Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Sam or much to my regret, Dean.
Story Summary: Dad finds out Dean has been seeing Sam. Dean's POV.
Author's Note: It's shorter than what I anticipated, but when I got to writing the guys just didn't have much to say about it. I hope you enjoy this! Reviews are always appreciated!
He'd been expecting it. Anticipating the moment, the instant when it would all come to a head. Preparing for betrayed eyes, a furious glare, irrational rage; for the pain that would be laid bare and exposed. Planning the arguments, the speeches, the rationalizations he'd lay out in response; strengthening his resolve that he was doing nothing wrong. Dean was an adult, and he was doing nothing wrong. He was an adult –
When the time finally came – he was seven and had forgotten to sharpen his knife before putting it away.
"What the hell is THIS?"
The roar almost made him flinch and he was sure the cheap motel walls shook.
It was one thing he had learned to appreciate about his father – John Winchester didn't pussy-foot around. He said what he meant and when he was pissed, he let you know.
Dean stared at the photograph his Dad was holding. He'd been positive that picture had been on the kitchen table when he'd left Sam's apartment, along with the rest of the pictures of that day.
A day at the beach.
A picture of him, with Sam and Jess.
Jess had developed doubles of it, insisting that Dean take one with him. He'd said no. She'd agreed. Sam had warned him that Jess never gave in that easily.
"I asked you a QUESTION, Dean! What the FUCK IS THIS?"
Dean took a deep breath and reminded himself – he was an adult, he'd done nothing wrong. "A picture," he answered carefully as he finished walking into the room.
"You wanna tell me what the FUCK it means! 'Cause I'm pretty damn sure this picture was taken RECENTLY!"
. . . done nothing wrong . . .
He nodded, his calm belying the way his heart was hammering in his chest. "Last weekend, actually."
"This is SAM!"
"Glad to see you still recognize him."
His father moved to stand in front of him so quickly he startled back a bit. A moment later, though, he lifted his gaze to meet the older man's.
"Watch the attitude," his Dad hissed, narrowing his gaze.
"Yes, Sir." The response was automatic and his gaze dropped instinctively; his resolve wavering beneath the dark, furious glare which was a trademark of John Winchester.
It didn't matter how many reasons and justifications and explanations he had. He could tell himself millions of times that he'd done nothing wrong. He could repeat over and over that he was an adult and accountable to no one, or that his father met up with people all the time and didn't tell him. In the end it didn't matter.
In the end he'd done something wrong, because that was how his father saw it.
"How long?"
The question was softer, but no less furious and Dean forced himself to look back up. "Five weeks," he answered firmly.
His Dad made a hissing sound and abruptly turned away from him, "And when the HELL were you plannin' on tellin' me you were SEEING SAM!"
Anger flared briefly at the accusation. "I don't know, Dad. The whopping two times I've seen YOU in the past five weeks have been full of time to talk."
The older man spun back to face him so quickly it was a miracle he didn't trip over his own feet. "Saving lives interrupting your social life, Dean?" Dad hissed.
And this time Dean did flinch.
His father wasn't pulling punches with this.
"You aren't exactly receptive to topics that have to do with Sam, Dad," he tried, a bit more gently.
"And you KNOW why that is!"
"He -"
"Walked out! HE WALKED OUT!"
"And YOU slammed the door shut -"
It was the first time he'd ever said those words out loud.
His father's eyes widened for half a second and he knew he'd surprised the man. A moment later the glare narrowed and the man roared, "HE MADE HIS CHOICE!"
Dean felt that flare of anger again. Those words didn't cut it anymore. "YOU FORCED HIM TOO!"
"YOU THINK THIS MY FAULT! I'M NOT THE ONE WHO TURNED HIS BACK ON FAMILY, DEAN! YOUR BELOVED BABY BROTHER IS! HE FUCKIN' LEFT US! OR DID YOU FORGET THAT!"
His breath left him in a rush. Leave it to Dad to jab right at the center of the wound. "I didn't forget," he answered tiredly, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over him. This conversation was about to take a wretchedly familiar term.
"He wants MORE than this, REMEMBER? He thinks our LIFE is BULLSHIT. A FRUITLESS quest we're DELUDING ourselves with! Any of this ringing a fuckin' bell in your head!"
"I remember you weren't exactly silent during all that either," Dean murmured.
"THIS is NOT my fault!"
"And I am NOT going to apologize for seeing MY BROTHER!"
The roar shocked them both. It burst out of him with so much ferocity he might have shaken the walls himself.
There was silence after those words. The kind you can feel and taste, it's so thick in the air. It was stagnant; pressing on them, weighed down with the resentments and anger of the night that had severed their family.
Dean was breathing hard; adrenaline pumping through his system as if a Black Dog were chasing him, fight / flight humming through his veins.
He clenched his fists and fought. "And I'm not going to stop either," Dean announced carefully.
Something shifted in his father's stance, nothing as dramatic as defeat or even resignation, but something nonetheless. The older man spoke into the silence. "Sam made his choice."
"Why does it have to be a choice? Why can't -"
"Because it does. Let me know if you want to make one."
Another jab to the gut from, Dad.
The words were unyielding.
An ultimatum as final as the one he'd given Sam. And it hurt because Sam had worked steadily, for years, towards that ultimatum. But Dean never had.
He didn't defy or question; he followed orders... he didn't deserve that. Dean felt his own glare intensify. He didn't deserve to be provoked like that, to be challenged into making a choice and the fact that his father even went there set his teeth on edge.
He didn't deserve it and Dad knew that.
"I will let you know," Dean responded steadily, his tone clearly telling his father that he would never make that choice.
The room was silent again. They studied each other, Dean conveying his message and his Dad scanning his face as if searching for something; dark eyes intent and mouth drawn into a tight line.
Then abruptly the older man tossed the picture he held onto one of the beds. It fluttered quietly onto the mattress. "I've got a job in Georgia for you. Be ready to leave in an hour."
An order given and with it his dad turned around, heading for the door – the conversation was over. Dean felt himself deflate; the breath leaving his body in a rush.
Was that it?
He'd been geared up for . . . for more . . .
For yelling and screaming and a chance to state his case, a chance to explain and maybe, just maybe get his Dad to shift a little . . . to just acknowledge that middle ground existed.
Not for this . . . for outraged questions and quiet, intent looks; for quiet acceptance and definite avoidance. His Dad hadn't even asked about Sam, about the girl in the picture, about anything.
"He graduated," Dean whispered before his father could leave the room; because dammit Dad should want to know. "He -"
"Made his choice," Dad cut him off, hand on the doorknob, facing the door. "Sam made his choice. He chose to leave, to live his life away from us. He left."
A moment later his father was gone and he was alone in the room.
That was all there was to it, then.
Sam had left and Dad couldn't forgive that. Dad didn't do middle ground.
Dean wasn't sure how long he stood there before realizing that time was ticking away. He drew in a deep breath and then walked over to the bed.
Slowly, he reached down and took the picture. It was crumpled on one side, where Dad had gripped it, but it was still good – still a beautiful shot.
Georgia was far. He would have to call Sam and tell him not to expect a visit for a little while.
Dean placed the picture on the end table and smoothed it out with his hand. He noticed then that there was something written on the back. Scrawled in the loopy lettering of his almost sister-in-law were the words:
Dean, "Sammy", and Jess
On our 1st Family Beach Trip
July 24th, 2006
She'd kept going on and on about how they would do these trips every summer. It had been the first time they'd gone somewhere, just the three of them, and she'd spent the entire day teasing them about finally being given a visitor's pass into the Winchester World.
He'd told her that Rule Number 1 in the Winchester World was quite simple: Sam was always Sammy,no matter what he said.
The memory of her laughter, of Sam's indignant sputtering, made him smile.
Dean had a lot of faith in his father. A lot of trust in the man's decisions and judgments. He knew, though, that in this his father was wrong.
Sam wasn't the only one to make a choice that night. Dad had too. They'd both made stupid choices, if you asked him – choices made in anger. Choices made without real thought, without the future in mind.
He couldn't help but feel a measure of pride in Sam, though.
Sam was willing to try. Dad was not.
It said something about the younger man that he was willing to step back and admit he'd done something wrong.
It said something about Dad that he wouldn't back down even when he held in his hand the proof that he was wrong.
And he knew it said something about him that he would walk the fine line between them for as long as it took. He would visit Sam and take beach trips; he would hunt with Dad and follow orders.
For as long as they needed it, he would be their middle ground.