The rest of the meeting went smoothly. Dean was tense the entire time and frequently ran his thumb along Y/N's knuckles to try and calm himself.
When the meeting was over, Agent Singer pulled Dean in for a tight hug, then backed away awkwardly.
Dean had nodded, pursing his lips before turning on his heel and walking out of the Roadhouse.
Y/N said goodbye on his behalf, then ran out to join her pianist.
They didn't speak on the drive home. He ran his hand down over his face once or twice, but that was the extent of his communication.
In fact, no words were exchanged until they were back in their apartment and the door was closed and locked behind them.
Y/N was halfway out of her coat when Dean grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a bruising kiss.
She was a little dazed, but she finally mumbled out a "Wuh…what was that for?"
"Thank you," he mumbled after a beat of silence.
She frowned, but laughed it off. "Well, whatever I did, you're welcome."
Dean's hands moved up to cup her cheeks, his thumbs running along her cheekbones. He stared at her a moment more before pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
She hummed in contentment, then covered his hands with her own. "C'mon, let's get some more sleep," she began pulling him back into the bedroom. "Maybe I'll remember what I did when we wake up."
He chuckled lightly, but said no more.
Unfortunately, the weekly meeting between Y/N and Agent Singer had been rather highjacked by its unexpected addition to the party; ergo, she wasn't sure how the investigation was going on his end.
On the way into work that night, she spoke with Dean, explained to him how Gabriel had caught her and she's caught the name of Crowley's bank and Bobby was looking into that.
He, in turn, finally told her how he met Bobby, saying that there was "no point in hiding it anymore."
"My mom died when I was four," Dean began. He tried to state it as a fact, but his face betrayed him: he still felt her death as freshly this day as he did twenty-three years earlier. "In that big outbreak in 1918. Dad couldn't…he needed someone to blame, y'know? So he'd be out, trying to find answers either at the hospital or at the bottom of a bottle. Sammy…he was just a kid, y'know? Not even a year old. And I had to take care of him. It was my job, the one thing my Dad drilled into me: 'look out for Sammy.'"
Dean's voice was even, even enough to worry her. She slid across the bench seat, curling into his side and hugging him close, trying to give him an emotional heimlich and get him to spit up whatever turmoil was in him.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her. Then he continued, "Anyway, one day, Dad met Bobby at the hospital. Bobby's wife she…she died too a couple-a years later. After that, and after Dad found out that Bobby was a copper, he would leave us at Bobby's all the time when he got too drunk.
"But, still, Bobby he…he didn't want these two stupid kids at his place all the time. He and my dad they fell out, but Bobby never kicked us out. He'd take us to the park and made sure we got to school and…he raised us. He raised me an' Sammy more than our dad ever did. Hell, I haven't spoken to my dad in years, but Bobby…"
Y/N let her head fall onto his shoulder. "Is he the one who taught you how to work on cars?"
Dean grunted in agreement. "The car is from my dad, though. Jus' easier to tell people that it's all the same person than 'oh this guy who's a better dad than my actual dad taught me to fix up the car my actual dad bought with my mom.'"
A soft laugh left her lips at that. "Yeah, I can see that…" she trailed off, wondering how best to ask her next question. "Why…why did you stop talkin' to him, then?"
Dean sighed heavily. "Figured you were gonna say that."
"Sorry, we don't—"
"Nah, seems like confession time anyway," he chuckled humorlessly. By this point, they were at Crowley's, and he pulled into the lot. He put the car into park and shut off the engine, but didn't move to leave the car.
Y/N nuzzled more into Dean's side, trying not to rush him.
"It was 'cause of Crowley, actually," he finally began. "Or…I guess it's the same reason I'm here."
She reached up and took the hand that was hanging off of her shoulders and squeezed it.
He smiled before continuing. "I practically raised Sammy, you have to understand. When we weren't with Bobby, it was all up to me. Take care of Sammy, that was my job. So…so we grew up and Sammy started talkin' 'bout law school and all these amazing things he was gonna do and, damn it, he was so smart. Smartest guy you've ever met, y'know?"
His green eyes gleamed as he talked about his brother, and he became more animated than he'd been all morning.
Then he was dark once more. "Then he got sick. Real sick."
"But…but he's okay. As everyone tells me, he's getting married soon," she tried to inject a modicum of humor, try to lighten the mood.
It didn't work.
"Yeah, he is now but he wasn't gonna be," he spoke slowly, like the words actually hurt him physically. "I don't really understand what was wrong, but it was something with his heart I think. The only thing that could save him was an operation...an operation we couldn't afford."
"Oh, Dean…" she leaned up, kissing the corner of his lips. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," he answered without a shred of hesitation in his voice. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. What was I supposed to do? I…" he choked. "I had one job, okay? One. Job. I had to protect him, I had to—"
She pulled out of his embrace solely to rearrange herself and hold him close. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, holding her tight enough to practically strangle her, and she held him just as tight.
It was quite some time before they made it into the club.