A/N Sorry this took so long to get posted. I actually had the first section done in about 2 days, but those Winchester boys just will NOT shut up, and it kept getting longer...and I kept editing it over and over and over, and.. Well, here it is.
Still own nothing.
I hope y'all enjoy it.
Oh, and we've done a little time jump here, just under 2 years forward. Sam is nearly 17, Dean just turned 21. It should be obvious, but their plan worked, and Dean did get custody, and the boys did move in to Bobby's.
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Singer Salvage
Sioux Falls, SD
April 14, 2000
Dean grabbed the undercarriage of the '69 Corvette Stingray he was rebuilding for a Singer Salvage customer, and slid the creeper out from under the car. He turned towards the entrance down the driveway, invisible behind the stack of scrapped cars, and stood, leaning against the car, his arms crossed, frowning as he waited.
Dean couldn't have said how he knew the object of his wrath was coming, but he knew.
Dean always did.
And there he came, around the corner of a pile of junkers. Sam, his little brother, home from High School.
Two hours late.
"Hey, Dean," Sam greeted him. "How's the 'vette doing?"
"Where the hell have you been?!" Dean demanded, and pushed hard at Sam's shoulder.
Sam raised an eyebrow and lifted his backpack slowly. "Schooooool," he said slowly. "You know, like I am every weekday. This isn't anything new, Dean."
"Don't you get smart with me!" Dean growled and gave a two-handed push against Sam's chest that sent his brother staggering back a step.
"What the hell, Dean?!" Sam demanded and pushed back.
"You're late," Dean spat.
"Dean…"
"Don't Dean me, dammit. You make it home by 3:30, everyday, or you call to let me or Bobby know where you're going to be. And here it is, a quarter after 6 and no call, no you. So I repeat. Where the HELL have you been for the last 2 hours and change, Sammy?"
Sam rolled his eyes and picked his backpack up from where he'd dropped it when Dean pushed him back. "I got caught up at school," he said calmly. "I lost track of time and forgot to call. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry. You're SORRY? That's not going to cut it, Sam!" Dean yelled and reached out to give Sam another push.
This time, Sam was ready for it, and, dropping his backpack — again — he grabbed Dean's hand and bent the wrist back just slightly too far. "Knock it off, Dean!" Sam shouted back.
Dean wrenched his hand away and took a swing at his brother, who grabbed Dean's fist and used Dean's momentum to spin him around and pull the older boy against his chest, pulling Dean's arm up behind his back, while Sam wrapped his other arm around Dean's neck, just barely this side of roughly.
"Are you done?" Sam demanded from between tightly clenched teeth.
For a second, he thought Dean would try to break his hold — which, frankly, Dean could do in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Sam wasn't exactly sure how he'd been able to subdue his big brother so quickly, as it was. He may have had another growth spurt over Winter Break, and was finally average height for his age, but Dean still had nearly 3 inches and 30 pounds on him.
After a moment's hesitation, Dean nodded and reached up to rap two fingers against the arm around his neck, effectively "tapping out" as if this were a normal sparring session between the brothers.
Sam let him go and moved back two steps, watching his brother carefully, unsure if Dean would try to hit him again. "You done trying to slug me, now?" he wondered.
Dean kept his back towards Sam, picking up a discarded rag from the hood of the Corvette, and wiped his hands.
"Dean?" Sam pressed, becoming more concerned than angry now that Dean wasn't trying to deck him anymore. Especially because suddenly Dean couldn't seem to look him in the eye. Cautiously, he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, pulling lightly to turn Dean to face him. "Hey. What the hell's going on?"
"You were late," Dean said coldly and shrugged Sam's hand off.
"Yeah, and I've been late before. And forgot to call," Sam reminded him. "You've never attacked me for it. I swear to God, Dean…remember the don't turn into a dick vow when you got custody?"
Dean snorted. "Yeah," he nodded. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Sam told him, and leaned against the Corvette's hood, arms crossed, unconsciously mimicking the stance Dean had been in when Sam walked into sight. "Just tell me what's got you so uptight."
"Not uptight," Dean denied, and shoved the rag into his back pocket, looking away from his brother towards the roof of Bobby's house — their home for nearly two years — on the other side of the jungle of cars. "I don't get uptight."
"Yeah?" Sam challenged. "Then why were you channeling John?"
Sam froze for a second, noticing the slight wince on his brother's face, the telltale stiffening of Dean's spine.
"Shit," Sam breathed. "Dean? Did you hear something? He should've wrapped up that Hunt in Alabama, by now. Did he not text to let you know he's okay? Did Caleb call and…is John hurt?"
"No," Dean shook his head and finally turned to face his brother. "Not hurt, nothing like that," Dean assured him, and was surprised to see the relief on Sam's face. But then, he was often surprised by his baby brother's responses when they talked about their absent, non-custodial parent. Surprised and weirdly proud that, despite everything, Sam still worried about their Dad, and clearly wanted John to be okay. Even if Sam still maintained a desire to never see him again.
Some days, Dean actually thought that, even though his brother never had and never would forget what their father had tried to do that awful day in Asheville, Sam had somehow managed to almost forgive the man.
Which was considerably more than Dean had been able to do. If John had beat the tar out of him, Dean would have accepted it as his due for all the times he'd screwed up. But beating Sammy nearly to death? No one got forgiven for that, not by Dean. Not even Dad could be forgiven for that.
"What is it then?" Sammy pressed. "What's got you so upset, Dean? It's something to do with John, I know it is."
"He…He called," Dean admitted quietly, and slid down the front of the car, to sit with his back against the bumper and grill. "Bobby was talking to a customer, so when his phone rang, I…He's just finished up a hunt, about an hour north of Omaha, and…" his voice trailed off.
"Ohhh," Sam breathed, and slid down beside him. "Dad's two, three hours away, and I…was late. What time did he call?"
"Around noon."
"So by the time I got out of school, he could've been here," Sam sighed, and shifted to put his shoulder against Dean's. "And he's got to know what school I go to; Dad would be keeping tabs on us. On me. Dean, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. But I'm fine. I never saw him. And, and I know how good he is at not being seen, but if he'd been near…"
"You'd've felt it," Dean nodded and sighed. He leaned his head back against the car and closed his eyes, unable to have this conversation with the slightest possibility that he'd have to look at the hurt and guilt he knew was on his brother's face, in those great big puppy eyes of his. "I was just…Dammit, Sam," Dean whispered. "If he gets his hands on you again…"
"I know," Sam nodded and leaned a little harder against Dean's side. "I know."
Dean sighed and wrapped his arm over his brother's shoulders, pulling him close, needing to feel Sam there, real and solid and, above all, not hurt beside him.
They sat there like that for a few minutes, in the same position that they always came back to, ever since Sam was two and got too big for a six year old to cradle in his arms — Sammy pressed against big brother Dean's side, Dean's arm around him, keeping him close. Keeping him safe.
Dean wondered if it comforted him more than Sam, these days, but then Sam laid his head on Dean's shoulder, and when Dean shifted the arm around Sammy to rest his hand on the top of Sammy's head, he felt the tension slide away from his kid. Dean figured the comfort was about equal.
Most things were, between them. Different, but still equal.
Complimentary.
Balanced.
After a few minutes, Sam finally spoke again. "What did he want?"
Dean took a deep breath. He ran his hand over Sam's hair a few times, lightly petting the too-long (for Dean) hair, and didn't answer.
"Dean?" Slowly, Sam started to pull away.
Dean knew that if he kept his hand on Sammy's head, his brother would stay where he was, and Dean wouldn't have to look at him now.
Dean pulled his arm away from around Sam and ran his hand through his own short cropped hair.
"Dean. What did John want?" Sam repeated, his voice picking up the slightest tremor.
"He…" Dean finally opened his eyes, and turned his head to look Sam full in the eyes, really since the first time he'd tried to hit his baby brother. "He wants to see me," Dean admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He asked me to meet him for dinner. Here. In Sioux Falls. Tomorrow."
"Oh," Sam nodded. "Okay."
Another minute or more of silence.
"I presume Bobby and I are not invited," Sam guessed and Dean couldn't tell if the tiny hesitation in Sam's voice was fear or hope at the prospect of John asking him along. Maybe both.
"No," Dean admitted. "But you gotta know it's gonna be about you, anyway. Still trying to convince me you're dangerous," he sighed, shaking his head.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe he just misses you."
"Right!" Dean scoffed.
"Aw, Dean," Sam frowned, "don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Dismiss it. The idea that maybe he just wants to see you to see you. He loves you, you know. You were…you're everything to him," Sam shrugged and looked down to let his fingers draw little patterns in the dirt. "As much as anything is, outside his revenge."
Dean almost smiled when he placed the pattern. A protection sigil, perfectly — and probably entirely unconsciously — replicated on the ground.
And was it any wonder Sam would feel the need for protection, just talking about John Winchester?
"Yeah, well," Dean shook his head. "I told him I'm not gonna go."
"Why not?" Sam wondered, his voice rising in surprise. "You haven't seen him since Asheville, Dean. I know you miss him. You worship the guy."
Dean shook his head. "I can't believe you're defending him. Again!"
Sam sighed, and leaned his head back against the car. "I wasn't defending him," he said, in the bone weary tone of someone on the thousandth iteration of the same damn argument. "Not now, not in Asheville. I just…look, whatever else he's done, you and I both know the world's a safer place with him in it."
"Not. For you."
"No, not for me," Sam conceded. "But for the rest of the world…I just didn't see the logic of letting the DA lock him away on attempted murder charges, when there were so many things out there that he could stop. So many people he could still save."
"The logic?" Dean scoffed. "The logic is, he attempted to fucking murder you, Sam!"
"Dean…"
"No. No!" Dean interrupted whatever argument his brother was about to make. "Maybe you can set the rest of the world above your own safety, but I won't. I can't! You are my responsibility, and that will always, ALWAYS, come first!"
Sam covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head. "Can we just not?" he asked softly.
"Can we not what?" Dean snapped.
Sam pulled his hand away from his eyes. "Not have this conversation for the umpteenth time! Look, I don't want to see John," Sam admitted. "Probably ever again. And I know my life is better without him. Safer, if nothing else, from him and the things he hunts. I also know that that's not true for the rest of the world. And you must've agreed with me in Asheville, since you're the one who called him and warned him that he'd get arrested if he showed up to fight for custody. Bottom line is, John Winchester makes the world a safer place."
"For everybody but you," Dean finished the sentence.
"For everybody but me," Sam shrugged, "but, honestly, Dean? I don't worry about that."
"What, are you mental?! You should absolutely worry about that! You know what Dad's like! He's stubborn, and relentless, and the best fucking Hunter on the planet. And he wants you dead. Why the hell wouldn't you worry about that, you moron?!"
"I don't need to," Sam said calmly, and gave Dean a slow burn of a smile when his brother just stared at him. "I've got you," Sam explained, and looked at his big brother with that complete trust that, even after nearly 17 years, still made Dean's heart skip a beat. "I got nothing to be afraid of, not when you're around. Nothing. Not demons, not vampires, not even Dad. Because you…are my awesome big brother."
Dean gave him a sour look, then chuckled softly. "Damn straight I am," he agreed and bumped his arm against Sam's, throwing the younger boy slightly off balance.
Sam pushed back, and the next thing they knew, Bobby was standing above them while they rolled in the dirt, mock fighting.
"If you idjits are done hugging," Bobby said sourly, "it's time for dinner. If you two aren't washed up and at the table in ten minutes," he added, walking away, "I'm feeding your portions to the dog. Which is a damn waste of my world class chili."
Sam scrambled to his feet, and reached out a hand to help Dean up.
Dean glanced around Sam as he stood, to be sure Bobby had turned the next corner in the maze of wrecks. "Not to mention the toxic cloud the damn dog will keep fartin' out over the next week," he said quietly.
"I HEARD THAT!" Bobby's voice echoed back to them. "Dog is old. Give him a break."
"Is that also Bobby's excuse?" Sam whispered in Dean's ear, and Dean smothered a laugh.
"I am not old!" Bobby's voice echoed back to them from between the cars.
Laughing, Dean slapped Sammy's chest in challenge "Race ya!," he yelled and took off running.
"Hey, that's not fair," Sam called after his brother's rapidly retreating back. "I gotta get my backpack!"
"Not my problem, Bitch!"
"Jerk!" Sam yelled after his brother's retreating back, grabbed his backpack, and ran after Dean, still laughing.
Dean had a decent head start, but Sam's growth spurt had basically been all leg, and he ate up the ground easily. He probably would've caught up to Dean — which wouldn't have been the first time — except there was a barrel lying just the other side of the gate between the salvage yard and the backyard of the house. If he'd been expecting it, he could've hurdled it easily but it took him by surprise and Sam fell over it, having to do a tuck and roll back to his feet and find his backpack again, just as the back door slammed behind Dean.
Sam shook his head and righted the barrel, annoyed at himself for not having expected the obstacle. Not only was it a classic training move, but, well…Dean cheats.
He was still knocking the grass off his knees when he entered the house, hanging his backpack and coat on the rack next to the door before heading through the kitchen and turning the corner into the library, heading for the living room — and nearly running smack into a Great Wall of Hunters, Bobby and Dean standing still and stiff in front of him.
"You've gotta lot of nerve, showing up here," he heard Bobby growl. "Nerve and a disregard for your own safety."
"Wh…." Sam started, but Dean interrupted him, not even looking over his shoulder.
"Go wait outside, Sammy," Dean said quietly.
"What's…"
"NOW, Sam. Outside!"
For a second, he turned away, and headed back through the library, not blindly following orders, but just trusting Dean's judgment, as always.
And then he heard another voice.
"Just because he's 21 doesn't mean he's not still my son, Singer."
Sam's heart skipped a beat and tremor ran down his spine. He'd know that voice anywhere, heard it often enough in his sleep. "You killed my Mary."
He took a deep breath, blew it out in a long, steady stream and turned back towards the living room.
This time, Dean looked over his shoulder at him. "I told you to wait outside."
Sam shook his head. "I don't run from bullies any more," he reminded his brother, firmly and loudly enough that both his father and Bobby looked his way. Sam took a step forward, slipping his thin frame between Dean and the arch of the doorway.
Dean glanced at him, and for a moment worried green eyes met determined (if slightly frightened) hazel. Dean nodded once and turned back to the man standing a few feet in front of them.
Dad.
There, in the flesh, right with them, for the first time in almost two years.
"You're not welcome here, Winchester," Bobby said firmly.
"But he is?" John challenged, jerking his chin at Sam.
"Always," Bobby confirmed.
John shook his head. "You're a fool, Singer," he decided and dismissed the older hunter, turning his attention solely to the young man standing stiffly in the middle of the trio. "Dean," he said, his voice breaking a little. "You're looking good, son."
Dean looked at him coldly. "What are you doing here, Dad? I told you I didn't want to see you."
John shook his head. "You said you didn't want to meet for dinner," he corrected and Dean rolled his eyes, annoyed, but not particularly surprised, at the willful lack of understanding of the situation. "I had to see you," John told him simply.
"What the hell for?" Bobby growled. "There are plenty of Hunters you could call for backup. Some of 'em probably don't even want to shoot you."
"This is nothing to do with you, Singer."
"Hell it isn't! You're in my house, and these are…"
"Bobby," Dean interrupted and put a restraining hand on his surrogate father's arm. "It's okay. I got this," he promised and Bobby shrugged, crossing his arms.
But Bobby didn't move away from Dean's side.
"What do you want, Dad?" Dean sighed, wearily. "There's nothing to talk about, because there's nothing left to say. Why are you here?"
"Because this has gone on long enough," John said firmly. "If Singer wants him, he can have him, and it'll be his funeral," he added.
This time it was Sam who put a restraining hand on Dean, as his older brother clenched his fists and set his jaw.
Dean took a deep breath and nodded once, almost imperceptibly, letting Sam know he was still in control of his not inconsiderable temper. For the moment.
John continued, not noticing, or not caring, that Dean was growing more angry by the word.
"But you've had time to get over your snit, and it's time to come home, now, Dean," John finished. "Where you belong."
"HOME?" Dean repeated, amazed. "Since when did you ever give us a home, Dad? What, exactly, makes you think that a series of shitty motel rooms constitutes a HOME? That any place can be home when we're never there more than three months at time? When you're never there AT ALL?!"
"Dean, you watch your tone…" John began, and did nothing to settle Dean's tone or stop his rant.
"You know what home is, Dad? THIS!" Dean yelled, throwing an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling his brother against his side. "Me and him. THAT'S my home. That and the car parked out back," he added, pointing vaguely to the back of the house, "because those were the ONLY things I've been able to count on since I was four years old!"
"Dean, that's not…"
"And you have the fucking BALLS to come here," Dean continued, breaking away from Sammy to move towards his father, his steps jerky with anger, his fists clenched so tightly his short nails nearly drew blood, "and tell me to come home?! Not even two years after you tried to KILL. MY. BROTHER!" Dean bellowed, inches from John's face, and raised a fist, only to find a firm hand wrapped around his arm from behind, stopping it from finding its mark.
"DEAN!" Sam yelled and pulled on his brother's arm until Dean slid back a step and Sam could get between his brother and their father. "THAT'S ENOUGH!" Sammy yelled and pushed hard at Dean's chest.
Dean strained against the restricting hands, still trying to reach his father.
"Dean!" Sam said, and slid his hands up to Dean's shoulders to give his brother a little shake. "De', stop! Please!"
Dean blinked at the old nickname, and the sound of tears in his brother's voice, and looked at his baby brother standing in front of him, pushing him away from his goal.
"Please," Sam repeated and put his hand on the back of Dean's neck. "You're not like him," he said quietly. "You're better than this, Dean. Better than he is."
"Get out of the way, Samuel," John ordered, and Dean's eyes grew round with shock as Sam rolled his eyes, and glanced over his shoulder.
"I'll deal with you in a minute," Sam snapped, and turned his back on John again.
Dean swallowed. Sam had turned his back on Dad. To stop him from doing something Sam knew Dean would regret.
Sam. Turned his back. On DAD.
Dean inhaled shakily, and nodded to his brother, then pulled Sammy further away from their father, before John had time to recognize his chance and took Sammy away from Dean with a knife in the back.
"Sam," Dean said sharply, "Y…."
"Walk it off," Sam told him and gave a little push towards the kitchen.
Dean shook his head, frowning. "I can't…"
"I'm okay," Sam whispered, returning his hand to the back of Dean's neck. "You know he can't hurt me, now. But hurting him will wreck you, Dean. Don't do this. Walk away, before one of you says or does something you can't come back from."
Dean put his hand on the back of Sammy's neck and pulled their foreheads together.
He blew out a shaky breath and nodded, then pulled away, looking over at their father, who stood only feet away, arms crossed, face so distorted with anger and hate as he glared at Sammy's back that Dean could hardly recognize him.
"Walk it off," Sam repeated. "I've got this, big brother. I've got you."
Dean's gaze flew back to Sam's and angry, worried green met determined, unafraid hazel.
Dean nodded and backed away, turning to enter the library, where he paced between the desk and the entrance to the kitchen.
"Dean!" John called, and took a step after his beloved son, only to come up short with a start when he ran into the unyielding force of the outstretched arm of the boy he'd raised as his own.
John frowned for a second, meeting the eyes so like Mary's.
Mary's son.
The Demon Boy King Sam.
John reached a hand slowly towards the gun in his waistband, and froze at the sound of a pump action being racked.
"Pull it," Singer challenged. "Nothin' would make me happier."
"Bobby," Sam said calmly, and John looked at the boy, frowning in confusion.
"I got this," Sam said confidently, and for a second, John wasn't sure if Sam was reassuring Singer or warning him.
"I know you do, boy," Bobby said gruffly. "But I got your back, anyway."
Sam shot Bobby a grateful smile, then turned to meet John's gaze with eyes that seemed, to John, to be too old, too full of knowledge John couldn't fathom to be Mary's son.
The demon Sam, John reminded himself, and waited to see what the hell spawn would do.
"You need to leave, John," Sam told him.
John's left eye twitched — the closest thing to a flinch the Hunter would allow — unexpectedly hurt at hearing this boy (his enemy he reminded himself firmly) call him anything but Dad.
"Dean doesn't want to see you now," Sam explained calmly. "I pretty much never want to see you," he continued, noticing another twitch. "Bobby wants to shoot you," Sam added matter of factly, with just a trace of humor.
Humor? John marvelled. In the face of John's hatred, clearly reflected on his face (he knew it was, he knew it was plain for Sa—the hell spawn to see), the boy had it in him to show humor? If this had actually been his son, he'd've been proud.
Something moved at the edge of his vision, and John's eyes flicked up, behind the hell spawn and slightly to the left, to see Dean leaning casually against the arch between the library and living room, arms and ankles crossed negligently, smiling proudly at the boy.
"There's nothing for you here," Sam continued. "Not today. Just go," he said loudly, then lowered his voice so the other men in the room couldn't possibly hear him. "Go, John. I'll work on Dean," he assured him, and John's eyes went wide. "He'll never come back to you," Sam clarified, "but in time…maybe I can get you a dinner. But not if you push it now, so just go."
John blinked at him, then glanced at Dean, who hadn't moved except to frown slightly.
"Just GO," Sam repeated, louder now, so all could hear him clearly.
John's jaw clenched. This, this…person. This THING was ordering him — him — away from Dean? From his own son?
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" John yelled at him, and some part of him couldn't help but be proud when the boy stood his ground and just raised one eyebrow.
"Who am I?" Sam repeated. "I'm your other son. The one you hate. The one you nearly killed," he reminded John, his voice even and almost mild, like they were talking about a Jayhawks score, and took a step forward. "And I'm not afraid of you, John. Not anymore," he assured him, and John frowned a little, uncertain what to do with that claim. "It's like I said when I came into the room," Sam added, his voice full of a careless confidence, before it deepened and hardened to a steel that John never would have expected from his useless, weak, corrupted son. The Demons John had met weren't usually so bold. At least, not once he was done with them. "I don't run from bullies anymore."
"Bully?" John bristled, and he couldn't stop himself from saying the next line. "I'm your father, you little shit!"
Sam smiled slightly and gave his head a sad shake. "Never," he said definitively. "Not for a second in my life. Not really. Fathers take care of their sons, raise them and support them. But the one who raised me? The one who looked after me, fed me, taught me to tie my shoes and read, and think. That was Dean, not you, John. The one who loved me, right from the first second we met? Who gave me shelter when I needed it? Who cheered me on? Celebrated everything I ever did? Always promised me a safe place to go. THAT was Bobby. You were never my father. You were my drill sergeant, for a while. When you could be bothered. Other than that?" Sam shrugged casually. "You were exactly what I said you were. A bully. Trying to control me, with fear. With fists. And that never worked."
"Really?" John challenged and swung at the boy standing defiantly in front of him.
His whole arm ached when the fist was caught in a surprisingly strong hand.
"I've got this, Dean," Sam said sharply, and only then did John realize his true son had moved from his nonchalant lean and taken a step forward. "Bobby," Sam added with a warning in his tone, when the older man stepped up beside Sam, shotgun at the ready, pointed more or less at John's head.
Sam turned his attention back to John and met his gaze, and for the first time, John saw the hardness in the hazel eyes, the determination of the jaw, the stiffness of the spine and the challenge that emanated from every pore.
It was like looking in a mirror.
A shudder ran down John's spine, and he knew he'd never forget the voice that warned him for what he instinctively knew would be the last time.
"You need. To leave, John. Now."
Time stopped.
No one moved.
No one breathed, except for Sam, who was oddly calm in a way that was more frightening than reassuring to everyone in the room.
"NOW," he repeated and time jerked back into motion…
John shot one more look at Dean, saw the defiance there, so unlike the boy he'd raised — evidence of the demon's corruption on his true son — and realized that the demon was right. There was nothing for him here, not today.
John turned and was gone, letting the front door slam behind him.
The trio stayed frozen for a moment after the door slammed, then Dean and Bobby moved to stand beside Sam, and they all watched as John pulled his souped up pickup out of the yard and disappeared down the drive.
Another beat. Two.
Thwack.
"OW!" Sam reached up and rubbed the back of his head, turning a shocked look on his big brother.
"I told you to wait outside!" Dean rounded on him, and poked a finger into his baby brother's chest. "He could've killed you, Sammy!"
"He couldn't," Sam said confidently. "You know I could've stopped him. OW!" he yelled again and spun to face Bobby. "Dammit, stop smacking me! What was THAT for?"
"You may've been able to stop him from doing anything to your face, boy," Bobby frowned, "but you turned your back on him, ya damn idjit! He could've stabbed you in the back, boy! He wouldn't even've hesitated, either. He's killed enough monsters that way."
"He won't hurt me," Sam insisted, and stepped back a few paces so he could see both his protectors — both his fathers — at one time.
So he could look them in the eye.
So they'd stop hitting him in the back of the head.
"Not in front of Dean," Sam clarified. "Getting you back is too important to him, and he knows damn well hurting me will ruin his chance at that forever."
"Maybe," Bobby conceded, "but his temper ain't something he's ever had that good of control over. If he comes after you, Sam, I know you'll defend yourself, the best way you can, and you should. But that'll show him what you can do. The last thing we want is to give him anything that he'd see as proof that you're anything other than you. And don't you kid yourself, boy. If that man finds out what you can do, moving things around with your mind — he'll make it his life's work to take you down, and he won't let Dean's concern for you stop 'im. He'll find a way to do it. And if he can't find one, he'll invent one, and it'll be slow and painful."
Sam shook his head. "He wouldn't kill me. I'm still his son. I'm still his Mary's son, and his son's brother."
"No," Dean said quietly. "Not to him, Sammy. To him, you're the thing that destroyed Mary's son. And even though he knows you're still my little brother, all he sees is a threat to me. And Bobby's right. If he ever gets the slightest whiff of what you can do…". Dean shook his head. "Just don't…if he shows up again, stay away, okay? For me? My heart can't take it, waiting for him to stab you or you to toss him across the room."
"I'm not going to throw him," Sam rolled his eyes. "I know not to do anything if we're not on a hunt, in front of anything we're not about to kill. Jeez, guys, I'm not a complete idiot. "
"Could've fooled me," Bobby grumbled, turning around, heading back to the kitchen. "Probably ruined my chili," he groused. "Damn idjit kids, facing off against their damn idjit daddy in my damn living room….." he continued until his voice faded out as he returned to the kitchen.
The brothers shared a smile, well used to Bobby's gruff ways.
"Bobby's right, though," Dean sighed. "I nearly had a fuckin' heart attack when you turned your back on him. I really expected to see a blade coming out of your chest any second." Dean reached out and grabbed the back of Sam's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "Don't do that anymore, man. Okay? Just…if he shows up again, and I tell you to go outside, go outside, all right?"
Sam wrapped his arms around his brother's back and nodded against Dean's shoulder. "Okay," he agreed. "Okay, I will. But Dean," he added, and broke contact, pulling back until they could see each other's eyes, "you do know he won't let this go, right? Getting you back?"
Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Like Dad lets anything go."
"Right!" Sam agreed. "And Dean…you know I won't think you're…disloyal or anything if you have dinner with the man, right?"
Dean blinked at him, and Sam suppressed a smile, knowing he'd been right about at least part of Dean's hesitation to join John for dinner.
"Of course," Dean lied, looking away. "But…he still wants to kill you, Sammy. How can I sit down and eat with someone who…"
"Because he's not just someone," Sam countered. "He's your DAD, Dean. I don't expect…I never wanted you to cut him off forever. I know how important he is to you! And he should be. He was…okay, he was never going to be father of the year, but he does love you. Probably even more than he hates me. Which is why he won't ever actually kill me."
"Except that he did," Dean whispered, shooting a glance back at the kitchen, making sure that Bobby couldn't overhear this last thing they'd kept from the older hunter. "You think I've forgotten that? Kicked your rib through your heart, remember? Do you know how many nightmares…"
"I told you, that was an accident," Sam said, keeping his voice as quiet as Dean's.
"Yeah, right."
"He doesn't even know!" Sam insisted. "Jesus, Dean. If he knew he'd killed me and I survived…do you really think he'd've waited two years to try to get you away from me? He wouldn't have waited two days."
Dean frowned. "That's an interesting point," he admitted. "Huh. Why…"
"Are you two idjits gonna help me eat this chili or what?" Bobby's voice floated in from the kitchen, and the boys grinned at each other and started for the kitchen.
The trio was sitting in their accustomed places around the table — Bobby at the end closest to the library and the phones there, Dean at the opposite end between Sammy and the nearest entrance, Sammy safely between them on the side closest to the stove — when Dean's brain stopped have a foodgasm over the really amazing chili long enough to pick up the thread of the thought he'd had just before Bobby had called them into the kitchen.
"Hey, Bobby," he began, and Bobby looked up expectantly, "why do you think Dad was here?"
"To try to convince you to come back, son. You got cotton in yer ears, boy, 'cuz your daddy was pretty clear," he smirked.
"No," Dean clarified, "why today."
Bobby shrugged. "You said he was in Omaha. Probably just felt like it was close enough."
Dean shook his head. "I don't think that's it. It's more than just proximity."
"No, but Dean has a point," Sam agreed. "In the last two years, he's been on two hunts up near Lake Traverse which isn't any farther than Omaha, and last year, he took on that werewolf up near Watertown, which is even closer. And those are just the hunts we know about. So, why now?"
"Could be he's been giving Dean time to come back on his own, and just…ran out of patience," Bobby shrugged, then chuckled at the twin looks his boys gave him, which clearly said what patience. "Okay, yeah, he'd never hold his patience for two years."
"If he needed Dean on a hunt, wouldn't he just ask?" Sam wondered.
Dean shrugged. "He has asked," he admitted sheepishly, "a couple of times."
Bobby and Sam both glared at him. "And I'm just hearing about this now, why?" Bobby growled.
"What he said," Sam added.
"Because it was just a casual mention," Dean shrugged. "Like, 'I'm gonna be in North Dakota, taking out a small nest, if you're interested', or 'got a hunt in Minnesota, if you want to meet me'."
"Question remains," Bobby countered. "Why didn't you ever mention it? To either of us?"
"Because I knew you'd just get upset and tense over nothing, and I turned him down every time," Dean sighed. "And you glaring at me now, just proves I'm right. It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" Bobby raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You promised to tell us if your daddy ever contacted you, and you didn't think to mention he asked you to go on a Hunt?"
"So maybe it's not so strange that he wanted to see you today, after all," Sam mused, interrupting Bobby's growing rant and pulling them back on topic. "Maybe Dad's just…continuing what he's been trying all along."
Bobby shot Dean a dark look which Dean had no difficulty interpreting: we ARE going to talk about this, boy — then turned his attention to Sam's comment.
"Maybe it's not."
"No," Dean shook his head, reluctantly. "It's more than that. Before now, every time he's brought up my going with him, there was a specific Hunt involved. For two years, the only contact I've had with the man is about a Hunt, and today he's all 'I miss you son, come home to Pappy?'," Dean intoned with a cartoon hillbilly accent that made Sam snort with laughter. "I don't think so. And remember, he didn't originally call me this time. He called the Singer Salvage line, not the house line we use."
"Yeah," Sam nodded as he stood, and gestured toward the stove, looking at first Dean, then Bobby. Both offered him their bowls, taking him up on the offer for seconds. Well, Bobby's seconds; Dean's thirds. "And the only time he calls Bobby is to find out something about whatever it is he's hunting this week," Sam continued, as he filled the two bowls, and returned them to the table, before turning back to fill his own bowl again. "But when he was here, he didn't even mention a monster. Or a hunt of any kind. What the hell is that about?"
"That's what I'm saying!" Dean insisted, around a mouthful of chili. "Suddenly, after two years, it's all Come Home, son? How does that make sense?"
"It don't," Bobby admitted, and put his spoon down on the table. "Unless suddenly, he needs you back for some reason."
Sam swallowed his chili and looked at his brother with large, worried eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time he used one of us for bait, Dean," Sam suggested, softly.
Dean shook his head again. "I don't think that's it. He would've at least told me that there was a hunt involved. I think he thinks that's the way to get to me," he admitted. "He doesn't know I'm still hunting, a little, and thinks I'll miss it enough to go back to him."
"So, something's changed," Sam said softly in that special Sammy found a puzzle to solve voice that had so often led to breakthroughs on hunts in the past. "Something's different, and suddenly, he needs you. Or does he?" Sam breathed, and fell silent, his eyes shifting out of focus, and into a darker shade than normal..
Bobby glanced at Dean who just shrugged and went back to eating his chili, knowing full well it could be minutes or an hour before Sam was mentally back in the room.
It was actually less than three minutes.
"Shit!" Sam exclaimed, and sat up straight, nearly causing Dean to choke on his chili and Bobby to spit out his beer.
'What?!" Dean yelped.
"Dean, what was the last hunt Dad told you about. Before he said he was done in Omaha, what was he working on?"
"Um, he — he had a lead, I think," Dean shrugged. "On old Yellow-eyes. Said he'd tracked down a demon who knew a demon who might know where the bastard is."
"So he's on the trail of Yellow-eyes," Sam nodded, "interrogating some lowlife Demon, and his next stop, more or less, is to come here." Sam focused his attention on Dean. "To come see you. To try to get you to leave me behind."
"Which I'll never do," Dean vowed.
"Which your daddy knows," Bobby pointed out. "He's an idjit, he ain't stupid. So why try to get you to do something he knows damn well you ain't ever gonna do?"
"No, no," Sam shook his head. "He interrogated a Demon, and came right here," Sam repeated, "to get you to leave me. He found something out. Something about me. Something that's alarming enough — something that worried him enough — that he thinks it's too dangerous to leave you here. To leave you with me."
"What the hell?" Dean frowned.
"That makes sense," Bobby nodded.
"But what could he possibly find out," Dean wondered, "that would upset him that much? He already knows you're the freakin' Boy King, or whatever. He thinks your some kind of demon, for fuck's sake. What's worse than that?"
"Sam, that Boy King thing, you said your daddy said that was in the future," Bobby reminded them.
"That's right."
"What if he just found out that the future isn't as far off as he'd thought?" Bobby wondered. "What if…what if the demon he just tortured said the Boy King is comin' now."
"I…don't think it is," Sam shook his head.
"Would you know?" Dean asked.
"I'll know," Sam assured them. "But what if…what if it's not the Boy King coming? What if it's something coming for the Boy King?"
Bobby nodded. "If your daddy knew that, that somethin' was comin' after Sam…"
"You'd be in the way," Sam said to Dean. "Anything comes for me, you're going to put yourself in the way, to protect me."
"Always," Dean vowed.
Sam smiled briefly, warmed, as always, by his brother's protection. "So, John knows something is coming for me. He doesn't care what happens to me, we know that, but he really cares what happens to you. So he shows up, and tries to get you to 'come home'."
"Outa the line of fire," Bobby added.
"Outa the line of fire," Sam nodded. "But makes sure not to tell us why."
"Because whatever's coming…" Dean began
"…he doesn't want me to know," Sam reasoned, and sighed. "Something's coming to kill me," he said flatly. "And John doesn't want it killing you, too."
"You know, boy," Bobby said, pointing at Dean, "you're daddy's almost as protective of you as you are of Sam."
Dean swallowed, nodding, knowing where Bobby was headed and not willing to go there yet.
But Sam was already there. "You refused to come on your own," Sam sighed, "but you're in harm's way — because of me — and he's not going to leave it there. Not going to leave you here. Not when he knows that you'll be right between me and whatever is coming."
Dean leaned his forehead against one hand and shook his head. "He's going to come after me," he sighed. "My own father is going to try to kidnap me." He raised his head and looked at his little family. "I'n't he?"
"Oh, yeah," Sam nodded.
"'Fraid so, boy," Bobby confirmed.
"Son of a bitch!"
====SPN========SPN=======SPN=======
Four hours later
They'd finished the chili, cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, then adjourned to the library, where they'd spent the next several hours checking the books for lore on anything that related to the Boy King. Specifically, what might come to kill him.
They'd strategized on how to keep John from grabbing Dean — or, alternatively, killing Sam so that Dean wouldn't have any reason to put himself in danger for his little brother.
Three of the best minds in Hunting, and all they'd been able to come up with was that neither Sam nor Dean would be allowed to go anywhere alone until they were sure that John had moved on for the time being.
None of them had the slightest illusion that John would give up permanently. Their best hope was that a concrete lead on old Yellow-Eyes came through and temporarily distracted him.
Dean had wondered if his dad would ask another Hunter to either grab him, or kill Sam, but consensus was that the only Hunters John would trust enough — Pastor Jim, Caleb or Bobby — would flat out refuse.
And now it was late, with nothing was really all that settled, and the brothers lay in the twin beds they'd slept in whenever they were at Bobby's since the first time John had dropped the brothers in Bobby's lap to go on a Hunt, so many years ago.
"Sam?" Dean said softly. "Sammy, you awake?"
"No," came the reluctant, groggy reply. "Neither are you, Dean. You're dreaming. Leave me out of it."
"Saaammmyyy!" Dean fake whispered. "You up, Sammy? You up? Huh? Huh?"
"Fuck," Sam sighed, knowing that whatever was on Dean's mind would not wait until a more civilized hour and if he didn't want to be pestered to death, he might as well answer. "WHAT?" Sam snapped and rolled over to face his brother's bed. In the pale light that filtered in through the window, he found Dean propped up on one arm, looking at him with an intensity that seemed, to Sam, obscene at 3:00 am. "What can't wait until morning?"
"You never did tell me why you were late from school," Dean observed.
"Seriously?! You're keeping me awake for that?"
"Answer the question," Dean challenged, "and you can sleep."
"I told you," Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to derail the headache he knew his brother would give him. "I got caught up and didn't notice the time."
"Yeah, but caught up in what?" Dean pressed.
"It…I had a…school project," Sam told him. "Kind of an extra credit thing. I just…got caught up in it."
"Uh-huh," Dean nodded. "Okay. If you're sure."
"If I'm sure what?"
"That that's the story you want to stick with."
"Oh, for…It's not a story, Jerk. I got caught up in something at school. No biggie."
"No. No biggie, Bitch," Dean agreed and lay down on his side, still watching his brother.
Sam glared at him and rolled over, putting his back to Dean with a sullen "good night, Jerk."
"Night, Bitch," Dean said almost cheerfully and watched with a slight (slightly evil) smile as the tension melted away from Sam's shoulders.
Dean waited, watching, until Sam's breathing started to even out, then spoke again. "Saaaaammy."
"Whaaaat?" Sam whined, too tired to care that he sounded like a petulant 6-year-old, and flopped over to face him again. "Dean, seriously, can we just…"
"You left the flyer out," Dean said mildly.
"I…wh..what now?" Sam said softly, his eyes growing wide with panic.
"When you went to school this morning. You. Left. The Flyer. Out," Dean repeated, enunciating every word carefully for his sleepy little brother. "I noticed it on your bed when you were brushing your teeth."
"I…" Sam started and shut his mouth, biting his lips as he looked at his brother in trepidation. "Dean," he began softly.
"You were back by 6," Dean observed, pulling the flyer out from under his pillow and pretending to read it in the near dark. "So, what, you only stayed for the part about applying to colleges? You were home before the session on the SATs started. So, I'm guessing you've taken those already."
"Dean…" Sam began and sat up, reaching over to turn on the light on the nightstand between the beds.
Dean placed the flyer on the nightstand, and shifted so he was sitting against the headboard of his bed, turning slightly to face his brother.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Dean wondered, his voice full of a sadness, a disappointment that made Sam look away.
"I just..I didn't want there to be a fight," Sam admitted, softly.
Dean sighed and shook his head. "I'm not Dad, you know. Sure, I'd like to keep hunting with you, but I know that's not what you want, Sammy. That's okay, man. You gotta do what makes you happy."
"Seriously?" Sam frowned.
"Of course! Come on," Dean scoffed. "I know you. I know you want to go to college and I'm all for it."
"Really?" Sam squeaked in surprise.
"Is that such a shock?" Dean wondered. "When haven't I supported you, man? I just want you to talk to me about it, Bitch. That too much to ask?"
"I…no," Sam agreed. "Not at all. What did you want to know?"
"Well, to start with…have you taken the SAT?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted. "And the ACT."
Dean looked at his brother, expectantly.
And waited.
And waited.
"AND?" Dean prompted.
"What?" Sam wondered, barely suppressing a grin.
"Scores, Bitch. Don't make me tickle it out of you."
Sam chuckled. "They were fine," he admitted, glancing away nervously.
"Fine like average, or fine like you missed 1 point because you wouldn't flirt with the proctor?"
"Dean!"
"Just give the scores, or I'll have to resort to torture."
"What are you gonna do, sing?" Sam challenged and Dean wadded up the flyer and threw it at his little brother's head.
"Don't be a smartass. SAT first. Verbal?"
"800."
Dean nodded, grinning. "Math?"
"790," Sam admitted, reluctantly.
"I assume you did the essay?"
"Yeah. 11."
"That's my geek!" Dean beamed. "What about the ACT?"
Sam sighed. "36."
"Composite, or individually?"
"Compo—-how do you even know all this?"
Dean shrugged. "I told you, Sammy. I know you, man. I know you want to go to college, and I know a good score is going to go a long way to getting you some financial aid of some kind. Speaking of which — what's the major, and where've you applied?"
"I'm thinking Pre-Law," Sam shrugged. "So…"
"Columbia, Cornell, Duke, Georgetown, Harvard, Northwestern, Stanford, UC Berkeley, Chicago or Yale," Dean filled in. "Did you apply to all of them? D'ya have a preference?"
Sam's mouth fell open, and he blinked at his brother, stunned into silence.
"What?" Dean wondered, and looked over his shoulder. "There a naked lady behind me or somethin'?"
"Did you…" Sam began, closed his mouth, then tried again. "You just named the top 10 Law Schools in the country. BY HEART. How….?"
"I keep telling you, Sammy," Dean grinned. "I know you. Look, you hate Hunting, but mostly just the killing part. The research, that's cool for you, 'cause you're a nerd; but the part you really respect — the part you actually kind of LIKE — that's saving people. I figured you'd want to keep doing that. So, pre-Law or pre-Med. Couldn't be anything else, anything EASY, not for my geeky little bro. I was leaning towards Med, myself. Dr. Winchester has a kind of ring to it. But I figured, somewhere in that big ol' brain of yours, you'd remember all the people who got railroaded by D.A.s who didn't know it was the ghost in the house, or a demon possessing some poor schlub that really did the crime, and that you'd want to help people, keep the innocent out of jail. And, being you, you'd want to be the best lawyer you could be which meant going to the best school. Didja know magazines rank that shit?" He shrugged at Sam's dumbfounded expression. "What? Just because I don't get a hard on from it doesn't mean I can't do research. Just not my favorite thing."
Sam looked at Dean like he was Batman, Neil Armstrong and Mark McGwire all rolled into one. "Jesus, Dean," he breathed with a sappy smile. "You really are behind me on this!"
" 'S what I said," Dean reminded. "Still voting for Doc Winchester, but Samuel Winchester, Esquire ain't half bad. "
"It's still saving people, right?"
"It is, Sammy," Dean nodded. "Sure the hell is. I am so damn proud of you. Usin' that big ol' brain of yours. So proud of you."
Sam blushed a little and sniffed softly.
"By the way, 'f I get a vote — please not Harvard or Yale, dude. First off they're too snobby, second, it's too fuckin' cold. Cold goes for Northwestern and Chicago, too. Stanford and Berkeley, on the other hand…now there's a good idea. California, that's the place to go. Beaches, bars and babes, Sammy!"
Sam shook his head, indulgently. "Dean, don't ever change."
"Not me," Dean smirked. "I'm a simple man, Sammy. I'll always be me."
"Anyway, winter doesn't last all year long, Dean. You can visit me in the fall and spring, maybe summer sessions."
Dean frowned. "VISIT?" he practically spat. "I ain't comin' for a visit, Sammy. I'm coming with you."
"Y…YOU? At college? You hated school."
Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, Sammy, colleges are in these things called 'College Towns'," Dean explained as if Sam were six. "And these College Towns, they're, like, actual towns and shit. Some people actually live there. Year-round and everything!" Dean continued, entirely ignoring his brother's growing laughter. "And the people in the town, they have cars. And these college kids, they come in and a lot of them have cars. And where there's cars, there's cars breaking down, and where cars break down, there're these things called mechanic shops. And mechanic shops, they need these people who are, like, mechanics. And…"
"Okay, okay," Sam laughed. "I get it. I get it."
"Good," Dean said smugly.
"But, Dean," Sam ventured. "You'd…you'd really do that? Give up Hunting to come with me when I go to school?"
"Give up…Hell, no," Dean scoffed. "Just 'cause you'll be studying 26 hours a day, 8 days a week, doesn't mean there ain't gonna be monsters that need to get ganked, people who need saving. Sure, I'll get a good, steady job at a garage someplace, but I'll work it out with the boss so's I get a couple days off here an' there. I'll keep Hunting, Sammy. It's who I am," he said seriously. "And I'm good with that. But I'm not good with letting you go hundreds or thousands of miles away from me, not when I now know that there's at least one demon, and maybe a whole lot more, got you in their black-eyed sights. Or Yellow-Eyed sights, whatever. And to be clear," he added, "you don't have to live with me or nothin'. Fact, you shouldn't. You should live in a dorm with stupid, rowdy people who go on panty raids and blow up toilets, and destroy stupid parades and drag horses into people's offices."
"Animal House was just a comedy, Dean," Sam frowned, "not a documentary."
"Based on real events, but whatever. You'll live in a dorm — if you want," he added hastily. "And I'll get myself a nice, swingin' bachelor's pad by the beach. Maybe a water bed."
"Dean," Sam shook his head. "Do we need to have this conversation again? Porn. Is not. Real Life."
"It is if you try hard enough, Sammy," Dean grinned. "And if you're good lookin' enough."
"Then Porn is definitely not your life," Sam told him.
"Don't be jealous, Sammy," Dean told him playfully. "You're bound to find some poor, desperate girl into nerds, someday."
"You're such an ass," Sam sighed. "Can we go to sleep now, Jerk?"
"Anything you want, Bitch," Dean grinned and turned the light off.
They both settled down, this time facing each other, as they often did when sharing a room.
Dean's breathing was just evening out when Sam's voice came to him, quietly and, Dean thought, a little shyly.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy."
"I just...you're really coming with me?" Sam wondered. " 'Cause, y-you don't have to, you know. I know how much you like it here. It's, it's kinda a home. For you. Again."
"Yeah, it is," Dean admitted. "But I meant what I said to Dad today, Sammy. It's you. You're home. We're home. You and me. And my baby. I think we'll always come back here, to Bobby's, but…you and my baby. That's the only home I need," Dean said quietly.
Dean figured he should be embarrassed saying something that…sappy…but he wasn't. Sure it was straight out of some chick flick, but somehow, in the middle of the night, in the dark, in the beds they'd sporadically grown up in…that was okay. Might even be good for them, talking about home and shit like that. Setting down roots for the first time since M—since Kansas.
"Okay," Sam said quietly. "Okay. I-if you're sure."
Something in his brother's tone got through, and Dean leaned over, turned the light on again.
"Why would you think I'm not sure, Sammy?"
"Well, it's just...I mean," Sam stammered, suddenly unable to meet his brother's gaze. "It's..by the time I graduate High School, I'll be 18. I mean, you won't be…"
Dean shot Sam a narrow-eyed glare his brother should be able to feel, daring him to finish that ridiculous thought.
"I'll be an adult," Sam amended, hastily, "and you won't have to sign everything for me all the time."
"Don't think there'll be a ton of field trip permission slips in college, Sam," Dean frowned.
"You know what I mean! It's just - when you...when you don't have custody - when I have custody of my own self," Sam fumbled, "I just kind of thought you'd...you know. Want to go back to….hunting."
"To Dad you mean," Dean said coldly, and shook his head at his little brother's sheepish nod. "Jesus, Sam. What the hell? Why are you suddenly pushing me back towards Dad, man? I haven't been that big an asshole these last two years, have I?"
"No, of course not!" Sam was quick to assure him. "It's just...I just didn't think we..really wanted...the same...you know, life."
Dean stared at him. "Because, what, you're all Joe Normal, and I belong on the Island of Misfit Toys, like Dad?" he scoffed.
"NO! I just...dammit, Dean," Sam sighed, "I just...I hate that there's this...this...rift between you and Dad, now 'cause of me."
Dean blinked, and tilted his head to the side, as if to get a different view of his brother. "You cannot be fucking serious right now," he shook his head. "Rift? You think there's a fucking rift? The son of a bitch Tried. To. Kill. You, Sam," Dean reminded, for the second time in less than a day. "That's more than a rift, Sammy. It's not like he took my car keys away, or grounded me because I got in a fight. He tried to kill you. Why would I fucking ever want to go back to him, after that?"
"It's just…he really wasn't even trying to kill me," Sam tried to explain.
"He repeatedly kicked you with a steel toed boot, Sam. He wasn't asking you to dance."
"I know, I know. He might have been trying to kill me, but he wasn't trying to kill ME, you know?"
Dean stared at him, frowning. "Did you hit your head when you fell over the barrel, Sammy? 'Cause based on this conversation, you may have a concussion."
"I did not hit my head," Sam assured him, throwing Dean a bitch face so dour that Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "What I mean is, he wasn't trying to kill his son, Sam Winchester."
"Oh, he wasn't? 'Cause you were the one who almost bled to death, remember? I sure the fuck do."
"He was trying," Sam continued over Dean's protest, "to kill the demon he thought was in me. The…the piece of Yellow-Eyes in his house. We don't know exactly what he was told that day, Dean. Not all of it. But I've thought about it since…"
"Yeah. So've I," Dean snapped.
"…and I think that he thought that…that Sam was gone. That for all practical purposes, his son was dead, and that there was just this, this monster in my place. Can we really blame him for trying to kill a monster he thought killed me?"
"YES!" Dean assured him. "Absolutely, I can blame him! And I can't believe…that is some strong ass rainbow unicorn glitter glue you've been sniffing, there, Sammy."
"Dean…"
"No, no. Just…I am not going back to Dad. Ever. So just…if you don't want me to come with you to college, man, you just tell me. I can stay right where I am…"
"That's not…" Sam sighed. "I'm glad you're coming with me, Dean. I really am. I just…I want you to be where you'll be happy, too, that's all. I don't…you don't have to drag yourself away from…everything…to follow me to college. If you don't really want to."
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean said quietly, shaking his head. "You've really backed me into a corner here, man. I never wanted to have to tell you this," he said sadly.
"Tell…tell me what, Dean?" Sam asked, his puppy eyes growing wide with worry.
"My moving to a college town? You're just an excuse," Dean shrugged and grinned. "I'm really moving for all those college babes, man. So many beautiful, young, frustrated coeds…and me, a more experienced, very slightly older man…it's gonna be epic."
Sammy shook his head, laughing. "And again - Porn. Real Life. Not the same."
"Man, I can't wait to teach you otherwise."
"EW!"
"By sharing the stories of my amazing assignations, Sammy. Nothing twisted."
"Right. Because telling your brother about the woman you banged last night, whose name you can't remember, isn't twisted at all." Sam frowned. "Also — assignation? And you get on me about my vocabulary being too fancy?!"
"What, you'd prefer bang boppin'?" Dean grinned. "Doing the horizontal hubba-hubba? Slamming' the salami? Priming the…"
"OKAY!" Sam gave in with a wince. "Assignation is fine. Just…Spare me your creative alliterations. PLEASE! Scar me for life, why doncha," he added in an aggrieved mutter that made Dean grin with pride."
"Such a prude, Sammy!" Dean laughed. "Now I'm even more convinced I need to come with you to those ivy covered halls! Never get you laid without my help."
"And again…ew!"
"Just gonna set you up on dates," Dean promised. "Maybe give my little brother a few handy pointers on how to please the ladies, 'at's all."
"Keep your pointer to yourself!" Sam practically squeaked, making Dean laugh hard enough that his stomach hurt and his face was wet when he was done, a good five minutes later.
"Thank you, Sammy," Dean grinned, wiping his face. "I really needed that today."
"You're welcome," Sam said as disgustedly as he could manage, but couldn't quite hide the smile poking through.
"Ok, go to sleep, Bitch. What're you keeping us up this late for, anyway?"
"ME? I…." Sam rolled his eyes and laughed softly. "Good night, Jerk," he said and flipped the light off before he closed his eyes, once more.
He was almost asleep when Dean's voice came to him out of the darkness, settling over him like a security blanket. "Good night, Bitch," he heard Dean say. "Just remember. I'm your big brother. And I'm always going to take care of you, Sammy. That'll never change. No matter how old you get."
================spn==================spn============
A/N a couple quick explanations:
The SAT and ACT are college entrance exams, used and pretty much required to get into most colleges and university in the U.S. Not to get two technical, but without the essay (which is worth 12 points), the two parts of the SAT, math and verbal, were worth 800 points each in 2000. The ACT has a complicated method, but overall the different parts are averaged together, and the highest possible composite score is 36.
The Island of Misfit Toys is from the Bass & Rankin animated musical Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer which runs on some tv station or other every single year at Christmas in the U.S. The Island is where toys that are defective and unloved go to live.
Mark McGwire was the top rated home run hitter in baseball in the late 90's. Neil Armstrong was the first person to walk on the Moon. Batman is...well, Batman, and while the show has frequently indicated that Batman is more Dean's favorite than Sam's, Sammy was dressed as Batman when he broke his arm, jumping off a roof.
The 10 colleges that Dean lists are, in fact, among the top 14 Law Schools in the U.S., both today and in 2000. The rankings slide around a bit, but these are pretty much always there.
National Lampoon's Animal House is a movie released in 1978, starring John Belushi (among others) about what was billed as the 'worst frat' (fraternity house) on a college campus. It really is comedy gold, and I highly recommend it.
Thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed or commented. I'd LOVE to hear what you think of this chapter - the good, the bad, the out of character!
-Aethena