The Things That Were Thrown Away (1/2)
Feb. 20th, 2013 07:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: The Things That Were Thrown Away (1/2)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,804
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC, Gabriel/OFC
Beta(s): The Unfailingly Patient and Kind![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sammichgirl, who can't be blamed for my mistakes.
Summary: A timestamp for "Lost Time", examines Dean and Gabriel's pasts. Won't make much sense if you haven't read "Lost Time", and has spoilers for the story.
Dean is seven when his father leaves him at Uncle Bobby’s for two months. It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart, and Dean understands why. It’s the anniversary of Sam’s death, and it’s always hard for John to be around him when that time comes. Hard for John to look at him and know that it is Dean’s fault, Dean’s weakness that left his defenseless baby brother in that bed as the house crumbled around them. So he doesn’t fault his father for leaving, but he wishes that he wouldn’t. That there was some way to make it up to him.
Being with Uncle Bobby isn’t so bad though. The older hunter is gruff, outright grumpy in the morning, but he always makes sure that Dean eats three meals and has a good place to sleep. It’s over a huge bowl of oatmeal that Uncle Bobby asks him the one question he wasn’t expecting.
“What do you want to be when you grow up boy?”
Dean keeps his eyes on the oatmeal and wonders if this is a trick question. There’s a weird tone in Uncle Bobby’s voice. “A hunter sir. Just like dad.”
He expects that to be the end of it, but it isn’t. “Why?”
Why? He’s never thought of why before. “Because that’s what we do. I’ll get to kill the thing that killed mom. I’ll get to-“ He cuts off before he says something stupid and fills his mouth with oatmeal. Uncle Bobby is having none of it.
“You’ll git to what Dean?”
He ducks his head once, unable to avoid answering a direct question. That’s not the way he was raised. “I’ll get to make up for failing Sammy.”
Uncle Bobby is silent for a long time, and the air in the kitchen turns heavy and thick. The oatmeal doesn’t taste good anymore, but Dean spoons it into his mouth because dad says you always finish everything in front of you. Finally his uncle clears his throat and sits back with a loud creak of the old wooden chair. “That what you think?”
And Dean? He can’t help the tears that start to fall, and they make him angry. Because only babies cry. “I know it. I left him, and he was my responsibility.”
Uncle Bobby stands then, curses low and thick before leaving the room. It’s an act of intense will that Dean gets the last of the oatmeal down, and then slips his dishes into the sink and pulls the chair up so he can do them. When Uncle Bobby comes back he has two baseball gloves hanging loosely from his right hand and a baseball in the left. “Come on boy. Leave ‘em alone and let’s go outside.”
He obeys, and they end up in a wide part of the yard with no cars as Uncle Bobby explains how to fasten the glove. Where to watch and how to cock his arm. They throw the ball back and forth for a long time before Dean has to ask about what’s bothering him. “Sir? What are we training for?”
“Balls.” Uncle Bobby looks angry again, and Dean shrinks a little before the man is crossing the space between them and hunkering down. He drops the glove to the ground and takes both of Dean’s bony little shoulders in his big, calloused hands. “I ain’t mad at you boy. I’m mad at your stupid daddy. This ain’t trainin’ for anything. This is playin’ catch, and you should already know how to do it. You ain’t an adult boy, not yet, and little boys need time to be little boys.”
Dean’s chin comes up at that, insulted and upset, and he meets the fierce blue eyes and juts his jaw out a bit. “I’m seven. That’s old enough to start learning. Old enough to be responsible.”
Uncle Bobby shakes him once, hard, and it surprises Dean so badly he jerks and really looks at his uncle. “Listen carefully Dean Winchester, cause I ain’t saying this for my health. I know you’re loyal to your daddy, and that’s a good thing. Ya’ll are family and you need to be loyal to that. But your daddy is a good hunter and that makes him a focused idjit. He should have tole you by now that what happened to Sam ain’t your fault. You may not be a normal seven year old boy, but you didn’t have any way to save Sam. You couldn’t do anything. It ain’t your fault Dean.”
The tears are back, but this time Dean doesn’t stop them. He can’t believe Bobby, not entirely, but it’s the first time anyone has ever said it. His uncle wraps both arms around him and he’s enveloped in the smell of oil and whiskey and cologne. Held tight as he shudders and shakes in his uncle’s warm embrace.
When dad comes back he and Uncle Bobby fight, and Dean doesn’t get to see as much of his uncle as he wants to after that, but he never forgets the feeling of being forgiven, even if it was just for a little while.
-----
Dean’s eleven when he realizes just how radically different his thought processes are from the people around him. Oh sure, he knew that most other kids didn’t know how to shoot a moving target or behead a vampire. That cleaning and reassembling guns, hunting werewolves, and lying to the authorities wasn’t high on the list of things kids his age are supposed to know. All of that made sense to him. It’s what he sees coming home from the bus that doesn’t click properly.
He knows the Barlow kids. He has classes with the older one, and the little brother is never far from his older brother. That part fits with Dean’s understanding. Watching Lee Barlow follow his older brother around with big, wondering eyes is something Dean is incapable of not doing. There’s always that little part of him that wonders if Sammy would have been that way. If he would have been just as idolized by his younger sibling.
What Dean isn’t prepared for is to round the corner on the way to the old house his dad is renting during this hunt, and see Sebastian Barlow and one of his friends pushing little Lee back and forth between them. Lee is crying, backpack dangling from his shoulder by one strap as he’s shoved back and forth. Dean is close enough to hear Sebastian taunting his little brother. “Cry baby. Cry baby.”
The sound of it makes something in Dean start to scream, and he watches as Lee covers his face and begins to sob wholeheartedly. The kid is barely old enough to ride the bus with them, and incredibly small. So small and fragile. Sebastian gives his brother a particularly hard shove, and Lee hits the ground. Dean can see from his position that the little hands strike rocks on the road, and there’s blood blooming on the palms where they tear tender baby skin and the wails become hideous and insistent.
Years later Dean will not be able to explain what happened next to anyone’s satisfaction. Not to his own, not to his father’s, and not to the very small number of people who know this particular story. He comes back to himself with Sebastian’s friend running and screaming about getting his parents, and Sebastian on the ground under Dean’s driving fists. The boy’s nose is bloody, face already swelling, and Dean’s hands hurt. He’s shouting too, voice gravelly and thick suggesting he’s been doing it for a while.
“Never. You never hurt your brother. Never hurt your brother. You protect him. You never hurt him you son of a bitch!”
He stops when a little hand lands on his wrist, and looks up to see soft eyes and brown hair. “Sammy?” It’s out of his mouth before he can help it, but the little boy touching him is not his brother. Never his brother.
“Please. Please stop.” Lee’s eyes are huge, full of tears, and Dean gets up and staggers backwards with the weight of what he’s done hanging on his shoulders. He used his training on a civilian. He scared this little boy. This little boy who’s the age Sammy would be if he had…
Dean staggers backwards, stomach rebelling and hands shaking, and then he runs to the place they’re staying. It’s not home. Never home, but it’s four walls and a roof and Dean is willing to pretend that’s good enough. By the time his dad comes home Dean doesn’t even know what he’s going to tell him. The Barlow parents will no doubt want to talk to him, and Dean is gonna be in trouble, but he can’t seem to make himself care too much. All he can think of is the haunted look in Lee’s eyes. The loss of control seeing Sebastian hurt his little brother.
Dad doesn’t seem to be too angry though, and when he talks to Mr. Barlow his eyes glint hard at the accusation that Dean is “out of control”.
“Way I heard it your older boy was the one out of control. Beating up on his kid brother, the boy should be ashamed. My son doesn’t put up with bullies.”
When Mr. Barlow storms off, muttering angrily about drifters and bad apples Dad slams the door shut and then sits across from Dean and cleans his bloody and split knuckles silently.
“Dad I-“
“Son, I’m proud of you.”
There’s a swell of emotion that Dean swallows down quickly as he watches his dad’s big hands carefully work on his much smaller ones. He blinks back tears and looks up to see his dad’s face shining, smile broad and eyes warm. He sees it so infrequently that he wants to take a picture. To capture this look forever.
“Dad?”
“The first and most important job we have is protecting the innocent and the weak. You did that today. More importantly, nothing comes before blood Dean. Family is all we have, and we protect that. You did that too, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Don’t let that idiot make you feel bad for standing up for what we believe in.”
Dean never forgets that speech, more words in one place than his father ever usually spares, and he never forgets the look on his dad’s face. The way his dad lets him stay up that night watching movies with him, and he gets more than two sips of his dad’s beer. It’s a lesson that plants itself more firmly than any of the ones regarding hand-to-hand combat or weapons care. It’s one Dean internalizes so deeply it becomes a part of his genetics.
-----
Dean loses his virginity at fourteen to a woman twice his age in a bar his dad is collecting information in. The whole encounter leaves him vaguely unsatisfied in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s not that she’s not skilled, or pretty, because she’s certainly both of those things. He’s more than happy to have her instruct him on the best way to please her, and he’s got a little bit of experience when it comes to everything up to penetration. That doesn’t change the fact that when the big moment comes a little part of Dean wonders if it isn’t a waste to be doing it in the dirty men’s room stall in a nowhere bar in a town he’ll never remember the name of.
It’s not that Dean wants more from his life than he has. Soon he’ll be able to drop out of school and be a full-time hunter with his dad. He’s tired of conforming, of pretending that equations and American history are the end all be all. He’s tired of being someone he’s not. Sure, other kids might look at him funny when he doesn’t have a curfew, when he admits that his dad isn’t home, or that he’s in charge of making his own meals. He’s gotten used to the funny looks, and for the most part he’s figured out what lies to tell to avoid giving anyone any indication that all is not normal in the Winchester household.
He doesn’t invite other kids over to the motel rooms anymore, and he doesn’t tell them anything personal if he can help it. Every school is the same though, and Dean’s tired of blowing through them and being the new kid. He doesn’t have the problems most of the new kids have. He’s considered cool without trying. The growth spurt, the muscles from training, and the devil-may-care attitude that comes from being responsible for himself since he was twelve have taken care of any lingering sense of insecurity that bullies would pick up on. What they see is a confidence that is usually only present in adults, a cockiness one of his teachers told him with disgust, and Dean wants them to see that.
He wants this.
Being a hunter, being a bad-ass, that’s what he has to do to make sure that his dad knows he’s worth that look of pride that comes so infrequently. It’s what has to happen to take off that lingering disappointment from Dean’s first and largest failure. So he makes sure that all of his studies come second, that he obeys every order without questioning, and that he always follows his father’s simple rules. He’s spent years watching cop movies and war films so he knows what a good soldier does, and how to react to the moments he can’t understand. He’s prepared, he’s calm, and he knows what to do. He doesn’t need to be a rebel, because he likes being a follower. Likes doing what his dad wants and making him proud.
Which doesn’t explain why this is so disappointing. He should be happy that he’s able to bag a woman so much older than him. He should be proud that he’s become a man. Instead he watches her slip her panties into the pocket of his jacket and kiss his cheek sloppily before staggering out of the bathroom. He watches and he wonders what it would have been like for this to have meant something. For him to have at least known her name, and to know what she was like as a person instead of as a quick and dirty fuck.
When he comes out though, lipstick bright and vivid on his cheek, Dad and Uncle Caleb both smack him heartily on the back and crow about what a man he is. Dad even orders him a shot, and Dean winces around the burn as he takes it in and feels that warmth settle in his chest. Soothe away any lingering disappointment and concern.
------
Shortly after Dean turns twenty-one he sees his Uncle Bobby again. The last time he saw the older hunter he was eleven, and his father and Bobby had a fight that ended their interaction entirely. Dean’s alone on a hunt right now though, and he couldn’t think of anyone else to call. A part of him thought Uncle Bobby wouldn’t answer, that he would deny Dean help, but the older man didn’t. Until he sees the craggy face he remembers so vividly from childhood Dean believes it’s out of a sense of duty that Bobby showed up.
The smile on his uncle’s face does wonders to ease that fear. The tight and brief hug Bobby gives him buries the thought six feet deep, and Dean hugs the old man back as hard as he possibly can.
There’s no awkwardness between them even though Dean expects it. Instead his uncle works through the case with him, and when they find out the identity of the ghost the two of them end up in the graveyard taking turns digging out the body and chatting amiably about hunting and life in general. Which is when Bobby asks him about his graduation ceremony.
“Didn’t have one.” He grunts at a particularly hard patch of earth, digging out graves this late in the season is always a bitch, and then throws the dirt out of the hole and goes back to work. “Dropped out and got my G.E.D.”
There’s silence for long enough that Dean chances a glance upwards and sees the stormy look on Bobby’s face as he fiddles with the brim of his cap. “Why the hell would you do that boy?”
“Because they had nothing left to teach me. Nothing I needed to know anyway. You think they had classes on how to dig graves Bobby? Or set traps for monsters?”
“Yeah idjit, it’s called physics and it’s got loads of real-life application that you’d know if you’da finished. This your dad’s idea?”
And yeah, maybe Dad had hinted at it, but it had been Dean’s decision. Dean’s choice. “Nope. Came up with it all on my own. Shine the flashlight this way ok? I think I’m almost there.”
Bobby angles the light and grunts once before gearing up for an argument. Dean can hear it in the way he breathes. “I wish I woulda had more of an impact on you. Every damn kid I come in contact with seems to think education is useless.”
“Every kid Bobby? How many kids you mentoring these days?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but when he looks up there’s a heavy expression on the parts of Bobby’s face that the moonlight illuminates. Something that makes it not so much a joke and more a bitter pill Bobby has to swallow down.
“None of your business boy. Shift your right hand. Your grip ain’t gonna do your back any favors.”
When it’s over and done with they sit together in a bar and sip whiskey beside each other. Bobby looks over at one point and Dean thinks he sees something almost tender in the old man’s eyes. Something gentle. “You know boy, I woulda been proud of you no matter what you did right?” The unspoken unlike your father hangs heavy in the air between them. While it makes Dean happy, makes him glow a little, it’s got nothing on making his dad proud.
-----
It occurs to Dean as he stands over the pyre and listens to the woman weeping beside him that it’s his twenty-fourth birthday. He forgot.
In the rush of adrenaline brought on by the hunt, the need to find and destroy, to protect and save, it never occurred to Dean to look at the date. It happens more often these days. Without Dad around the structure of his life is based off training and seeking, and while he looks at multiple papers every day, unless it has to do with ritual times or lunar cycles he has no interest in dates. Every week blends into the one before it.
It’s actually that way with everything. Each small-town diner, each easy lay, each hunt becomes the one before it or the one before that. Life is simply a cycle of get up, do, move on. It bothers Dean a little that his introspection is brought on by the death of the young man in front of him. Well, that and the grief of the boy’s mother. He was a boy too, just sixteen and so damn eager to please. It was his mother that was supposed to be helping Dean go after the siren. The kid wasn’t supposed to follow. Wasn’t supposed to try to go after the damn thing.
He’s pulled out of his musings when the woman, Diane her name is Diane, starts slamming fists into his chest. He stands still, takes the beating, and then wraps his arms around her and pulls her in. She sobs out her heartbreak against his chest. “You let him die. You let him die. Goddamn Winchesters.”
Dean would argue. He would point out that he was hesitant to work with her when he saw the kid trailing along behind, that she shouldn’t have had him in the life anyway because he was too soft, but all of that would fall on deaf ears. Hers and his, because at the end of the day he kind of did let it happen. When the boy offered to do the research Dean let him, and when it was time to watch his tail Dean didn’t look hard enough. Didn’t see a damn teenager following behind him. It was a rookie mistake, and Dean Winchester is no rookie.
So he stands still and absorbs her grief and the weight of guilt that goes with it. This is his fault too, and he’s been taught to own up to his mistakes. To take responsibility for his actions. He won’t turn away from it. When the fire finally burns out he turns the earth for Diane, and watches her slip ashes into a small jar and carry it close to her breast as he drives her back to her own car and her belongings. Her final words to him are harsh and hateful.
“You’re just like your father.”
Dean only half considers it a compliment.
He knows the stories. Knows that his dad is known for being a world-class hard-ass. That there’s no one in the hunting community that doesn’t say John Winchester’s name with a mixture of awe and anger, and that no hunter in his right mind would take his dad on. They usually won’t work with him either. There’s Pastor Jim of course, and Caleb is there often, but Dean knows that this is because of Jim’s good-hearted nature and Caleb’s adoration. It’s hard for Dean himself to find people to work with, because the shadow of his father’s influence hangs heavily over his head. It’s something he can’t escape, and there was a time he didn’t want to.
----
They’re sitting on the porch while Sam is grocery shopping, and Dean watches Ope banter back and forth with Loki. Sees the way her eyes light up when they land on the smaller man, and how she presents her body in a way he’s never seen her do anywhere else. He knows what that look is, and what she’s doing, but he’s not going to call her on it. Instead he just drinks his beer and watches her pretend she’s not interested.
He’s pretty sure Loki isn’t fooled either.
It’s at some point while he’s studying the tree line and draining the last of his fourth beer that he hears Loki clear his throat pointedly. He looks over to see brightly colored amber eyes studying him, and the tell-tale smirk curling up the geek’s lips.
“I said, Dean-o.”
“It’s Dean.” Half the time he can’t tell if he hates the guy. “Dean.”
“Yeah, like I said, Dean-“ a beat, “-o. Can I ask you a question?”
“Is it how to treat a broken nose?” Ope snorts and lights a cigarette while Loki looks on without seeming even the least bit intimidated.
“No, but I’ll keep in mind that you know how. I was going to ask about that file I got on you. Who robs graves outside of a Victorian Gothic?” His voice is warm and friendly, and Dean jerks once at the sound of it forming those words. That is not the tone that should accompany that sort of question.
The file had honestly slipped his mind. Sam hadn’t been interested, and Dean had been so grateful he didn’t care that it existed at all. Which means this little guy knows more about Dean than he ever wanted shared. Knows about the murder charges, the assault and fraud, and the laundry list of trumped up bullshit that hangs over Dean’s head. Knows and seems to not give two shits at all. Whether it’s that or the beer that makes Dean’s tongue loose he’ll never know.
“I don’t rob graves. I dig up corpses and salt and burn them so ghosts will be dispelled.”
Ope chokes on her own beer and looks up through wide and shocked blue eyes. “Dean.” She sounds scandalized, and considering the heinous shit they’ve said in front of each other that’s a little amusing.
“No sweets I want to hear this. Ghosts you say? Is that a hobby?” Loki’s eyes are even brighter now, and he leans in slightly like Dean is going to whisper a secret to him.
“A living.” Which isn’t really true at all. It’s dying, dying in action because that’s all Dean has really seen. Don’t the lines on his chest attest to that? To the ridiculous stupidity of his whole set of values and beliefs? But it has to be done, and if someone has to do it then thank whoever for making idiots like Dean Winchester. The incredibly bitchy tone of his own thoughts surprises him. Apparently he’s in the mood for a melancholy drunk.
“Oh.” Loki sits back and rubs at his chin for a second before he sips the Smirnov Ice Dean wants so badly to mock him for. “How’s that pay?”
“Not well. Hence the credit card fraud.” Ope’s shaking her head violently, looking at him like he’s grown a second and third head and all three started singing show tunes, but Dean continues like he can’t see her. “I get paid in getting run off by cops after saving people’s lives. I get paid in derision and living as a fucking fugitive. I get paid in bullshit and suspicion and ulcers. But I kill monsters for a living, so go me.” He’s not even sure why this is pouring out of his mouth. It’s not even something he’s ever let himself fully think let alone say.
Loki doesn’t look surprised though. He looks almost understanding. “It sounds like a hard life.” He shuffles through the big pockets on his green jacket before pulling out a fun-size Snickers bar and holding it out to Dean. “Here. Let me be the first to pay you properly.”
Dean stares at the wrapper for a long time before he looks back up. “You think this is fucking funny?”
“No. I think it’s sad that you’d let something as small as being paid get in the way of the fact that you’re a big hero who saves lives and kills monsters. I pay money every month to get the digital version of that. Forgive me if I’m unimpressed by your personal pity party.”
There’s silence for a long moment, and then Ope clears her throat and taps the ashes off her cigarette. “Fuck Loki. Harsh.”
Except it’s not harsh, it’s true. Dean’s been riding his own ass about the witch and the curse since Ope told him the truth. Been down on himself and his chosen lifestyle without ever stopping to consider the many reasons he got into it in the first place. The lives he’s saved, the families that have been brought back together, and the many people that have tearfully thanked him.
Dean can’t go back in time. He can’t change what happened with Sam, or how badly he feels about that, but he’s been able to crawl his way back up bit by bit with every life he’s saved and every person he’s helped. It’s important to remember that, so yeah, Loki isn’t being particularly nice about it but he’s got a point. Dean’s always been big on learning the lessons that are put in front of him, and this feels like one.
“You’re too short to hunt.” Ope lets out a noise of shock and anger, but Loki just laughs.
“That the best you got Dean-o? Because I may be short, but I’m brutally handsome, incredibly witty, and all the ladies love me. Isn’t that right Opey?”
“You’re both assholes. Big, big assholes. I want Sam to come back so I’m not drowning in your assholeness.” She drains her beer and pops open another one. “Seriously.”
“Aw don’t pout sweets, I’m sure you’d make an excellent monster hunter. Look at those legs. All muscle and-“ He cuts off his words and the familiar caress when she slaps his hand and bares her teeth at him. Dean can’t help but laugh.
There’s a weight that lifts off him then, watching the sun travel across the sky and having a beer with a friend and…whatever the hell Loki is. When Sam gets back he joins them on the porch and watches them drink and argue, smiling when Loki and Ope start to really get into it. The angrier she gets the more flippant and joyous Loki looks, and Dean can’t help but admire how the interaction brings out Sam’s dimples or makes his eyes shine.
“What the fuck do you mean you researched my uncle? You researched my goddamn uncle?”
-----
Dean can’t help the groan that falls past his lips as Sam licks a stripe up the inside of his thigh. Sam his lover. Sam his brother. Sam his everything.
He remembers the revelation, the moment when all the lies came crashing down, and he remembers all too well the self-loathing and the horror. He just can’t recall the whys behind those feelings at the moment. There’s still times when he looks over and thinks of all the things his brother has been denied, both by being abandoned and by Dean’s seduction. That doesn’t change the fact that they can’t work apart. They can’t live without each other.
“Aren’t you s’posed to be Googling that monster?” He doesn’t want Sam to break off and start using the laptop again, but responsibility has to at least be acknowledged no matter how much Dean would prefer to just let Sam finally make his way up to Dean’s demanding dick. He has to at least pay lipservice to duty though. Hmmm…lipservice. He almost giggles.
Then Sam’s biting his thigh, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, and can he only think in dirty innuendos?
There’s no script for this sort of thing. It’s not like it used to be, where Dean said the right things and the other party said the right things, and then pants were dropped and fucking commenced. There’s no guarantee from one incident to another that Dean will be on top or bottom, or that he’ll be in control or not. He didn’t even know you could top from the bottom until Sam.
It never fails to amaze him really how much Sam has taught him about sex, about intimacy, and about what a life can be. A life. That’s what Dean has now. It’s an unwelcome revelation, because Sam’s plush lips are wrapping around the head of his cock and he gasps and jerks his hips once before Sam gets both of those bear paws on him and holds him down and steady.
But it’s true. Dean has a life, with a partner that he loves more than anything, a home that sits in one place, and extended family in the form of Bobby and Ope. He has people that he can always fall back on if things go wrong, that will answer their phones if he needs them, and that will go to the ends of the earth to make sure he’s ok. They’ve all proven that at some point, but it took Sam constantly guiding him into this realm of complacency to make Dean realize it.
So maybe it’s the heady rush of knowing that he isn’t alone anymore and that he isn’t just going through the motions, or maybe it’s losing the weight of only seeing himself as daddy’s blunt little instrument, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the slick pressure of Sam’s mouth around his dick. Whatever it is Dean starts talking and Sam never once lets up on the incredible head he’s giving him.
“When I was younger I thought I wasn’t worth shit. That all I really meant to the world was what I could kill or how many people I could save before I just winked out. I thought I’d die, and nobody would mourn me, and that would be it. Somebody else would burn my corpse and then I’d be ashes on the a-air.” His voice stutters when Sam’s suction increases, but when he looks down Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s focused wholly on the task he’s taken on.
“Except it wasn’t really thinking it Sammy. It was just something that I knew so deep it never came up. Like how you know you’ve gotta breathe or that morning comes after night. Instinct or some shit and I –oh fuck- I just let it go. Just internalized all that shit because it seemed right. That was what dad did, so that was what I was gonna do. It didn’t matter what happened around me, or who seemed to think different, I just did what I thought was my job.”
Sam’s eyes swept open then, blue dancing with green and grey, and Dean was momentarily breathless. They shone with love and acceptance, support, and sympathy for Dean’s issues, for his many insecurities.
“Then you came along and suddenly somebody wanted me to live. They wanted me to be a person, and being a hunter came second. Like, really far in second second, and that was…fuck man that was just it. That was everything. I wasn’t the drifter that came in and took care of the problem before disappearing. Not anymore. I was somebody, and Sam I can’t fucking thank you enough for that. For all of it. Because I’m a person now.”
Sam’s eyes stayed there, locked on Dean’s, and then her swirled his tongue and flicked his thumb against Dean’s furled entrance and that was the end of it. Dean was coming like a freight train, no time to give warning or anything else, and Sam was swallowing all of it down and taking it away. Leeching Dean of every last doubt and concern.
And yeah, maybe this level of openness wouldn’t happen again, or would require a huge amount of alcohol to be reached, but it had come. Dean had gotten it all out, spilled the poison, and nothing bad had happened. Sam hadn’t laughed, hadn’t looked at him like he was less, and even now Sam was just staring at him with that open and loving look. Sam was still gazing at Dean like he was personally responsible for every good thing the world held.
And that look? More than any look that had ever been a part of his life that look got Dean high. That look set his blood on fire and made him feel a thousand feet tall and indestructible. That look was more than anything and everything, and for the first time in his life Dean forgot what his father’s look of pride was like. All he could see was Sam.
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,804
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC, Gabriel/OFC
Beta(s): The Unfailingly Patient and Kind
sammichgirl, who can't be blamed for my mistakes.Summary: A timestamp for "Lost Time", examines Dean and Gabriel's pasts. Won't make much sense if you haven't read "Lost Time", and has spoilers for the story.
Dean is seven when his father leaves him at Uncle Bobby’s for two months. It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart, and Dean understands why. It’s the anniversary of Sam’s death, and it’s always hard for John to be around him when that time comes. Hard for John to look at him and know that it is Dean’s fault, Dean’s weakness that left his defenseless baby brother in that bed as the house crumbled around them. So he doesn’t fault his father for leaving, but he wishes that he wouldn’t. That there was some way to make it up to him.
Being with Uncle Bobby isn’t so bad though. The older hunter is gruff, outright grumpy in the morning, but he always makes sure that Dean eats three meals and has a good place to sleep. It’s over a huge bowl of oatmeal that Uncle Bobby asks him the one question he wasn’t expecting.
“What do you want to be when you grow up boy?”
Dean keeps his eyes on the oatmeal and wonders if this is a trick question. There’s a weird tone in Uncle Bobby’s voice. “A hunter sir. Just like dad.”
He expects that to be the end of it, but it isn’t. “Why?”
Why? He’s never thought of why before. “Because that’s what we do. I’ll get to kill the thing that killed mom. I’ll get to-“ He cuts off before he says something stupid and fills his mouth with oatmeal. Uncle Bobby is having none of it.
“You’ll git to what Dean?”
He ducks his head once, unable to avoid answering a direct question. That’s not the way he was raised. “I’ll get to make up for failing Sammy.”
Uncle Bobby is silent for a long time, and the air in the kitchen turns heavy and thick. The oatmeal doesn’t taste good anymore, but Dean spoons it into his mouth because dad says you always finish everything in front of you. Finally his uncle clears his throat and sits back with a loud creak of the old wooden chair. “That what you think?”
And Dean? He can’t help the tears that start to fall, and they make him angry. Because only babies cry. “I know it. I left him, and he was my responsibility.”
Uncle Bobby stands then, curses low and thick before leaving the room. It’s an act of intense will that Dean gets the last of the oatmeal down, and then slips his dishes into the sink and pulls the chair up so he can do them. When Uncle Bobby comes back he has two baseball gloves hanging loosely from his right hand and a baseball in the left. “Come on boy. Leave ‘em alone and let’s go outside.”
He obeys, and they end up in a wide part of the yard with no cars as Uncle Bobby explains how to fasten the glove. Where to watch and how to cock his arm. They throw the ball back and forth for a long time before Dean has to ask about what’s bothering him. “Sir? What are we training for?”
“Balls.” Uncle Bobby looks angry again, and Dean shrinks a little before the man is crossing the space between them and hunkering down. He drops the glove to the ground and takes both of Dean’s bony little shoulders in his big, calloused hands. “I ain’t mad at you boy. I’m mad at your stupid daddy. This ain’t trainin’ for anything. This is playin’ catch, and you should already know how to do it. You ain’t an adult boy, not yet, and little boys need time to be little boys.”
Dean’s chin comes up at that, insulted and upset, and he meets the fierce blue eyes and juts his jaw out a bit. “I’m seven. That’s old enough to start learning. Old enough to be responsible.”
Uncle Bobby shakes him once, hard, and it surprises Dean so badly he jerks and really looks at his uncle. “Listen carefully Dean Winchester, cause I ain’t saying this for my health. I know you’re loyal to your daddy, and that’s a good thing. Ya’ll are family and you need to be loyal to that. But your daddy is a good hunter and that makes him a focused idjit. He should have tole you by now that what happened to Sam ain’t your fault. You may not be a normal seven year old boy, but you didn’t have any way to save Sam. You couldn’t do anything. It ain’t your fault Dean.”
The tears are back, but this time Dean doesn’t stop them. He can’t believe Bobby, not entirely, but it’s the first time anyone has ever said it. His uncle wraps both arms around him and he’s enveloped in the smell of oil and whiskey and cologne. Held tight as he shudders and shakes in his uncle’s warm embrace.
When dad comes back he and Uncle Bobby fight, and Dean doesn’t get to see as much of his uncle as he wants to after that, but he never forgets the feeling of being forgiven, even if it was just for a little while.
-----
Dean’s eleven when he realizes just how radically different his thought processes are from the people around him. Oh sure, he knew that most other kids didn’t know how to shoot a moving target or behead a vampire. That cleaning and reassembling guns, hunting werewolves, and lying to the authorities wasn’t high on the list of things kids his age are supposed to know. All of that made sense to him. It’s what he sees coming home from the bus that doesn’t click properly.
He knows the Barlow kids. He has classes with the older one, and the little brother is never far from his older brother. That part fits with Dean’s understanding. Watching Lee Barlow follow his older brother around with big, wondering eyes is something Dean is incapable of not doing. There’s always that little part of him that wonders if Sammy would have been that way. If he would have been just as idolized by his younger sibling.
What Dean isn’t prepared for is to round the corner on the way to the old house his dad is renting during this hunt, and see Sebastian Barlow and one of his friends pushing little Lee back and forth between them. Lee is crying, backpack dangling from his shoulder by one strap as he’s shoved back and forth. Dean is close enough to hear Sebastian taunting his little brother. “Cry baby. Cry baby.”
The sound of it makes something in Dean start to scream, and he watches as Lee covers his face and begins to sob wholeheartedly. The kid is barely old enough to ride the bus with them, and incredibly small. So small and fragile. Sebastian gives his brother a particularly hard shove, and Lee hits the ground. Dean can see from his position that the little hands strike rocks on the road, and there’s blood blooming on the palms where they tear tender baby skin and the wails become hideous and insistent.
Years later Dean will not be able to explain what happened next to anyone’s satisfaction. Not to his own, not to his father’s, and not to the very small number of people who know this particular story. He comes back to himself with Sebastian’s friend running and screaming about getting his parents, and Sebastian on the ground under Dean’s driving fists. The boy’s nose is bloody, face already swelling, and Dean’s hands hurt. He’s shouting too, voice gravelly and thick suggesting he’s been doing it for a while.
“Never. You never hurt your brother. Never hurt your brother. You protect him. You never hurt him you son of a bitch!”
He stops when a little hand lands on his wrist, and looks up to see soft eyes and brown hair. “Sammy?” It’s out of his mouth before he can help it, but the little boy touching him is not his brother. Never his brother.
“Please. Please stop.” Lee’s eyes are huge, full of tears, and Dean gets up and staggers backwards with the weight of what he’s done hanging on his shoulders. He used his training on a civilian. He scared this little boy. This little boy who’s the age Sammy would be if he had…
Dean staggers backwards, stomach rebelling and hands shaking, and then he runs to the place they’re staying. It’s not home. Never home, but it’s four walls and a roof and Dean is willing to pretend that’s good enough. By the time his dad comes home Dean doesn’t even know what he’s going to tell him. The Barlow parents will no doubt want to talk to him, and Dean is gonna be in trouble, but he can’t seem to make himself care too much. All he can think of is the haunted look in Lee’s eyes. The loss of control seeing Sebastian hurt his little brother.
Dad doesn’t seem to be too angry though, and when he talks to Mr. Barlow his eyes glint hard at the accusation that Dean is “out of control”.
“Way I heard it your older boy was the one out of control. Beating up on his kid brother, the boy should be ashamed. My son doesn’t put up with bullies.”
When Mr. Barlow storms off, muttering angrily about drifters and bad apples Dad slams the door shut and then sits across from Dean and cleans his bloody and split knuckles silently.
“Dad I-“
“Son, I’m proud of you.”
There’s a swell of emotion that Dean swallows down quickly as he watches his dad’s big hands carefully work on his much smaller ones. He blinks back tears and looks up to see his dad’s face shining, smile broad and eyes warm. He sees it so infrequently that he wants to take a picture. To capture this look forever.
“Dad?”
“The first and most important job we have is protecting the innocent and the weak. You did that today. More importantly, nothing comes before blood Dean. Family is all we have, and we protect that. You did that too, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Don’t let that idiot make you feel bad for standing up for what we believe in.”
Dean never forgets that speech, more words in one place than his father ever usually spares, and he never forgets the look on his dad’s face. The way his dad lets him stay up that night watching movies with him, and he gets more than two sips of his dad’s beer. It’s a lesson that plants itself more firmly than any of the ones regarding hand-to-hand combat or weapons care. It’s one Dean internalizes so deeply it becomes a part of his genetics.
-----
Dean loses his virginity at fourteen to a woman twice his age in a bar his dad is collecting information in. The whole encounter leaves him vaguely unsatisfied in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s not that she’s not skilled, or pretty, because she’s certainly both of those things. He’s more than happy to have her instruct him on the best way to please her, and he’s got a little bit of experience when it comes to everything up to penetration. That doesn’t change the fact that when the big moment comes a little part of Dean wonders if it isn’t a waste to be doing it in the dirty men’s room stall in a nowhere bar in a town he’ll never remember the name of.
It’s not that Dean wants more from his life than he has. Soon he’ll be able to drop out of school and be a full-time hunter with his dad. He’s tired of conforming, of pretending that equations and American history are the end all be all. He’s tired of being someone he’s not. Sure, other kids might look at him funny when he doesn’t have a curfew, when he admits that his dad isn’t home, or that he’s in charge of making his own meals. He’s gotten used to the funny looks, and for the most part he’s figured out what lies to tell to avoid giving anyone any indication that all is not normal in the Winchester household.
He doesn’t invite other kids over to the motel rooms anymore, and he doesn’t tell them anything personal if he can help it. Every school is the same though, and Dean’s tired of blowing through them and being the new kid. He doesn’t have the problems most of the new kids have. He’s considered cool without trying. The growth spurt, the muscles from training, and the devil-may-care attitude that comes from being responsible for himself since he was twelve have taken care of any lingering sense of insecurity that bullies would pick up on. What they see is a confidence that is usually only present in adults, a cockiness one of his teachers told him with disgust, and Dean wants them to see that.
He wants this.
Being a hunter, being a bad-ass, that’s what he has to do to make sure that his dad knows he’s worth that look of pride that comes so infrequently. It’s what has to happen to take off that lingering disappointment from Dean’s first and largest failure. So he makes sure that all of his studies come second, that he obeys every order without questioning, and that he always follows his father’s simple rules. He’s spent years watching cop movies and war films so he knows what a good soldier does, and how to react to the moments he can’t understand. He’s prepared, he’s calm, and he knows what to do. He doesn’t need to be a rebel, because he likes being a follower. Likes doing what his dad wants and making him proud.
Which doesn’t explain why this is so disappointing. He should be happy that he’s able to bag a woman so much older than him. He should be proud that he’s become a man. Instead he watches her slip her panties into the pocket of his jacket and kiss his cheek sloppily before staggering out of the bathroom. He watches and he wonders what it would have been like for this to have meant something. For him to have at least known her name, and to know what she was like as a person instead of as a quick and dirty fuck.
When he comes out though, lipstick bright and vivid on his cheek, Dad and Uncle Caleb both smack him heartily on the back and crow about what a man he is. Dad even orders him a shot, and Dean winces around the burn as he takes it in and feels that warmth settle in his chest. Soothe away any lingering disappointment and concern.
------
Shortly after Dean turns twenty-one he sees his Uncle Bobby again. The last time he saw the older hunter he was eleven, and his father and Bobby had a fight that ended their interaction entirely. Dean’s alone on a hunt right now though, and he couldn’t think of anyone else to call. A part of him thought Uncle Bobby wouldn’t answer, that he would deny Dean help, but the older man didn’t. Until he sees the craggy face he remembers so vividly from childhood Dean believes it’s out of a sense of duty that Bobby showed up.
The smile on his uncle’s face does wonders to ease that fear. The tight and brief hug Bobby gives him buries the thought six feet deep, and Dean hugs the old man back as hard as he possibly can.
There’s no awkwardness between them even though Dean expects it. Instead his uncle works through the case with him, and when they find out the identity of the ghost the two of them end up in the graveyard taking turns digging out the body and chatting amiably about hunting and life in general. Which is when Bobby asks him about his graduation ceremony.
“Didn’t have one.” He grunts at a particularly hard patch of earth, digging out graves this late in the season is always a bitch, and then throws the dirt out of the hole and goes back to work. “Dropped out and got my G.E.D.”
There’s silence for long enough that Dean chances a glance upwards and sees the stormy look on Bobby’s face as he fiddles with the brim of his cap. “Why the hell would you do that boy?”
“Because they had nothing left to teach me. Nothing I needed to know anyway. You think they had classes on how to dig graves Bobby? Or set traps for monsters?”
“Yeah idjit, it’s called physics and it’s got loads of real-life application that you’d know if you’da finished. This your dad’s idea?”
And yeah, maybe Dad had hinted at it, but it had been Dean’s decision. Dean’s choice. “Nope. Came up with it all on my own. Shine the flashlight this way ok? I think I’m almost there.”
Bobby angles the light and grunts once before gearing up for an argument. Dean can hear it in the way he breathes. “I wish I woulda had more of an impact on you. Every damn kid I come in contact with seems to think education is useless.”
“Every kid Bobby? How many kids you mentoring these days?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but when he looks up there’s a heavy expression on the parts of Bobby’s face that the moonlight illuminates. Something that makes it not so much a joke and more a bitter pill Bobby has to swallow down.
“None of your business boy. Shift your right hand. Your grip ain’t gonna do your back any favors.”
When it’s over and done with they sit together in a bar and sip whiskey beside each other. Bobby looks over at one point and Dean thinks he sees something almost tender in the old man’s eyes. Something gentle. “You know boy, I woulda been proud of you no matter what you did right?” The unspoken unlike your father hangs heavy in the air between them. While it makes Dean happy, makes him glow a little, it’s got nothing on making his dad proud.
-----
It occurs to Dean as he stands over the pyre and listens to the woman weeping beside him that it’s his twenty-fourth birthday. He forgot.
In the rush of adrenaline brought on by the hunt, the need to find and destroy, to protect and save, it never occurred to Dean to look at the date. It happens more often these days. Without Dad around the structure of his life is based off training and seeking, and while he looks at multiple papers every day, unless it has to do with ritual times or lunar cycles he has no interest in dates. Every week blends into the one before it.
It’s actually that way with everything. Each small-town diner, each easy lay, each hunt becomes the one before it or the one before that. Life is simply a cycle of get up, do, move on. It bothers Dean a little that his introspection is brought on by the death of the young man in front of him. Well, that and the grief of the boy’s mother. He was a boy too, just sixteen and so damn eager to please. It was his mother that was supposed to be helping Dean go after the siren. The kid wasn’t supposed to follow. Wasn’t supposed to try to go after the damn thing.
He’s pulled out of his musings when the woman, Diane her name is Diane, starts slamming fists into his chest. He stands still, takes the beating, and then wraps his arms around her and pulls her in. She sobs out her heartbreak against his chest. “You let him die. You let him die. Goddamn Winchesters.”
Dean would argue. He would point out that he was hesitant to work with her when he saw the kid trailing along behind, that she shouldn’t have had him in the life anyway because he was too soft, but all of that would fall on deaf ears. Hers and his, because at the end of the day he kind of did let it happen. When the boy offered to do the research Dean let him, and when it was time to watch his tail Dean didn’t look hard enough. Didn’t see a damn teenager following behind him. It was a rookie mistake, and Dean Winchester is no rookie.
So he stands still and absorbs her grief and the weight of guilt that goes with it. This is his fault too, and he’s been taught to own up to his mistakes. To take responsibility for his actions. He won’t turn away from it. When the fire finally burns out he turns the earth for Diane, and watches her slip ashes into a small jar and carry it close to her breast as he drives her back to her own car and her belongings. Her final words to him are harsh and hateful.
“You’re just like your father.”
Dean only half considers it a compliment.
He knows the stories. Knows that his dad is known for being a world-class hard-ass. That there’s no one in the hunting community that doesn’t say John Winchester’s name with a mixture of awe and anger, and that no hunter in his right mind would take his dad on. They usually won’t work with him either. There’s Pastor Jim of course, and Caleb is there often, but Dean knows that this is because of Jim’s good-hearted nature and Caleb’s adoration. It’s hard for Dean himself to find people to work with, because the shadow of his father’s influence hangs heavily over his head. It’s something he can’t escape, and there was a time he didn’t want to.
----
They’re sitting on the porch while Sam is grocery shopping, and Dean watches Ope banter back and forth with Loki. Sees the way her eyes light up when they land on the smaller man, and how she presents her body in a way he’s never seen her do anywhere else. He knows what that look is, and what she’s doing, but he’s not going to call her on it. Instead he just drinks his beer and watches her pretend she’s not interested.
He’s pretty sure Loki isn’t fooled either.
It’s at some point while he’s studying the tree line and draining the last of his fourth beer that he hears Loki clear his throat pointedly. He looks over to see brightly colored amber eyes studying him, and the tell-tale smirk curling up the geek’s lips.
“I said, Dean-o.”
“It’s Dean.” Half the time he can’t tell if he hates the guy. “Dean.”
“Yeah, like I said, Dean-“ a beat, “-o. Can I ask you a question?”
“Is it how to treat a broken nose?” Ope snorts and lights a cigarette while Loki looks on without seeming even the least bit intimidated.
“No, but I’ll keep in mind that you know how. I was going to ask about that file I got on you. Who robs graves outside of a Victorian Gothic?” His voice is warm and friendly, and Dean jerks once at the sound of it forming those words. That is not the tone that should accompany that sort of question.
The file had honestly slipped his mind. Sam hadn’t been interested, and Dean had been so grateful he didn’t care that it existed at all. Which means this little guy knows more about Dean than he ever wanted shared. Knows about the murder charges, the assault and fraud, and the laundry list of trumped up bullshit that hangs over Dean’s head. Knows and seems to not give two shits at all. Whether it’s that or the beer that makes Dean’s tongue loose he’ll never know.
“I don’t rob graves. I dig up corpses and salt and burn them so ghosts will be dispelled.”
Ope chokes on her own beer and looks up through wide and shocked blue eyes. “Dean.” She sounds scandalized, and considering the heinous shit they’ve said in front of each other that’s a little amusing.
“No sweets I want to hear this. Ghosts you say? Is that a hobby?” Loki’s eyes are even brighter now, and he leans in slightly like Dean is going to whisper a secret to him.
“A living.” Which isn’t really true at all. It’s dying, dying in action because that’s all Dean has really seen. Don’t the lines on his chest attest to that? To the ridiculous stupidity of his whole set of values and beliefs? But it has to be done, and if someone has to do it then thank whoever for making idiots like Dean Winchester. The incredibly bitchy tone of his own thoughts surprises him. Apparently he’s in the mood for a melancholy drunk.
“Oh.” Loki sits back and rubs at his chin for a second before he sips the Smirnov Ice Dean wants so badly to mock him for. “How’s that pay?”
“Not well. Hence the credit card fraud.” Ope’s shaking her head violently, looking at him like he’s grown a second and third head and all three started singing show tunes, but Dean continues like he can’t see her. “I get paid in getting run off by cops after saving people’s lives. I get paid in derision and living as a fucking fugitive. I get paid in bullshit and suspicion and ulcers. But I kill monsters for a living, so go me.” He’s not even sure why this is pouring out of his mouth. It’s not even something he’s ever let himself fully think let alone say.
Loki doesn’t look surprised though. He looks almost understanding. “It sounds like a hard life.” He shuffles through the big pockets on his green jacket before pulling out a fun-size Snickers bar and holding it out to Dean. “Here. Let me be the first to pay you properly.”
Dean stares at the wrapper for a long time before he looks back up. “You think this is fucking funny?”
“No. I think it’s sad that you’d let something as small as being paid get in the way of the fact that you’re a big hero who saves lives and kills monsters. I pay money every month to get the digital version of that. Forgive me if I’m unimpressed by your personal pity party.”
There’s silence for a long moment, and then Ope clears her throat and taps the ashes off her cigarette. “Fuck Loki. Harsh.”
Except it’s not harsh, it’s true. Dean’s been riding his own ass about the witch and the curse since Ope told him the truth. Been down on himself and his chosen lifestyle without ever stopping to consider the many reasons he got into it in the first place. The lives he’s saved, the families that have been brought back together, and the many people that have tearfully thanked him.
Dean can’t go back in time. He can’t change what happened with Sam, or how badly he feels about that, but he’s been able to crawl his way back up bit by bit with every life he’s saved and every person he’s helped. It’s important to remember that, so yeah, Loki isn’t being particularly nice about it but he’s got a point. Dean’s always been big on learning the lessons that are put in front of him, and this feels like one.
“You’re too short to hunt.” Ope lets out a noise of shock and anger, but Loki just laughs.
“That the best you got Dean-o? Because I may be short, but I’m brutally handsome, incredibly witty, and all the ladies love me. Isn’t that right Opey?”
“You’re both assholes. Big, big assholes. I want Sam to come back so I’m not drowning in your assholeness.” She drains her beer and pops open another one. “Seriously.”
“Aw don’t pout sweets, I’m sure you’d make an excellent monster hunter. Look at those legs. All muscle and-“ He cuts off his words and the familiar caress when she slaps his hand and bares her teeth at him. Dean can’t help but laugh.
There’s a weight that lifts off him then, watching the sun travel across the sky and having a beer with a friend and…whatever the hell Loki is. When Sam gets back he joins them on the porch and watches them drink and argue, smiling when Loki and Ope start to really get into it. The angrier she gets the more flippant and joyous Loki looks, and Dean can’t help but admire how the interaction brings out Sam’s dimples or makes his eyes shine.
“What the fuck do you mean you researched my uncle? You researched my goddamn uncle?”
-----
Dean can’t help the groan that falls past his lips as Sam licks a stripe up the inside of his thigh. Sam his lover. Sam his brother. Sam his everything.
He remembers the revelation, the moment when all the lies came crashing down, and he remembers all too well the self-loathing and the horror. He just can’t recall the whys behind those feelings at the moment. There’s still times when he looks over and thinks of all the things his brother has been denied, both by being abandoned and by Dean’s seduction. That doesn’t change the fact that they can’t work apart. They can’t live without each other.
“Aren’t you s’posed to be Googling that monster?” He doesn’t want Sam to break off and start using the laptop again, but responsibility has to at least be acknowledged no matter how much Dean would prefer to just let Sam finally make his way up to Dean’s demanding dick. He has to at least pay lipservice to duty though. Hmmm…lipservice. He almost giggles.
Then Sam’s biting his thigh, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, and can he only think in dirty innuendos?
There’s no script for this sort of thing. It’s not like it used to be, where Dean said the right things and the other party said the right things, and then pants were dropped and fucking commenced. There’s no guarantee from one incident to another that Dean will be on top or bottom, or that he’ll be in control or not. He didn’t even know you could top from the bottom until Sam.
It never fails to amaze him really how much Sam has taught him about sex, about intimacy, and about what a life can be. A life. That’s what Dean has now. It’s an unwelcome revelation, because Sam’s plush lips are wrapping around the head of his cock and he gasps and jerks his hips once before Sam gets both of those bear paws on him and holds him down and steady.
But it’s true. Dean has a life, with a partner that he loves more than anything, a home that sits in one place, and extended family in the form of Bobby and Ope. He has people that he can always fall back on if things go wrong, that will answer their phones if he needs them, and that will go to the ends of the earth to make sure he’s ok. They’ve all proven that at some point, but it took Sam constantly guiding him into this realm of complacency to make Dean realize it.
So maybe it’s the heady rush of knowing that he isn’t alone anymore and that he isn’t just going through the motions, or maybe it’s losing the weight of only seeing himself as daddy’s blunt little instrument, or maybe, just maybe, it’s the slick pressure of Sam’s mouth around his dick. Whatever it is Dean starts talking and Sam never once lets up on the incredible head he’s giving him.
“When I was younger I thought I wasn’t worth shit. That all I really meant to the world was what I could kill or how many people I could save before I just winked out. I thought I’d die, and nobody would mourn me, and that would be it. Somebody else would burn my corpse and then I’d be ashes on the a-air.” His voice stutters when Sam’s suction increases, but when he looks down Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s focused wholly on the task he’s taken on.
“Except it wasn’t really thinking it Sammy. It was just something that I knew so deep it never came up. Like how you know you’ve gotta breathe or that morning comes after night. Instinct or some shit and I –oh fuck- I just let it go. Just internalized all that shit because it seemed right. That was what dad did, so that was what I was gonna do. It didn’t matter what happened around me, or who seemed to think different, I just did what I thought was my job.”
Sam’s eyes swept open then, blue dancing with green and grey, and Dean was momentarily breathless. They shone with love and acceptance, support, and sympathy for Dean’s issues, for his many insecurities.
“Then you came along and suddenly somebody wanted me to live. They wanted me to be a person, and being a hunter came second. Like, really far in second second, and that was…fuck man that was just it. That was everything. I wasn’t the drifter that came in and took care of the problem before disappearing. Not anymore. I was somebody, and Sam I can’t fucking thank you enough for that. For all of it. Because I’m a person now.”
Sam’s eyes stayed there, locked on Dean’s, and then her swirled his tongue and flicked his thumb against Dean’s furled entrance and that was the end of it. Dean was coming like a freight train, no time to give warning or anything else, and Sam was swallowing all of it down and taking it away. Leeching Dean of every last doubt and concern.
And yeah, maybe this level of openness wouldn’t happen again, or would require a huge amount of alcohol to be reached, but it had come. Dean had gotten it all out, spilled the poison, and nothing bad had happened. Sam hadn’t laughed, hadn’t looked at him like he was less, and even now Sam was just staring at him with that open and loving look. Sam was still gazing at Dean like he was personally responsible for every good thing the world held.
And that look? More than any look that had ever been a part of his life that look got Dean high. That look set his blood on fire and made him feel a thousand feet tall and indestructible. That look was more than anything and everything, and for the first time in his life Dean forgot what his father’s look of pride was like. All he could see was Sam.
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Date: 2013-03-22 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-22 04:50 am (UTC)Me and my blush are going to find a colder room now. :)