All Grace Abounds

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 6

Nervousness gripped Dean as he and Sam approached Kyle's room, the fact that according to Jason, Kyle had demanded to see him, only amplified his uneasiness. He wasn't any good at this part, this follow-up stuff. Rescues he had a handle on. Post rescue chats? They were well out of his league, were always awkward. Truth was, given a choice, he would opt to tangle with a nice safe homicidal ghost than be embroiled in this type of emotional charade any day of the week.

It was a mockery, really. Suddenly these strangers wanted to pretend that their shared experience bonded them together, that they knew him simply because he had saved their lives. Instead, it only cemented in Dean's mind the bitter truth; they didn't know him, at all. He was just the guy that saved their life, most of the time they never even knew his name, wouldn't remember his face. And they would never know why he was there, why his path crossed theirs, would never really care because they got what they wanted from him already, to survive, to live to tell the tale, to scamper away from their brush with the supernatural and never look too closely into the dark shadows ever again.

But this time, with Kyle, Dean didn't want it to be that way, to be a lie. It had felt too real, too personal out there in the snow. The boy's blood on his hands, the undeserved trust that blazed in the boy's eyes, the fragile feel of the twelve year old's body in his arms, the promises he had vowed from the depths of his soul, no, this time Dean had given something of himself away, something few people saw. And he wanted Kyle to somehow sense that, to know him when so many others did not. It surprised Dean, to feel the need to prove to this boy, this stranger, that he didn't view him as just another mark on his 'lives saved' tally, that he was special to Dean.

More than anything, Dean knew, with rare self honesty, that he wanted to be special too. To a boy he didn't know, really, a boy that reminded him of Sam, of himself, of a childhood that he could have had. To a boy who was so vastly different than he was him, who believed there was good in the world, believed in Someone good, Someone that would send a Good Samaritan along in a snowstorm to rescue him, even if it was a tainted Good Samaritan by the name of Dean Winchester. Sam's hand on his arm startled Dean out of his thoughts.

Snagging Dean's arm, halting his brother's forward motion, Sam said, "You go in," nodding his head toward the door to the boy's room, a gentle smile on his face.

"What? Come in Sam," Dean entreated gruffly, turning fully to face Sam, feeling as if his brother was leaving his back unprotected during a fight.

"No, he wants to see you, Dean. I'll just wait out here, grab a coffee in the waiting room on this floor," Sam denied, starting to walk backwards as he said, "Don't rush on account of me. I mean it."

"I never do anything on account of you, Sammy, only in spite of you," Dean shot back and watched as Sam shook his head, spun around and ate up the hallway flooring with his long legs. It left Dean alone, a door before him, a door that led to a twelve year old, that seemed ominous, able to take him down, to make Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, want to turn tail and run. Because, for once, he wanted something from the exchange, from the person he had rescued, something for himself, not for anyone else.

It left him vulnerable, that need, left him feeling foolish and lost and stupid. The need to see Kyle, to know he was alright, really alright, however, did not leave him. And then there was the fact that Kyle had sent his father down to the emergency room to get him, certain that he would still be there, that he would hold to his promise. 'Suck it up, Dean. Put on your game face and show the kid that you keep your word.'

Pushing open the door, he walked into the room, another layer of worry sliding free as he saw Kyle in the hospital bed, alive, looking so much better than he had when he had been in his arms. He hadn't found his voice when Kyle's eyes flew away from his mother to land on him.

"Hey, Dean!" Kyle called out, his voice's weakness didn't diminish the happiness in the tone, or taint the beaming smile on his face.

"Hey there, kiddo," Dean greeted, touched by the boy's welcome, his eyes sliding from Kyle to his mother. "I'm Dean," he announced, extending his hand as she came around the bed toward him, her no nonsense suit screaming lawyer. His hand shake was returned instantly and his throat tightened as he saw tears gathering in her eyes. 'No, not again!'

"Thank you, thank you for saving my baby," she said fervently, and then it came, the hug, quick, light but still strong.

As she pulled back, Kyle let out a whine of "Oh mom, you're embarrassing me."

Laughing amid the tears, she moved back to her son's side. "That's what mothers do, honey. Every chance we get," she teased and gently stroked his cheek.

The tender scene struck a chord in Dean, a memory of his own mother's soft fingers stroking his cheek, the sound of his mother's laughter making him smile, the look in her eyes that she reserved for him and him alone. Blinking away what suspiciously felt like tears, Dean smiled as Kyle spoke to him.

"My dad wasn't sure you'd still be here but I knew you wouldn't leave, 'cause you promised you'd stay," Kyle revealed, still clinging to the trust he had in Dean, had had in him from the start.

Dean was deeply humbled by the faith that the boy had in him. It caused his voice to be rough and low when he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, I did." Swallowing and offering up a watery smile, he stepped up to Kyle's bed. Looking down at the still too pale boy, Dean lowered his defenses, allowed the boy to see in his eyes the tender regard he had for him, let him hear it in his words. "How are you doing?"

"The pain…it's almost gone, just like you said it would be," Kyle said quietly, his eyes fixed on his hero. "And the doctor said that I'll be good as new in a few weeks."

"Maybe you'll even have a cool scar to impress the guys with and make the girls swoon," Dean sallied back, wagging his eyebrows.

Kyle giggled, making him seem so much younger than his twelve years. "Right, 'cause tough guys have scars."

"Absolutely," Dean agreed emphatically.

Shaking her head, Kyle's mother gave a long suffering sigh of, "Boys. They never grow up do they?" her eyes switching from her son to her son's hero.

Dean exchanged a conspiring look with Kyle, then they both turned to Kyle's mother and said in unison, "Nope." It elicited laughter from the woman and put a happy shine in Kyle's eyes.

All three occupants of the room turned their focus on the door as Jason entered, bearing two cups of what smelled like coffee. "Here you go, hun," he said to his wife, handing her a cup before turning to Dean. "So did Kyle say thank you already?"

Dean caught the flush of embarrassment color Kyle's cheeks at his father's words, at the order that lay under them. "Yeah, he said it before." 'In more ways than words ever could, with his trust in me.'

"No, I…" Kyle objected, shooting his father an uncomfortable look, as if the words he wanted to say couldn't be said in his father's presence. As if steeling himself, the boy's eyes came back to Dean. "I wanted to tell you…to thank you. You saved my life." Slipping another look to his father, Kyle's tension faded as he received a proud smile and a nod.

"Are you from around here, Dean?"Kyle's mother asked, her curiosity catching Dean unawares.

"Ah..no, just passing through," he answered amiciably but vaguely.

"It was a miracle that you were out there on that stretch of road. How'd you end up finding Kyle? The traps, they aren't set that close to the road," Jason said, sounding like every inch the interrogating cop, his sharp eyes seemingly waiting for Dean to drop eye contract, indicating a lie.

"Well I got my car stuck, was walking to get to a phone when I heard…" with a blush, Dean modified, "well I thought I heard some music. Gotta get my ears checked apparently," his laugh too forced even to his own ears.

"And you were just walking through the woods and you saw Kyle," Jason surmised, a piercing look in his eyes.

There seemed a hint of disbelief in the cop's tone, a sense of cross examination that raised Dean's hackles. "I heard him call for help and then I saw his red hat, led me right to him," he stated, a harder edge to his voice than he wanted as he stood toe to toe with Kyle's father.

A tense silence filled the room only to be broken by Kyle's quiet matter of fact statement. "My hat's white."

Drawing his look from Jason, Dean smiled genuinely at Kyle. "Yeah, right, sure it's white," appreciative of the boy's joke.

"No, really, it's white," Kyle insisted, watched as confusion slipped into the older man's eyes. "You said you saw my red hat but it's white. Mom, show him my hat. It's over there in the closet with my coat," Kyle insisted pointing to the closet. Unwilling to deny her son anything at this point, Kyle's mother walked over to the closet and retrieved the hat, gave it into Dean's hands.

Numbly, Dean stood there looking down at the hat in his hands, the white hat. Fear and confusion and wonder swirled within him because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was the red of Kyle's hat that had lead him to the boy amid the whiteout. "I…I guess I was wrong," he choked out, handing the hat back to Kyle's mother.

"It's because I prayed for help," Kyle quietly explained to the noticeably shaken man before him. "God can make white hats look red if He wants to. He…He does some pretty cool things sometimes…for his disciples and missionaries. To save them. But I…He never…this is the coolest thing He's ever done for me."

At his son's words Jason stiffened at Dean's side, shocked at the bold way his son professed his faith. But Kyle's mother gripped Kyle's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then the entire family of Staps looked to Dean, waited for him to speak, to blink, to react in some way.

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As he left Dean to visit with Kyle alone, Sam smiled as he heard a little boy's voice call out, "Hey Dean!" before the hospital room door closed, leaving him traversing the halls alone. The boy's obvious fondness for Dean reminded him of himself, when he was a boy, reminded him of the excitement, the awe, the happiness that always washed over him when his big brother would return from a hunt.

Still smiling, Sam made his way to the waiting room on the floor. His brother thought he was such a mystery, such a hard case but really he hadn't changed all that much over the years. 'Yeah, Dean, big tough guy…who always gave me piggy back rides and let me eat while he went hungry. Who always guards me even if it means opening himself up to attack. Who vows to save me but needs our father to tell him to save himself. But yeah, nothing much has changed, he's still big brother and I'm still in awe of him.'

Shaking his head at the complicated, confusing relationship he shared with his brother, Sam was about to cross over the threshold of the waiting room when the smell hit him, the smell of coffee. He had smelled it a thousand times before, had smelled it just that morning as he greedily drank down the strong brew from the diner. But here, amid the sterile "comfort" of the waiting room, that smell triggered a memory.

A memory he had tried to bury, to compartmentalize, to dismantle. The memory of his father lying on the hospital floor, unmoving, of numb fingers letting go of a paper cup, of a pain lancing into his heart, a panic cutting off his words. Could remember the feel of cold tile under his knees, of leaning over his father's body and knowing, knowing that his father was gone and there was no getting him back. Though, that certainty didn't stop him from bellowing for help, or rebelling against the truth, or hauling Dean out of his bed, believing that Dean wouldn't let it happen, wouldn't just stand there helpless like he was. Even the fact that he was the only reason Dean was on his feet, was holding his brother's extremely weak body in a tight, supportive grip, did nothing to diminish the faith he had in his brother's strength of will. But John Winchester's will was stronger, was always stronger, always outranked his sons' desires.

Pulling back from the waiting room, Sam leaned against the wall as the room spun and his breath came in gasps. Bending over, his hands braced on his thighs, the wall alone keeping him upright, Sam closed his eyes wondering when the pain would lessen, when the grief would stop choking him, when the guilt, anger, shock and gratitude would not be so close to the surface.

It seemed inconceivable, that he had gone for his father's 'cup of caffeine' and came back to find him on the floor, not breathing, his heart still, silent. Now that the pieces were laid out on the table, he knew that while he had been relegated to waiter, strategically sidelined, a momentous battle had been waged, his fate had been revealed to Dean, and his father sealed the bargain he had made in blood.

But he had missed more than those five minutes with his father, had missed four years. And the loss was bitter, just like the words he had hurled at his father in the hospital and before. Every contact they had, generated sparks, flames, fires until his father's words doused them all 'Can we not fight. Sometimes we fight and I don't even know what we are fighting about.'

Hearing footsteps, Sam drew in a deep breath, a steadying breath and stood up, relieved and embarrassed that it wasn't Dean but a nurse who was walking his way. Giving a weak smile as the woman passed, Sam rested his head back against the wall. He couldn't change what had happened between him and his father, not before his father died and not before he went to Stanford. Things stood the way they were, had to.

All that had changed was the way he felt about his father.

John Winchester had always been willing and ready to die for his cause, to gain his revenge. It was something neither of his sons had ever verbalized but also could never deny. Since Sam was young, he had been braced to watch his father risk his life for others, to see his father hurt, to face the truth that his father just might die in the final battle.

But how his father had died, when he had died…it was cruelly out of left field, on the heels of the relief and happiness over Dean's recovery, in the middle of a quiet hospital room, no struggles made, no retaliations offered. It made no sense, broke every conceivable way Sam had envisioned losing his father.

No, the only thing that made sense was why his father had died; For Dean. It gave his father's death purpose, colored his previous wrongs with a softer shade of understanding, made him worthy of Sam's love again. Went a long way in restoring Sam's faith in him, in the man that was supposed to protect his children, not put them in harm's way for some vengeful obsession, who had been more drill sergeant than father for most of Sam's life.

'Here I am, mourning the guy who told Dean to kill me if he can't save me?!' But there was no recriminations there, not anymore, not after seeing the evil that lurked in the other "special" children like him, not after Gordon's taunts, not after the spirit of Father Gregory looked at him so pointedly and said "Some people need redemption, don't they, Sam?"

No, he couldn't hate his father for the promise he had exacted from Dean, a promise he himself had pleaded with Dean to swear to uphold. Instead he felt like he owed his father some measure of gratitude, for setting the gauge, for ensuring that he wouldn't be lost without recourse. Dean was his recourse, his savior, had always been, would be again. Dean, who was alive now, was not hooked up to a ventilator clinging to life, struggling to ward off a reaper… because of his father's love, of their father's love for them both.

'You done good, Dad,' Sam lovingly thought, using one of his father's own phrases. Straightening from the wall, Sam began to walk back toward Kyle's room, his need for coffee and his fortitude to be away from his brother gone simultaneously.

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Patiently waiting outside Kyle's room, leaning against the wall, Sam straightened as the door opened. Glad to see that it was Dean making his exit, he took a step forward.

Sam's presence surprised Dean, had him grappling to stow away the emotions that had slipped to the surface as he turned away from the Stap family and headed out the door, as he took advantage of the small window of emotional freedom he thought he had. Any hope that Sam hadn't perceived his turmoil died the second his eyes met Sam's.

"Dean, what is it? Is it Kyle? Is he not alright?" Sam demanded, his concern for his brother and not the boy as he closed in the space that lay between himself and Dean.

"No, no he's good." Dean smiled and light sparked in his eyes. But it was not bright enough to illuminate the dark depths, to ease the stiff stance of tense muscle, to unclamp the jaw coming together too tightly, to disguise the rapidness in which the smile faded away. Seeing Sam shifting from one foot to another, knowing words were gathering behind his brother's brain, Dean briskly said, "Let's get outta here," and began walking down the hallway.

Flanking his brother, Sam didn't spare much attention for the hallway they were traveling, instead his eyes held onto his brother. "What is it, Dean?" he gently asked, his voice quiet, concerned. Dean's clenched jaw was an answer in and of itself. An answer Sam didn't like, at all. 'Ten minutes, that's all the time we were apart! What could have happened? Did Jason or his partner ID him from some warrant? Did the kid say something to him? If that kid said something to hurt Dean I'm going to… Yeah, what, Sam? Beat up a twelve year old who is in the freakin' hospital?!' Pacing Dean, Sam almost laughed, knew instinctively that it would have been a little hysterical, as he realized how out of hand his thoughts were. How protective he could become of his big brother. 'I guess I get that honestly,' he admitted as he thought fondly of Dean's protective streak that even outranked his stubbornness.

Feeling the shift in Sam's 'tell me everything' mode, Dean shot a look to his brother. "What?" surprised to find a smirk trying to make an appearance on Sam's face.

"Us, man," Sam admitted with a gush of air, allowing the smirk time in the sun, shaking his head. "We are so not normal."

A tired smirk was mirrored on Dean's features, "Yeah, I've noticed that," and some of his tension faded. They weren't normal, he knew that, what they did for a job, what they sought to kill their whole lives, how they earned their money, none of it was normal. 'Can't even take a simple drive to clear my head without tripping over the weird.'

But it was there in Sam's words, in his eyes, the assurance that Sam wasn't going to run away screaming, wouldn't go looking for a straightjacket for him if he confessed what had really happened out there in the woods. Sam expected the weird but what was more, what shone in Sam's worried gaze, what was conveyed just by the way Sam walked beside him, their shoulders almost touching, was the undeniable truth; Sam trusted him, believed in him, loved him, even if he was buckets full of crazy.

The revelation tightened his throat even as it allowed him to croak out, "His hat was white, Sam," as if that explained everything.

"What?" Sam quietly replied, confusion marring his face, outpacing Dean a step so he could look back to better see his brother's full face. "Whose hat was white?"

"Kyle's..the kid's," Dean answered as if it were obvious.

"OK, so his hat was white..I don't see…" Sam said evenly, fearing that a misstep on his part now would incite Dean to shut him out, write him off.

"It was red, Sam. I know it was," Dean stated, knowing in his heart that he wasn't wrong, his skills of observation too honed to make a mistake of that magnitude.

"I…I don't understand Dean. What are you saying?" Sam cautiously pressed, turning more fully to face Dean.

"I heard music too. A hymn. This is…is just out of my league, Sam," Dean admitted, letting vulnerability seep from the look he sent Sam.

Determined to be the rock his brother needed him to be this time around, Sam took a calming breath. "Alright, we'll work through it together. Tell me exactly what happened today when you found Kyle." 'Just tell me, Dean. I'm on your side, man. Always.'

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Sitting in the Impala, Dean at the helm, navigating the snow covered roads, Sam recapped, "Alright, you heard music and saw a red hat where there was a white one and both of those things led you to Kyle, helped you save him."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, surprised that the details of his little adventure didn't sound so weird when Sam said them. They didn't even sound sinister like they had felt at first, the idea of him being maneuvered, maybe being used by a higher power. "But Sam….It was real…to me, the music, the red hat. I know what I saw."

'God works in mysterious ways,' rang between them both, between the eye contact they made but neither said it aloud, acknowledged it, simply pulled their eyes away. For a moment they sat in silence with their own thoughts.

"So we're going back to where you found Kyle to see if…" Sam started.
"I'm buckets of crazy…" Dean finished, sending Sam a worried scowl that was met with Sam's sympathetic scowl. Automatically, Dean braced himself for one of Sam's pep talks.

Knowing that reassurances wouldn't work, not with Dean, not in this, Sam teased, "Well if you are 'buckets of crazy' man, I'll tell 'em to get you a leather straightjacket. You'll be the envy of all the other mental patients."

"Real funny, Sammy. A real gut buster," but light had returned to Dean's eyes, and the tightness in his mouth had eased. There was nothing like a smart aleck comeback or brutal insult to turn things from bleak to bearable.

As Dean maneuvered the car along the country roads, Sam couldn't help but utter, "Dean, how'd you ever get on this deserted back road?'

"I just went driving." Dean could feel Sam's emotions, knew his thoughts by the silence that hung between them, knew what Sam was starting to believe more resolutely with every piece of evidence presented. For him, though, the jury was still out. Coincidences happened all the time. 'Yeah, but I don't believe in coincidences.' At that, he shut his thoughts down, refused to draw conclusions based on…music and white hats and wrong turns and flaring tempers and snipe hunts. It was all circumstantial, nothing he could prove and right now he needed proof, wanted proof, wanted to know, irrefutably, what to believe.

"Dean!" Sam growled in protest a few minutes later, bracing himself on the dashboard, when, without warning, Dean locked up the brakes, sending the Impala skidding across the snow covered road. Resigned to the notion that the ditch was their destination, Sam could only marveled as the Impala came to a stop inches from the ditch, remained nice and safe on the deserted back road, as if obedience to Dean was built into its wiring.

Watching Dean put the car in park and cut the engine as if in a trance, his eyes wide and fixed forward, Sam worriedly called, "Dean?" His nerves tightening at the stunned expression on his brother's face, Sam reached his hand out to grab onto his brother's arm, but his grasp met only with air as Dean got out of the car. Before his brother even closed his driver's side door, Sam was climbing from the car. Standing there in the niche between the open door and the car, Sam felt his mouth go dry as he saw Dean standing stock in the middle of the road, shock radiating from him. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked, feeling like a broken record but it was the only question he could ask, the only words he could form, the only answer that mattered to him.

Blinking hard, Dean broke from his stupor, turned fully around where he stood, his eyes scanning the road, the fields. Walking forward, his steps felt heavy, weighted down, and it had nothing to do with the snow wrapping around his ankles. Stopping at the front of the Impala's grill, he let his eyes sweep the ground around him, under him, the fields beside him, and the wooded area just over to his right. "It was right here. Right here," he insisted in astonishment, confusion and unyielding conviction, his eyes flickering to Sam's brooding expression. Dropping his eyes down at the snow that circled him, he shifted the snow with his shoe.

Closing the car door, Sam approached his brother warily, like he would a cornered animal. "What was right there?"

Swiveling his inspection from the snow under his feet to the telephone pole on the other side of the road, Dean scowled, ran a hand over his forehead, then over his mouth. As a revelation struck, he dropped quickly to a crouch in front of the Impala and stilled.

At his brother's abrupt motions, Sam cleared the last few feet that separated him from Dean in a worried hurry, causing his right foot to lose some of its purchase in the snow. Just when he feared that he could end up on his butt, Dean's strong hand coiled around his right ankle, halting the slip before it could result in injury.

Shooting a look up to Sam, Dean taunted, "You wanna stop practicing for the Ice Capades and pay attention here." Releasing his grip on Sam's ankle, Dean ran his fingers tentatively over the bumper of the Impala.

Coming to crouch beside Dean, their shoulder's touching, Sam forced himself to stop studying Dean's profile and focus on the Impala's slightly dented bumper. Knowing how protective Dean was on the car, Sam downplayed, "Car got off pretty lucky for hitting a telephone pole."

"Yeah," Dean said but it was a grunt and he swiveled around on his balled feet, "but where's the pole I hit Sam?" raising his hand to encompass the side of the road they were on, the side that did not boast a single telephone pole.

"Here?" Sam asked, pointing to the ground at his feet, "The pole was here?" he clarified, painstakingly attempting to eliminate any traces of doubt or censure or judgment from his tone.

"Yeah," Dean bit out lowly, climbing to his feet, taking a few steps forward before letting his gaze sweep behind them and in front of them. "There are no poles on this side of the road, Sam. None." Anger and frustration flared in Dean's eyes as he stalked back to Sam's side. "You know why? 'Cause there is no reason to have any over here. There is nothing out here. No businesses, no houses, no church playing music. Nothing."

"Except a boy that would have died if you hadn't shown up," Sam quietly declared meeting Dean's eyes unflinchingly.

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TBC

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Thanks so much for reading!!!

One more chapter to go!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.