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gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire VII: The Way Home
Authors: Wolfling (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wolfling) and James (zortified)
Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thankwesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffiene makes the world go 'round, people!
The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Chapter One
Dean felt that weird, familiar mix of exhausted and caffeine-wired as he pulled into the parking spot beside Dad's truck. He'd finished off the thermos of coffee hours ago, refilled it at a truck stop, and now had enough caffeine in him that he might be able to sleep sometime before the day after next -- if he was lucky.
He'd made the drive in just under fourteen hours, though given his late -- delayed -- start, it was later than he'd expected to arrive. He'd called his dad when he'd been a few hours out of Clayton, letting him know. Dad hadn't mentioned his being late, so Dean was hoping it wasn't a problem.
He'd had a lot of time to think on the drive. About Sam, his dad, what the hell he would say if he found himself having that conversation. He still had no idea and he was hoping that he could just ignore the whole issue and it would never, ever come up. Certainly he didn't plan on being stupid and saying anything, but the more he tried to act normal, the more he was afraid Dad would read it written on his forehead or something.
Telling himself he was seriously over-reacting, Dean got out of the car. Grabbing his duffel, Dean headed for room #21. The door opened just as he got to it, revealing his dad who had a faint smile on his face as he stepped back to let Dean enter.
"Hey." Dean gave him a nod, excuses ready in case his travel-time was called on. Not lies -- there was no way he'd get away with outright lying. But there were plenty of half-true reasons why he might be an hour late.
Dad looked him over closely, searching for... what, Dean didn't know. Before Dean could get too paranoid though, he smiled and said, "You're looking good."
"Thanks." Dean smiled back, suddenly feeling nothing more than happy to be with his dad again. "You find anything interesting about the poltergeist?" His dad had planned to spend the day trying to gather information. Dean set his duffel down by the second bed, pulling the laptop out of the top.
"I've got us a few leads to check out tomorrow," Dad told him, frowning at the laptop. "That's not Sammy's computer, is it?"
"It's mine--" Dean stopped, realising he hadn't told his dad about any of this. "We, uh.. I needed one," he began, nervously. "For, er... I'm going back to school," he said, in a rush.
Dad's stare transferred from the laptop to Dean. "You're what?"
He'd been trained to look his father in the eye when spoken to in that tone. Back straight, head up, no lies, yes sir, no sir. Dean managed the tone of respect, but failed everything else as he said, "I'm going back to school." He stared at the laptop, and the Metallica sticker that had appeared mysteriously in the time between when he'd finally picked a wallpaper and unpacked the computer this evening.
Sam had packed his duffel, after all, but it wasn't like he didn't know who to blame. He wanted to smile at the thought of his brother's show of support.
"I didn't know that you wanted..." Dad's voice was softer; deliberately so, it sounded like.
Dean shrugged, still not able to look his dad in the eye. He'd never questioned anything his father told him -- that included the decisions he'd made about missing school for other things. Sam had been the rebellious one, questioning everything and standing up for what he wanted. When his dad had taken Dean out of school, every single time Dean could recall, he'd gone without argument.
Now it felt like he was criticizing all that, complaining about what his dad had asked him to give up.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Dean looked at his dad, surprised -- then surprised to find himself so surprised. "I... have no idea," he said, with a laugh. "Sam's doing all the... you know. Getting me enrolled and stuff. The program's online, which is why--" He gestured at the laptop. Dean shook his head. "I... you really....?" He trailed off as he realised it was probably a stupid question; his dad wouldn't have offered if he hadn't really meant it.
Dad smiled a little and nodded. "Sam seems to be pretty good at that kind of thing. And knowing it needs to be done." He paused and said, more seriously, "I'm sorry, son. If I'd known you wanted this... I would've..." He laughed a little. "I would've asked Sam to take care of the paperwork on it."
Frowning, Dean asked, "Why would you have known? I didn't want to until.... once Sam got to college, I mean, I guess... it just seemed stupid. Him getting his degree and me...." He trailed off again, shying away from actively calling his dad's choices into question.
It felt so weird to have his dad talking to him the same way he'd been talking to Sam, all summer. Ever since Sam's freaky vision thing had changed everything.
"So you decided to go back to school and get your own?" Dad finished.
"I figured I might as well," Dean said, forced a light tone he didn't feel. How was he supposed to tell his dad that not having graduated made him feel like a failure? "Better than watching soaps all day," he added with a grin.
But his dad seemed to catch what was under the light tone because his frown deepened. "Dean, I..."
Turning away, Dean looked at the bed. Wired as he was, he probably wouldn't sleep well. But he should try, and sleep sounded better than the conversation he knew was coming. "If we're gonna stop this poltergeist, I should hit the sack," he said.
"I'll pay for it."
"What?" Dean found himself staring at his dad again -- and fuck, he hadn't even thought about the fact he'd have to pay for the program. Sam hadn't mentioned it, but he should have thought of it himself. Should have realised, and.. fuck, how much would something like that cost? Would he be able to put it on one of the fake cards, or...? Fuck.
Dean wondered if Sam would tell him, if he emailed. Maybe over the phone? No, chances were Dean would need to be in the room, threatening to strangle him, in order to get a straight answer.
Maybe school wasn't such a hot idea. He could probably take the G.E.D -- they'd charge a lot less to just take a test, right? Get a few books from the library to study, and not bother with actual classes. "I'll have to ask Sam," he said, absently. "I don't...."
Dad nodded. "Right, Sam's taking care of all the details. I'll get the cost from him. But not just that. You'll need textbooks and..." His eyes lighted on the computer again. "I'll pay for that too, of course."
Stunned, Dean stammered, "I...paid already...." Then he wanted to smack himself, because of course it was paid for, otherwise he wouldn't have it. "I mean, I had cash," he tried again, thinking that his dad might have guessed they'd put it on one of the credit cards -- or maybe that's what he was planning to do when he said he'd pay.
Christ, textbooks. He hadn't... He really hadn't thought this through, at all.
"I'm supposed to let Sam know I'm here," he muttered, and opened the laptop to send an email. He could let Sam know he'd changed his mind before Dad had a chance to talk to him.
"Dean," his father said, in that voice that had always commanded complete and instant attention from him.
Dean was looking up before he even considered what his dad wanted, hands resting on half-open laptop. "Yes, sir?"
"Just... stop. Slow down and whatever it is that's got you so..." He gestured at Dean in lieu of actually describing how Dean was acting. "Just stop it and talk to me."
And that did stop him, completely. The last time his dad had told him to talk about anything it had been about either a hunt, or Sam.
He didn't know what to say. Glancing down at the laptop, he tried, "I told Sam I'd email him when I got here -- to prove I know how, I think," he said, smirking a little. Dean knew that was almost lying, because he knew what he was going to tell Sam. "I didn't realise.... it isn't anything I need," Dean said, quietly. He'd always understood the difference between things you needed, and things you couldn't afford.
Dad sat on the edge of the closest bed and looked at him. "Is it something you want?"
"You sound like Sam." Dean laughed, realising it was probably the other way around. He leaned away from the laptop, waved a hand in the air. "I'm sorry, I should have... I didn't think about it costing...." Inwardly he flinched, knowing that he'd pretty thoroughly broken rule number one -- don't go into anything unprepared.
"You shouldn't have to."
"Yeah." Dean nodded. There was a short list of things they needed -- the things their money had always gone for. Weapons, ammo, upkeep on the vehicles. Food, whatever rent they had to pay if it wasn't a motel room on a credit card.
Shoes for a little brother who simply would not stop growing.
Dean glanced down at his boots. New footwear for school. He wondered where Sam had got the money for them. He'd priced them once and knew they weren't cheap. Well, he knew Sam had money from his scholarship, but all that was supposed to go for his own school expenses.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, stomach clenching. "I need to tell Sam he wasted--" He was reaching for the laptop -- that, at least, he could return and get the cash back to use for better things.
"Dean," Dad said again, drawing him up short. "Do you want to do this?"
Dean blinked, focused on his dad. He knew the right answer, even if it was hard to say. He swallowed. He felt -- something, which he refused to look at and refused to even feel, because he knew what mattered. He knew what he wanted: he wanted to help his dad hunt, he wanted to get rid of as many evil things in the world as he could.
He wanted to be able to go home to Sam, as often as he could manage.
"No, sir." He was proud of himself for saying it decisively, without any trace of regret on his face.
Something flickered in Dad's eyes that Dean couldn't identify. "You know, I can't remember the last time you lied to me."
The accusation was like a slap to the face. Dean flinched, mouth open to deny it, even as he knew he couldn't. Unable to face his dad, he stared down at the ugly brown carpet, ashamed of the fact he couldn't repeat himself and mean it. "We don't need to waste money on this," he said, able to say that much, truthfully.
"That wasn't what I asked you," Dad pointed out, in a strangely gentle voice.
Weirdly, it made him feel like one of the people they helped -- spooked, confused victims, and Dad being all soothing and reassuring. He opened his mouth to answer, though he knew his dad knew what the answer was. He'd just have to look at the program brochures again and pick the one that was cheapest.
Still not raising his eyes, Dean nodded.
"All right," Dad said, sounding like everything was decided. "Then you do this. And don't worry about the cost. You shouldn't have to -- that's my job."
"I don't--" Dean wanted to tell him he didn't have to take care of this. Of him.
He couldn't make his jaw work.
"I'm your father. This is part of what I'm supposed to do."
Dean just frowned. That hadn't been an issue for years. Dean had always been just as responsible, taking care of himself and Sammy. He was an adult, now, for god's sake, and he shouldn't need his Dad to do something like pay for school.
Pay for high school, Dean thought, Twenty-two years old and-- and he really just couldn't think about it anymore. He pressed his hand to his eyes, and maybe the caffeine had worn off because he just wanted to curl up and not think about it at all.
"I need to let Sammy know I made it here." He must be wondering, by now.
Dad sighed and nodded. "All right. Just..."
Dean opened his laptop, glancing up to wait for his dad to finish. But he didn't say anything more, so Dean clicked on the email program Sam had set up for him. Sam was the only name in his addressbook, and he quickly typed a message.
Sam-
Made it to Clayton alive and well. Poltergeist not alive, probably not well. Will find out tomorrow. No speeding tickets, still wearing pants.
He paused, then typed the rest, as quickly as he could.
Don't enroll me in that program I picked. Forgot to check something -- need to look at them again. No big deal.
Dean
He hit 'send,' then closed the laptop and felt the last several hours hit him like a sack of bricks. He looked over at his dad. "It all right if I turn in?" he asked, feeling rather subdued.
Dad gave him another of those looks he couldn't quite decipher. "Sure," he said.
Nodding, Dean headed for the bathroom for one last piss before crawling into bed. When he came out, Dad was sitting at the table, looking over what was probably the research he'd done for the poltergeist. Dean just headed for his bed and sat down heavily, leaning over to pull off his boots.
After he dropped the first one on the floor, his phone rang. Dean groaned and reached for it, not surprised at all to see the call ID listing Sam's number. He set the phone back down -- he knew beyond a doubt that he did not want to talk to Sam right now.
His dad looked up. "Aren't you going to answer that?"
"It's just Sam."
Now Dad was frowning at him again. "Usually that makes you pick up before it's finished ringing once."
"I don't--" Dean stopped, and figured that maybe talking to Sam would be the lesser of two evils. He opened the phone then realised that he must be brain-dead to think it would be easier to explain his email to Sam than explain Sam to Dad.
He didn't even get "Hello" out before Sam was demanding, "What the hell do you mean don't enroll you?"
"Hey, Sammy, you're up late," Dean said, sighing. First Dad, now Sam. Did he have a 'kick me' sign on his back? "I just forgot to check something, is all," he said quickly, before Sam could get stubborn at him.
"What could you have possibly forgot to check? We both went over everything backwards and forwards. You could probably recite the entire brochure."
"I just...." Dean didn't glance over, knowing full well his dad could hear every word he said, and probably every word of Sam's. "Never thought to look at how much it was. Dad said... he offered to pay and I wanted to make sure I hadn't picked the most expen--"
"Is that what this is about?"
Dean was taken aback by Sam's interruption -- by the way he said it, like he was relieved that it was something silly. He glanced over at Dad, knowing that there were things he wanted to say to Sam but couldn't with Dad overhearing. And there were things he wanted to say to Dad, but couldn't say in front of Sam. He felt stuck between them, and wasn't that a familiar place to be. Dean sighed. "Well, yeah. I forgot to look at it and I want to make sure--"
"Dude, don't worry about it," Sam told him, voice equal points of warmth and exasperation. "I looked into the costs when I looked into everything else. We can cover it, even without Dad's help. With it--"
"It isn't that," Dean said, quietly. It wasn't that he cared if Dad paid or he did. Not really. It was just... he should have taken that into consideration before he'd even started this. Now his dad and his brother were going to be trying to cover his ass for something he'd somehow convinced them he wanted badly enough to pay...however much it was.
Because he knew if he'd thought about it and taken a look at the cost, he wouldn't have ever brought up going back to school in the first place.
"What is it then?" Sam asked softly.
He glanced at Dad again, and knew he didn't want to tell Sam the truth. He tried to brush him off with what sounded good enough, and hoped his brother wouldn't press him. "I just wanted to know what it cost," he said, trying to sound sincere.
Sam snorted. "That isn't it," he said with conviction. "At least not all of it." He paused. "You don't want to talk in front of Dad, do you?"
"Well--" Dean stopped himself, because it wasn't like he could say 'I don't wanna talk in front of Dad,' in front of Dad.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, here's what you're going to do. Get back on your computer and make sure you're online."
"I'm what?"
"Get back on the computer. I'll message you and we can talk that way."
"Oh. Right. OK... thanks, Sam," he said, casually, as though he were just saying good-bye and we'll talk after we blow up some buildings.
"You're welcome," Sam said, then added in a more threatening tone, "And if you don't get on the computer, I'll call back. On Dad's phone."
"Dickwad," Dean said, still casually, then he hung up. He picked up his laptop and settled back on his bed, leaning up against the headboard. He carefully didn't look over at his dad while he waited for it to boot up, half-afraid he would ask Dean what was up.
He could see his dad out of the corner of his eye though and he was still going over his journal and the other papers he had spread out over the table. He didn't even look up.
Dean turned his attention back to the laptop and saw the messaging icon. Hand over the mouse, he had to remind himself that Sam would call, and on Dad's phone so there would be no way Dean could stop Dad from answering. He opened the program, almost able to hear Sam's exasperated sigh.
As with the email, Sam was the only contact he had listed. Dean waited, though, not quite willing to be the one to start the conversation.
lawboy: You there, Dean?
with_boots_on: Bitch. 'with_boots_on'?
lawboy: Got a problem with it?
with_boots_on: how am I supposed to have a conversation when I'm thinking about being fucked so hard I fall asleep with my boots on?
lawboy: You think about it most of the time when we're talking already, don't you?
with_boots_on: ... Maybe.
lawboy: Well then.
with_boots_on: I still say you're a bitch. Dickhead.
lawboy: Yeah, yeah. Bitch, bitch, bitch. So you going to tell me what's really going on with you now?
with_boots_on: No, I'd rather sit here and call you names.
lawboy: Let me rephrase: Tell me what's really going on with you, Dean.
Dean glared at the screen, knowing his brother couldn't see him -- but Sam probably knew him well enough to know that Dean was glaring. He started to type out a phonetic version of Kwan's better insults, but realised that Sam probably had his phone in hand, and Dad's cell on speed dial.
with_boots_on: I just want to know how much it costs, all right?
lawboy: Why? Seriously? I told you I worked out all the costs. We can afford it.
Dean glared at the screen again, angry that Sam was making him have this conversation at all. Angry at himself for having done this in the first place.
with_boots_on: Because I should have thought about it before I picked one.
lawboy: Don't you trust me to be able to handle all of those details?
The stab of guilt hit him low, in the stomach, and Dean had to force himself to type.
with_boots_on: I trust you. I just should have I mean I should have thought about it. Before I decided to do this.
It took him a moment to hit 'send', wondering if he really wanted to say any of this at all.
lawboy: If you had you wouldn't have even let yourself consider doing this.
Dean stared at the screen for a moment, wondering how he could respond to that without saying 'yes' - or 'no'. He had a feeling either answer was going to get him yelled at.
But at least over the laptop, he didn't have to see Sam giving him that Look. Dean grinned, briefly.
lawboy: Yes, I know you that well, and you can stop grinning any time.
with_boots_on: Bitch.
lawboy: You know I'm right.
with_boots_on: That doesn't mean I'm going to admit to anything. Why is everyone making a big deal about me wanting to know how much this is gonna cost?
lawboy: It's not you wanting to know how much it's going to cost that I'm making a big deal over. It's the fact that you asked me to not sign you up because it costs *something* at all.
with_boots_on: I asked you not to sign me up so I could find out how much they all cost so I don't get the most fucking expensive one.
Dean jerked his hand away a second too late, and sent the message.
lawboy: Yeah, that's what I thought. Why shouldn't you get the most expensive if it's the one that fits you the best? And don't tell me because we can't afford it-- I've already told you I made sure we could afford any of them and that's before Dad offered to help.
with_boots_on: But it's not something we need.
Dean stared at the screen for a moment, hands above the keyboard and trying to figure out what he needed to say to make Sam understand.
with_boots_on: It doesn't make sense to waste money on something I'm not going to use.
lawboy: Who says you're not going to use it?
with_boots_on: Who needs a diploma to kill evil things? It isn't like anyone's hiring demon hunters.
lawboy: There's more to life than hunting. But even if that's your life's work for your whole life, this is still something we need. Because *you* need it.
with_boots_on: There's more to your life, Sammy. You want more, you can get more. This is all I want to do. I don't need a piece of paper that says I finished all my classes to say I'm good enough.
lawboy: Don't you?
Dean glared at the screen, wishing his brother was there so he could smack him -- though if Sam were there, he'd be giving Dean one of his earnest, soulful looks. He tried to think of something to say, and the only thing coming to mind was nothing he wanted to put into words.
He remembered sitting in the car in Reno, confessing to Sam that he wanted to go back to school. The things Jorge had said, about the simple things that build a man's pride -- how a person is nothing unless he believes himself something. And how having options was always the smarter thing -- that no one went into a fight with only one weapon and no one to back him up.
Dean finally typed.
with_boots_on: I don't know.
lawboy: Dean, you want this. That means I want you to have it. Stop acting like you're not important enough to expend our resources on. You are. You're the most important thing in my life.
Dean continued glaring as he read -- until he hit the last line. He felt his throat clench and he glanced over at Dad, in case, bizarrely, Dad was watching and could somehow read through the back of the laptop.
Fortunately, Dad was still pouring over his research, and Dean looked back down at the screen.
with_boots_on: I want to hide in the bathroom.
lawboy: Go ahead. As long as you take the laptop with you.
with_boot_on: And you'll explain to Dad why I'm hiding in the bathroom with my laptop, huh?
lawboy: You want me to call him and tell him you've developed a deep emotional attachment to bathrooms?
with_boots_on: You say 'deep emotional attachment' to him and I'll break...something. Fuck, it was bad enough having this conversation with him, too.
lawboy: You had a conversation with Dad about hiding in the bathroom?
Dean flipped off the screen, keeping his hand hidden from Dad.
with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He
Dean froze again, wondering if this whole conversation over the computer was really such a good idea. It was hard enough talking to Sam sometimes, but it was even harder this way because he felt almost obligated not to bullshit too much.
with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He said he'd pay for it, and for books and the laptop, and he didn't yell at me for not having thought about classes costing anything.
lawboy: Why would he yell at- No, wait. I don't want to hear the answer. Why does the idea of Dad paying for it make you want to hide in the bathroom?
with_boots_on: It isn't him paying for it. It's the fact I didn't think of it. It's like going after something without finding out first what kind of ammo you need to use. Unprepared. You know how he gets about shit like that.
lawboy: Did you tell him I was taking care of the details?
with_boots_on: Yeah.
lawboy: Well then. You gave the details to me to handle, you were prepared. Unless you think Dad doesn't consider me trustworthy enough to do that.
Dean smiled, and typed quickly, cursing silently as he had to go back and fix half a dozen typos.
with_boots_on: Dad said that if he'd known I wanted to go to school, he would have helped by asking you to take care of the details.
lawboy: See? He'd do it himself. Can't get upset at you for something he'd do himself.
Dean sighed, and risked another glance at Dad. He knew Sam had a point, but... the trouble was, Sam's point wasn't addressing the problem. He was concerned about Dad thinking he wasn't able to take care of things -- he'd always done everything he could to take care of himself and Sam and anything else Dad threw his way.
But he knew that Sam couldn't say anything about the real problem until Dean admitted to him what it was. He scrolled back up through the conversation, and realised that he had. It was hard to read -- distracted by Sam's declaration that really did make him want to shut the laptop and go hide somewhere, if not the bathroom then maybe the wilds of central Washington.
with_boots_on: What if we need the money for something else?
lawboy: Like what?
with_boots_on: Bail. Ammo. Car repairs. Traveling to China to kill something that's eating people. Rent during the summer when your scholarship's gone.
lawboy: We do have an emergency stash, it's been budgeted for, we do have an emergency stash, you wouldn't get on the plane anyway, and I can get a job.
Dean stared at the screen before typing.
with_boots_on: What the fuck do you mean I wouldn't get on the plane anyway?
lawboy: You're scared to fly, remember?
with_boots_on: I know I'm scared to oh. You saw that?
lawboy: Yeah. Dude, you were humming *Metallica*.
with_boots_on: Of course I was humming Metallica. If you -- I got *on* the fucking plane?
lawboy: Yep. :-)
with_boots_on: How the hell did you get me on a plane? And how'd you make that face?
lawboy: I think the plane was going to crash and we had to stop it.
with_boots_on: Oh. Yeah, that would do it. Man, sometimes I *hate* evil sons of bitches.
lawboy: Which would explain the whole hunting lifestyle.
with_boots_on: Smartass. There was a time I wanted to be a fireman, you know.
lawboy: I know.
with_boots_on: Glad you know you're a smartass. Did you also know I wanted to play hockey?
lawboy: Yes.
with_boots_on: Now I know you're lying.
lawboy: I'm not lying.
with_boots_on: When did I tell you I wanted to play hockey?
lawboy: You didn't tell me. I just have eyes. When we were up in Minnesota that winter when you turned 16 and there were all those puck bunnies.
with_boots_on: Dude, I hate to tell you this, but that really didn't have anything to do with *hockey*. Well, tonsil hockey, maybe.
lawboy: You had a burning desire to play hockey that winter though. So you could get to the tonsil hockey. Especially that one girl, the cute little blonde... what was her name? Betsy? Becky?
Dean frowned for a moment -- not because he didn't remember the girl. But he suddenly remembered how, all that winter, Sam had been more...annoying, than usual. Following him freaking everywhere, and every time Dean had gotten a chance to talk to Bethany, Sam had shown up seconds later full of 'Dean, will you' and 'Dean, can I'.
At the time he'd been willing to stuff his little brother in the trunk of a random stranger's car. Now he was suddenly wondering if Sam had just been jealous.
with_boots_on: I didn't think you liked her very much.
lawboy: She was okay. But she wasn't good enough for you.
with_boots_on: Sam, she had a C cup! What else does a guy need at 16?
lawboy: Someone with a brain?
with_boots_on: This is why you had so much trouble getting laid. At 16, you don't need brains, you need someone who'll let you take off their shirt. And possibly everything else -- though skirts are really nice for when she wants to pretend she doesn't do that sort of thing.
Dean glanced up at Dad, saw that he was still reading over the articles. It wasn't that, that was making him feel uneasy with the conversation. He thought about Bethany, and her white-blonde hair and quick smile, her C cup and the way she'd slide up next to him while they were watching hockey games.
She'd been so normal, the girlfriend every red-blooded straight guy would kill himself trying to date. That winter, Dean had caught a glimpse of what his life could have been like.
lawboy: You could've taken my shirt off when I was 16.
Dean scowled hard at the computer screen, trying not to look guilty, trying not to look up at Dad to see if he was looking over to notice Dean trying not to look guilty.
with_boots_on: Shut the fuck up.
lawboy: Granted, you probably couldn't have talked me into wearing a skirt, but that never has seemed to slow you down any.
Dean wanted to reach out and smack his brother -- that would have to wait 'til he got home. He told himself that Dad could easily walk over here any time and ask what they were talking about. Ask to talk to Sam. Anything which meant reading the conversation so far.
with_boots_on: Dennis has a friend -- chick's got a black leather mini skirt that doesn't quite cover her assets. Remind me never to introduce you.
lawboy: Dad's not going to start reading over your shoulder, Dean. Relax.
with_boots_on: You're not the one he's going to kill if he *does*.
lawboy: No one is going to be killing anyone. Well, anyone with the last name Winchester at least. Promise.
with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't--
He knew Sam was probably just trying to calm him down. But - with all the fighting Sam and Dad had ever done, surely Sam knew the difference between Dad getting pissed off and Dad getting so righteously angry you were better off just shooting yourself and saving him the trouble.
with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't-- I guess I can just slam the laptop closed if he walks over.
lawboy: He's never read over my shoulder. And there were times I was looking at porn and trying to be casual about it.
with_boots_on: Sam, we always knew when you were looking at porn. Hell, I learned how to use a web browser because I wanted to know what the hell you were looking at. In Dad's day, they had these things called 'magazines' that they kept under the bed.
lawboy: My point is, he never read over my shoulder, no matter what he thought I was looking at.
with_boots_on: Because we *knew*. We didn't have to look to know you were looking at naked girls. And naked guys, and there was that one site with threesomes -- which reminds me, I need to copy your bookmarks onto my computer.
lawboy: Can do that as soon as you get back. Though most of my bookmarks aren't nearly as interesting. But I suppose some of them might come in handy with your homework.
with_boots_on: How is porn going to help with my homework?
Dean typed and hit 'send' before he even remembered that the whole point of the conversation was that he wasn't *going* back to school.
He wanted to smack Sam again.
lawboy: I was thinking of the less porny bookmarks I have, but porn can give you something to look at during study breaks. The ones when I'm not around to distract you.
with_boots_on: I want to know how much the program costs first.
Dean scowled as he sent the message, knowing that Sam was going to, somehow, end up making Dean do exactly what he wanted: enroll in the program he'd already picked.
lawboy: Not enough for you to give it up before you've even started. Dean, please. Let me do this for you. Let *Dad* do this for you.
He rested his hands on the edge of the laptop, knowing what he wanted to say, but knowing that if he did... he'd just have the same argument all over again.
The truth was, he wanted this. He knew it, and apparently Dad and Sam knew it just as well. Even if it was maybe a stupid thing to want. He stared down at the keyboard.
with_boots_on: I
He stopped and stared at the screen. He wanted to type it, that he couldn't do this. He didn't think Sam would believe him -- and it was a pretty fair bet, Dean realised, that if he said no -- Sam would pester him until he gave in, anyway.
with_boots_on: It's hard
lawboy: I know. But it's okay, Dean, really. It's okay to want this, to take this. I promise.
with_boots_on: How can you know that? How do you know this isn't going to be a huge waste of time? What if
Dean yanked his hands back, noticing that he'd accidently hit the enter button and his message had gone through. All he could think about was Kwan. Video games, and Sam, and...everything else he'd ever wanted.
lawboy: I know that because I know you and what you're really worth.
with_boots_on: Fifty bucks.
lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that.
with_boots_on: Not cash. I've had more in trade -- though I swear that couch wasn't worth even the hundred they were asking for.
Dean knew he wasn't being fair -- he'd promised not to throw this in Sam's face. But he was tired and annoyed and...couldn't stop himself.
lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that too.
Dean sighed; trying to keep it quiet a second too late, not wanting to arouse his dad's attention. There was an urge -- a cruel streak, if he had to be honest -- to add up the list of everything he'd done. Throw it in Sam's face...and make him admit maybe he wasn't worth it.
with_boots_on: I wish I were home.
lawboy: I wish you were here too. I miss you already and you haven't been gone even a day yet.
with_boots_on: This poltergeist probably won't take long. But yeah. God, I think we're both girls. Can we get sappier?
lawboy: Probably if we put our minds to it. Or we could just have cyber sex.
with_boots_on: If you make me want sex while Dad's in the room I swear I will kill you. I'm not joking.
lawboy: Phone sex?
with_boots_on: You think I'm kidding. I will KILL YOU and I will never, ever fuck you EVER again.
Dean hit 'send,' then realised what he'd just typed, and he glanced up at his dad. This time, Dad caught his eye, and he said, "You should think about getting some sleep, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow." He didn't say it like he was chastising Dean, just...that same, weird, casual tone he'd used earlier.
"Yeah, lemme just tell Sammy which end gets the rubber bit," Dean said, grinning.
lawboy: Sure you will. Or I'll fuck you. More likely both. Call me when you get a chance and Dad goes out.
with_boots_on: I gotta crash. Wish us dead things. Er, destroyed dead things. Love you.
lawboy: Love you too. Be careful.
with_boots_on: I'm always careful. Besides, I'm too pretty to ever be in real danger.
lawboy: Yeah, right. Go to sleep, Dean.
with_boots_on: Don't steal my pillow while I'm gone.
Dean mock-glared at the screen, as though Sam could see, then he quickly logged off the chat. His dad was already moving around, getting ready for bed, and Dean was beginning to realise that he really, really, really wanted to be asleep.
He closed the laptop and slid down until his head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to think about poltergeists, and nothing else.
end chapter one
continue to chapter two
Authors: Wolfling (
wolfling) and James (zortified)Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thank
wesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffiene makes the world go 'round, people!The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Chapter One
Dean felt that weird, familiar mix of exhausted and caffeine-wired as he pulled into the parking spot beside Dad's truck. He'd finished off the thermos of coffee hours ago, refilled it at a truck stop, and now had enough caffeine in him that he might be able to sleep sometime before the day after next -- if he was lucky.
He'd made the drive in just under fourteen hours, though given his late -- delayed -- start, it was later than he'd expected to arrive. He'd called his dad when he'd been a few hours out of Clayton, letting him know. Dad hadn't mentioned his being late, so Dean was hoping it wasn't a problem.
He'd had a lot of time to think on the drive. About Sam, his dad, what the hell he would say if he found himself having that conversation. He still had no idea and he was hoping that he could just ignore the whole issue and it would never, ever come up. Certainly he didn't plan on being stupid and saying anything, but the more he tried to act normal, the more he was afraid Dad would read it written on his forehead or something.
Telling himself he was seriously over-reacting, Dean got out of the car. Grabbing his duffel, Dean headed for room #21. The door opened just as he got to it, revealing his dad who had a faint smile on his face as he stepped back to let Dean enter.
"Hey." Dean gave him a nod, excuses ready in case his travel-time was called on. Not lies -- there was no way he'd get away with outright lying. But there were plenty of half-true reasons why he might be an hour late.
Dad looked him over closely, searching for... what, Dean didn't know. Before Dean could get too paranoid though, he smiled and said, "You're looking good."
"Thanks." Dean smiled back, suddenly feeling nothing more than happy to be with his dad again. "You find anything interesting about the poltergeist?" His dad had planned to spend the day trying to gather information. Dean set his duffel down by the second bed, pulling the laptop out of the top.
"I've got us a few leads to check out tomorrow," Dad told him, frowning at the laptop. "That's not Sammy's computer, is it?"
"It's mine--" Dean stopped, realising he hadn't told his dad about any of this. "We, uh.. I needed one," he began, nervously. "For, er... I'm going back to school," he said, in a rush.
Dad's stare transferred from the laptop to Dean. "You're what?"
He'd been trained to look his father in the eye when spoken to in that tone. Back straight, head up, no lies, yes sir, no sir. Dean managed the tone of respect, but failed everything else as he said, "I'm going back to school." He stared at the laptop, and the Metallica sticker that had appeared mysteriously in the time between when he'd finally picked a wallpaper and unpacked the computer this evening.
Sam had packed his duffel, after all, but it wasn't like he didn't know who to blame. He wanted to smile at the thought of his brother's show of support.
"I didn't know that you wanted..." Dad's voice was softer; deliberately so, it sounded like.
Dean shrugged, still not able to look his dad in the eye. He'd never questioned anything his father told him -- that included the decisions he'd made about missing school for other things. Sam had been the rebellious one, questioning everything and standing up for what he wanted. When his dad had taken Dean out of school, every single time Dean could recall, he'd gone without argument.
Now it felt like he was criticizing all that, complaining about what his dad had asked him to give up.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Dean looked at his dad, surprised -- then surprised to find himself so surprised. "I... have no idea," he said, with a laugh. "Sam's doing all the... you know. Getting me enrolled and stuff. The program's online, which is why--" He gestured at the laptop. Dean shook his head. "I... you really....?" He trailed off as he realised it was probably a stupid question; his dad wouldn't have offered if he hadn't really meant it.
Dad smiled a little and nodded. "Sam seems to be pretty good at that kind of thing. And knowing it needs to be done." He paused and said, more seriously, "I'm sorry, son. If I'd known you wanted this... I would've..." He laughed a little. "I would've asked Sam to take care of the paperwork on it."
Frowning, Dean asked, "Why would you have known? I didn't want to until.... once Sam got to college, I mean, I guess... it just seemed stupid. Him getting his degree and me...." He trailed off again, shying away from actively calling his dad's choices into question.
It felt so weird to have his dad talking to him the same way he'd been talking to Sam, all summer. Ever since Sam's freaky vision thing had changed everything.
"So you decided to go back to school and get your own?" Dad finished.
"I figured I might as well," Dean said, forced a light tone he didn't feel. How was he supposed to tell his dad that not having graduated made him feel like a failure? "Better than watching soaps all day," he added with a grin.
But his dad seemed to catch what was under the light tone because his frown deepened. "Dean, I..."
Turning away, Dean looked at the bed. Wired as he was, he probably wouldn't sleep well. But he should try, and sleep sounded better than the conversation he knew was coming. "If we're gonna stop this poltergeist, I should hit the sack," he said.
"I'll pay for it."
"What?" Dean found himself staring at his dad again -- and fuck, he hadn't even thought about the fact he'd have to pay for the program. Sam hadn't mentioned it, but he should have thought of it himself. Should have realised, and.. fuck, how much would something like that cost? Would he be able to put it on one of the fake cards, or...? Fuck.
Dean wondered if Sam would tell him, if he emailed. Maybe over the phone? No, chances were Dean would need to be in the room, threatening to strangle him, in order to get a straight answer.
Maybe school wasn't such a hot idea. He could probably take the G.E.D -- they'd charge a lot less to just take a test, right? Get a few books from the library to study, and not bother with actual classes. "I'll have to ask Sam," he said, absently. "I don't...."
Dad nodded. "Right, Sam's taking care of all the details. I'll get the cost from him. But not just that. You'll need textbooks and..." His eyes lighted on the computer again. "I'll pay for that too, of course."
Stunned, Dean stammered, "I...paid already...." Then he wanted to smack himself, because of course it was paid for, otherwise he wouldn't have it. "I mean, I had cash," he tried again, thinking that his dad might have guessed they'd put it on one of the credit cards -- or maybe that's what he was planning to do when he said he'd pay.
Christ, textbooks. He hadn't... He really hadn't thought this through, at all.
"I'm supposed to let Sam know I'm here," he muttered, and opened the laptop to send an email. He could let Sam know he'd changed his mind before Dad had a chance to talk to him.
"Dean," his father said, in that voice that had always commanded complete and instant attention from him.
Dean was looking up before he even considered what his dad wanted, hands resting on half-open laptop. "Yes, sir?"
"Just... stop. Slow down and whatever it is that's got you so..." He gestured at Dean in lieu of actually describing how Dean was acting. "Just stop it and talk to me."
And that did stop him, completely. The last time his dad had told him to talk about anything it had been about either a hunt, or Sam.
He didn't know what to say. Glancing down at the laptop, he tried, "I told Sam I'd email him when I got here -- to prove I know how, I think," he said, smirking a little. Dean knew that was almost lying, because he knew what he was going to tell Sam. "I didn't realise.... it isn't anything I need," Dean said, quietly. He'd always understood the difference between things you needed, and things you couldn't afford.
Dad sat on the edge of the closest bed and looked at him. "Is it something you want?"
"You sound like Sam." Dean laughed, realising it was probably the other way around. He leaned away from the laptop, waved a hand in the air. "I'm sorry, I should have... I didn't think about it costing...." Inwardly he flinched, knowing that he'd pretty thoroughly broken rule number one -- don't go into anything unprepared.
"You shouldn't have to."
"Yeah." Dean nodded. There was a short list of things they needed -- the things their money had always gone for. Weapons, ammo, upkeep on the vehicles. Food, whatever rent they had to pay if it wasn't a motel room on a credit card.
Shoes for a little brother who simply would not stop growing.
Dean glanced down at his boots. New footwear for school. He wondered where Sam had got the money for them. He'd priced them once and knew they weren't cheap. Well, he knew Sam had money from his scholarship, but all that was supposed to go for his own school expenses.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, stomach clenching. "I need to tell Sam he wasted--" He was reaching for the laptop -- that, at least, he could return and get the cash back to use for better things.
"Dean," Dad said again, drawing him up short. "Do you want to do this?"
Dean blinked, focused on his dad. He knew the right answer, even if it was hard to say. He swallowed. He felt -- something, which he refused to look at and refused to even feel, because he knew what mattered. He knew what he wanted: he wanted to help his dad hunt, he wanted to get rid of as many evil things in the world as he could.
He wanted to be able to go home to Sam, as often as he could manage.
"No, sir." He was proud of himself for saying it decisively, without any trace of regret on his face.
Something flickered in Dad's eyes that Dean couldn't identify. "You know, I can't remember the last time you lied to me."
The accusation was like a slap to the face. Dean flinched, mouth open to deny it, even as he knew he couldn't. Unable to face his dad, he stared down at the ugly brown carpet, ashamed of the fact he couldn't repeat himself and mean it. "We don't need to waste money on this," he said, able to say that much, truthfully.
"That wasn't what I asked you," Dad pointed out, in a strangely gentle voice.
Weirdly, it made him feel like one of the people they helped -- spooked, confused victims, and Dad being all soothing and reassuring. He opened his mouth to answer, though he knew his dad knew what the answer was. He'd just have to look at the program brochures again and pick the one that was cheapest.
Still not raising his eyes, Dean nodded.
"All right," Dad said, sounding like everything was decided. "Then you do this. And don't worry about the cost. You shouldn't have to -- that's my job."
"I don't--" Dean wanted to tell him he didn't have to take care of this. Of him.
He couldn't make his jaw work.
"I'm your father. This is part of what I'm supposed to do."
Dean just frowned. That hadn't been an issue for years. Dean had always been just as responsible, taking care of himself and Sammy. He was an adult, now, for god's sake, and he shouldn't need his Dad to do something like pay for school.
Pay for high school, Dean thought, Twenty-two years old and-- and he really just couldn't think about it anymore. He pressed his hand to his eyes, and maybe the caffeine had worn off because he just wanted to curl up and not think about it at all.
"I need to let Sammy know I made it here." He must be wondering, by now.
Dad sighed and nodded. "All right. Just..."
Dean opened his laptop, glancing up to wait for his dad to finish. But he didn't say anything more, so Dean clicked on the email program Sam had set up for him. Sam was the only name in his addressbook, and he quickly typed a message.
Sam-
Made it to Clayton alive and well. Poltergeist not alive, probably not well. Will find out tomorrow. No speeding tickets, still wearing pants.
He paused, then typed the rest, as quickly as he could.
Don't enroll me in that program I picked. Forgot to check something -- need to look at them again. No big deal.
Dean
He hit 'send,' then closed the laptop and felt the last several hours hit him like a sack of bricks. He looked over at his dad. "It all right if I turn in?" he asked, feeling rather subdued.
Dad gave him another of those looks he couldn't quite decipher. "Sure," he said.
Nodding, Dean headed for the bathroom for one last piss before crawling into bed. When he came out, Dad was sitting at the table, looking over what was probably the research he'd done for the poltergeist. Dean just headed for his bed and sat down heavily, leaning over to pull off his boots.
After he dropped the first one on the floor, his phone rang. Dean groaned and reached for it, not surprised at all to see the call ID listing Sam's number. He set the phone back down -- he knew beyond a doubt that he did not want to talk to Sam right now.
His dad looked up. "Aren't you going to answer that?"
"It's just Sam."
Now Dad was frowning at him again. "Usually that makes you pick up before it's finished ringing once."
"I don't--" Dean stopped, and figured that maybe talking to Sam would be the lesser of two evils. He opened the phone then realised that he must be brain-dead to think it would be easier to explain his email to Sam than explain Sam to Dad.
He didn't even get "Hello" out before Sam was demanding, "What the hell do you mean don't enroll you?"
"Hey, Sammy, you're up late," Dean said, sighing. First Dad, now Sam. Did he have a 'kick me' sign on his back? "I just forgot to check something, is all," he said quickly, before Sam could get stubborn at him.
"What could you have possibly forgot to check? We both went over everything backwards and forwards. You could probably recite the entire brochure."
"I just...." Dean didn't glance over, knowing full well his dad could hear every word he said, and probably every word of Sam's. "Never thought to look at how much it was. Dad said... he offered to pay and I wanted to make sure I hadn't picked the most expen--"
"Is that what this is about?"
Dean was taken aback by Sam's interruption -- by the way he said it, like he was relieved that it was something silly. He glanced over at Dad, knowing that there were things he wanted to say to Sam but couldn't with Dad overhearing. And there were things he wanted to say to Dad, but couldn't say in front of Sam. He felt stuck between them, and wasn't that a familiar place to be. Dean sighed. "Well, yeah. I forgot to look at it and I want to make sure--"
"Dude, don't worry about it," Sam told him, voice equal points of warmth and exasperation. "I looked into the costs when I looked into everything else. We can cover it, even without Dad's help. With it--"
"It isn't that," Dean said, quietly. It wasn't that he cared if Dad paid or he did. Not really. It was just... he should have taken that into consideration before he'd even started this. Now his dad and his brother were going to be trying to cover his ass for something he'd somehow convinced them he wanted badly enough to pay...however much it was.
Because he knew if he'd thought about it and taken a look at the cost, he wouldn't have ever brought up going back to school in the first place.
"What is it then?" Sam asked softly.
He glanced at Dad again, and knew he didn't want to tell Sam the truth. He tried to brush him off with what sounded good enough, and hoped his brother wouldn't press him. "I just wanted to know what it cost," he said, trying to sound sincere.
Sam snorted. "That isn't it," he said with conviction. "At least not all of it." He paused. "You don't want to talk in front of Dad, do you?"
"Well--" Dean stopped himself, because it wasn't like he could say 'I don't wanna talk in front of Dad,' in front of Dad.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Okay, here's what you're going to do. Get back on your computer and make sure you're online."
"I'm what?"
"Get back on the computer. I'll message you and we can talk that way."
"Oh. Right. OK... thanks, Sam," he said, casually, as though he were just saying good-bye and we'll talk after we blow up some buildings.
"You're welcome," Sam said, then added in a more threatening tone, "And if you don't get on the computer, I'll call back. On Dad's phone."
"Dickwad," Dean said, still casually, then he hung up. He picked up his laptop and settled back on his bed, leaning up against the headboard. He carefully didn't look over at his dad while he waited for it to boot up, half-afraid he would ask Dean what was up.
He could see his dad out of the corner of his eye though and he was still going over his journal and the other papers he had spread out over the table. He didn't even look up.
Dean turned his attention back to the laptop and saw the messaging icon. Hand over the mouse, he had to remind himself that Sam would call, and on Dad's phone so there would be no way Dean could stop Dad from answering. He opened the program, almost able to hear Sam's exasperated sigh.
As with the email, Sam was the only contact he had listed. Dean waited, though, not quite willing to be the one to start the conversation.
lawboy: You there, Dean?
with_boots_on: Bitch. 'with_boots_on'?
lawboy: Got a problem with it?
with_boots_on: how am I supposed to have a conversation when I'm thinking about being fucked so hard I fall asleep with my boots on?
lawboy: You think about it most of the time when we're talking already, don't you?
with_boots_on: ... Maybe.
lawboy: Well then.
with_boots_on: I still say you're a bitch. Dickhead.
lawboy: Yeah, yeah. Bitch, bitch, bitch. So you going to tell me what's really going on with you now?
with_boots_on: No, I'd rather sit here and call you names.
lawboy: Let me rephrase: Tell me what's really going on with you, Dean.
Dean glared at the screen, knowing his brother couldn't see him -- but Sam probably knew him well enough to know that Dean was glaring. He started to type out a phonetic version of Kwan's better insults, but realised that Sam probably had his phone in hand, and Dad's cell on speed dial.
with_boots_on: I just want to know how much it costs, all right?
lawboy: Why? Seriously? I told you I worked out all the costs. We can afford it.
Dean glared at the screen again, angry that Sam was making him have this conversation at all. Angry at himself for having done this in the first place.
with_boots_on: Because I should have thought about it before I picked one.
lawboy: Don't you trust me to be able to handle all of those details?
The stab of guilt hit him low, in the stomach, and Dean had to force himself to type.
with_boots_on: I trust you. I just should have I mean I should have thought about it. Before I decided to do this.
It took him a moment to hit 'send', wondering if he really wanted to say any of this at all.
lawboy: If you had you wouldn't have even let yourself consider doing this.
Dean stared at the screen for a moment, wondering how he could respond to that without saying 'yes' - or 'no'. He had a feeling either answer was going to get him yelled at.
But at least over the laptop, he didn't have to see Sam giving him that Look. Dean grinned, briefly.
lawboy: Yes, I know you that well, and you can stop grinning any time.
with_boots_on: Bitch.
lawboy: You know I'm right.
with_boots_on: That doesn't mean I'm going to admit to anything. Why is everyone making a big deal about me wanting to know how much this is gonna cost?
lawboy: It's not you wanting to know how much it's going to cost that I'm making a big deal over. It's the fact that you asked me to not sign you up because it costs *something* at all.
with_boots_on: I asked you not to sign me up so I could find out how much they all cost so I don't get the most fucking expensive one.
Dean jerked his hand away a second too late, and sent the message.
lawboy: Yeah, that's what I thought. Why shouldn't you get the most expensive if it's the one that fits you the best? And don't tell me because we can't afford it-- I've already told you I made sure we could afford any of them and that's before Dad offered to help.
with_boots_on: But it's not something we need.
Dean stared at the screen for a moment, hands above the keyboard and trying to figure out what he needed to say to make Sam understand.
with_boots_on: It doesn't make sense to waste money on something I'm not going to use.
lawboy: Who says you're not going to use it?
with_boots_on: Who needs a diploma to kill evil things? It isn't like anyone's hiring demon hunters.
lawboy: There's more to life than hunting. But even if that's your life's work for your whole life, this is still something we need. Because *you* need it.
with_boots_on: There's more to your life, Sammy. You want more, you can get more. This is all I want to do. I don't need a piece of paper that says I finished all my classes to say I'm good enough.
lawboy: Don't you?
Dean glared at the screen, wishing his brother was there so he could smack him -- though if Sam were there, he'd be giving Dean one of his earnest, soulful looks. He tried to think of something to say, and the only thing coming to mind was nothing he wanted to put into words.
He remembered sitting in the car in Reno, confessing to Sam that he wanted to go back to school. The things Jorge had said, about the simple things that build a man's pride -- how a person is nothing unless he believes himself something. And how having options was always the smarter thing -- that no one went into a fight with only one weapon and no one to back him up.
Dean finally typed.
with_boots_on: I don't know.
lawboy: Dean, you want this. That means I want you to have it. Stop acting like you're not important enough to expend our resources on. You are. You're the most important thing in my life.
Dean continued glaring as he read -- until he hit the last line. He felt his throat clench and he glanced over at Dad, in case, bizarrely, Dad was watching and could somehow read through the back of the laptop.
Fortunately, Dad was still pouring over his research, and Dean looked back down at the screen.
with_boots_on: I want to hide in the bathroom.
lawboy: Go ahead. As long as you take the laptop with you.
with_boot_on: And you'll explain to Dad why I'm hiding in the bathroom with my laptop, huh?
lawboy: You want me to call him and tell him you've developed a deep emotional attachment to bathrooms?
with_boots_on: You say 'deep emotional attachment' to him and I'll break...something. Fuck, it was bad enough having this conversation with him, too.
lawboy: You had a conversation with Dad about hiding in the bathroom?
Dean flipped off the screen, keeping his hand hidden from Dad.
with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He
Dean froze again, wondering if this whole conversation over the computer was really such a good idea. It was hard enough talking to Sam sometimes, but it was even harder this way because he felt almost obligated not to bullshit too much.
with_boots_on: About school. When he said he'd help out. He said he'd pay for it, and for books and the laptop, and he didn't yell at me for not having thought about classes costing anything.
lawboy: Why would he yell at- No, wait. I don't want to hear the answer. Why does the idea of Dad paying for it make you want to hide in the bathroom?
with_boots_on: It isn't him paying for it. It's the fact I didn't think of it. It's like going after something without finding out first what kind of ammo you need to use. Unprepared. You know how he gets about shit like that.
lawboy: Did you tell him I was taking care of the details?
with_boots_on: Yeah.
lawboy: Well then. You gave the details to me to handle, you were prepared. Unless you think Dad doesn't consider me trustworthy enough to do that.
Dean smiled, and typed quickly, cursing silently as he had to go back and fix half a dozen typos.
with_boots_on: Dad said that if he'd known I wanted to go to school, he would have helped by asking you to take care of the details.
lawboy: See? He'd do it himself. Can't get upset at you for something he'd do himself.
Dean sighed, and risked another glance at Dad. He knew Sam had a point, but... the trouble was, Sam's point wasn't addressing the problem. He was concerned about Dad thinking he wasn't able to take care of things -- he'd always done everything he could to take care of himself and Sam and anything else Dad threw his way.
But he knew that Sam couldn't say anything about the real problem until Dean admitted to him what it was. He scrolled back up through the conversation, and realised that he had. It was hard to read -- distracted by Sam's declaration that really did make him want to shut the laptop and go hide somewhere, if not the bathroom then maybe the wilds of central Washington.
with_boots_on: What if we need the money for something else?
lawboy: Like what?
with_boots_on: Bail. Ammo. Car repairs. Traveling to China to kill something that's eating people. Rent during the summer when your scholarship's gone.
lawboy: We do have an emergency stash, it's been budgeted for, we do have an emergency stash, you wouldn't get on the plane anyway, and I can get a job.
Dean stared at the screen before typing.
with_boots_on: What the fuck do you mean I wouldn't get on the plane anyway?
lawboy: You're scared to fly, remember?
with_boots_on: I know I'm scared to oh. You saw that?
lawboy: Yeah. Dude, you were humming *Metallica*.
with_boots_on: Of course I was humming Metallica. If you -- I got *on* the fucking plane?
lawboy: Yep. :-)
with_boots_on: How the hell did you get me on a plane? And how'd you make that face?
lawboy: I think the plane was going to crash and we had to stop it.
with_boots_on: Oh. Yeah, that would do it. Man, sometimes I *hate* evil sons of bitches.
lawboy: Which would explain the whole hunting lifestyle.
with_boots_on: Smartass. There was a time I wanted to be a fireman, you know.
lawboy: I know.
with_boots_on: Glad you know you're a smartass. Did you also know I wanted to play hockey?
lawboy: Yes.
with_boots_on: Now I know you're lying.
lawboy: I'm not lying.
with_boots_on: When did I tell you I wanted to play hockey?
lawboy: You didn't tell me. I just have eyes. When we were up in Minnesota that winter when you turned 16 and there were all those puck bunnies.
with_boots_on: Dude, I hate to tell you this, but that really didn't have anything to do with *hockey*. Well, tonsil hockey, maybe.
lawboy: You had a burning desire to play hockey that winter though. So you could get to the tonsil hockey. Especially that one girl, the cute little blonde... what was her name? Betsy? Becky?
Dean frowned for a moment -- not because he didn't remember the girl. But he suddenly remembered how, all that winter, Sam had been more...annoying, than usual. Following him freaking everywhere, and every time Dean had gotten a chance to talk to Bethany, Sam had shown up seconds later full of 'Dean, will you' and 'Dean, can I'.
At the time he'd been willing to stuff his little brother in the trunk of a random stranger's car. Now he was suddenly wondering if Sam had just been jealous.
with_boots_on: I didn't think you liked her very much.
lawboy: She was okay. But she wasn't good enough for you.
with_boots_on: Sam, she had a C cup! What else does a guy need at 16?
lawboy: Someone with a brain?
with_boots_on: This is why you had so much trouble getting laid. At 16, you don't need brains, you need someone who'll let you take off their shirt. And possibly everything else -- though skirts are really nice for when she wants to pretend she doesn't do that sort of thing.
Dean glanced up at Dad, saw that he was still reading over the articles. It wasn't that, that was making him feel uneasy with the conversation. He thought about Bethany, and her white-blonde hair and quick smile, her C cup and the way she'd slide up next to him while they were watching hockey games.
She'd been so normal, the girlfriend every red-blooded straight guy would kill himself trying to date. That winter, Dean had caught a glimpse of what his life could have been like.
lawboy: You could've taken my shirt off when I was 16.
Dean scowled hard at the computer screen, trying not to look guilty, trying not to look up at Dad to see if he was looking over to notice Dean trying not to look guilty.
with_boots_on: Shut the fuck up.
lawboy: Granted, you probably couldn't have talked me into wearing a skirt, but that never has seemed to slow you down any.
Dean wanted to reach out and smack his brother -- that would have to wait 'til he got home. He told himself that Dad could easily walk over here any time and ask what they were talking about. Ask to talk to Sam. Anything which meant reading the conversation so far.
with_boots_on: Dennis has a friend -- chick's got a black leather mini skirt that doesn't quite cover her assets. Remind me never to introduce you.
lawboy: Dad's not going to start reading over your shoulder, Dean. Relax.
with_boots_on: You're not the one he's going to kill if he *does*.
lawboy: No one is going to be killing anyone. Well, anyone with the last name Winchester at least. Promise.
with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't--
He knew Sam was probably just trying to calm him down. But - with all the fighting Sam and Dad had ever done, surely Sam knew the difference between Dad getting pissed off and Dad getting so righteously angry you were better off just shooting yourself and saving him the trouble.
with_boots_on: You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't-- I guess I can just slam the laptop closed if he walks over.
lawboy: He's never read over my shoulder. And there were times I was looking at porn and trying to be casual about it.
with_boots_on: Sam, we always knew when you were looking at porn. Hell, I learned how to use a web browser because I wanted to know what the hell you were looking at. In Dad's day, they had these things called 'magazines' that they kept under the bed.
lawboy: My point is, he never read over my shoulder, no matter what he thought I was looking at.
with_boots_on: Because we *knew*. We didn't have to look to know you were looking at naked girls. And naked guys, and there was that one site with threesomes -- which reminds me, I need to copy your bookmarks onto my computer.
lawboy: Can do that as soon as you get back. Though most of my bookmarks aren't nearly as interesting. But I suppose some of them might come in handy with your homework.
with_boots_on: How is porn going to help with my homework?
Dean typed and hit 'send' before he even remembered that the whole point of the conversation was that he wasn't *going* back to school.
He wanted to smack Sam again.
lawboy: I was thinking of the less porny bookmarks I have, but porn can give you something to look at during study breaks. The ones when I'm not around to distract you.
with_boots_on: I want to know how much the program costs first.
Dean scowled as he sent the message, knowing that Sam was going to, somehow, end up making Dean do exactly what he wanted: enroll in the program he'd already picked.
lawboy: Not enough for you to give it up before you've even started. Dean, please. Let me do this for you. Let *Dad* do this for you.
He rested his hands on the edge of the laptop, knowing what he wanted to say, but knowing that if he did... he'd just have the same argument all over again.
The truth was, he wanted this. He knew it, and apparently Dad and Sam knew it just as well. Even if it was maybe a stupid thing to want. He stared down at the keyboard.
with_boots_on: I
He stopped and stared at the screen. He wanted to type it, that he couldn't do this. He didn't think Sam would believe him -- and it was a pretty fair bet, Dean realised, that if he said no -- Sam would pester him until he gave in, anyway.
with_boots_on: It's hard
lawboy: I know. But it's okay, Dean, really. It's okay to want this, to take this. I promise.
with_boots_on: How can you know that? How do you know this isn't going to be a huge waste of time? What if
Dean yanked his hands back, noticing that he'd accidently hit the enter button and his message had gone through. All he could think about was Kwan. Video games, and Sam, and...everything else he'd ever wanted.
lawboy: I know that because I know you and what you're really worth.
with_boots_on: Fifty bucks.
lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that.
with_boots_on: Not cash. I've had more in trade -- though I swear that couch wasn't worth even the hundred they were asking for.
Dean knew he wasn't being fair -- he'd promised not to throw this in Sam's face. But he was tired and annoyed and...couldn't stop himself.
lawboy: You're worth a lot more than that too.
Dean sighed; trying to keep it quiet a second too late, not wanting to arouse his dad's attention. There was an urge -- a cruel streak, if he had to be honest -- to add up the list of everything he'd done. Throw it in Sam's face...and make him admit maybe he wasn't worth it.
with_boots_on: I wish I were home.
lawboy: I wish you were here too. I miss you already and you haven't been gone even a day yet.
with_boots_on: This poltergeist probably won't take long. But yeah. God, I think we're both girls. Can we get sappier?
lawboy: Probably if we put our minds to it. Or we could just have cyber sex.
with_boots_on: If you make me want sex while Dad's in the room I swear I will kill you. I'm not joking.
lawboy: Phone sex?
with_boots_on: You think I'm kidding. I will KILL YOU and I will never, ever fuck you EVER again.
Dean hit 'send,' then realised what he'd just typed, and he glanced up at his dad. This time, Dad caught his eye, and he said, "You should think about getting some sleep, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow." He didn't say it like he was chastising Dean, just...that same, weird, casual tone he'd used earlier.
"Yeah, lemme just tell Sammy which end gets the rubber bit," Dean said, grinning.
lawboy: Sure you will. Or I'll fuck you. More likely both. Call me when you get a chance and Dad goes out.
with_boots_on: I gotta crash. Wish us dead things. Er, destroyed dead things. Love you.
lawboy: Love you too. Be careful.
with_boots_on: I'm always careful. Besides, I'm too pretty to ever be in real danger.
lawboy: Yeah, right. Go to sleep, Dean.
with_boots_on: Don't steal my pillow while I'm gone.
Dean mock-glared at the screen, as though Sam could see, then he quickly logged off the chat. His dad was already moving around, getting ready for bed, and Dean was beginning to realise that he really, really, really wanted to be asleep.
He closed the laptop and slid down until his head hit the pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to think about poltergeists, and nothing else.
end chapter one
continue to chapter two