Born Again Winchesters (Part 1)
Jul. 27th, 2014 02:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
majestic_duxkPairing: platonic sam/dean
other characters: Missouri, Castiel, Bobby, others
Fandom: Supernatural
Kinks: nonsexual infantalism, daddy Sam, baby Dean, non con infantalism, hurt/comfort, caretaking
story length: unknown (this section approx 4300 words)
Summary: Sam cannot tolerate Dean's risky behavior and decides that it is all due to a poor upbringing, so he makes him his baby, so he can raise him all over again. Worst part is, Dean isn't allowed any sexual behavior, he's not even allowed to get hard.
Author note: I try to post only completed works here, however this is WIP for the otpkink meme, where, once it's closed you can't continue to post in the comm. So I am posting here and at AO3 so people can follow if they want. Just so you know, it will be finished, but I have a few other things on my 'must complete' list before I can spend a lot of time on this one. I hope you enjoy it anyway :-)
--
part 2 | part 3
--
Sam stared at Dean, aghast.
Dean in turn had the grace to look abashed. Blood dripped from his temple, but he hastened to assure Sam he was fine, it was just a flesh wound. Coupled with Dean’s slightly manic, Sam’s worried were not appeased.
Sam didn’t know how to deal with Dean.
--
“You just needed to drop the match on the coffin, Dean. Care to tell me what happened?”
Dean met Sam’s eyes in the mirror. Although Sam was just standing in the doorway, he somehow managed to fill the whole room. Dean felt his stomach drop at the disapproval and disappointment in his brother’s voice. Breaking eye contact, he gave himself a quick talking to: this was Sam. He looked after Sam, not the other way round. Sam was just being a bitchy little brother. It was fine. This was fine. He was fine.
Taking a deep breath to centre himself, he looked up, catching Sam’s eye. He gave his trademark easy grin. “It worked out, right, Sammy? Spirit gone and not too much damage. Sorry to worry you, man.”
Sam wasn’t impressed, if the way he loomed further as he crossed his arms over his chest was any indication. If anything, he looked more disappointed. Dean really didn’t want to deal with this right now. He rubbed his head tiredly. It actually did hurt. But if Sam hadn’t noticed, no way was he telling him! During the case, he’d… zoned out? He wasn’t really sure what‘d happened. If Dad had been there, Dean would've been running triple drills as soon as they got home. Can’t afford a single lapse in the field. Fuck! Why was he even thinking about dad?
“Dean?”
The voice was right in his ear.
“Son of a…!”
Sam pulled back quickly, as Dean jumped, sending on elbow in his direction. This was exactly what had happened at the grave.
“Dean, are you…”
He was summarily cut off. “I’m fine, Sam. This room isn’t big enough for two. Get the fuck out. Get some dinner. Pizza and beer sounds good.”
Dean went back to looking at himself and very carefully not at Sam. He felt Sam’s presence for a few more moments, before Sam finally left, closing the door quietly behind him. His breath released in a sigh. Sam was right. His head wasn’t in the game. Not that Sam had said that, but it was obvious what he thought. Dean was nothing but a liability.
Dean really didn’t know how to deal with himself.
--
On the other side of the door, Sam was worried. Something was off with Dean. And while his brother obviously didn’t want to talk about it, he wished he would. It was getting worse. Dean was making mistakes – lots of them. And while Sam was still ok, Dean’s various injuries were really starting to add up. Biting his lip, Sam wondered what to do. Honestly? He was sick of it. Not that would come as a surprise to anyone. He’d love to get out of the business, but only if he could get them both out of the business. He wasn’t leaving without Dean, and there was no way was Dean going without a fit, and possibly a screaming fit. Huffing to himself, Sam grabbed the car keys. He couldn’t remember Dean ever throwing a tantrum. Might be interesting to see.
--
Dean passed out on the floor, was unusual and not at all what Sam wanted to see.
“Fuck! Dean!”
Sam dropped the food and drinks on the bed, crashing to his knees beside Dean.
“Dean? Dean? Can you hear me? I need you to talk to me, Dean!”
As eyelashes started fluttering, Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He fell back onto body memory, hands feeling Dean’s head for lumps and bumps, running down his sides, across his body, noting when and where he flinched.
“Sammy, stop it.”
It was a weak response. One which Sam had no problem ignoring. Instead he ground his teeth and lambasted his brother.
“I thought you were fine, Dean. Isn’t that what you said? That you were fine? Is there some other meaning? One I wasn’t aware of? God!” Having determined Dean was reasonably alright, Sam sat back on his heels. “We only work if you tell the truth, Dean! I have to know when you’re hurt.” His hands were clenched, he could feel his body shaking. What was Dean doing? He opened his mouth to yell, when he stopped. Dean’s eyes looked… blank.
It felt like he had seen this look before. Maybe from when they were kids? To a young Sam, it felt like any time anything good ever happened, John would come back and wreck it all. They had to be quiet, they had to pack up, they had to move. Sam, of course, argued about it. He never chose hunting, never wanted it. Sam chose to yell and shout and argue. Dean… Dean would go quiet. He’d get this look in his eye, then obey, not a single word to contradict their father. Sam could never understand why Dean was so agreeable, why he didn’t care.
But this look... This look said no one was home. Maybe Dean had never been as ok as Sam imagined.
Taking a deep breath, Sam lowered his voice. “I was worried, Dean. You have to tell me when something happens so I can look after you. I have to trust you to do that.”
Dean was looking at Sam again, looking properly, the blank look gone. Now his expression was set to stubborn. “I am fine, Sam.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “People who are fine just pass out, do they?”
Dean snorted, and went to stand up. Sam remained on the floor, watching his brother shakily make his way to his feet, unsteady once he got thereA frown marred his face, although he quickly smoothed it away when Dean turned a questioning glace on him.
“Pizza’s on the table. Beer is too, but I don’t think you should...”
“I’m a grown man, Sam. Can make my own decisions, thank you.”
Watching the unsteady progress to the table, Sam really doubted it.
--
Since the little ‘passed on the lounge room floor due to unknown reasons’ incident, Sam had been... ‘difficult’ wasn’t quite the right word. He had just been there. Constantly. He had hovered, and mother henned and bossed. It was annoying and it was Dean’s job! (Not that he mother henned his brother. Not at all. Not even once. Ever). Sam'd also been trying to talk to Dean. Sam, who was all girly and in touch with his feelings, who loved talking about them seemed obsessed with Dean talking about his. And more to the point, intent on rehashing the past.
“D’you reckon dad raised us well?”
Sammy’s voice echoed in the dark. Dean had been nearly asleep. He was tired. Sam was being weird and he didn’t want to deal with it.
“He did the best he could,” Dean grunted, pulling his covers up, hoping that would be enough.
“Did he ever tell you he loved you, Dean? That he was proud of you?”
This was getting ridiculous.
Throwing back the covers Dean sat up, ignoring any residual dizziness. “What the fuck do you want, Sam?” he demanded. “Dad wasn’t like that! I can’t go back and get him to say that! But he did love you. And he was proud of you! Just... Fuck.” Dean slammed his body back onto the bed, huffily arranging his pillow. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the fluffy love filled childhood you wanted. A demon killed mom and dad was hell bent on revenge. I get that you didn’t get your happy little family with a white picket fence and a dog. But I can’t change that. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” The pillow was finally in a comfortable position. “Now, shut up and go to sleep.”
--
Sam did shut up. But he didn’t go to sleep. He couldn’t. Dean had, unsurprisingly, completely misunderstood the question. But the answer… Sam could remember plenty of times dad had told him how proud he was of Sam. He could even remember being wrapped in his father’s arms, held close, while he whispered how much he loved him. And sure, these moments were few and far between, but he had them.
There’d also been Dean.
Aside from change, Dean had been the other constant in Sam’s life. It was Dean who held him, hugged him, and told him everything was ok. Dean had fed him, and read to him, taught him to read. Picked him up when he fell down, and been there. Dean had raised him.
Sam wasn’t the poster child for mental health, he could easily admit that. And as fucked up as his upbringing had been, he had one surrogate parent who'd raised him with love. Sam’s eyes drifted towards the now sleeping Dean. Even in repose Dean looked so tense, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.
Sam hated it. Sam hated what their life was doing to his brother. It wasn’t like this was anything new, but Dean had been getting… lax wasn’t quite the right word. He still trained, he still gave 100% of what he had. He just wasn’t operating at 100%. And that was dangerous for both of them.
The question now, was what to do about it.
--
After that particular late night conversation, Dean had done his best to avoid Sam. It hadn’t been easy. Avoiding thinking about the past was easier than avoiding Sam. Sam was always there, ready with food, water (and what was that about? Dean didn’t like water, and beer had been surprisingly hard to come by), and a first aid kit, which Dean did require, more often than not.
While he could kind of appreciate that Sam was worried, Dean was feeling smothered. So he did what no self-respecting adult would do – he’d tried to sneak out. He had it all planned: Sam would go get dinner, Dean’d wait a few minutes (just to make sure the coast was clear), and go. And it Hd worked, although Sam gave him a disappointed look when he returned – either drunk in the early hours of morning, or hung over and stinking of sex in the slightly later hours of the morning.
Although he never said anything at the time, the long drives were filled with Sam trying to talk about it, calling it self-destructive behaviour. The lack of sleep, the drinking, the women. Was he even practising safe sex? Dean had yelled at him, telling him as long as he didn’t fuck up on hunts, it was none of his fucking business.
Unfortunately, Dean was fucking up on hunts. He’d had another incident when trying to trap a demon. He just zoned out before he’d finished drawing the devil’s trap... And yeah, yeah, he was lucky Sam was there, and yeah, yeah, there was something going on, something wrong with Dean. It was fucking obvious. Dean figured he just needed more sleep.
He steeled himself for Sam’s lecture (which he really wasn’t looking forward to. But really? How bad could it be? Dean beat himself up worse than anyone else). But then again he probably deserved everything Sam could throw at him.
But when the time came, Sam was weird. He hadn’t yelled at all. Just quietly and firmly told Dean he had to take better care of himself, and then dragged him off to the bathroom to look after his injuries. Although Dean had pushed him away, shock and blood loss meant he was no competition for his ridiculously strong and large little brother. Grumbling he’d allowed Sam to clean him up who had then proceeded to treat him like a child: putting him to bed and turning the lights out.
Dean had been so shocked he hadn’t argued. Just allowed himself to put to bed. Sam tucked him in (and what the fuck was with that?) before getting into his own bed.
“When was the last time someone said they loved you?”
Dean groaned into his pillow. Again? Why were they having this conversation again?
“I told you Sam, Dad wasn’t...”
“Not Dad, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Anyone. When was the last time anyone said they loved you? That you were important.”
“Angels tell me I’m important all the time. The Righteous Man. Michael's condom. So don’t worry, Sam, I'm not suffering from a lack of praise.”
“Dean.”
Suddenly Dean had had enough. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to get me to say that my life sucks because I had a bad childhood? That I wasn’t raised right? That no one loved me so I’m a complete fuckup?”
He sat up and stared at his brother. “Well, newsflash Sammy: I was raised perfectly well! Don’t blame Dad because I’m a fuck up.” He snorted. “Pretty sure I would have been a fuckup even with a mom to tell me she loved me, Sammy. So can your little psychologist act. The when’s and why’s don’t matter. All that matters is hunting things and saving people. That’s what I do, Sammy. That’s all I do.” Dean’s voice had been getting louder and louder. He seemed to realize, cutting himself off, panting. Sam watched as he slowly retreated into the blank eyed hunter. “If you don’t want it, Sam, if you want out of the family business, I’m not gonna keep you here. Your life is yours. You gotta do what’s right.”
With that Dean turned his back on Sam.
He fully expected Sam to be gone in the morning.
Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore.
--
Sam stared at his brother’s back. He wasn’t really surprised at the reaction. Dean, despite what he claimed, hadn’t been brought up well. Well-adjusted people didn’t freak out about the ‘L’ word. Well-adjusted people didn't drink themselves into oblivion. Well-adjusted people didn't need sex to feel alive and loved.
However, nobody every claimed that Dean Winchester was a well-adjusted person.
--
It was slow in coming, but eventually Sam realized he wanted to change that. He wanted to see Dean go from being an emotionally cut-off, self-destructive martyr, to... to someone who knew how much he was loved and cherished. Someone who was happy, and could smile. Someone who was filled with joy.
Mary died when Dean was four. Could Dean even remember a time when he was young and happy? Just glad to be?
Sam sighed to himself. They had to quit hunting. Obviously not right away – there was no way Dean could deal with that. But the sooner the better. He would start making slow moves, easing Dean into the change. Moves so slow that Dean wouldn’t worry that Sam was going to leave. So slow that Dean wouldn’t notice what was happening. Maybe they could get a small property somewhere. They could have a library (for Sam) and for Dean… with a start Sam realized he wasn’t actually sure what Dean liked. He had a good idea at what Dean was good at, but had no idea if that was what he actually enjoyed doing.
Turning over to go to sleep, Sam decided he would have to deal with that in the morning.
Except that Dean was avoiding him.
“Very mature, Dean.” Sam was careful to keep his voice neutral. They’d declared the car neutral ground, and Sam was unwilling to break the uneasy truce they had.
It had been like this for over two weeks: If they weren’t on the road, Dean was awake and out of the room before him, and in bed after him. They communicated via text, and Sam never knew where Dean was. All he knew was that it wasn’t with Sam and that wasn't ok.
Dean glanced at Sam out of the side of his eyes. He was confused. Surely Sam had seen he was a lost cause. So why was he still here? Why was he trying so goddamn hard? It was… It was cruel dragging it out like this. But eventually Sam would stop pretending Dean was something he wasn't. That would be the day Sam would really leave and not look back. Though Dean's heart clenched, he was well acquainted with wearing a brave face.
“Glad you like it, Sammy. It’s the new me. Get used to having him around.” Or not, he added in his head.
His facade wasn't as strong as he thought. Sam could see straight through it. Dean had reached his breaking point. He was running on scared, and he couldn’t deal with knowing that Sam was going to leave at any moment.
Sam’s silence worried him, and Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam again, who was staring out the window. Why? Why was he still here? Dean had offered him the chance to go. And this time there was nothing to stop him. So why would he...?
“Dean!”
Sam’s shout jolted him out of his head.
“Fuck!”
He twisted the steering wheel, wrenching the Impala onto the right side of the road. The hoarse beeeeeeeeeeep of the truck's horn faded into the distance.
For a few moments, the only noise was their twin breaths punctuating the air. Sam pulled himself together first.
“Pull over.”
Dean immediately went argue. But Sam was having none of it.
“Keep your eye on the fucking road and find somewhere to pull over.”
Dean had never heard Sam sound that furious. So Dean obeyed.
--
Sam hadn’t realized Dean was so close to completely breaking. He’d been making lots of little mistakes while hunting, hurting himself. And irritating Sam. Though Sam had been worried, he’d thought most of it was Dean childishly trying to push Sam away. Now it seemed more than that.
“When was the last time you slept, Dean?”
Dean jumped in his seat. He wasn't ready for Sam start the interrogation.
“Last night. I sleep every night, Sammy. Every night.”
He nibbled at his lip, watching as Sam’s lips thinned in frustration.
“You know we have to talk about this.”
Dean turned and may have lost control of his volume. “We don’t need to talk about anything. We can do what we do every time. Pretend like nothing’s wrong until you decided to up and leave. Which you will, Sam. And I think I would prefer sooner rather than later.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Dean!”
“It’s a fucking liability, man. Not knowing if you are going to be here or not! It's messing with my head. I just… I can’t concentrate, I can’t help worrying. And now, if your head isn’t in the game, then you could get hurt!” He laughed bitterly. "Obviously my head is somewhere else."
“Dean, I’m not…”
“You have to be at 100%, Sam. All the fucking time! There isn’t another choice. And you can't be giving it your all when your eye is on the prize in another game.”
“Dean!”
Sam put all his frustration into that one word. Dean shut up.
--
Sam took a deep breath. There was no point getting annoyed: he knew this is what Dean thought. Whether he could disabuse Dean of that notion…
“I’m not leaving you. I don’t know what I did, how you could think -I’m talking now.” Sam eyed Dean until he was sure there would be no further interruptions. “I’m not sure why you think I’m leaving, but I’m not. I keep telling you that I’m going to stay with you, because I am. If I was ever going to leave– which I’m not, Dean – I wouldn’t just run out in the night. I’d tell you.”
Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Since we’re talking about not being 100% Dean, and how unsafe it is to hunt when your minds’ not in the game, would you mind telling why you're still hunting? It isn't me whose been getting hurt recently. I know you have cracked ribs you didn’t tell me about.”
Dean almost squirmed in his seat at the disapproval in Sam's voice. Sam had a point. A small one, but a point nonetheless. Since when was Sammy the one giving advice? Since when was Sam the one making the fucking calls?
Suddenly there was a hand in his face.
“Keys.”
Dean stared.
“I want the keys, Dean.”
“Sam...”
“I don’t want any arguments. You just almost got us killed! Pretty sure that puts you out of the driving seat.” For good, Sam added in his head. He couldn’t believe how this day had gone. His slow and steady plan wasn’t working. “I’ll find us a hotel, and then you’re sleeping. I’ve got some stuff to organise, but we’re going to have a talk about this, Dean.”
Dean tensed. Talking, talking, all the fucking talking.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Excuse me?”
Dean threw the keys in Sam’s hand. Sam winced, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t want to fucking talk. All we do is talk! Talk about now! Talk about then! You want to rehash the past, but Sam? The past is fucked, Sam. But nothing we say is going to change that.” Dean wrenched open the door. Sam quickly followed suit. Dean stalked around the car. He was at the passenger door before he said anything.
“Talking won’t change anything, Sam. This is how I am. Either put up, or ship out. It’s up to you.”
It was a testament to Dean’s mood that he threw himself onto the seat, with little car for the car. Sam frowned. Dean was wrong. There was another option.
--
Of course, Sam had thought he would have more time to organise things. As it was, it still took a couple of weeks.
A couple of weeks in which Dean was Hell.
He was difficult and rude. An absolute brat. When he wasn’t riling Sam, he was avoiding him. And while he wasn’t messing up hunts on purpose… he was obviously not able to focus, making rookie mistakes and endangering himself. Sam bitterly noted that Dean always managed to protect Sam.
Dean didn’t want to talk. Any attempt at discussion was met with Dean’s back and a slam of the door. A hint of disapproval resulted in Dean leaving and getting so drunk he couldn’t open the door without assistance.
So Sam got really good at projecting neutral.
They were in the latest motel room. Dean was sitting on the bed, as Sam carefully his side down, removing blood and guts and dirt, assessing whether Dean needed stitches.
“Third time this side’s been hit, right?”
Dean just grunted. He was sick to death of Sam. He hadn’t yelled at Dean since the car incident. He hadn’t looked or acted mad. Once he realised that Dean wasn’t going to talk about anything, he’d changed tactics, acting like they were professionals. This was just a job. Which it is, Dean thought viciously. Although not for long.
He knew Sam was getting out. He’d heard whispered conversations, he’d seen letters, and once (and he felt just a little bit guilty) he’d gone through Sam’s web computer, looking at the browsing history. Originally it had been to see whether Sam had interesting taste in porn (he didn’t). He either had a fetish for real estate, or he really was getting out of the business.
Despite the fact that he had been expecting it, Dean felt hurt. All Sam’s words about not leaving without telling Dean were nothing but pretty lies.
Sam worked gently. It had to hurt, but Dean wasn’t even reacting. He was falling deeper and deeper into his own head, and wherever Dean was, it wasn’t healthy.
“Ok, that’s done, Dean. Stay in tonight. You need the rest. I am pretty sure you have a cracked rib.”
The only response was a grunt. Oh well, fine. This would be a test then. A test to see if Dean was going to behave or not. If he could be trusted to behave.
“I mean it, Dean.” Sam let his voice become firm. Calm but firm. “You haven’t been looking after yourself. You’re tired, run down, and injured. You need to stay in tonight. I’ll go get us some food, but I want you here when I get back.”
Let’s see how much of a big boy Dean really was.
--
“Where're you going?”
Dean felt a flush embarrass dust his cheeks. He’d left it too long to leave. It had taken him a while to get dressed, given how sore he was, but he just didn’t want to be here when Sammy returned. He definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So here he was, a grown-ass man, sneaking out. Like a teenager.
And worse? He got caught. Sam was in the doorway, arm blocking Dean's exit.
“Just... uh...”
Annoying, that’s what it was. Annoying. He was an adult, and here he was stammering and stuttering and trying to defend himself against god knows what. And why should he? He’d been looking after himself for a long time. He didn’t need a nosy little brother acting like he cared.
“Just heading out, Sammy. Don’t wait up.”
Sam looked at him with bleak eyes. Then shrugged, and raised his arm, allowing Dean to pass. Dean glared a little, as the Sasquatch’s body took up most of the room, but there was enough space for him to duck under. Sam would be pissed. He'd been mentioning Dean's drinking and fucking ways a little too often recently. Shooting his brother a nervous glance, Dean continued on his merry way. He probably wasn’t up for fucking tonight. Sam was right; he probably had cracked a rib. But he could still go and get blind drunk.
--
part 2 | part 3
other characters: Missouri, Castiel, Bobby, others
Fandom: Supernatural
Kinks: nonsexual infantalism, daddy Sam, baby Dean, non con infantalism, hurt/comfort, caretaking
story length: unknown (this section approx 4300 words)
Summary: Sam cannot tolerate Dean's risky behavior and decides that it is all due to a poor upbringing, so he makes him his baby, so he can raise him all over again. Worst part is, Dean isn't allowed any sexual behavior, he's not even allowed to get hard.
Author note: I try to post only completed works here, however this is WIP for the otpkink meme, where, once it's closed you can't continue to post in the comm. So I am posting here and at AO3 so people can follow if they want. Just so you know, it will be finished, but I have a few other things on my 'must complete' list before I can spend a lot of time on this one. I hope you enjoy it anyway :-)
--
part 2 | part 3
--
Sam stared at Dean, aghast.
Dean in turn had the grace to look abashed. Blood dripped from his temple, but he hastened to assure Sam he was fine, it was just a flesh wound. Coupled with Dean’s slightly manic, Sam’s worried were not appeased.
Sam didn’t know how to deal with Dean.
--
“You just needed to drop the match on the coffin, Dean. Care to tell me what happened?”
Dean met Sam’s eyes in the mirror. Although Sam was just standing in the doorway, he somehow managed to fill the whole room. Dean felt his stomach drop at the disapproval and disappointment in his brother’s voice. Breaking eye contact, he gave himself a quick talking to: this was Sam. He looked after Sam, not the other way round. Sam was just being a bitchy little brother. It was fine. This was fine. He was fine.
Taking a deep breath to centre himself, he looked up, catching Sam’s eye. He gave his trademark easy grin. “It worked out, right, Sammy? Spirit gone and not too much damage. Sorry to worry you, man.”
Sam wasn’t impressed, if the way he loomed further as he crossed his arms over his chest was any indication. If anything, he looked more disappointed. Dean really didn’t want to deal with this right now. He rubbed his head tiredly. It actually did hurt. But if Sam hadn’t noticed, no way was he telling him! During the case, he’d… zoned out? He wasn’t really sure what‘d happened. If Dad had been there, Dean would've been running triple drills as soon as they got home. Can’t afford a single lapse in the field. Fuck! Why was he even thinking about dad?
“Dean?”
The voice was right in his ear.
“Son of a…!”
Sam pulled back quickly, as Dean jumped, sending on elbow in his direction. This was exactly what had happened at the grave.
“Dean, are you…”
He was summarily cut off. “I’m fine, Sam. This room isn’t big enough for two. Get the fuck out. Get some dinner. Pizza and beer sounds good.”
Dean went back to looking at himself and very carefully not at Sam. He felt Sam’s presence for a few more moments, before Sam finally left, closing the door quietly behind him. His breath released in a sigh. Sam was right. His head wasn’t in the game. Not that Sam had said that, but it was obvious what he thought. Dean was nothing but a liability.
Dean really didn’t know how to deal with himself.
--
On the other side of the door, Sam was worried. Something was off with Dean. And while his brother obviously didn’t want to talk about it, he wished he would. It was getting worse. Dean was making mistakes – lots of them. And while Sam was still ok, Dean’s various injuries were really starting to add up. Biting his lip, Sam wondered what to do. Honestly? He was sick of it. Not that would come as a surprise to anyone. He’d love to get out of the business, but only if he could get them both out of the business. He wasn’t leaving without Dean, and there was no way was Dean going without a fit, and possibly a screaming fit. Huffing to himself, Sam grabbed the car keys. He couldn’t remember Dean ever throwing a tantrum. Might be interesting to see.
--
Dean passed out on the floor, was unusual and not at all what Sam wanted to see.
“Fuck! Dean!”
Sam dropped the food and drinks on the bed, crashing to his knees beside Dean.
“Dean? Dean? Can you hear me? I need you to talk to me, Dean!”
As eyelashes started fluttering, Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He fell back onto body memory, hands feeling Dean’s head for lumps and bumps, running down his sides, across his body, noting when and where he flinched.
“Sammy, stop it.”
It was a weak response. One which Sam had no problem ignoring. Instead he ground his teeth and lambasted his brother.
“I thought you were fine, Dean. Isn’t that what you said? That you were fine? Is there some other meaning? One I wasn’t aware of? God!” Having determined Dean was reasonably alright, Sam sat back on his heels. “We only work if you tell the truth, Dean! I have to know when you’re hurt.” His hands were clenched, he could feel his body shaking. What was Dean doing? He opened his mouth to yell, when he stopped. Dean’s eyes looked… blank.
It felt like he had seen this look before. Maybe from when they were kids? To a young Sam, it felt like any time anything good ever happened, John would come back and wreck it all. They had to be quiet, they had to pack up, they had to move. Sam, of course, argued about it. He never chose hunting, never wanted it. Sam chose to yell and shout and argue. Dean… Dean would go quiet. He’d get this look in his eye, then obey, not a single word to contradict their father. Sam could never understand why Dean was so agreeable, why he didn’t care.
But this look... This look said no one was home. Maybe Dean had never been as ok as Sam imagined.
Taking a deep breath, Sam lowered his voice. “I was worried, Dean. You have to tell me when something happens so I can look after you. I have to trust you to do that.”
Dean was looking at Sam again, looking properly, the blank look gone. Now his expression was set to stubborn. “I am fine, Sam.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “People who are fine just pass out, do they?”
Dean snorted, and went to stand up. Sam remained on the floor, watching his brother shakily make his way to his feet, unsteady once he got thereA frown marred his face, although he quickly smoothed it away when Dean turned a questioning glace on him.
“Pizza’s on the table. Beer is too, but I don’t think you should...”
“I’m a grown man, Sam. Can make my own decisions, thank you.”
Watching the unsteady progress to the table, Sam really doubted it.
--
Since the little ‘passed on the lounge room floor due to unknown reasons’ incident, Sam had been... ‘difficult’ wasn’t quite the right word. He had just been there. Constantly. He had hovered, and mother henned and bossed. It was annoying and it was Dean’s job! (Not that he mother henned his brother. Not at all. Not even once. Ever). Sam'd also been trying to talk to Dean. Sam, who was all girly and in touch with his feelings, who loved talking about them seemed obsessed with Dean talking about his. And more to the point, intent on rehashing the past.
“D’you reckon dad raised us well?”
Sammy’s voice echoed in the dark. Dean had been nearly asleep. He was tired. Sam was being weird and he didn’t want to deal with it.
“He did the best he could,” Dean grunted, pulling his covers up, hoping that would be enough.
“Did he ever tell you he loved you, Dean? That he was proud of you?”
This was getting ridiculous.
Throwing back the covers Dean sat up, ignoring any residual dizziness. “What the fuck do you want, Sam?” he demanded. “Dad wasn’t like that! I can’t go back and get him to say that! But he did love you. And he was proud of you! Just... Fuck.” Dean slammed his body back onto the bed, huffily arranging his pillow. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the fluffy love filled childhood you wanted. A demon killed mom and dad was hell bent on revenge. I get that you didn’t get your happy little family with a white picket fence and a dog. But I can’t change that. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” The pillow was finally in a comfortable position. “Now, shut up and go to sleep.”
--
Sam did shut up. But he didn’t go to sleep. He couldn’t. Dean had, unsurprisingly, completely misunderstood the question. But the answer… Sam could remember plenty of times dad had told him how proud he was of Sam. He could even remember being wrapped in his father’s arms, held close, while he whispered how much he loved him. And sure, these moments were few and far between, but he had them.
There’d also been Dean.
Aside from change, Dean had been the other constant in Sam’s life. It was Dean who held him, hugged him, and told him everything was ok. Dean had fed him, and read to him, taught him to read. Picked him up when he fell down, and been there. Dean had raised him.
Sam wasn’t the poster child for mental health, he could easily admit that. And as fucked up as his upbringing had been, he had one surrogate parent who'd raised him with love. Sam’s eyes drifted towards the now sleeping Dean. Even in repose Dean looked so tense, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.
Sam hated it. Sam hated what their life was doing to his brother. It wasn’t like this was anything new, but Dean had been getting… lax wasn’t quite the right word. He still trained, he still gave 100% of what he had. He just wasn’t operating at 100%. And that was dangerous for both of them.
The question now, was what to do about it.
--
After that particular late night conversation, Dean had done his best to avoid Sam. It hadn’t been easy. Avoiding thinking about the past was easier than avoiding Sam. Sam was always there, ready with food, water (and what was that about? Dean didn’t like water, and beer had been surprisingly hard to come by), and a first aid kit, which Dean did require, more often than not.
While he could kind of appreciate that Sam was worried, Dean was feeling smothered. So he did what no self-respecting adult would do – he’d tried to sneak out. He had it all planned: Sam would go get dinner, Dean’d wait a few minutes (just to make sure the coast was clear), and go. And it Hd worked, although Sam gave him a disappointed look when he returned – either drunk in the early hours of morning, or hung over and stinking of sex in the slightly later hours of the morning.
Although he never said anything at the time, the long drives were filled with Sam trying to talk about it, calling it self-destructive behaviour. The lack of sleep, the drinking, the women. Was he even practising safe sex? Dean had yelled at him, telling him as long as he didn’t fuck up on hunts, it was none of his fucking business.
Unfortunately, Dean was fucking up on hunts. He’d had another incident when trying to trap a demon. He just zoned out before he’d finished drawing the devil’s trap... And yeah, yeah, he was lucky Sam was there, and yeah, yeah, there was something going on, something wrong with Dean. It was fucking obvious. Dean figured he just needed more sleep.
He steeled himself for Sam’s lecture (which he really wasn’t looking forward to. But really? How bad could it be? Dean beat himself up worse than anyone else). But then again he probably deserved everything Sam could throw at him.
But when the time came, Sam was weird. He hadn’t yelled at all. Just quietly and firmly told Dean he had to take better care of himself, and then dragged him off to the bathroom to look after his injuries. Although Dean had pushed him away, shock and blood loss meant he was no competition for his ridiculously strong and large little brother. Grumbling he’d allowed Sam to clean him up who had then proceeded to treat him like a child: putting him to bed and turning the lights out.
Dean had been so shocked he hadn’t argued. Just allowed himself to put to bed. Sam tucked him in (and what the fuck was with that?) before getting into his own bed.
“When was the last time someone said they loved you?”
Dean groaned into his pillow. Again? Why were they having this conversation again?
“I told you Sam, Dad wasn’t...”
“Not Dad, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Anyone. When was the last time anyone said they loved you? That you were important.”
“Angels tell me I’m important all the time. The Righteous Man. Michael's condom. So don’t worry, Sam, I'm not suffering from a lack of praise.”
“Dean.”
Suddenly Dean had had enough. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Trying to get me to say that my life sucks because I had a bad childhood? That I wasn’t raised right? That no one loved me so I’m a complete fuckup?”
He sat up and stared at his brother. “Well, newsflash Sammy: I was raised perfectly well! Don’t blame Dad because I’m a fuck up.” He snorted. “Pretty sure I would have been a fuckup even with a mom to tell me she loved me, Sammy. So can your little psychologist act. The when’s and why’s don’t matter. All that matters is hunting things and saving people. That’s what I do, Sammy. That’s all I do.” Dean’s voice had been getting louder and louder. He seemed to realize, cutting himself off, panting. Sam watched as he slowly retreated into the blank eyed hunter. “If you don’t want it, Sam, if you want out of the family business, I’m not gonna keep you here. Your life is yours. You gotta do what’s right.”
With that Dean turned his back on Sam.
He fully expected Sam to be gone in the morning.
Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore.
--
Sam stared at his brother’s back. He wasn’t really surprised at the reaction. Dean, despite what he claimed, hadn’t been brought up well. Well-adjusted people didn’t freak out about the ‘L’ word. Well-adjusted people didn't drink themselves into oblivion. Well-adjusted people didn't need sex to feel alive and loved.
However, nobody every claimed that Dean Winchester was a well-adjusted person.
--
It was slow in coming, but eventually Sam realized he wanted to change that. He wanted to see Dean go from being an emotionally cut-off, self-destructive martyr, to... to someone who knew how much he was loved and cherished. Someone who was happy, and could smile. Someone who was filled with joy.
Mary died when Dean was four. Could Dean even remember a time when he was young and happy? Just glad to be?
Sam sighed to himself. They had to quit hunting. Obviously not right away – there was no way Dean could deal with that. But the sooner the better. He would start making slow moves, easing Dean into the change. Moves so slow that Dean wouldn’t worry that Sam was going to leave. So slow that Dean wouldn’t notice what was happening. Maybe they could get a small property somewhere. They could have a library (for Sam) and for Dean… with a start Sam realized he wasn’t actually sure what Dean liked. He had a good idea at what Dean was good at, but had no idea if that was what he actually enjoyed doing.
Turning over to go to sleep, Sam decided he would have to deal with that in the morning.
Except that Dean was avoiding him.
“Very mature, Dean.” Sam was careful to keep his voice neutral. They’d declared the car neutral ground, and Sam was unwilling to break the uneasy truce they had.
It had been like this for over two weeks: If they weren’t on the road, Dean was awake and out of the room before him, and in bed after him. They communicated via text, and Sam never knew where Dean was. All he knew was that it wasn’t with Sam and that wasn't ok.
Dean glanced at Sam out of the side of his eyes. He was confused. Surely Sam had seen he was a lost cause. So why was he still here? Why was he trying so goddamn hard? It was… It was cruel dragging it out like this. But eventually Sam would stop pretending Dean was something he wasn't. That would be the day Sam would really leave and not look back. Though Dean's heart clenched, he was well acquainted with wearing a brave face.
“Glad you like it, Sammy. It’s the new me. Get used to having him around.” Or not, he added in his head.
His facade wasn't as strong as he thought. Sam could see straight through it. Dean had reached his breaking point. He was running on scared, and he couldn’t deal with knowing that Sam was going to leave at any moment.
Sam’s silence worried him, and Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam again, who was staring out the window. Why? Why was he still here? Dean had offered him the chance to go. And this time there was nothing to stop him. So why would he...?
“Dean!”
Sam’s shout jolted him out of his head.
“Fuck!”
He twisted the steering wheel, wrenching the Impala onto the right side of the road. The hoarse beeeeeeeeeeep of the truck's horn faded into the distance.
For a few moments, the only noise was their twin breaths punctuating the air. Sam pulled himself together first.
“Pull over.”
Dean immediately went argue. But Sam was having none of it.
“Keep your eye on the fucking road and find somewhere to pull over.”
Dean had never heard Sam sound that furious. So Dean obeyed.
--
Sam hadn’t realized Dean was so close to completely breaking. He’d been making lots of little mistakes while hunting, hurting himself. And irritating Sam. Though Sam had been worried, he’d thought most of it was Dean childishly trying to push Sam away. Now it seemed more than that.
“When was the last time you slept, Dean?”
Dean jumped in his seat. He wasn't ready for Sam start the interrogation.
“Last night. I sleep every night, Sammy. Every night.”
He nibbled at his lip, watching as Sam’s lips thinned in frustration.
“You know we have to talk about this.”
Dean turned and may have lost control of his volume. “We don’t need to talk about anything. We can do what we do every time. Pretend like nothing’s wrong until you decided to up and leave. Which you will, Sam. And I think I would prefer sooner rather than later.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Dean!”
“It’s a fucking liability, man. Not knowing if you are going to be here or not! It's messing with my head. I just… I can’t concentrate, I can’t help worrying. And now, if your head isn’t in the game, then you could get hurt!” He laughed bitterly. "Obviously my head is somewhere else."
“Dean, I’m not…”
“You have to be at 100%, Sam. All the fucking time! There isn’t another choice. And you can't be giving it your all when your eye is on the prize in another game.”
“Dean!”
Sam put all his frustration into that one word. Dean shut up.
--
Sam took a deep breath. There was no point getting annoyed: he knew this is what Dean thought. Whether he could disabuse Dean of that notion…
“I’m not leaving you. I don’t know what I did, how you could think -I’m talking now.” Sam eyed Dean until he was sure there would be no further interruptions. “I’m not sure why you think I’m leaving, but I’m not. I keep telling you that I’m going to stay with you, because I am. If I was ever going to leave– which I’m not, Dean – I wouldn’t just run out in the night. I’d tell you.”
Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Since we’re talking about not being 100% Dean, and how unsafe it is to hunt when your minds’ not in the game, would you mind telling why you're still hunting? It isn't me whose been getting hurt recently. I know you have cracked ribs you didn’t tell me about.”
Dean almost squirmed in his seat at the disapproval in Sam's voice. Sam had a point. A small one, but a point nonetheless. Since when was Sammy the one giving advice? Since when was Sam the one making the fucking calls?
Suddenly there was a hand in his face.
“Keys.”
Dean stared.
“I want the keys, Dean.”
“Sam...”
“I don’t want any arguments. You just almost got us killed! Pretty sure that puts you out of the driving seat.” For good, Sam added in his head. He couldn’t believe how this day had gone. His slow and steady plan wasn’t working. “I’ll find us a hotel, and then you’re sleeping. I’ve got some stuff to organise, but we’re going to have a talk about this, Dean.”
Dean tensed. Talking, talking, all the fucking talking.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Excuse me?”
Dean threw the keys in Sam’s hand. Sam winced, withdrawing his hand. “I don’t want to fucking talk. All we do is talk! Talk about now! Talk about then! You want to rehash the past, but Sam? The past is fucked, Sam. But nothing we say is going to change that.” Dean wrenched open the door. Sam quickly followed suit. Dean stalked around the car. He was at the passenger door before he said anything.
“Talking won’t change anything, Sam. This is how I am. Either put up, or ship out. It’s up to you.”
It was a testament to Dean’s mood that he threw himself onto the seat, with little car for the car. Sam frowned. Dean was wrong. There was another option.
--
Of course, Sam had thought he would have more time to organise things. As it was, it still took a couple of weeks.
A couple of weeks in which Dean was Hell.
He was difficult and rude. An absolute brat. When he wasn’t riling Sam, he was avoiding him. And while he wasn’t messing up hunts on purpose… he was obviously not able to focus, making rookie mistakes and endangering himself. Sam bitterly noted that Dean always managed to protect Sam.
Dean didn’t want to talk. Any attempt at discussion was met with Dean’s back and a slam of the door. A hint of disapproval resulted in Dean leaving and getting so drunk he couldn’t open the door without assistance.
So Sam got really good at projecting neutral.
They were in the latest motel room. Dean was sitting on the bed, as Sam carefully his side down, removing blood and guts and dirt, assessing whether Dean needed stitches.
“Third time this side’s been hit, right?”
Dean just grunted. He was sick to death of Sam. He hadn’t yelled at Dean since the car incident. He hadn’t looked or acted mad. Once he realised that Dean wasn’t going to talk about anything, he’d changed tactics, acting like they were professionals. This was just a job. Which it is, Dean thought viciously. Although not for long.
He knew Sam was getting out. He’d heard whispered conversations, he’d seen letters, and once (and he felt just a little bit guilty) he’d gone through Sam’s web computer, looking at the browsing history. Originally it had been to see whether Sam had interesting taste in porn (he didn’t). He either had a fetish for real estate, or he really was getting out of the business.
Despite the fact that he had been expecting it, Dean felt hurt. All Sam’s words about not leaving without telling Dean were nothing but pretty lies.
Sam worked gently. It had to hurt, but Dean wasn’t even reacting. He was falling deeper and deeper into his own head, and wherever Dean was, it wasn’t healthy.
“Ok, that’s done, Dean. Stay in tonight. You need the rest. I am pretty sure you have a cracked rib.”
The only response was a grunt. Oh well, fine. This would be a test then. A test to see if Dean was going to behave or not. If he could be trusted to behave.
“I mean it, Dean.” Sam let his voice become firm. Calm but firm. “You haven’t been looking after yourself. You’re tired, run down, and injured. You need to stay in tonight. I’ll go get us some food, but I want you here when I get back.”
Let’s see how much of a big boy Dean really was.
--
“Where're you going?”
Dean felt a flush embarrass dust his cheeks. He’d left it too long to leave. It had taken him a while to get dressed, given how sore he was, but he just didn’t want to be here when Sammy returned. He definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So here he was, a grown-ass man, sneaking out. Like a teenager.
And worse? He got caught. Sam was in the doorway, arm blocking Dean's exit.
“Just... uh...”
Annoying, that’s what it was. Annoying. He was an adult, and here he was stammering and stuttering and trying to defend himself against god knows what. And why should he? He’d been looking after himself for a long time. He didn’t need a nosy little brother acting like he cared.
“Just heading out, Sammy. Don’t wait up.”
Sam looked at him with bleak eyes. Then shrugged, and raised his arm, allowing Dean to pass. Dean glared a little, as the Sasquatch’s body took up most of the room, but there was enough space for him to duck under. Sam would be pissed. He'd been mentioning Dean's drinking and fucking ways a little too often recently. Shooting his brother a nervous glance, Dean continued on his merry way. He probably wasn’t up for fucking tonight. Sam was right; he probably had cracked a rib. But he could still go and get blind drunk.
--
part 2 | part 3
