A/N: Dream-time weirdness and extreme Dean angst straight ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you.


Chapter 40 - past and present tense

Then

It was Tuesday, and that meant pig in a poke.

Dean knew he was dreaming, and as far as dreams went this wasn't bad. Not bad at all. No blood, no screaming. The place could have been any diner they'd been to, somewhere, anywhere, totally normal. Worn red vinyl seats, scratched up chrome and one bored looking waitress who was old enough to be his mom. The air was filled with the scrape of silverware against plates and raised and lowered voices as other folks sat in the booths and tables around him and Sam. The smell of grease, meat and eggs wafted in from the kitchen. They had a nice booth, too, with a clear view of the door. That made Dean feel better, but that good feeling lasted less than three seconds.

"Dad's gonna die because of you," Sam said happily.

Dean's forkful of hash browns froze in midair. "What? What'd you say?"

"Oh, you heard me," Sam grinned as he picked up half a strawberry from his plate and popped it in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and there it was again, that awful, too bright grin. "Dad's gonna die cleaning up your mess. And I screwed myself up for good because of you. You really think I wanted Lim to fuck me?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. He put down the fork and picked up the knife on the table next to his plate. He held it easily, willing and able to lash out in any direction with a simple flick of his wrist. "You're not Sam."

"Suit yourself." Sam shrugged. "I'm whoever you need me to be. Hey, I'm just saying what everybody's thinking anyway. We went to all that trouble to get you back, and you know what?" Sam leaned forward. "I really don't think you're worth all that effort, bro'."

Dean bared his teeth at him in a wolfish grin. "Is that a fact?"

"Yep. That's a fact." Dream Sam shook his head. "I mean, you could be more grateful, you know? More in the moment? You've been moping around like some heartbroken little bitch ever since you found out what happened at the Bender place and Sweetbriar. How do you think that makes me and Bobby feel, dude? I mean, the man was maimed because of you."

Dean flinched.

"Yeah," Sam said, satisfied. "Finally! You could show him some appreciation. Let him take that mouth and that ass of yours for a spin. I mean, isn't that what you did for the last four years anyway?"

Bobby was suddenly there in Sam's place. The older man leaned forward, waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he reached out and stroked Dean's left cheekbone with his fingertips.

"Get your fucking hand off me!" Dean snarled as he jerked back. The knife in his hand was a silvery blur in the air as he lashed out with it.

Bobby vanished.

"Still feisty, huh?" Nathan Beck laughed. He licked at the blood on his fingers. "Always did like that in you, Dean. In you like my dick and my tongue, remember?" The man chuckled. He smiled as he sat back against the bench seat. "Well, well, look at you. Back in the wild pretending to be a man again."

Dean felt his breath stutter in his throat. as he stared at Beck. It was crazy, fucking mental, but he wanted to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He knew better than that, knew he was sitting in this diner, had his leather coat and jeans and shirt and workboots on, but he was barefoot, dressed in those damn light blue patient scrubs again.

please…

Thick blond hair hung down around his face and his ears.

fuck me…

He was John Doe 317 again. He wanted to please, he needed to please.

"I can read you like a book, Dean. Let me show you."

Beck vanished. The hair at the back of Dean's neck stood up rigid and painful as he realized the bastard was standing behind him now. Fingers entwined in his short hair, somehow found a grip, and tightened. The back of Dean's head thumped against the top of the booth bench seat as his head was thrown back.

Beck bent over, teased Dean's mouth open with his tongue. Heat pooled in Dean's belly as Beck's tongue glided over his teeth, against his tongue. Beck's mouth pressed against his, and Dean found himself responding, wanting more. He didn't want this, didn't want any of this, but a part of him did.

.harder…

Beck's right hand moved down Dean's tee shirt, then slipped underneath the black fabric, fingers spread slowly and possessively against bare skin. Dean's back arched as Beck's fingers cupped the cock of his jeans, then moved up to fondle both nipples.

more…

He was suddenly yanked out of the booth and slammed face first into the nearest wall. The place was suddenly deserted, which made matters worse. This was his dream, and he had no influence over it at all.

take me…please…

"You cut your hair," Beck said flatly as he kissed and nipped at the nape of Dean's neck.

Doesn't like it, gonna shock me, I know it -

"Color's too dark. Too bad. I liked you better blond."

No, don't let him do this, don't -

His brown leather jacket was gone somehow. Beck put one knee between Dean's legs, spread them even wider. He pulled the neck of Dean's tee shirt down, nipped at bare skin and painted the small bitemarks with his tongue. "Doesn't matter, Dean. None of this does. You can change the way you look, but all that doesn't change a damn thing inside."

Dean was already hard, pressed into the wall and from behind like that. He wanted the friction, he needed it, and he hated himself for it.

'You couldn't face me again, and we both know why. You're my little bitch. Always have been, always will be. Nothing to be ashamed of. I handled you just like I handled Daddy."

Dean's eyes widened at the mention of John. "My Dad's gonna kill you."

"Yeah? Don't be so sure. See what happens when you leave, 317? You left Sweetbriar and everything went to hell. Your fault. What happened to your brother and your father and the Benders is your fault too."

"You're not real," Dean grated out. He wanted to push away from the wall, but he couldn't even raise his arms up. "None of this is fucking real."

Beck laughed. "Real poor choice of words there, boyo. You're right." Beck nodded. You gotta ask yourself, though…if you're really free, why are you dreaming about me in the first place?"

The scene shifted in an eyeblink. Dean's nostrils flared as he recognized the scents, the curiously musty scent of old books and stale air. Rotten meat smell too, wet blood. He looked down at himself, and those weren't his clothes, dingy brown and gold flannel shirt, heavy cotton olive drab jeans.

Warm breath against his right cheek made him shudder. Dean startled at the sensation.

"You're God's gift to me," Missy breathed into Dean's skin. She straddled his lap; they were belly to belly. Dean leaned into her touch as her slim arms encircled his neck, and her mouth nipped at the side of his jaw.

Yeah…yeah…I am…

She shifted her weight on his lap, pulled him to her even closer. She rubbed up against him, and the friction of her body against his made Dean's head swim. He wanted to sink himself into her, wanted to lose himself in her mouth and body.

"Missed you, Gabe," Missy purred.

"No…stop it…"

"Why? You never wanted me to stop before, Gabriel."

"That's not…That's not my name," Dean gasped. Her fingers slid across his right shoulder up his neck, carded the short hair at the nape of his neck.

No…

"Sssh." She pressed her finger against his lips. "It is. You know it is."

I don't want this…

"Missy…I'm…I'm sorry…"

Abraham Bender stood in the doorway wearing his blood streaked rubber apron over his grimy clothes. The meat cleaver in his hand was clean and shiny, and Dean knew it was just for him.

"You owe me a death, boy," the man grumbled darkly. He flicked a glance at Missy and she reluctantly slid off Dean's lap.

Wake up

Dean knew it was wrong, all wrong (Wake up, you hear me?) but he couldn't stop himself. He stood up, took a few stumble steps forward, then sank down on his knees in front of Abraham.

He bowed his head, heard himself whisper, "I'm sorry, Abraham. I'm sorry."

Wake up

Abraham growled as he raised the meat cleaver.

Wake up right the hell NOW -


"Sam?" Bobby whispered, and then he wondered why he was whispering. He tied his plaid bathrobe around him as he walked down the back stairs. Rumsfeld was his four legged shadow. The big Rottie grinned and flopped down at Bobby's feet with a contented sigh as the older hunter stopped next to Sam.

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala nearby with his back against the windshield, his face turned towards the night sky. He was barefoot, dressed only in black boxer briefs and a grey tee shirt. Moonlight glazed Dean's already pale skin, painted the planes of his face and the lines of his body in bright silver. He seemed frozen in place and time.

"Never heard a sound, Bobby,' Sam said dully. "I woke up and he was gone." The younger Winchester balanced on one foot as he slipped his other tennis shoe on. He'd dressed himself in a hurry.

Stockholm Syndrome, Sam thought as he stared at his brother. Anger rose up inside Sam, made his throat close up. He swayed on his feet a little. The rage he felt threatened to strangle him, but his anger wasn't directed at the Benders, or Gabriel, or even Beck.

"I told him what happened at the Bender place." Bobby said in a low voice. "Figured he had a right to know. That business at Sweetbriar…didn't see that coming." Bobby nodded at Dean. "He's been quiet ever since we left the Roadhouse. Too damn quiet."

"Not your fault, Bobby. We needed Dad," Sam gritted out. "Dean needed Dad, and Dad ditched us. Again."

Bobby's eyes narrowed at Sam's disapproving tone. "Not your Dad's fault either."

They kept their voices low. If Dean heard any of the conversation, he gave no sign.

"He should have stayed with us, instead of running off on some macho revenge trip."

"Now I know you're full of it," Bobby drawled mildly. "Get off your high horse, boy. Beck needs whatever he gets. You really think your Daddy was gonna let that business stand? You know better than that."

Sam huffed angrily, but the look Bobby gave him was hard, direct. "Who are you really pissed off at, Sam? Your Dad, because he left?"

Sam's silence was as good an answer as any. Bobby nodded. "You mad at Dean?"

Sam looked startled. "What? No - "

"Because he left you? Because he came back different?"

Sam turned away to stare at Dean. Bobby didn't take offense.

"Well?" the older man said, not unkindly.

Sam motioned towards the house. Bobby raised an eyebrow at him, but he followed the younger man to the back steps. The further away from Dean the more agitated Sam became. Rumsfeld sat there staring for a moment, then he whined and stretched out on the ground. He was done moving around.

Dean stared up at the night sky. He didn't move, didn't react.

Sam cast an anxious glance over his shoulder at his brother. He ran both hands through his hair, even pulled his hair a little, as though the slight pain helped him concentrate. "I was going to leave," he whispered softly.

Bobby stared at Sam in disbelief. "You were what?"

"I was…I was going to turn myself in."

"What the hell for?"

Sam shrugged. "For Hudak. She died because of me, Bobby."

"You didn't force her to go out there, Sam."

"I called her, remember? Bobby, she…she wouldn't have gone to Sweetbriar if it hadn't been for me."

"So that's your weight now, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. And?"

"I was going to leave for Dean and Dad." The incredulous look on Bobby's face deepened. "Thought I'd take the heat off them. Let them live their lives, y'know?"

Bobby snorted. "That has got to be the dumbest damn thing I've ever heard of."

Sam really didn't know what reaction to expect. A sarcastic chuckle wasn't one of them.

Bobby's tone was quiet, but there was a hard edge to his voice. "You really think Dean and John would let you rot in prison? They'd get themselves killed busting you out."

"D-Dad wouldn't."

Bobby growled, deep and low and frustrated. Sam drew back. Bobby took off his trucker's cap, ran his hand over his hair. He stepped forward and tilted his head down.

"See this?"

Despite himself, Sam leaned forward to get a good look.

"Those grey hairs in my head belong to you, your daddy and your brother. You three are idjits, pure and simple. The only thing saving you is the fact that you love each other. I know you do, because if you didn't, none of you would give a damn about the other. It's easy for you to blame your Dad. Easy for you to leave. Getting Dean back was the easy part." Bobby nodded at Dean. Sam looked miserable. His shoulders hunched, and he didn't turn around. "Leaving's easy. So's dying. Staying and dealing with the aftermath is hard."

Bobby put his cap back on. He glared at Sam. Hard.

Sam blinked. "You were really rocking that speech, Bobby."

"Damn right I was. Made that one up just now." He raised himself up to his full height and rocked back and forth on his heels proudly. "Got a whole bunch of 'em, ready to use."

"You can call me an idjit. Guess I deserve that."

"Damn right you do. Idjit. So instead of standing there looking like I just stomped your puppy, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Uh…try to make things right?"

"Start small. Go see about your brother. Think you can do that?"

Sam nodded, suddenly awkward and shy. "Yeah. Yeah I can. It's okay, Bobby. I got this."

Bobby's expression softened. "I know you do, kid."

"Dean?" Sam called out as he approached the Impala. "You okay?" It was a dumb ass question. Of course he wasn't okay. Stupid words.

Dean nodded. He didn't turn around, didn't even blink. "Couldn't sleep."

I'm fine. Now go away, damn it.

"Okay." Sam went around the front of the car, leaned against the left front bumper. He craned his neck skyward. "Full moon tonight." It was the only thing he could think of to say.

No answer.

Sam waited.

A full minute passed before Dean spoke. "Found this black Mustang out back once. It belonged to Riley Hudak. He was that lady cop's brother. Me and Abraham killed him."

A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. "You mean the Benders killed him."

The look Dean gave Sam was slightly amused and quizzical, as though Sam's comment didn't make any sense. Dean stared at Sam for so long the moment almost became awkward, and then he shrugged. He stared at the sky again. "That Mustang reminded me of my girl here."

He gave the Impala an affectionate pat. "Don't know why. It didn't run anymore. We took care of that. But sometimes I used to think about starting it up, driving away from there." Dean's face blanked as he settled back against the windshield. "You know I never did."

"You weren't in control, Dean. Gabriel was. Why are you telling me this?"

Dean was silent again, as immobile as stone. For a moment Sam didn't think he'd get an answer.

Then: "So you know you're not the only Winchester who got a Hudak killed."

Damn. "Oh."

"So you were gonna go all self-sacrificing and noble for me and Dad, huh?" Dean said tiredly.

"Uh, what? I – I don't-"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude. I was spaced out. Not deaf. I heard every word you said."

Sam didn't say a word.

"Haven't forgotten about your demon problem. I'm getting better. Might not seem like it, but I am. I'll get you out of your deal. You can do anything you wanna after that. Anything except turn yourself in. I'll kick your ass if you do."

"Okay."

Dean hissed under his breath as a sudden spasm of pain rippled through his left thigh. He'd stayed in that position for too long.

Sam scooted across the hood, hands already outstretched, but he hesitated for the barest second. Dean stared at Sam's hands, a glint of something Sam couldn't identify at first.

It was fear.

Dean's voice, rough and desperate in Sam's memory: Yuh…you're killing me Sam…

They stared at each other until Sam said aloud, "Just a massage, Dean. Nothing else. I promise."

Despite the pain Dean stared deep into Sam's eyes. The moment seemed to stretch, turn in onto itself, and then Dean nodded. He swallowed thickly, closed his eyes, pressed his lips together to keep from yelling out as Sam wordlessly kneaded his muscles, slowly, carefully, with both hands.

Dean opened his eyes several moments later. His muscles were pliable and relaxed underneath Sam's fingers.

"Better?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Sam stopped. "Why don't you come inside now?"

"Nah," Dean whispered. "Gonna wait for Dad."

You can leave me. It's okay. Won't blame you if you do.

Sam sat back and didn't move.

Not going anywhere, dude. Sorry.

The subtle line of tension that ran through Dean's broad shoulders loosened up as he recognized and accepted the unspoken words.

Sam put his head back and stared at the night sky. He could feel Lim stir, but at a distance, far away. The demon was pissed off. Dean had been in Sam's grasp and nothing had come of it.

I did it, Sam thought to himself. I can handle this. He felt jittery inside, as though he hadn't really expected any of this, couldn't dare hope that maybe he had a handle on this damn thing after all. Maybe that was too much to hope for. Maybe…

He glanced over at Dean, and that slight smile on Dean's face made Sam grin a little too. Even Dean's freckles were washed out by the moonlight, almost invisible against his skin.

His mind wandered. He wanted to ask Dean what he saw when he looked up there, whether he remembered his nights as a Bender, running fierce, fast and lethal in the dark underneath the sky. Sam doubted Dean saw much of day or night when he was at Sweetbriar.

Shut it down, Sam thought to himself. Quit analyzing the hell out of everything. He's here now. We both are.

He settled back against the windshield with a small sigh of contentment. They were both entirely in the moment now, completely in the present. No past, no future.

It was good to just be.


Three thirty in the damn morning, and someone was at the door. Deacon grumbled to himself as he stumbled down the front hallway. He'd had problems with some of the neighborhood kids when he first moved in. That was past; lately one of the neighborhood drunks frequently mistook Deacon's house for his. Wrong street, wrong neighborhood, but none of that mattered. Dude's name was Donnie Blakeley. Donnie was ordinarily pretty mild-mannered but he was persistent when he was drunk.

Three thirty in the damn morning. Helluva way to start his day off.

The bell rang again, and Deacon's lips skinned back from his teeth in a ferocious snarl. Donnie was due for an ass whupping this time. Ignoring him wouldn't work. Hadn't worked the last three times.

Deacon hit the porch light at the same time he yanked open the door. Curse words harsh enough to blister paint immediately came to mind, and then just as quickly faded away to blankness.

"J—Johnny?" Deacon blinked in disbelief.

"Hey, Deacon," John rumbled. He was dressed in all black, and that made him look imposing and larger than life somehow. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by." He looked around mildly. "Nice place."

God it all came rushing back. Vietnam, Echo Two One company, the days and nights they'd spent in the hamlets and the jungle. They returned stateside together, kept in touch, even after the fire that killed Mary. John and his boys dropped off the grid after that, but Deacon kept in touch.

He was head guard at the Green River County Detention Center five years ago when the weirdness and killings started. Deacon caught a glimpse of the killer, and he couldn't believe it. Nurse Glockner.

Dead Nurse Glockner.

Deacon called John.

John came, and the murders stopped.

Now Deacon took in the bruises, the paleness underneath John's heavy stubble, the way he swayed slightly on his feet. John hid it well, but he favored his right side. Some bastard had been lucky enough to tag him, but Deacon had no doubt John made the fool pay dearly for it.

Just like old times.

"So what does the other guy look like?"

John chuckled darkly. "Worse than me."

"I bet. Well, come on in. Can't stay out here all night."

John nodded. He took one step forward and his knees buckled.

He's going down, Deacon thought, and he stepped into John, put his arms around the man even as Winchester's head rocked back. His eyes flickered closed as he went totally limp.

Sonofabitch was heavy, a solid weight. Always had been. The only thing Deacon could think of as he half-carried John inside was "What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?"


Epilogue to be posted Saturday.