realizing he was making a mistake by not going back to school. Maybe he could try again in a month or two, or heck, if he didn't want to sit in some stuffy old lecture hall, he could take online courses if he wanted to stay with them instead.
"You want something to drink, Sam?" Bobby spoke up, breaking Dean's train of thought.
"Beer?" the grizzled hunter asked but Sam shook his head.
"Soda?" Bobby offered.
"Okay," Sam muttered.
Dean moved his hand to his brother's and squeezed.
It's going to be okay, Dean thought, everything's going to be fine.
SPN
Dinner that night was leftover spaghetti but no one complained. John was simply relieved to see his youngest son seemed to be recovering quickly; he ate without hesitation and he even laughed a little at some joke his brother told.
They would stay in Sioux Falls until Sam had recovered enough and then continue onwards, doing what they always did; hunting monsters, saving people.
After their meal, the boys went outside with Rumsfeld while he and Bobby sat at the table, having a beer.
"Tell me yer not happy that Sam doesn't want to go back to college," Bobby said, staring out the window over the sink.
John narrowed his dark eyes slightly, "I meant what I said earlier. It's not my choice. It doesn't matter if I'm happy about it or not. Sam's eighteen; he can do whatever he wants and I may not be happy about it but that's just how it is."
"So? Yer not happy?" Bobby pressed.
John swallowed a mouthful of beer.
"Let's just put it this way," he replied, "I am happy that Sam is here. I am not happy as to why he is."
Bobby nodded sagely.
John peered at his beer bottle, "If I could erase the past week for Sam I would. I wasn't thrilled he wanted to go to college but I never wanted him to get hurt."
"I understand, John," his friend muttered.
The Winchester patriarch finished his beer and stood up, making his way outside to join his sons.
Author's Note:
Special thanks to mandancie for editing this chapter.
Thanks to bumblebeecas, carlton1, CBloom2, Mama's Stories, only-some-loser, Supermikeyninjalady, and TweetyRulz for reviewing.
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