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gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire VII: The Way Home 6/7
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. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!
The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Dean slept most of the next two days, at first waking only long enough to drink more ginger ale and take more Tylenol. They'd been able to get him to eat a little -- crackers at first, as he couldn't keep anything else down. But he'd finally managed to keep down some soup, and he'd stopped running a fever, and when he was awake he'd seemed more coherent and less like all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Which meant, of course, he was insisting on going with them.
"I don't have to run around, but I can sit in the truck and I can fire a shotgun--" Dean was saying, glaring stubbornly at Sam.
"No," Sam told him firmly. Not for the first time.
"Sam," Dean began, in that tone he reserved for big brotherly ordering around.
"Dean, we'll be fine," Dad put in, gently. "You still need to rest."
"Dad's right," Sam said, grateful for the backup. "You're just now getting better -- you don't need to overdo it and relapse."
Dean scowled at Sam, then at Dad, though the look softened when he aimed it at their dad. "I'm not going to overdo it," he insisted.
"No, you're not, because you're not going," Sam told him, watching his brother trying not to sway on his feet. "Dean, you can barely stand."
Dean straightened up, holding himself still and glaring at Sam. Dad, however, just walked over and put his hand on Dean's arm, pulling at him slightly. Dean listed towards him, then fell heavily against their dad with a soft groan.
Dad pulled him towards the bed, and Dean protested, but he went. Sam relaxed a little as he watched, glad for once that Dean always obeyed Dad -- or at least didn't have the energy to fight him off.
"I can sit in the truck," Dean said again, even as Dad pushed his shoulder, and Dean sat down to the bed.
"You can sit up in bed," Sam countered. "Watch some tv or surf the 'net." He paused. "If you're really good, I can call you and give you a play by play."
At that, Dean scowled at him, hard. "You're gonna blow something up and I won't be there," he complained. There was a soft chuckle from Dad.
"We're not planning on blowing anything up."
"Really, it's going to be boring," Sam put in as earnestly as he could. "Just the usual salt and burn. You can dig to China next time."
Dad looked over at Sam, startled and amused. Before he could say anything though, Dean said, "I don't." He scowled at Sam again.
Sam rolled his eyes. "God, you get so pissy when you're sick. You're not going and that's that, even if we have to tie you to the bed." He tried to ignore the mental pictures that went along with that because Dad was right there. "Now do you want me to call you when we're out or not?"
"I'm not pissy," Dean protested. "I'm tired of being sick and you're gonna go blow up a building and I'm gonna miss it."
"We won't blow anything up without you," Dad said, soothingly. "When you feel better, if you want, we can go down to New Mexico and clear out some of those possessed prairie dog nests."
Demonic prairie dogs weren't anything that ever bothered anyone, but dropping a stick of dynamite down the hole had always been fun for Dean when he'd been a kid. Dad had used them to train Dean and Sam on how to use explosives.
Dean looked hopeful. "Really?"
Sam rolled his eyes again. Trust that to be the thing that got Dean to cooperate.
"Really," Dad said, indulgently -- though there was something in his tone that said maybe Dean wasn't the only one who liked blowing stuff up.
"Sammy'll have a break for Thanksgiving," Dean said, even as he was letting Dad push him back to lean against the headboard. He didn't fuss when Dad pulled the blankets over him, either. Then he paused and looked at Sam, alarmed. "You've missed school."
"It's okay," Sam assured him. "I emailed my professors and let them know I had a family medical emergency."
"The flu's not an emergency," Dean began. But he stopped, and Sam could tell that Dean didn't really mind that Sam had stayed.
"I maybe exaggerated a little," Sam admitted, smiling at Dean.
"If you told them I'm dying, I expect you to do all the chores for a week when we get home," Dean said, shifting the pillows he was leaning against.
Sam reached over and arranged the pillows for Dean. "I'll probably end up doing them anyway just because watching you fall on your face isn't really as entertaining as it sounds."
"I'm not that sick," Dean insisted. His head rested back on the pillow, giving every indication that as soon as they left, he'd be asleep.
"Whatever you say, Dean," Sam said, wishing he could kiss him but again, Dad in the room.
Dean flipped Sam off. Dad said, "We'll be back soon," then he leaned down and gave Dean a kiss on the top of his head. Dean didn't move until Dad had turned to walk away; when Dad's back was to him, Dean's eyes went wide.
Sam wasn't sure if his own eyes weren't as wide. It wasn't that he ever doubted that their father cared for them, but that kind of display of physical affection wasn't something he usually expected from him.
Dean's face fell almost immediately back into a casual mask; he gestured towards the table and said, "Sam, gimme the TV remote." There was a very slight shake to his voice -- the only sign that anything had happened. Sam picked up the remote and handed it to his brother, taking the opportunity to squeeze Dean's hand covertly. When he got close, though, Dean hissed under his breath, "Douse him with holy water."
"He's not possessed, Dean," Sam assured him.
Dean glared. "I'm serious!" he whispered, and took the remote and clicked on the TV, giving their Dad a breezy grin. "You two have fun," he said at a more normal volume.
Sam rolled his eyes again and said loud enough for Dad to hear, "Christo." Just to prove it to Dean.
Dad raised an eyebrow, looking confused. Dean thumped Sam on the arm.
"Ow," Sam said, rubbing his arm. "See? Not possessed."
"And now he thinks I'm nuts," Dean said.
"He's our dad, Dean. He already knows you're nuts," Sam teased. He surreptitiously squeezed Dean's hand again.
Dean flipped him off again, then gave Sam a shove. It wasn't a hard shove -- which made Sam wonder again how long Dean would be awake once they left.
"Come on," Dad said, though there was no hint of impatience in his voice.
"Do you want me to call?" Sam asked his brother even as he was backing towards the door.
"No. Yes. No," Dean was still frowning. Then he looked up at Sam and seemed to really think about the question. "Yes," he finally said, calmly.
Sam nodded seriously. "All right. I'll call when we get there." He smiled slightly. "When Dad doesn't have me digging for China."
Dean nodded and gave Sam a very brief look that said he was thinking about kissing him senseless. Then he just sighed. "You better get going." Sam nodded again, gave Dean a heated look of his own then turned and left.
Dad preceded him out of the room, not saying anything as they headed down to the truck. He seemed at ease, focused and intent on the job ahead.
Sam's thoughts were still up in the motel room with Dean. "He's definitely better if he's arguing to come with us," he said.
Dad laughed. "That's true. He always hated to be left out." The amusement died a little as they climbed into the truck, and Dad glanced upwards, towards the motel room. "When he got old enough, I always hated leaving him behind."
"With me," Sam said, knowing that was the only reason Dean hadn't been with Dad on every hunt.
Dad gave him a look. "I never had to worry about you when Dean was with you."
"I never worried about me when Dean was with me, either," Sam admitted. "But there were times when that wasn't where he wanted to be."
There was a moment while Dad didn't respond, then he asked quietly, "Is he having trouble now? With you in school?"
It was the question that Sam kept poking at, worrying at. "I dunno," he finally said softly. "He says not, but..."
"But he isn't always honest when it comes to himself," Dad finished. "And as long as he thinks you need him, he'll--"
"He'd walk through hell for me if he thought I needed him to," Sam said, heartfelt.
Something passed over his dad's face -- like maybe Dad was thinking he already had. But what he said was, "I can come to Palo Alto sometimes, free Dean up to take some jobs." He stopped and glanced over at Sam. "I know you're completely capable of handling yourself. But college takes a lot of time and hard work and I don't want you worrying about things your brother and I can protect you from. I don't want you doing badly in your classes because of this."
"I can handle it," Sam told him. "I originally thought I'd be going alone anyway, so it's kinda what I planned for when I was applying."
"I know you can handle it," Dad said easily. "But if something happens to you I'll--" He stopped, pausing a moment, then when he continued his voice was back under control. "That isn't the issue. College is a full-time job."
"Dad, nothing's going to happen to me," Sam said earnestly. That was the real issue here.
"You don't know that. Even if-- Sam, I would do anything to keep you boys safe. Even...." Even sacrifice his older son's happiness, Sam thought was what he didn't say.
"I know, Dad, but some things just aren't worth sacrificing," Sam said seriously, taking the chance to address this point. "We need to be able to live beyond just being safe."
He watched as his dad just gripped the steering wheel hard, staring at the road ahead. After a long silence, his dad said harshly, "What we do is important. Finding the demon that killed your mom-- Isn't something I can compromise on."
Sam was hit by a series of memory flashes: his father talking about getting the demon, feeling the same desperate need in himself, of Dean yelling at him that it was going to get them both killed and he'd have to bury them, of looking at Dean's face pale and covered in blood, hearing his voice begging him not to shoot...
He shook his head, trying to banish the images and the emotions attached, but couldn't quite manage it. Their residue made his voice a lot rougher than he'd intended when he said, "There are some things that are more important than the demon. He's more important."
"Sam, that demon killed your mother. I realise you don't remember her, maybe that's why you don't care--"
"I care," Sam insisted, another flash of his mom smiling at him with sad eyes.
"You have a strange way of showing it," his dad said, his voice tight.
"So you're saying killing the demon is more important to you than Dean and me?" Sam challenged.
"I never--" Dad began, then cut off. In a softer, but no less harsh tone, he said, "I loved your mother just as much as I love you boys. I would do anything for her."
"I know," Sam said, trying to rein his temper back in with mixed success. "But she wouldn't want that to include sacrificing us. Or yourself."
His dad shook his head, clearly brushing aside Sam's final words. He could see that his dad was trying to brush them all aside -- sticking with the decision he'd made eighteen years ago, to pursue the demon at all costs. But dad knew now what those costs had really been -- not for himself, but for his sons. For Dean.
"Dad, you say you'd do anything for Mom. I'd do anything for Dean and I know the reverse is true. Finding the demon is important, I agree, but I won't let you sacrifice either one of us in the search." Sam paused, then amended, "I won't let you sacrifice any more of us."
There was complete silence from the other side of the truck; Dad was staring ahead, and only the palpable tension gave any sign that he'd heard. A moment later, though, he was pulling the truck to the side of the street and slamming on the brakes. When the truck was stopped, he turned and looked at Sam. "Perhaps you'd better head back to the motel and see to your brother."
"Dad-" Sam began.
His dad glared at him, hot and angrier than he could ever recall seeing him. "If you don't think that destroying the demon that killed your mother is important, then get out of this truck and go back to the motel."
"I never said it wasn't-"
"But there are other things you'd rather do?"
"Live," Sam replied. "Have a life. Make sure my brother has a life. Not have any of us die."
"Like your mother died?" Dad asked, and the cruelty of his words was dulled, slightly, in the way his voice broke.
Sam looked his father in the eye and said softly, "Don't you think this demon has spilled enough Winchester blood?"
His dad glared at him, and the words he didn't say were loud enough they both heard them clearly. His dad didn't really care if the demon killed him, as long as the demon was destroyed. As he stared at Sam, the anger shifted. Sam didn't know what his father was imagining, but suddenly the anger melted away, leaving only grief.
Sam watched him, not knowing what to say, though he sensed that things had shifted emotionally in their conversation.
Finally his dad said, "I can't let this thing get away. Your mother... I loved her more than...." He sounded broken, now, all traces of angry confrontation gone. But he looked over at Sam, eyes bright. "Not more than you boys."
"I know," Sam said quietly.
He leaned forward over the wheel, then, resting his forehead on his hands for a second. Sam could hear him taking a deep breath. When he straightened up he looked under control again. He put the truck into gear and said, "We need to get rid of this poltergeist."
There was something like an apology in his voice.
Sam took a deep breath. "Yes sir," he said.
Apology accepted.
~~~
Dean wanted to stretch out on the motel bed, face first, and close his eyes. He'd been doing nothing but sleep, watch TV, and browse the internet for four days and finally they were ready to head home -- god, home. Home. He shook his head and told himself that now was no time for wanting to give in and have a nap, because Sam would take it as a sign that a) he wasn't ready for the trip back and b) he, Sam, was right. Again.
Sam and Dad had gotten back sometime last night while Dean was sound asleep. When he'd woken up, he'd found his dad and brother talking quietly over breakfast.
It was weird -- not quite like they were getting along, but there wasn't any yelling or silent screaming or dark looks that said one of them was about to starting shouting. All last summer it had been like this, though now there was something else to it that Dean couldn't figure out.
"You'd tell me if you got to blow something up, right?" Dean asked, giving his brother a slight frown.
"Yes, Dean, I'd tell you if we'd blown something up," Sam said patiently, not for the first time.
"And you wouldn't lie to me because you know I'll be pissed?" He'd actually checked the local news when he'd gotten up; neither Sam nor Dad had said anything as he'd turned on the TV and flipped to the news. Nothing at all had been said about fires, mysterious holes in the cemeteries, or how those strangers at the local motel were about to be arrested for vandalism.
"It was a routine salt and burn," Sam told him. "Dig, burn, bury. You didn't miss anything."
Sam was wrong, of course; he had missed something. Going on a hunt with Sam and Dad, like nothing was wrong between any of them. But instead he'd had to spend the entire job in bed, throwing up his guts.
Dean just frowned and let it go before he started whining about that. He bent down to grab his duffel, trying to get packed. Dad had finished his own packing half an hour before, his bags sitting by the door waiting. Sam crossed the room with some clothes to pack, nudging against Dean seemingly accidentally, though there glint in his eyes spoke otherwise.
Reaching over to grab some of his own clothes, Dean elbowed his brother in the stomach, sort of gently. Smiling slightly, Sam reached over to pick up a pair of pants that was lying on the bed on the far side of Dean and whacked him with it in the face as he pulled it back.
Discarding any pretense, Dean hooked his foot around Sam's ankle and tripped him onto the bed. Sam yelped as he went down, grabbing onto Dean's shirt and pulling him down on top of him. Dean bounced on top of his brother -- reminding himself sharply that Dad was sitting at the table pretending to ignore them, but that wouldn't last long if Dean did what he really wanted to do. Instead, he got his hands onto the mattress and pushed himself to one side, pulling Sam by the arm to flip him over Dean and hopefully onto the floor.
But Sam hooked those ridiculously long legs of his around Dean and held on, foiling Dean's attempted floor dumping.
Then his fingers sought out all the places that Dean was ticklish.
Dean brought his arms to his sides, trying to defend himself while trying to push Sam off him. He only managed to block one hand, leaving his other side fully exposed. Dean yanked himself and Sam onto their sides, feeling as though his body weighed three times what it used to, and his limbs suddenly felt like he was swimming through mud.
He hated being sick, but he hated the part afterwards even more, when he felt fine but his stupid body wouldn't cooperate with anything. Sam, being Sam, seemed to figure out exactly when Dean's energy started to flag as his attack slowed as well until they were just laying on their sides looking at each other.
"Jerk," Dean said. He really wanted to kiss him -- more than that, but at the least, a kiss would be good.
Sam gave him a tiny smile, just the corners of his mouth turning up. "Jot de gari," he said back, with a perfect accent.
Startled, Dean grinned - slow at first but as soon as it started he found he couldn't stop it from taking over his entire face. He knew he probably looked like a loon. "You gonna take my Korean class with me?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?" Sam asked, dimples showing as he smiled widely at Dean.
"I want you to take it for me," Dean said, trying to sound more like a big brother and less like a love-sick moron. "Then you could do my homework."
Sam snorted. "Jot de gari," he said again. "I'm not doing your homework for you."
"Come on," Dean wheedled. "It's all right, Dad's not listening." There was a snort from the table where Dad was sitting.
"Yeah, he is," Sam said, his eyes holding all sorts of things that would get them in so much trouble if Dad heard.
"No, he's not," Dean said, though it was absurd to think he could even be pretending that Dad wasn't listening to every word. But he was caught in those promises Sam was looking at him; he wanted to go home -- to be home, already, so he could do something about them.
"If you're taking classes, I expect you to do your own work," Dad said, in a casually-stern tone.
"Told you so," Sam said in his best annoying little brother voice, though he was still smiling at Dean. Or was until he stuck his tongue out at him.
"So you don't want me to tell him about the time I did your math homework?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew he was probably safe from paternal wrath -- Sam had been in second grade, had thrown a temper tantrum rather than do subtraction problems. Dean had finally just done them himself so Sam would shut up about it.
"Bite me," Sam said, still grinning.
Dean brought up his hand and flipped his brother off, giving him a look that said he meant it, oh so very much. He felt like maybe lying on the bed with Sam was going to be a bad idea, fast, though, so he pushed himself upright and looked over at their dad.
Dad was watching them with a soft smile, which took Dean back a bit. His dad had been acting fucking weird the whole week. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam sit up beside him, watching Dad with a strange intent expression.
That was the other bizarre thing - not just Dad and Sam getting along, but acting like... well, like they liked each other. Or... Dean thought maybe he could blame it on being sick, except that reminded him of the fact that when he'd been running a fever, every time he'd woken up either Sam or Dad had been holding him.
Maybe Sam and Dad were both possessed.
It was, on the other hand, if downright freaky -- kind of nice. It occurred to him that they'd started acting like this right after Sam had told Dad....
Deciding he so did not want to think about that, Dean picked up the clothes he'd been trying to pack earlier, and dropped them on Sam.
"Hey!"
"Make yourself useful," Dean told him.
Sam threw a balled up pair of socks at him. Dean scowled and threw them back at Sam's head. "Pack!" he ordered, knowing there was no way in Hell Sam would actually pack, but he was curious to know what Sam would end up doing. Other than throw Dean's clothes at him.
"You know, check out is at eleven," Dad said calmly.
"Plenty of time," Sam assured him. "As long as Dean gets his ass in gear."
"You started it," Dean said, almost embarrassed to have that for a retort. But it was actually true this time. He rolled onto his back on the bed, and said, "Besides, you should pack for me. I'm sick."
Sam looked at him intently and Dean did his best to look like an invalid. "Fine," Sam said, hands on his hips. "If you're too sick to pack, you're too sick to drive. And maybe too sick to travel at all."
Dean opened his mouth, then stopped. He didn't mind so much Sam driving, but-- "Oh, hell no." Sam knew the rule about the driver picking the music. He sat up fast enough his head spun a little, and grabbed his clothes from Sam and stared stuffing them into his duffel.
Sam smirked, clapped a hand to Dean's shoulder as he got up and went over to join Dad at the table.
"Bitch," Dean said, and he continued packing. He could feel Sam watching him, but he didn't turn around to look. He wasn't sure if he'd see the expected smirk or something more... dangerous. And hot. Christ, but how stupid -- or desperate -- did they have to be, to do this sort of thing with Dad sitting right in the room? Dean might have been sick, but he still felt the ache of having not touched Sam, not felt Sam's hands and tongue and cock and -- Dean mentally shook himself and reminded himself that thinking about it was not helping.
But he got his clothes packed into his duffel, as long as nobody counted off for neatness. Then he looked around for his kit -- not that he'd unloaded it at all, hadn't even had the chance to get any of his weapons out before being laid low. It was ready to go, which meant toiletries and the one last look around the room for clean-up and he was good.
"Ready?" Sam asked from his place sitting at the table.
"No." Dean ducked into the bathroom and discovered all his crap was in its bag, already packed. He grabbed it and came back out; the look on his brother's face said he'd been the one to do it. Dean scowled, because if Sam was going to pack some of his shit, why not all of it? "I'm ready," he finally said. He didn't see any salt on the floor or chalk on the walls, so apparently Dad and Sam had already cleaned up while he'd been sleeping.
"Right," Sam said, turning back to Dad. "Looks like we're ready to take off."
Dad nodded, and stood up. "Was good to see you boys," he said, in a gruff voice. Dean watched as he reached out and gave Sam a quick hug, then he walked over and gave one to Dean. It was brief, but strong, and much more like what Dean was used to from his dad.
"We still going to New Mexico?" Dean asked, hopefully. Thanksgiving wasn't all that far away, and he could use the time to stockpile some empty bottles for firebombs.
His father smiled at him and nodded. "Don't want the state to get overrun by demonic prairie dogs now, do we?"
Dean grinned as he picked up his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. "You gonna come, too?" he asked Sam. Sam had never really taken the same delight in blowing shit up that Dean did. But his brother was weird, so that was all right.
Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Dropping explosives down holes doesn't turn my crank as much as it does yours."
"You'd rather stay home and do homework?" Dean frowned, willing to give his brother a pout, even though it probably wouldn't work. "Sam, explosives," he said, in the exact same tone he usually reserved for "fish tacos."
"You're not actually helping your case, Dean," Sam told him with a wry smile.
Dean gave his brother a perplexed look, then turned to their dad. "Are you sure we're related?"
"Do you want to see your birth certificates?" Dad asked with a straight face.
"Because we've never forged those before," Dean said, dryly. Which reminded him of the entire reason Sam had even come up to Clayton in the first place. He shot a look at Sam, wondering if he wanted to do the honors, or if they should pretend they had no idea what Pastor Jim was talking about when he talked to Dad.
Sam, being Sam interpreted what Dean was thinking from the look and cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way Dad, you might be hearing some stories about us in Palo Alto..."
Dad just raised an eyebrow and waited.
"You see," Sam continued, looking earnest, "to be allowed to live off campus, I had to um..."
Dean had been really hoping he wouldn't have to jump in; he liked the idea of standing back and pretending he'd had nothing to do with any of this. But Sam was a hair's breadth away from flashing that Look at him, so Dean said, "They wouldn't give him an exception to live off-campus, without a good reason. All freshmen have to live in the dorms, and it isn't like I could sleep on the floor." Well, he could have, now that he'd thought of it. If they hadn't had better reasons for needing their own place.
Sam nodded with what Dean said. "So we had to give them a reason why I couldn't live in the dorms."
Dad just said, in a mild tone, "I'm assuming you didn't tell them about demons."
"We thought of that," Dean said, lightly. "But we went with Sam being attached at the hip to his domestic partner." Dean was rather amazed he'd been able to just say those words to his dad without dying from embarrassment. He didn't think his face was burning red.
Sam's face wasn't quite that bad either but there was definitely more colour than usual in his cheeks. "Everyone at school thinks Dean's my l-lover, not my brother," he said, in a reasonably calm and collected voice, only stumbling over the one word. "One of my classmates is from Blue Earth and knows Pastor Jim, and I made the mistake of letting on I knew him too and now she can't wait to go home and tell him about her friend Sam who's living with his partner Dean..." He trailed off with a shrug. "We didn't want it getting back to you without any warning and freak you out or anything so..."
Dad looked at Sam with an impassive face. "You thought I'd be confused as to whether you're both my sons or not?" he asked, dryly.
"We just...figured you'd talk to Pastor Jim and he'd...." Dean trailed off, because clearly this wasn't going to be a big deal. Not as long as Dad thought it was a lie, at any rate. He looked at Sam and said, gravely, "You really are adopted, you know."
"Oh, bite me," Sam told him, but there was a giddy relief in his eyes when Dean looked at him. Sam obviously hadn't been as confident in his plan as he'd let on.
Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, I know where you've been." Even if the thought of biting Sam was making him want to get away from Dad and someplace private. It occurred to him too late that he should have faked being too sick to travel, yet, so he and Sam could have stayed in the motel room for another day.
"Is that all you needed to tell me?" Dad asked, looking back and forth between them. "Or do you want to also reassure me that Dean's not really a cannibal?"
"I actually did eat a guy once," Dean said, keeping his face straight.
He saw... something flash through Sam's eyes quickly before his expression shut down, and even Dad was frowning a little at him. Dean tried to think of something that would let them both know he was kidding, except he already knew they were both thinking that, really, he wasn't. Dean rolled his eyes.
"We going or what?" Not that the idea of having a chick flick talk with Sam and Dad at the same time didn't sound like just as much fun as having his eyeballs gouged out with a rusty nail.
Sam seemed to shake himself and nodded, heading once again toward the door but Dad stopped them both with a quiet, "Dean."
Dean froze, frowning as he felt himself tense. Whatever Dad was going to say, Dean had a bad feeling he didn't want to hear it.
Dad's gaze was serious as he looked at Dean. "You don't... You know you don't have to do that anymore, right?"
Fucking hell, was all Dean could think. It was bad enough -- or good, depending -- that Dad knew about South Carolina. And he knew Dad knew about this stuff, but they never talked about it. He realised he'd taken a step backwards and stopped himself. He wanted to say yeah, he'd promised Sammy he'd stop, but.. he couldn't exactly say that without saying he only slept with Sam, now, and it pissed Sam off to have Dean sleeping around.
His mouth opened and nothing came out but a half-voiced, "Yes, sir."
Dad looked like he wanted to say more, but he finally just nodded. "You boys better get going if you don't want to be driving half the night."
Dean managed a nod and another "Yes, sir," this time sounding less like he was about to swallow his tongue.
"I'll give you a call and we can plan the New Mexico trip."
He nodded again. "Yes, sir." He waited, and he couldn't see anything that meant Dad was quietly disapproving. He could remember how Dad looked at him differently after the Shtriga, that unspoken lack of faith, and disappointment. He didn't think he saw any of that, now.
Dad was still looking at him, then got up and crossed the room to where Dean stood. He hesitated, then hugged Dean again. Dean stood absolutely frozen for all of two seconds, then he heard an embarrassingly young voice in his head whispering, "He's not mad at me." Then Dean's arms proved they had minds of their own because he was grabbing onto Dad with both arms and hanging on like he was still feverish and out of his mind.
He thought about shoving himself backwards, but he couldn't make himself move yet. Well, he could -- his head dropped forward and he clung to his dad like it was Sam hugging him. He heard the door open and shut, but couldn't bring himself to pull away to look. He knew it was Sam, though why he was leaving -- it wasn't like Sam hadn't seen him with his walls even farther down than this.
He stayed where he was, though, because Dad was still holding him and finally Dean felt himself relax. Tension draining out of him like water through a drain, he shivered, once, and thought maybe he could blame collapsing onto his dad, on the flu. He wasn't quite sure he could say he was just grateful his dad didn't disapprove of him.
"Thank you," he managed to mutter.
His dad nodded, which Dean felt more than saw. But he didn't let go. Not yet. Dean let himself enjoy it for another ten seconds, then right before he began to feel awkward as hell, he let go.
Dad let him go instantly, patting his shoulder as he pulled back. He looked a little self-conscious, which, perversely, made Dean feel a little better. His dad nodded again. "Take care of yourself and your brother," he said a little gruffly.
"Always," Dean said, though he figured Dad knew he meant Sam maybe a little more than himself. Dean stepped away and grabbed his hunting kit, noticed that Sam had taken their duffels with him.
He and Dad gathered up the rest of their stuff and headed out of the room, and by the time they stepped onto the walkway everything was back to normal. They didn't talk on their way down to the vehicles, a comfortable silence that Dean had long associated with hunting with Dad. They found Sam waiting for them, leaning against the Impala and watching them closely. Whatever he saw made the corners of his mouth curl up in a barely there satisfied smile. "We're all packed and ready to go," he told Dean.
"Great." Dean held out his hunting kit to see if Sam would take it as their dad went around to his truck and put his own bags away.
And for once Sam did, taking the bag and going around to put it in the trunk. "Don't get used to it," he muttered to Dean good-naturedly as he came back to the side of the car.
Dean looked at him as if bewildered, then turned his attention back to Dad as he stepped up beside them. For a horrible second he thought his dad was going to hug him again, right in the open. Not that a quick hello or goodbye hug wasn't normal, but Dean knew if anyone touched him again he was going to fucking embarrass himself by turning into a clingy six year old.
But Dad just gave him a curt nod, smiling at him. Then he watched as Dad looked at Sam, started to give him the same curt nod -- then he raised an arm towards him and gave Sam a hug. Dad said something to Sam too softly for Dean to hear and Sam looked a little startled, but nodded and hugged Dad back.
When Dad let go, he said, "Thank you," to Sam, voice still soft but Dean could hear it clearly. He felt himself flush, knowing exactly what Dad was thanking Sam for. He suddenly wanted to be going, already, in the car with the radio blaring and nothing to do but drive for sixteen hours.
Or forever, maybe; sometimes he missed being on the road all the time. He glanced down at his car where his hand was resting on the curve of the door, trailing his fingers along the metal. Someday, he told himself.
He shook himself hard, and looked up as Dad walked away, towards his truck.
"You boys drive easy," he said.
"We will," Dean promised.
Sam looked at Dean assessingly long enough that it began to make Dean nervous. He was just starting to get twitchy when Sam asked, "You want to drive?"
Dean blinked. "Are you giving me permission to drive my car?" he asked, trying for bland. "Unless you wanna rent a room, lover boy," he said, loudly enough for Dad to hear right before he put his truck into gear. Dean grinned. "Then I'm driving."
"Jot de gari," Sam said, but he was smiling when he tossed Dean's keys to him -- keys he'd confiscated earlier to make sure Dean didn't drive.
Dean glared at them as he realised what Sam had done, then gave Sam a glare as he walked around to the driver's side door. "You are so doing my English homework."
end chapter six
continue to chapter seven
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. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Dean slept most of the next two days, at first waking only long enough to drink more ginger ale and take more Tylenol. They'd been able to get him to eat a little -- crackers at first, as he couldn't keep anything else down. But he'd finally managed to keep down some soup, and he'd stopped running a fever, and when he was awake he'd seemed more coherent and less like all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Which meant, of course, he was insisting on going with them.
"I don't have to run around, but I can sit in the truck and I can fire a shotgun--" Dean was saying, glaring stubbornly at Sam.
"No," Sam told him firmly. Not for the first time.
"Sam," Dean began, in that tone he reserved for big brotherly ordering around.
"Dean, we'll be fine," Dad put in, gently. "You still need to rest."
"Dad's right," Sam said, grateful for the backup. "You're just now getting better -- you don't need to overdo it and relapse."
Dean scowled at Sam, then at Dad, though the look softened when he aimed it at their dad. "I'm not going to overdo it," he insisted.
"No, you're not, because you're not going," Sam told him, watching his brother trying not to sway on his feet. "Dean, you can barely stand."
Dean straightened up, holding himself still and glaring at Sam. Dad, however, just walked over and put his hand on Dean's arm, pulling at him slightly. Dean listed towards him, then fell heavily against their dad with a soft groan.
Dad pulled him towards the bed, and Dean protested, but he went. Sam relaxed a little as he watched, glad for once that Dean always obeyed Dad -- or at least didn't have the energy to fight him off.
"I can sit in the truck," Dean said again, even as Dad pushed his shoulder, and Dean sat down to the bed.
"You can sit up in bed," Sam countered. "Watch some tv or surf the 'net." He paused. "If you're really good, I can call you and give you a play by play."
At that, Dean scowled at him, hard. "You're gonna blow something up and I won't be there," he complained. There was a soft chuckle from Dad.
"We're not planning on blowing anything up."
"Really, it's going to be boring," Sam put in as earnestly as he could. "Just the usual salt and burn. You can dig to China next time."
Dad looked over at Sam, startled and amused. Before he could say anything though, Dean said, "I don't." He scowled at Sam again.
Sam rolled his eyes. "God, you get so pissy when you're sick. You're not going and that's that, even if we have to tie you to the bed." He tried to ignore the mental pictures that went along with that because Dad was right there. "Now do you want me to call you when we're out or not?"
"I'm not pissy," Dean protested. "I'm tired of being sick and you're gonna go blow up a building and I'm gonna miss it."
"We won't blow anything up without you," Dad said, soothingly. "When you feel better, if you want, we can go down to New Mexico and clear out some of those possessed prairie dog nests."
Demonic prairie dogs weren't anything that ever bothered anyone, but dropping a stick of dynamite down the hole had always been fun for Dean when he'd been a kid. Dad had used them to train Dean and Sam on how to use explosives.
Dean looked hopeful. "Really?"
Sam rolled his eyes again. Trust that to be the thing that got Dean to cooperate.
"Really," Dad said, indulgently -- though there was something in his tone that said maybe Dean wasn't the only one who liked blowing stuff up.
"Sammy'll have a break for Thanksgiving," Dean said, even as he was letting Dad push him back to lean against the headboard. He didn't fuss when Dad pulled the blankets over him, either. Then he paused and looked at Sam, alarmed. "You've missed school."
"It's okay," Sam assured him. "I emailed my professors and let them know I had a family medical emergency."
"The flu's not an emergency," Dean began. But he stopped, and Sam could tell that Dean didn't really mind that Sam had stayed.
"I maybe exaggerated a little," Sam admitted, smiling at Dean.
"If you told them I'm dying, I expect you to do all the chores for a week when we get home," Dean said, shifting the pillows he was leaning against.
Sam reached over and arranged the pillows for Dean. "I'll probably end up doing them anyway just because watching you fall on your face isn't really as entertaining as it sounds."
"I'm not that sick," Dean insisted. His head rested back on the pillow, giving every indication that as soon as they left, he'd be asleep.
"Whatever you say, Dean," Sam said, wishing he could kiss him but again, Dad in the room.
Dean flipped Sam off. Dad said, "We'll be back soon," then he leaned down and gave Dean a kiss on the top of his head. Dean didn't move until Dad had turned to walk away; when Dad's back was to him, Dean's eyes went wide.
Sam wasn't sure if his own eyes weren't as wide. It wasn't that he ever doubted that their father cared for them, but that kind of display of physical affection wasn't something he usually expected from him.
Dean's face fell almost immediately back into a casual mask; he gestured towards the table and said, "Sam, gimme the TV remote." There was a very slight shake to his voice -- the only sign that anything had happened. Sam picked up the remote and handed it to his brother, taking the opportunity to squeeze Dean's hand covertly. When he got close, though, Dean hissed under his breath, "Douse him with holy water."
"He's not possessed, Dean," Sam assured him.
Dean glared. "I'm serious!" he whispered, and took the remote and clicked on the TV, giving their Dad a breezy grin. "You two have fun," he said at a more normal volume.
Sam rolled his eyes again and said loud enough for Dad to hear, "Christo." Just to prove it to Dean.
Dad raised an eyebrow, looking confused. Dean thumped Sam on the arm.
"Ow," Sam said, rubbing his arm. "See? Not possessed."
"And now he thinks I'm nuts," Dean said.
"He's our dad, Dean. He already knows you're nuts," Sam teased. He surreptitiously squeezed Dean's hand again.
Dean flipped him off again, then gave Sam a shove. It wasn't a hard shove -- which made Sam wonder again how long Dean would be awake once they left.
"Come on," Dad said, though there was no hint of impatience in his voice.
"Do you want me to call?" Sam asked his brother even as he was backing towards the door.
"No. Yes. No," Dean was still frowning. Then he looked up at Sam and seemed to really think about the question. "Yes," he finally said, calmly.
Sam nodded seriously. "All right. I'll call when we get there." He smiled slightly. "When Dad doesn't have me digging for China."
Dean nodded and gave Sam a very brief look that said he was thinking about kissing him senseless. Then he just sighed. "You better get going." Sam nodded again, gave Dean a heated look of his own then turned and left.
Dad preceded him out of the room, not saying anything as they headed down to the truck. He seemed at ease, focused and intent on the job ahead.
Sam's thoughts were still up in the motel room with Dean. "He's definitely better if he's arguing to come with us," he said.
Dad laughed. "That's true. He always hated to be left out." The amusement died a little as they climbed into the truck, and Dad glanced upwards, towards the motel room. "When he got old enough, I always hated leaving him behind."
"With me," Sam said, knowing that was the only reason Dean hadn't been with Dad on every hunt.
Dad gave him a look. "I never had to worry about you when Dean was with you."
"I never worried about me when Dean was with me, either," Sam admitted. "But there were times when that wasn't where he wanted to be."
There was a moment while Dad didn't respond, then he asked quietly, "Is he having trouble now? With you in school?"
It was the question that Sam kept poking at, worrying at. "I dunno," he finally said softly. "He says not, but..."
"But he isn't always honest when it comes to himself," Dad finished. "And as long as he thinks you need him, he'll--"
"He'd walk through hell for me if he thought I needed him to," Sam said, heartfelt.
Something passed over his dad's face -- like maybe Dad was thinking he already had. But what he said was, "I can come to Palo Alto sometimes, free Dean up to take some jobs." He stopped and glanced over at Sam. "I know you're completely capable of handling yourself. But college takes a lot of time and hard work and I don't want you worrying about things your brother and I can protect you from. I don't want you doing badly in your classes because of this."
"I can handle it," Sam told him. "I originally thought I'd be going alone anyway, so it's kinda what I planned for when I was applying."
"I know you can handle it," Dad said easily. "But if something happens to you I'll--" He stopped, pausing a moment, then when he continued his voice was back under control. "That isn't the issue. College is a full-time job."
"Dad, nothing's going to happen to me," Sam said earnestly. That was the real issue here.
"You don't know that. Even if-- Sam, I would do anything to keep you boys safe. Even...." Even sacrifice his older son's happiness, Sam thought was what he didn't say.
"I know, Dad, but some things just aren't worth sacrificing," Sam said seriously, taking the chance to address this point. "We need to be able to live beyond just being safe."
He watched as his dad just gripped the steering wheel hard, staring at the road ahead. After a long silence, his dad said harshly, "What we do is important. Finding the demon that killed your mom-- Isn't something I can compromise on."
Sam was hit by a series of memory flashes: his father talking about getting the demon, feeling the same desperate need in himself, of Dean yelling at him that it was going to get them both killed and he'd have to bury them, of looking at Dean's face pale and covered in blood, hearing his voice begging him not to shoot...
He shook his head, trying to banish the images and the emotions attached, but couldn't quite manage it. Their residue made his voice a lot rougher than he'd intended when he said, "There are some things that are more important than the demon. He's more important."
"Sam, that demon killed your mother. I realise you don't remember her, maybe that's why you don't care--"
"I care," Sam insisted, another flash of his mom smiling at him with sad eyes.
"You have a strange way of showing it," his dad said, his voice tight.
"So you're saying killing the demon is more important to you than Dean and me?" Sam challenged.
"I never--" Dad began, then cut off. In a softer, but no less harsh tone, he said, "I loved your mother just as much as I love you boys. I would do anything for her."
"I know," Sam said, trying to rein his temper back in with mixed success. "But she wouldn't want that to include sacrificing us. Or yourself."
His dad shook his head, clearly brushing aside Sam's final words. He could see that his dad was trying to brush them all aside -- sticking with the decision he'd made eighteen years ago, to pursue the demon at all costs. But dad knew now what those costs had really been -- not for himself, but for his sons. For Dean.
"Dad, you say you'd do anything for Mom. I'd do anything for Dean and I know the reverse is true. Finding the demon is important, I agree, but I won't let you sacrifice either one of us in the search." Sam paused, then amended, "I won't let you sacrifice any more of us."
There was complete silence from the other side of the truck; Dad was staring ahead, and only the palpable tension gave any sign that he'd heard. A moment later, though, he was pulling the truck to the side of the street and slamming on the brakes. When the truck was stopped, he turned and looked at Sam. "Perhaps you'd better head back to the motel and see to your brother."
"Dad-" Sam began.
His dad glared at him, hot and angrier than he could ever recall seeing him. "If you don't think that destroying the demon that killed your mother is important, then get out of this truck and go back to the motel."
"I never said it wasn't-"
"But there are other things you'd rather do?"
"Live," Sam replied. "Have a life. Make sure my brother has a life. Not have any of us die."
"Like your mother died?" Dad asked, and the cruelty of his words was dulled, slightly, in the way his voice broke.
Sam looked his father in the eye and said softly, "Don't you think this demon has spilled enough Winchester blood?"
His dad glared at him, and the words he didn't say were loud enough they both heard them clearly. His dad didn't really care if the demon killed him, as long as the demon was destroyed. As he stared at Sam, the anger shifted. Sam didn't know what his father was imagining, but suddenly the anger melted away, leaving only grief.
Sam watched him, not knowing what to say, though he sensed that things had shifted emotionally in their conversation.
Finally his dad said, "I can't let this thing get away. Your mother... I loved her more than...." He sounded broken, now, all traces of angry confrontation gone. But he looked over at Sam, eyes bright. "Not more than you boys."
"I know," Sam said quietly.
He leaned forward over the wheel, then, resting his forehead on his hands for a second. Sam could hear him taking a deep breath. When he straightened up he looked under control again. He put the truck into gear and said, "We need to get rid of this poltergeist."
There was something like an apology in his voice.
Sam took a deep breath. "Yes sir," he said.
Apology accepted.
~~~
Dean wanted to stretch out on the motel bed, face first, and close his eyes. He'd been doing nothing but sleep, watch TV, and browse the internet for four days and finally they were ready to head home -- god, home. Home. He shook his head and told himself that now was no time for wanting to give in and have a nap, because Sam would take it as a sign that a) he wasn't ready for the trip back and b) he, Sam, was right. Again.
Sam and Dad had gotten back sometime last night while Dean was sound asleep. When he'd woken up, he'd found his dad and brother talking quietly over breakfast.
It was weird -- not quite like they were getting along, but there wasn't any yelling or silent screaming or dark looks that said one of them was about to starting shouting. All last summer it had been like this, though now there was something else to it that Dean couldn't figure out.
"You'd tell me if you got to blow something up, right?" Dean asked, giving his brother a slight frown.
"Yes, Dean, I'd tell you if we'd blown something up," Sam said patiently, not for the first time.
"And you wouldn't lie to me because you know I'll be pissed?" He'd actually checked the local news when he'd gotten up; neither Sam nor Dad had said anything as he'd turned on the TV and flipped to the news. Nothing at all had been said about fires, mysterious holes in the cemeteries, or how those strangers at the local motel were about to be arrested for vandalism.
"It was a routine salt and burn," Sam told him. "Dig, burn, bury. You didn't miss anything."
Sam was wrong, of course; he had missed something. Going on a hunt with Sam and Dad, like nothing was wrong between any of them. But instead he'd had to spend the entire job in bed, throwing up his guts.
Dean just frowned and let it go before he started whining about that. He bent down to grab his duffel, trying to get packed. Dad had finished his own packing half an hour before, his bags sitting by the door waiting. Sam crossed the room with some clothes to pack, nudging against Dean seemingly accidentally, though there glint in his eyes spoke otherwise.
Reaching over to grab some of his own clothes, Dean elbowed his brother in the stomach, sort of gently. Smiling slightly, Sam reached over to pick up a pair of pants that was lying on the bed on the far side of Dean and whacked him with it in the face as he pulled it back.
Discarding any pretense, Dean hooked his foot around Sam's ankle and tripped him onto the bed. Sam yelped as he went down, grabbing onto Dean's shirt and pulling him down on top of him. Dean bounced on top of his brother -- reminding himself sharply that Dad was sitting at the table pretending to ignore them, but that wouldn't last long if Dean did what he really wanted to do. Instead, he got his hands onto the mattress and pushed himself to one side, pulling Sam by the arm to flip him over Dean and hopefully onto the floor.
But Sam hooked those ridiculously long legs of his around Dean and held on, foiling Dean's attempted floor dumping.
Then his fingers sought out all the places that Dean was ticklish.
Dean brought his arms to his sides, trying to defend himself while trying to push Sam off him. He only managed to block one hand, leaving his other side fully exposed. Dean yanked himself and Sam onto their sides, feeling as though his body weighed three times what it used to, and his limbs suddenly felt like he was swimming through mud.
He hated being sick, but he hated the part afterwards even more, when he felt fine but his stupid body wouldn't cooperate with anything. Sam, being Sam, seemed to figure out exactly when Dean's energy started to flag as his attack slowed as well until they were just laying on their sides looking at each other.
"Jerk," Dean said. He really wanted to kiss him -- more than that, but at the least, a kiss would be good.
Sam gave him a tiny smile, just the corners of his mouth turning up. "Jot de gari," he said back, with a perfect accent.
Startled, Dean grinned - slow at first but as soon as it started he found he couldn't stop it from taking over his entire face. He knew he probably looked like a loon. "You gonna take my Korean class with me?" he asked.
"Do you want me to?" Sam asked, dimples showing as he smiled widely at Dean.
"I want you to take it for me," Dean said, trying to sound more like a big brother and less like a love-sick moron. "Then you could do my homework."
Sam snorted. "Jot de gari," he said again. "I'm not doing your homework for you."
"Come on," Dean wheedled. "It's all right, Dad's not listening." There was a snort from the table where Dad was sitting.
"Yeah, he is," Sam said, his eyes holding all sorts of things that would get them in so much trouble if Dad heard.
"No, he's not," Dean said, though it was absurd to think he could even be pretending that Dad wasn't listening to every word. But he was caught in those promises Sam was looking at him; he wanted to go home -- to be home, already, so he could do something about them.
"If you're taking classes, I expect you to do your own work," Dad said, in a casually-stern tone.
"Told you so," Sam said in his best annoying little brother voice, though he was still smiling at Dean. Or was until he stuck his tongue out at him.
"So you don't want me to tell him about the time I did your math homework?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew he was probably safe from paternal wrath -- Sam had been in second grade, had thrown a temper tantrum rather than do subtraction problems. Dean had finally just done them himself so Sam would shut up about it.
"Bite me," Sam said, still grinning.
Dean brought up his hand and flipped his brother off, giving him a look that said he meant it, oh so very much. He felt like maybe lying on the bed with Sam was going to be a bad idea, fast, though, so he pushed himself upright and looked over at their dad.
Dad was watching them with a soft smile, which took Dean back a bit. His dad had been acting fucking weird the whole week. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam sit up beside him, watching Dad with a strange intent expression.
That was the other bizarre thing - not just Dad and Sam getting along, but acting like... well, like they liked each other. Or... Dean thought maybe he could blame it on being sick, except that reminded him of the fact that when he'd been running a fever, every time he'd woken up either Sam or Dad had been holding him.
Maybe Sam and Dad were both possessed.
It was, on the other hand, if downright freaky -- kind of nice. It occurred to him that they'd started acting like this right after Sam had told Dad....
Deciding he so did not want to think about that, Dean picked up the clothes he'd been trying to pack earlier, and dropped them on Sam.
"Hey!"
"Make yourself useful," Dean told him.
Sam threw a balled up pair of socks at him. Dean scowled and threw them back at Sam's head. "Pack!" he ordered, knowing there was no way in Hell Sam would actually pack, but he was curious to know what Sam would end up doing. Other than throw Dean's clothes at him.
"You know, check out is at eleven," Dad said calmly.
"Plenty of time," Sam assured him. "As long as Dean gets his ass in gear."
"You started it," Dean said, almost embarrassed to have that for a retort. But it was actually true this time. He rolled onto his back on the bed, and said, "Besides, you should pack for me. I'm sick."
Sam looked at him intently and Dean did his best to look like an invalid. "Fine," Sam said, hands on his hips. "If you're too sick to pack, you're too sick to drive. And maybe too sick to travel at all."
Dean opened his mouth, then stopped. He didn't mind so much Sam driving, but-- "Oh, hell no." Sam knew the rule about the driver picking the music. He sat up fast enough his head spun a little, and grabbed his clothes from Sam and stared stuffing them into his duffel.
Sam smirked, clapped a hand to Dean's shoulder as he got up and went over to join Dad at the table.
"Bitch," Dean said, and he continued packing. He could feel Sam watching him, but he didn't turn around to look. He wasn't sure if he'd see the expected smirk or something more... dangerous. And hot. Christ, but how stupid -- or desperate -- did they have to be, to do this sort of thing with Dad sitting right in the room? Dean might have been sick, but he still felt the ache of having not touched Sam, not felt Sam's hands and tongue and cock and -- Dean mentally shook himself and reminded himself that thinking about it was not helping.
But he got his clothes packed into his duffel, as long as nobody counted off for neatness. Then he looked around for his kit -- not that he'd unloaded it at all, hadn't even had the chance to get any of his weapons out before being laid low. It was ready to go, which meant toiletries and the one last look around the room for clean-up and he was good.
"Ready?" Sam asked from his place sitting at the table.
"No." Dean ducked into the bathroom and discovered all his crap was in its bag, already packed. He grabbed it and came back out; the look on his brother's face said he'd been the one to do it. Dean scowled, because if Sam was going to pack some of his shit, why not all of it? "I'm ready," he finally said. He didn't see any salt on the floor or chalk on the walls, so apparently Dad and Sam had already cleaned up while he'd been sleeping.
"Right," Sam said, turning back to Dad. "Looks like we're ready to take off."
Dad nodded, and stood up. "Was good to see you boys," he said, in a gruff voice. Dean watched as he reached out and gave Sam a quick hug, then he walked over and gave one to Dean. It was brief, but strong, and much more like what Dean was used to from his dad.
"We still going to New Mexico?" Dean asked, hopefully. Thanksgiving wasn't all that far away, and he could use the time to stockpile some empty bottles for firebombs.
His father smiled at him and nodded. "Don't want the state to get overrun by demonic prairie dogs now, do we?"
Dean grinned as he picked up his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. "You gonna come, too?" he asked Sam. Sam had never really taken the same delight in blowing shit up that Dean did. But his brother was weird, so that was all right.
Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Dropping explosives down holes doesn't turn my crank as much as it does yours."
"You'd rather stay home and do homework?" Dean frowned, willing to give his brother a pout, even though it probably wouldn't work. "Sam, explosives," he said, in the exact same tone he usually reserved for "fish tacos."
"You're not actually helping your case, Dean," Sam told him with a wry smile.
Dean gave his brother a perplexed look, then turned to their dad. "Are you sure we're related?"
"Do you want to see your birth certificates?" Dad asked with a straight face.
"Because we've never forged those before," Dean said, dryly. Which reminded him of the entire reason Sam had even come up to Clayton in the first place. He shot a look at Sam, wondering if he wanted to do the honors, or if they should pretend they had no idea what Pastor Jim was talking about when he talked to Dad.
Sam, being Sam interpreted what Dean was thinking from the look and cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way Dad, you might be hearing some stories about us in Palo Alto..."
Dad just raised an eyebrow and waited.
"You see," Sam continued, looking earnest, "to be allowed to live off campus, I had to um..."
Dean had been really hoping he wouldn't have to jump in; he liked the idea of standing back and pretending he'd had nothing to do with any of this. But Sam was a hair's breadth away from flashing that Look at him, so Dean said, "They wouldn't give him an exception to live off-campus, without a good reason. All freshmen have to live in the dorms, and it isn't like I could sleep on the floor." Well, he could have, now that he'd thought of it. If they hadn't had better reasons for needing their own place.
Sam nodded with what Dean said. "So we had to give them a reason why I couldn't live in the dorms."
Dad just said, in a mild tone, "I'm assuming you didn't tell them about demons."
"We thought of that," Dean said, lightly. "But we went with Sam being attached at the hip to his domestic partner." Dean was rather amazed he'd been able to just say those words to his dad without dying from embarrassment. He didn't think his face was burning red.
Sam's face wasn't quite that bad either but there was definitely more colour than usual in his cheeks. "Everyone at school thinks Dean's my l-lover, not my brother," he said, in a reasonably calm and collected voice, only stumbling over the one word. "One of my classmates is from Blue Earth and knows Pastor Jim, and I made the mistake of letting on I knew him too and now she can't wait to go home and tell him about her friend Sam who's living with his partner Dean..." He trailed off with a shrug. "We didn't want it getting back to you without any warning and freak you out or anything so..."
Dad looked at Sam with an impassive face. "You thought I'd be confused as to whether you're both my sons or not?" he asked, dryly.
"We just...figured you'd talk to Pastor Jim and he'd...." Dean trailed off, because clearly this wasn't going to be a big deal. Not as long as Dad thought it was a lie, at any rate. He looked at Sam and said, gravely, "You really are adopted, you know."
"Oh, bite me," Sam told him, but there was a giddy relief in his eyes when Dean looked at him. Sam obviously hadn't been as confident in his plan as he'd let on.
Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, I know where you've been." Even if the thought of biting Sam was making him want to get away from Dad and someplace private. It occurred to him too late that he should have faked being too sick to travel, yet, so he and Sam could have stayed in the motel room for another day.
"Is that all you needed to tell me?" Dad asked, looking back and forth between them. "Or do you want to also reassure me that Dean's not really a cannibal?"
"I actually did eat a guy once," Dean said, keeping his face straight.
He saw... something flash through Sam's eyes quickly before his expression shut down, and even Dad was frowning a little at him. Dean tried to think of something that would let them both know he was kidding, except he already knew they were both thinking that, really, he wasn't. Dean rolled his eyes.
"We going or what?" Not that the idea of having a chick flick talk with Sam and Dad at the same time didn't sound like just as much fun as having his eyeballs gouged out with a rusty nail.
Sam seemed to shake himself and nodded, heading once again toward the door but Dad stopped them both with a quiet, "Dean."
Dean froze, frowning as he felt himself tense. Whatever Dad was going to say, Dean had a bad feeling he didn't want to hear it.
Dad's gaze was serious as he looked at Dean. "You don't... You know you don't have to do that anymore, right?"
Fucking hell, was all Dean could think. It was bad enough -- or good, depending -- that Dad knew about South Carolina. And he knew Dad knew about this stuff, but they never talked about it. He realised he'd taken a step backwards and stopped himself. He wanted to say yeah, he'd promised Sammy he'd stop, but.. he couldn't exactly say that without saying he only slept with Sam, now, and it pissed Sam off to have Dean sleeping around.
His mouth opened and nothing came out but a half-voiced, "Yes, sir."
Dad looked like he wanted to say more, but he finally just nodded. "You boys better get going if you don't want to be driving half the night."
Dean managed a nod and another "Yes, sir," this time sounding less like he was about to swallow his tongue.
"I'll give you a call and we can plan the New Mexico trip."
He nodded again. "Yes, sir." He waited, and he couldn't see anything that meant Dad was quietly disapproving. He could remember how Dad looked at him differently after the Shtriga, that unspoken lack of faith, and disappointment. He didn't think he saw any of that, now.
Dad was still looking at him, then got up and crossed the room to where Dean stood. He hesitated, then hugged Dean again. Dean stood absolutely frozen for all of two seconds, then he heard an embarrassingly young voice in his head whispering, "He's not mad at me." Then Dean's arms proved they had minds of their own because he was grabbing onto Dad with both arms and hanging on like he was still feverish and out of his mind.
He thought about shoving himself backwards, but he couldn't make himself move yet. Well, he could -- his head dropped forward and he clung to his dad like it was Sam hugging him. He heard the door open and shut, but couldn't bring himself to pull away to look. He knew it was Sam, though why he was leaving -- it wasn't like Sam hadn't seen him with his walls even farther down than this.
He stayed where he was, though, because Dad was still holding him and finally Dean felt himself relax. Tension draining out of him like water through a drain, he shivered, once, and thought maybe he could blame collapsing onto his dad, on the flu. He wasn't quite sure he could say he was just grateful his dad didn't disapprove of him.
"Thank you," he managed to mutter.
His dad nodded, which Dean felt more than saw. But he didn't let go. Not yet. Dean let himself enjoy it for another ten seconds, then right before he began to feel awkward as hell, he let go.
Dad let him go instantly, patting his shoulder as he pulled back. He looked a little self-conscious, which, perversely, made Dean feel a little better. His dad nodded again. "Take care of yourself and your brother," he said a little gruffly.
"Always," Dean said, though he figured Dad knew he meant Sam maybe a little more than himself. Dean stepped away and grabbed his hunting kit, noticed that Sam had taken their duffels with him.
He and Dad gathered up the rest of their stuff and headed out of the room, and by the time they stepped onto the walkway everything was back to normal. They didn't talk on their way down to the vehicles, a comfortable silence that Dean had long associated with hunting with Dad. They found Sam waiting for them, leaning against the Impala and watching them closely. Whatever he saw made the corners of his mouth curl up in a barely there satisfied smile. "We're all packed and ready to go," he told Dean.
"Great." Dean held out his hunting kit to see if Sam would take it as their dad went around to his truck and put his own bags away.
And for once Sam did, taking the bag and going around to put it in the trunk. "Don't get used to it," he muttered to Dean good-naturedly as he came back to the side of the car.
Dean looked at him as if bewildered, then turned his attention back to Dad as he stepped up beside them. For a horrible second he thought his dad was going to hug him again, right in the open. Not that a quick hello or goodbye hug wasn't normal, but Dean knew if anyone touched him again he was going to fucking embarrass himself by turning into a clingy six year old.
But Dad just gave him a curt nod, smiling at him. Then he watched as Dad looked at Sam, started to give him the same curt nod -- then he raised an arm towards him and gave Sam a hug. Dad said something to Sam too softly for Dean to hear and Sam looked a little startled, but nodded and hugged Dad back.
When Dad let go, he said, "Thank you," to Sam, voice still soft but Dean could hear it clearly. He felt himself flush, knowing exactly what Dad was thanking Sam for. He suddenly wanted to be going, already, in the car with the radio blaring and nothing to do but drive for sixteen hours.
Or forever, maybe; sometimes he missed being on the road all the time. He glanced down at his car where his hand was resting on the curve of the door, trailing his fingers along the metal. Someday, he told himself.
He shook himself hard, and looked up as Dad walked away, towards his truck.
"You boys drive easy," he said.
"We will," Dean promised.
Sam looked at Dean assessingly long enough that it began to make Dean nervous. He was just starting to get twitchy when Sam asked, "You want to drive?"
Dean blinked. "Are you giving me permission to drive my car?" he asked, trying for bland. "Unless you wanna rent a room, lover boy," he said, loudly enough for Dad to hear right before he put his truck into gear. Dean grinned. "Then I'm driving."
"Jot de gari," Sam said, but he was smiling when he tossed Dean's keys to him -- keys he'd confiscated earlier to make sure Dean didn't drive.
Dean glared at them as he realised what Sam had done, then gave Sam a glare as he walked around to the driver's side door. "You are so doing my English homework."
end chapter six
continue to chapter seven