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dime_lioraFirst part
“What the hell do you mean he took off when he saw Dean? Like he took off into the woods?”
They’re sitting in the dining room, Amy’s gaudy and overly decorated tree winking at them as Bonnie eats her allotment of roast with loud slurping noises. She’s the only one interested in the food.
Amy plays with her mashed potatoes, cheeks flushed and eyes focused on her plate.
“Well, maybe he’s shy.”
“Or maybe he’s a dangerous axe murderer, because being shy doesn’t explain tramping through the damn woods in negative twelve degree weather with two feet of snow on the damn ground.”
“He said his car broke down at the road, and he was – Dean you saw him. Tell her he wasn’t an axe murderer.”
Dean thinks of the size of the guy. To be fair, Amy is just below five feet and a lot of people look big next to her, but this guy was huge. Towering over her tiny body, wrapped in the big parka, who knew how big the guy really was or how easy it would be for him to hurt her. Could Dean have gotten there in time to stop him? To save her?
His eyes travel down to where his prosthetic ankle peeks under the hem of his jeans.
“Amy, Sweetheart, best case scenario the guy’s a little off his rocker if he’s wandering around in this weather. Worst case? He’s dangerous. If he shows up again you should get Zoe or me.”
Amy licks her lips and puts her fork down before looking up at the two of them.
“You two don’t understand. He wasn’t dangerous and he wasn’t off, he was sad. You didn’t see him, but I did. He looked…he looked heartbroken and lost. The guy might have been lying about his car, but he wasn’t lying about needing help.”
Zoe slams her fist into the table. “No. I put up with the stray cats in the workshop, and the charity soup kitchens where you’ve been pushed and groped, but this isn’t some stray you can fix up and send to a new home. You promise me, promise me Amy, that you’ll get someone if you see him again.”
Suddenly the air is tense, and Dean isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. Even Bonnie has stopped eating in favor of watching the two women. He rubs the back of his neck before butting in, wise or not.
“Maybe we could make a compromise. Just because you need to get someone doesn’t mean you need to run him off. We won’t call the cops or anything, but we just don’t want you there alone. Not with somebody that big that we don’t know.”
Brown eyes glare at him, but Amy relaxes.
“Okay. I’ll be careful.”
The rest of dinner passes tense but not unbearable. Afterwards Dean is clearing the table, and he limps into the kitchen to see Amy at the sink with Zoe’s arms around her, murmuring too soft and low to be heard properly.
Zoe plants gentle kisses in Amy’s hair, and Dean catches the side of Amy’s face when she looks up and smiles. It’s strained, but full of love, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt more alone.
---
Amy’s beside him on the couch, fire roaring in the fireplace and Bonnie snoring over her new chew bone, while they wait on Zoe to finish her phone calls.
“How much family does she have?” He’s going light on the whiskey in deference to his painkillers, but Amy’s had enough to have her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.
“Lots. Four brothers, her mom and dad, and then she’s gotta call the old firehouse and talk to those brothers. It’s gonna take a while.” Amy pours herself another drink and leans against Dean’s shoulder. He’s gotten used to her touchy-feelyness.
“When are you going to call your family?” Dean feels her shift slightly and then sees her hand lift to the side of her face as she mocks the sound of a phone ringing.
He waits several seconds, and when that’s all she does he makes a guess.
“Hello?”
“Hi Dean! Merry Christmas!” When she looks up Amy is still smiling, and he thinks it’s a little heartbreaking.
He considers telling her he’s the same way, but she already knows that.
“What happened to them?”
Amy’s head tilts as she considers her glass. “Damnedest thing. Turns out they weren’t really okay with the gay thing or the interracial thing. So they gave me a choice.” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. The house is littered with pictures of the two women over the years, happy and in love and Dean wonders if Amy really lost much.
“I had a memory. Of feeding a baby. The first word I knew was Sammy, but my sister’s name was Pamela. The doctors thought it was my injured brain crossing wires, but I don’t know. Sammy feels right you know? So much feels wrong, fake, but Sammy feels right.”
“Maybe Sammy was someone else. Someone you loved just as much if not more than your sister. Maybe Sammy didn’t know about the accident and now she or he is trying to find you.” Amy’s eyes get dreamy and distant. “Then the two of you will meet in a crowded hospital and you’ll call out to each other and all your memories will come flooding back as you crash together in-“
“That’s the third season finale of Dr. Sexy M.D. How the hell do I know that?”
“Because you’re the kind of idiot who would remember a TV show instead of his life. Ames, my mom wants to talk to you about New Year’s.”
Zoe switches places with her girlfriend on the couch and then Amy is bouncing out of the room on her usual wave of energy. When the little blonde is gone Zoe turns grave eyes on Dean.
“She’s really attached to you.”
Dean blinks several times before he finds his voice. “I like her too.”
“I’m gonna ask her to marry me tonight. It’s been legal for a few years in Massachusetts. Momma is distracting her while I give you the heads-up. You know that trick Bonnie does when you whistle for her?”
“That’s not a trick she just comes when anybody whistles.”
Zoe’s face goes sour and she slaps his shoulder.
“Shut up and get your mangy dog in the other room with this tied around her neck, then whistle her in when I give you the signal.”
Dean laughs as he ties the little bag around Bonnie’s neck before luring her into the kitchen. He comes back to find Amy doling out presents from under the tree. She hands Dean a stack with that delighted, half-drunk flush before plopping into Zoe’s lap and adjusting her Santa hat.
“Presents, presents, I love presents!”
Zoe ends up with a new knife from Dean, that Amy and he swear brings tears to her eyes, and a box she opens and quickly closes from Amy before kissing her girl and whispering in her ear. Amy’s flush becomes a full crimson as she giggles and shoots Dean an apologetic look.
His gift from them is a huge box containing cookware he’s mentioned wanting, ribbons and paper for his typewriter, and a thick leather jacket that Zoe says, “Fits you. So wear it.”
Amy opens the box Dean left her under the tree and squints into it for a long time.
“You got me…you got me…” She looks up, eyes full of tears, and then launches across the couch onto his lap and wraps her arms around his neck squealing in a pitch that has him terrified Bonnie will come running in any second.
Zoe is pulling the sock monkey out of the box, eyes bright with amusement as she watches her girlfriend assault Dean.
The monkey is second-hand, a little worn, but it fits the description of the purple and pink socks Amy’s grandmother used to create her favorite childhood toy. The same toy Amy once told him was her favorite and was then stolen and destroyed by a neighborhood boy a month after her grandmother died.
Amy turns over her shoulder and addresses Zoe happily. “Well, it looks like I’m leaving you for Dean. You cannot top this.”
Zoe’s jaw hardens for a second and then she catches Dean’s eye and nods. He whistles, Bonnie comes running, and Zoe grabs Amy with her good hand and drags her back into her arms.
“You’re ruining the mood baby girl.”
Her face shows her confusion as she looks between Bonnie, Dean, and Zoe.
“What mood? The present mood? How do you ruin present mood Zoe, it’s Christmas, the mood is automatically set.”
Zoe’s lips brush Amy’s ear. “Shush. Technically your present is you giving me a present. Namely you, forever, as my wife.”
Dean clicks his fingers and Bonnie bounds close enough that Amy can see the ring bag hanging around her neck. There’s a noise, nothing like what Dean was expecting, and then Amy is grabbing at Zoe’s forearms.
“No. No you didn’t. Did you? Is that – because if – I mean I don’t want to-“ She cuts off in a thick noise as Dean unties the bag and opens it since Zoe can’t free her hands.
The ring is moonstone, cut beautifully and set in what is either silver or white gold. Dean can’t tell. What he does know is Zoe nods at him and he slips the ring out of the bag and slides it onto Amy’s finger.
Amy’s lips are trembling, hands shaking, and she turns and locks onto her fiancé tightly. They’re not kissing; Amy is just holding herself tight against Zoe’s neck and murmuring yes over and over again.
Dean takes the silent hint when Zoe holds the keys to the truck out to him. He gives her a thumbs-up, and she grins broadly and nods. With that he slips out of the scene and limps to the truck with Bonnie at his side.
He’s drifting, musing about how the night went as he takes the driveway slow and steady, and maybe that’s why he isn’t sure if the shape he sees is a tree casting a shadow or a man slipping into the woods. Dean hits the brakes, coming to a stop and peering out over the landscape, illuminated by moonlight bouncing off white snow, but he can’t find it again.
The short trip from the truck to his door is done on high alert, one hand gripping Bonnie’s leash tight and the other fumbling his keys to get the right one ready.
In perfect horror movie fashion he drops the keys at the door, bends for them, and his treacherous leg gives and sends him crashing to the concrete patio. All the warmth and joy from Ally and Zelda’s flees him, and Dean is in a cold tunnel, water dripping as he screams Sammy over and over again.
----
Dean doesn’t remember getting inside, but somehow he did. He wakes up wrapped in blankets and wearing sweats and a t-shirt. He must have blacked out, changed into pajamas, and gotten into bed, but how he can’t say.
His head aches fiercely, and his mouth tastes terrible. Maybe he threw up, maybe he just forgot to brush, but whatever it is he finds himself gargling mouthwash for several minutes before he can even imagine doing something else.
Bonnie greets him in the kitchen, big brown eyes worried and anxiety underlined by her untouched full food bowl. He fed his dog before he went to bed too. Dean sits at the table and idly scratches behind her ears as he considers the many things he apparently did with no recollection.
He ends up on the phone with Lucas, even though the man is not a doctor and probably not qualified to answer his questions.
“Hey, Lucas, you remember how you told me you’d handled other head injury patients?”
A throat clears in the background on the other end and Lucas hushes someone before answering.
“Yeah man. I’ve had a couple, including some contra coup. Why, what’s up?”
“They warned me about the memory thing and the word problem-“
“Aphasia. And that’s not supposed to be happening a lot. Is it happening a lot?”
He tries to remember what he thought his friends’ names were when he got to the door last night, but it escapes him.
“No. It’s something else. No big deal, but…what about black outs? Do black outs happen a lot?”
“Define black outs Dean. What kind of black outs?”
Bonnie licks his hand and Dean jumps before he remembers that Lucas can’t see how freaked out he is. He can still play this off.
“Well, to be fair, I was drinking-“
“Drinking? With your medication? Well then no wonder idiot. Stop that. It’s really bad for you and-“
“Merry Christmas Mom. I’ll do better I promise.”
Lucas laughs before he returns the sentiment and ends the call. He turns to Bonnie and gives her his full attention.
“Well it had to be me, right girl? Not like I have helpful elves or something.”
His laughter sounds hollow and flat in the empty space.
----
Dean manages to gracefully bow out of travelling with Amy and Zoe to Atlanta for New Year’s. Amy buys that the city has too many painful memories, but Zoe gives him a suspicious and sad look.
He spends the next week working on his story. It begins to have some kind of focus. His protagonist is sweet, frightened, and desperate to escape the cycle of violence his family is trapped in. The voice comes strong, overtakes Dean as he sits in front of the typewriter, and he loses whole hours slamming keys as young Jared abandons his brother and father to go to Stanford and try to live a normal life.
At the end of every writing session Dean finds himself shakily swallowing opiates as his head screams. It’s like a watered-down version of the blow-outs he gets after a memory, but one never comes while he’s typing.
His days are broken up by trips into town, and Dean becomes friendly with the owner of the local diner. Walt is old, gruff, and appreciates Dean’s steadily growing appetite. The food is just the right mixture of greasy and fresh, and Dean gains an appreciation for pie that he may have had before the accident. Walt tells him the pie is new, an addition brought on by the short-order cook they just picked up, and Dean swears one day he’ll meet the kid and thank him personally.
When Amy and Zoe come back he’s got fifty pages typed, and refuses to let them see any of them. Amy whines and needles, but Dean resists her charms.
Dean begins to spend his afternoons in Amy’s workshop, scribbling notes on a legal pad as he watches her weld together metal. Zoe spends her days working at a non-profit for the widows of firefighters, and Amy creates expansive metal sculptures. At the moment she’s working on a commission for a local children’s hospital, and Dean loves to watch as she cuts individual feathers out of sheet metal for the angel’s wings and welds each one on with care.
Halfway through the day Amy insists on taking a break, makes a sandwich and pours soup into a thermos, and then takes off with Bonnie. She won’t let Dean come with her, swears the walk alone does her good, and Dean spends the time typing out what he’s been working on and clarifying the story.
At least that’s how it goes for about a month, until the day Amy comes back from the walk with the man he saw before Christmas in tow.
Dean’s already up, out of his chair and limping at speed as Amy waves happily like she hasn’t made a huge mistake. Closer now than he was before Dean can see that guy has at least three inches on him, and if the boniness of his face is any indication the parka only gives him the illusion of bulk.
He makes it to her side quickly and pulls, Bonnie barking in confusion as he maneuvers her behind him.
“Who are you?”
Hurt flashes in hazel eyes, a mixture of greens, blues, and browns that almost make Dean double-take, and pink lips twist downward. The guy is a kid, younger than Dean and probably younger than Amy, and something about the angles of his face and the placement of moles calls to Dean. Makes him want to take back the harshness of his tone so that those big, expressive eyes don’t look so sad.
“I – I’m sorry I-“
Amy pushes past him and grabs the fluffy sleeve of the guy’s parka before pulling him towards the house.
“Go inside and get warm. Bathroom is to the right and the kitchen is to the left. Find the hot chocolate mix and the kettle and get that started. Dean and I will join you in just a minute.”
The kid stumbles along; eyes locked on Dean until he bangs into the door and fumbles it open.
“Dean Hunt, you be polite. He’s half-frozen and in need of a little kindness. Plus, he was terrified of meeting you.” Amy’s face is stern, a foreign expression on her, and Dean pulls back from it in surprise.
“Terrified of meeting me? What about him. Amy this is exactly what you promised-“ His voice cuts off at her suddenly guilty expression. Realization begins to dawn, and Amy cements it with her next words.
“Bonnie was with me.”
“You’ve been walking my dog every day to take him soup and a sandwich. You’ve been meeting him every day with nothing but Bonnie, the worst guard dog in history.”
Amy’s mouth twists, prelude to a bad joke, and then settles before it comes out. Dean’s expression may be part of the reason she knows better than to make it.
“He’s living in a car Dean. In the winter. He’s cold, hungry, and in need. If you and Zoe would just get to know him you’d see-“
“That he’s some bum that could have hurt you! You don’t know him Amy, and that makes him a stranger. Didn’t your parents ever teach you about stranger danger?”
She flushes and then waves an angry hand.
“You have a choice. You can stay and make sure he doesn’t hurt me, which means being polite, or you can go and wait for Zoe to come home and tattle on me. It’s up to you, but I’m going inside and making sure he warms up.”
Dean ends up stumping in after her.
The kid is sitting at the kitchen table, long legs folded awkwardly underneath it and hands restlessly moving against each other. With the parka off it’s obvious he hasn’t been eating regularly in a long time, and the double layers of plaid and thermal don’t hide the long angular lines of his body. His hair, brown and wavy, falls into his eyes and covers them as he avoids Dean’s assessing gaze.
Amy disappears for a moment and comes back with a bag she plops down in front of the bum along with a picture.
“That’s me, and that’s Zoe.” She points to both and then directs her goofy smile at Dean. “We’re A to Z.”
Her terrible joke, the one Lucas warned him about, and the kid is startled into laughter that dies when his eyes briefly meet Dean’s.
“And that’s Dean. Dean Hunt our neighbor and my bestie. He looks intimidating, but he’s just a big puppy dog like Bonnie. Never hurt anybody in his life.”
The kid chokes on something, eyes moving to her in disbelief before it’s quickly covered again by his hair. Dean bristles.
“You got something to say kid?”
Amy’s elbow catches his ribs and then she’s settling down in the chair opposite the guy.
“Dean, this is Sam Winchester. He’s our new friend, and he’s very excited to be here.”
----
Sam turns out to be very quiet. Amy carries the conversation almost entirely, telling Sam about the proposal, about her art, and about the commune.
“So a couple miles down the road is our nearest neighbor who’s a ceramics sculptor, she’s awesome but a little off, and then there’s a guy that makes found object art, he’s violent stay away, and-“
“Why are you living in your car out here?”
Sam jerks again, he always seems to do that when Dean talks, and then his fingers rub briskly at his bony knees as he looks to Amy.
“I- uh- this was far enough out I didn’t think the police would do anything about me sleeping in my car.”
“You’re a drifter right? No home, no family, just place to place working small jobs? Why come to the north in winter for that? You could have picked someplace warm like Florida or Georgia.”
Sam winces and Amy practically hisses at him.
“Dean, shut up. Jesus, Sam didn’t come for the-“
“No, it’s ok. It’s fair and he’s just trying to protect you.” Sam’s voice is so sad when he says the last part that Dean thinks the kid may be crying, but when he looks up his face is set and determined. “I was looking for someone. I just kind of ran out of money here.”
Dean raises an eyebrow at that. “Did you find them?”
Sam’s eyes dart to the side and then back again. “Yes. Yes I did.”
“And?”
Amy’s bristling, rising, but Sam turns to her and gives a sad smile that makes Dean’s chest clench tight the way it did when he first saw Bonnie.
“He didn’t remember me. Which is okay. I’m okay with that as long as he’s happy.”
“And is he happy?” Later, when Amy interrogates him about this moment Dean won’t be able to say what it is that makes him keep asking these questions. Something about the sad turn to Sam’s lips, the way his chin holds steady despite the wet look to his eyes.
“I think so.”
----
Tattling becomes a non-issue. Zoe comes home early.
Several things happen at once, and each one with a slow and startling clarity that haunts Dean when he’s in bed that night.
The door creaks, Zoe steps into the kitchen, and the room reacts in a way that is totally reasonable and yet seems like a series of explosions. Bonnie jumps up, Amy turns, Sam jerks, and Dean starts to rise. It’s the combination of the last two that set off the rest of it. Sam’s hand brushes Dean’s, and the world cants.
It’s all heat and fear. Fire rages down the hall, in the nursery, but even here he can feel it. Mommy is missing, gone somewhere he can’t see, and Dad is holding a bundle out to him and shouting. The words aren’t clear, don’t make any sense, they should be getting Mommy, but Dean obeys. He always obeys, because Mommy told him angels are watching and he wants to be good under their gaze.
He wants the angels to show up now. He wants them to be carrying Mommy into the open so he can see her, and he wants them to put the fire out because while Sammy is okay he’s going to need a room to sleep in. Maybe he can sleep in Dean’s room. They’ll stay together in his bed and Dean won’t have to sneak into Sammy’s room anymore at night to make sure his little chest is still rising and falling.
He’s been doing that since Marcus Weatherby told him that sometimes babies die in their sleep for no reason.
No angels appear though, and Dean stands out on the lawn bouncing his brother and cooing while he waits for something more. Then the windows blow out, the fire expands, and Dad comes stumbling out before the fire trucks arrive.
Dean knows before Dad says it. He holds Sammy a little closer, hopes that maybe the circle of his arms can protect his baby brother from a world without Mommy. A world without angels.
“Dean? Dean, wake up please?”
He’s being held. Whoever it is smells like diner food, leather, and sweat. It’s comforting, familiar in a way he can’t explain or understand, and he pushes into it instinctively.
“He’s back.” The voice rumbles through the chest his face is pressed into, and Dean is too tired and in too much pain to try to pull away after he figures out it’s Sam holding him off the floor.
Amy swims into his vision when she turns his face to the dimmed light coming through the window and peers into his eyes.
“You fell, and you almost hit your head but it turns out Sam has lightening reflexes.” Her fingers brush his cheeks gently. “You threw up, and then you started crying. We almost called an ambulance.”
She sounds little-girl lost, looks it too, and Dean reaches out and pulls her into him without thinking about it. Now she’s wrapped in his arms, and he’s still in Sam’s. It should be weird, but it’s not.
“I’m okay, Sweetheart. I’m okay. Sorry, I scared you. All of you.”
Zoe bends down and makes hand gestures until Amy has left him and she can hook her elbows under Dean’s armpits and pull him up onto his feet. He leans on her just long enough for Sam to push a chair into place, and then Dean sinks into it and accepts the water and pills Zoe hands him.
Dean doesn’t miss the way Sam pats Amy’s wringing hands, or how Zoe glares at the action.
The world keeps going out of focus, makes him feel fuzzy and sick, and it takes a long time for him to get stable again. His head is pounding, stomach churning, and it’s worse than it’s ever been before. Amy hops onto the table and takes the position to rub at his temples. Her voice is low and soft.
“Do you remember what you remembered? It must have been really bad Dean.”
He doesn’t. There’s a vague impression of heat, something scary and living in the dark, and one concrete conclusion from all of it.
“I remember that there are no angels.”
Amy’s face is confused, but behind her shoulder Dean catches a glimpse of Sam, face drawn and eyes heavy.
“Okay Dean, that’s nice but I really think we gotta get you to a doctor. That was pretty extreme wasn’t it?” Zoe looks ashen, hand rubbing her short curls and giving away her nervousness. “Ames and I can drive you, and then we’ll just get it checked out.”
“No. I’m fine I just want to go home and sleep. I just have a headache; I don’t need to be mothered.”
“They’re right. You should see a doctor.” Sam’s voice is heavy, and Dean doesn’t care for it. Who is he to worry about Dean? They just met.
Zoe picks up on it. “Alright new guy, that’s enough. You should head back to your car or whatever and-“
“Zoe. Stop.” Amy’s anger is unexpected and new. She turns to Sam. “You go upstairs. You’re gonna crash in our guest room. Dean, you’re sleeping in the downstairs one and there’ll be no arguments. We’re going to monitor you, and if you have another episode you’re going straight to the ER. Zoe take him there. I’m making a sandwich.”
With that she dismisses them, and in a moment that only proves she has some sort of magical powers the three of them obey. Zoe helps him up and Dean leans heavily on her, grateful that she matches him in height, as they limp toward what he knows is their master bedroom.
He collapses onto the bed, and Zoe unlaces his right boot and unbuckles his prosthesis.
“I ain’t being unreasonable. The kid is trouble. I can feel it. He’s weird, got too many holes in his story, and he makes you nervous.”
Dean manages to crack an eye open at that.
“He makes me nervous?” He’s starting to lose it, drifting into the pain-killer haze, and Zoe blends with the shadows of the bedroom. He can’t see her expression, just knows that it isn’t good.
“He makes you twitchy Sugar. You lean towards him and stay away from him at the same time. Like you ain’t sure if you want to touch him or run from him. I don’t know what team you bat for, but I figure some of it is attraction and some of it is a healthy and natural distrust. He is a pretty boy.”
Suddenly Dean has more to think about than his aching head and treacherous brain.
----
He wakes in the middle of the night, starving and unsure of where he is for a few minutes. In a moment that happens too often he tries to get out of bed and forgets his missing leg. Instead of fighting with the prosthetic Dean uses the wall as a crutch and makes his way out to the bathroom in the hallway. From there he hops to the kitchen to rustle up some grub.
Halfway through digging in their fridge Dean hears a noise, and jerks upwards only to bang his head on the freezer door. Rubbing angrily at the sore spot and the re-awakened headache Dean turns to see Sam, illuminated by the fridge light, in full winter gear.
The kid looks guilty, shoes off to no doubt be sneaky, and he glances around before making an apologetic face.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just-“
“Sitting down for a snack instead of sneaking out and bringing four feet and nine inches of wrath down on all our heads? Yeah, sounds about right.”
Sam looks around, gets it, and then takes a seat. Dean watches him wince when the fridge door closes and his missing foot is exposed. He chooses to ignore it as he drops cold cuts and cheese on the table before limping towards the bread.
“I could help. I know-“
“Absolutely nothing about where anything is. Also, I’ve got this. I haven’t had anything below that knee for a year now. I’m used to it.”
When Dean turns around Sam’s head is hanging, hair covering his expression, and Dean can’t help the sigh that escapes him when he finally sits down.
“What? Feeling guilty for highlighting my disability?”
“I wish I knew what to say to you. I used to – I used to be better at talking to people.”
Dean finishes piling ham onto the bread and then realizes he didn’t grab anything to put on it otherwise. Before he can get up Sam is moving, digging through the fridge and pulling out condiments and drinks. Dean accepts his can of soda, and then takes the knife Sam hands him to spread mayonnaise.
“Was that before you became a homeless drifter?”
There’s a weird pull to Sam’s mouth, smile and frown warring for dominance. “I’ve basically always been a homeless drifter.”
“Yeah, but at some point you had to be a kid. Somebody had to be legally responsible for you.”
Dean spreads mustard, piles on cheddar, and then holds the knife out to Sam, handle first. Sam looks at it for a long and silent moment before slowly taking the hilt and then wiping it off on a napkin.
“I had a brother. An older brother who took care of me. Our dad was – he had a busy job. So it was up to my brother to watch after me.”
“He’s doing a pretty shitty job if you’re risking hypothermia living in a car.”
Dean takes a bite, chews, and then looks up to see why Sam hasn’t responded yet. He’s frozen in place, full of horror at the sight of Sam sitting perfectly still across from him with silent tears tracking down his face.
“Oh shit. Oh shit man, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize he was – I mean I’m just – look I didn’t mean it. I’m sure if he was still around-“
If he was still around what? Dean doesn’t know what he means to say, or what he’s going to do about it. Sam covers his eyes and drops the knife, and all Dean can do is sit there and watch. They don’t know each other, and Dean has no idea what Sam wants. The kid’s been taking care of himself for who knows how long, and the chances he wants some strange man who’s been nothing but suspicious and rude to him comforting him are pretty slim.
Sam’s voice cracks when he finally speaks.
“It was an accident. It was my fault, but it was an accident. I don’t know how to make it up to him, and he doesn’t really want my apologies anyway.”
Not dead. Not dead, but out of reach. Dean can handle that. Same as Amy, Sam has been discarded.
He reaches out, breaks every rule and boundary he’s just set, and takes Sam’s hand. The kid looks up at him, eyes pleading and apologetic, and Dean makes a shushing noise that feels completely natural and sounds totally foreign.
“I don’t know you really well. Hell, I don’t know you at all, but Amy sees something in you. I’d like to say she’s got an eye for that sort of thing, because she claims she saw it in me and Zoe, and we’re real assholes at the best of times. I don’t know who I was, but who I am wants to be the kind of guy she thinks I am. So I don’t know you, and I don’t know your brother, but if you want a place to stay until you figure out how to approach him I got three empty bedrooms and enough cash to buy a new bed for your over-sized ass.”
Sam’s eyes tear up again, and then he’s up and moving around the table to pull Dean into a hug. The smells are all there like he remembers them, strong and familiar, and Dean stays with them until social rules dictate that the hug has gone on too long. He gently pushes Sam back, and then gives in one last time to the inappropriate urges and pushes the hair out of the kid’s eyes.
“You’re gonna have to do chores. It’s ain’t gonna be easy, but I don’t expect rent and you’re welcome to stay until you piss me off too much.”
The kid laughs, eyes sparkling with joy and tears, and Dean sees that he has dimples.
It’s a good sight.
----
In the morning Dean wakes up to voices and the smell of breakfast. His stomach is stable, his head only hurts a bit, and the ever-present ache from his missing leg is dim.
He comes out to find Amy sitting in Zoe’s lap, fingers stroking gently over her fiancé’s short, bushy hair as she chats happily. Sam is cooking, a ridiculously short pink apron strapped around his skinny chest and his thermal sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It exposes a scar, long and fresh, that stretches from his wrist to where the sleeve stops.
Dean crashes into a chair beside the two women and Amy shifts instantly to flutter and mother him until he waves her away with a laugh. When she’s settled back on Zoe’s lap he turns to Sam, watching them with hooded eyes, and gives the kid a smile.
“They press you into service already? You two are slave drivers.”
Zoe lifts an eyebrow and Amy widens her eyes. “Ohhh Dean, careful, careful, Zoe has opinions and the race card.”
Dean laughs when the older woman slaps her fiancé’s ass and then holds her in place for a second and third.
When he looks up Sam is watching him, a sad smile on his face, and Dean nods his way and then settles back in his chair.
“So, ladies, Sam is going to stay with me for a bit.”
Amy’s mouth falls open, joy lighting up her face, and Zoe arches one eyebrow again before shrugging expansively.
“He gonna spend his days watching you write?” Zoe reaches past Amy for the French toast Sam has just dropped onto the table. Amy slips out of her hold and takes the chair on the other side of Dean.
“Well, I’ve got a job.” Everyone turns to look at Sam and he flushes before pouring eggs into the hot pan. “It’s part-time, but it’s three days a week. I’ll be out of your hair for that.”
“What do you do?” Zoe pours syrup over her toast and then starts cutting it into pieces.
“I’m a short-order cook at Walt’s. And I bake for him sometimes on my off days.”
“You’re the kid who makes the pies!” Now everybody’s turning to look at Dean, but he goes on because he’s wanted to say this for a while. “You taught me to love pie.”
Sam’s mouth trembles for a second before it gets under control and he begins to attack the eggs with gusto.
“Thank you. That makes me really happy.”
“Well I think we know what your rent is gonna be. Also, Dean’s gonna get fat.” Amy glares at Zoe, but the woman is already too busy laughing her ass off to notice.
----
Dean recognizes the car as Amy, Zoe, and Sam push it and he steers. He wonders if Amy recognized it too, if that’s what originally made her stop, but he doesn’t ask. He just files away that Sam is a lousy driver and he needs to remember that.
The Impala ends up in his garage, his own truck parked out on the driveway, and Dean thinks it looks sad there, holding in some suspended animation as it waits to be fixed and loved. He runs his hand over the car’s hood, and then pulls back when he sees the pain on Sam’s face.
Sam brings a duffel bag in and Dean immediately directs him to the laundry room before throwing the kid the only sweats he has that might fit him. Bonnie bounces around, overly excited and barking to show it, and Amy laughs and plays with the dog for a bit before Zoe practically drags her out of the house and away from them.
Left alone with Sam, Dean is suddenly unsure of what he’s supposed to say. He hesitates, considers a number of opening lines, and goes with the most important.
“Can you sit down for a second? We gotta cover a few things.”
Sam takes the couch, hands moving restlessly over his knees, and Dean gestures for him to stop.
“It’s not like that. Look, I was in a car accident. That’s how I lost my leg. Got a head injury too. Sometimes I forget things, names or dates. Once or twice a word. I get things mixed up, and I have headaches. Really bad headaches. Twice a week I get visited by my physical therapist Lucas and he has a key. This is all stuff you’re gonna need to deal with.”
The kid looks around the room, eyes settling on the picture of Pamela for a second, expression twisting before settling, and then he turns back to Dean.
“Okay. I can handle all of that.”
“Last thing, I don’t remember the time before the accident. They said it’s a side effect of the head injury. It comes back in spurts. Little things here and there and the fallout is pretty bad. That’s what yesterday was. I’m not supposed to push it or try to get them back. If it happens I’m not asking you to clean up after me, but try not to make a lot of loud noises or – just try not to get up in my face. I don’t need a mother or a nurse.”
Sam nods thoughtfully, eyes landing on the picture behind Dean’s shoulder again and then darting away just as quickly.
“That was my sister. Sam-Pammy. Pamela. The biggest source of my name mix-up issues. Which, considering your name, may get a bit weird for you. Sorry ahead of time.”
The kid’s eyes are hard to read suddenly, off in a weird way, and Dean gets the distinct feeling that he’s hiding something very deep. Dean writes it off, sibling conversations will be awkward between them, and pushes his way up off of the chair.
“Zoe wasn’t wrong either, I’m gonna want you to make those pies.”
----
Living with Sam is something Dean should have to adjust to. It’s new, weird, and he doesn’t remember ever sharing space with anyone other than Bonnie.
It’s totally natural.
Sam just seems to fit into his life. The guy can figure out what Dean wants before he knows himself. He re-arranges Dean’s kitchen so it’s more efficient and Dean is so grateful he bitches about it for fifteen minutes while Sam smiles at him. Sam knows when to push, when to back off, and how to help him without making a big deal out of it.
The best, or worst part of it he’s honestly not sure, is that everybody loves Sam. Well, everybody but Zoe who makes it a point to be completely neutral. Lucas thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and conspires with him to mother Dean beyond all reasoning and bearing. Amy treats Sam like a lost brother, literally hangs off of him while she asks questions and drowns him with affection, and Sam takes it with grace and dignity. Bonnie follows Sam around, big eyes loving and tail wagging, and Sam is particularly fond of that.
He tells Dean he never got to have a dog before. Dean covertly moves Bonnie’s bed into Sam’s room.
It’s not totally perfect. The first time Dean falls after a hard session Sam tries to pick him up and Dean snaps at him. Sam practically hides for the rest of the day, and Dean spends his time feeling guilty and angry about the guilt.
Sam gets distant, edgy really, when the topic of Dean’s sister comes up. It’s particularly odd because Sam is the one who brings it up every time. Dean doesn’t mention Pamela, doesn’t want to go into the blank space attached to the life he no longer has, but Sam can’t seem to help himself.
The thing that really gets Dean is the issue that Zoe casually brings up as the time that should be spring turns out to be more winter. They’re outside, Dean in the truck learning how to operate his new plow attachment, and Zoe looks over as he’s lowering it carefully.
“Are you fucking him yet?”
Dean hits the lever too hard and the crash of metal against pavement is deafening. Outside of the truck Amy jumps and Sam catches her before she slips on the ice. She shoots Dean an aggrieved look before saying something he can’t hear to Sam.
“No I – why would – that is not – Jesus Zoe.”
“Lord’s name.” She grins at him, feral and appraising. “And you want to. Don’t lie to me, Sugar. I can see it in all that eye-fucking you been doing.”
He fiddles with the controls, slams the plow again, and hits the steering wheel. “Son of a bitch! This thing is stupid Zo. How the fuck do you use this?”
Outside Sam and Amy are both looking at them now, and Amy makes a hand gesture Dean can’t understand but Zoe waves it off with a smile.
“Easy there big guy. It’s no secret. You work it the same way you have the last twenty minutes with little to no trouble at all, except you pretend you’re not avoiding a pertinent question.”
Dean thought his glare should have set her head on fire, but Zoe stubbornly refused to be chastised or spontaneously combust.
“I’m doing him a favor Zoe. I can’t let him stay with me and then get all skeevy on him. What if he feels – I don’t know, required to – it doesn’t matter. He’s damaged and I’m only part of a man.”
The second it’s out of his mouth Dean regrets it. He doesn’t necessarily just mean his leg, but sitting next to Zoe he knows what it sounds like. Her mouth becomes a tight line, and then she nods and grabs the control stick before expertly leveling the plow head.
“Fuck you Hunt.”
With that she’s out of the cab, crossing the driveway, and leaving the three of them behind. Dean rubs at his face helplessly before he looks up to see Amy raising an eyebrow and waving goodbye awkwardly before following her fiancé.
Dean finishes the driveway with Sam’s help, and when it’s done he’s grateful that the guy doesn’t ask for details. At least for the first thirty minutes it takes the two of them to settle into the routine of prepping and cooking food.
He’s in the middle of chopping green onions as Sam fries hamburger meat for tacos when the easy silence is broken.
“So, uh, Zoe looked mad.” Sam’s hesitant, eyes fixed on the pan, and Dean thinks he can still get out of a big sharing and caring session if he tries hard enough.
“Yeah. Hey did you already throw the shells in the oven?”
Sam’s look is priceless, face bitchy and tight, and Dean can’t help the smile it brings. Oddly, the guy doesn’t seem annoyed that Dean is amused by his expression.
“Yes, Dean, I put the shells in the oven. What happened with Zoe?”
They’ve been living together for three months. Dean would be lying if he said he never noticed the way Sam’s smile lights up the room, or the beauty of the kid’s eyes. With regular meals and a comfortable bed Sam has filled out, no longer a bag of bones, and there’s no stale body odor mixed in with the more pleasant smells. He’s a catch, that’s for sure, and Dean will admit he’s considered that. Thought about it more than once at night in his over-sized bed as he tosses and turns.
“I made a crack about not being a whole man. She gets kinda touchy about cripple jokes.”
For a moment Dean thinks Sam’s anger is going to be about Dean’s insensitivity. The kid is too gentle, too thoughtful, and he’s the type to take offense at that sort of thing. So when Sam slams his hand down on the counter Dean’s ready for a tirade about understanding towards the feelings of people with disabilities.
That’s not what he gets.
“It ever occur to you that maybe she gets touchy when you start insulting yourself you big jerk?”
Jerk. Bitch. Shut up, Dean. The smell of leather and gun oil is everywhere. There’s a cold beer in his hand, smooth metal under his ass, and a field of stars stretched out above him. They survived another one, they won, and they’re together. That’s perfect. That’s everything. Unified, stronger than before really, because they can be split apart and still come together, because they need each other, because he’s protecting his Sammy.
The pain is hideous, a crawling and roaring animal in his head tearing everything apart and leaving nothing intact. The world is red again, the color of blood and damnation, and sirens scream around him. Someone is shouting about blood pressure and the red goes super nova while someone calls a name at him.
Dean! Dean, please! You gotta wake up man! Please wake up Dean!
“Dean do you know where you are? Can you speak to us?”
I’m not going to let you die, period.
“Sir, Mr. Hunt, you’re being taken to Bangor General. You had an episode and hit your head. Do you remember that?”
Dad’s dead Dean. Are you dealing with that? Don’t pin your issues on me!
“I’m going to need an MRI to see if there’s a new bleed. Tell them they don’t have the right to come back here and they’ll have to wait for him to give permission.”
My brother! Please, that’s my brother!
----
Dean wakes up to someone sniffling, pain a distant memory while he floats on morphine’s familiar soft cloud. He manages to crack his right eye open and the world is the right color from that side.
He’s in a hospital bed, knows them too well, and he has to consider the possibility that Maine was all a dream, because life is this; pain and suffering briefly interrupted by opiates.
Then a big hand brushes his hair back, and Sam is there. The kid is an ugly crier.
“You’re an ugly crier.” Fuck, morphine still gets him every time.
Sam snorts, wipes his nose with his sleeve like a little kid and ignores his streaming eyes.
“I’m so sorry Dean. I did this to you. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head and regrets it instantly. There’re only so many things prescription heroin will forgive.
“No. No Sam this was before your time. S’ok. S’ok kiddo.” His voice sounds awful, and he wonders if he had a shouting match when he went under. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Dean I – I’m gonna leave okay? I’m gonna leave you alone so you can be-“
“You leave I never forgive you.” You walk out that door don’t ever come back. His head flares, pain beyond all reckoning, and when it clears he’s gripping Sam’s hand helplessly. “Please. Need you.”
Morphine and agony strip him of all his defenses, remove all his hesitations. He does need Sam. This was a bad one, no doubt, but before this he was coasting. Living off of Amy and Zoe’s happiness like a leech in the hopes that some of that humanity would rub off and make him a person.
With Sam he has preferences, tastes, and he has found a Dean that can survive and thrive in this world he woke up in. The past is irrelevant in the future he’s begun to build, and maybe that’s what has Zoe so confused and paranoid. Amy’s great, perceptive in a way he and Zoe can’t be because they’re both so on guard, but she missed the same thing Dean did. It’s not just about boning the kid, although Zoe would probably argue that was her only point, it’s about loving him.
At some point in the last few months Dean has come to do that. Maybe a little or maybe a lot, but Sam fits him like a missing puzzle piece.
The kid squeezes his hand, and then covers his leaking eyes.
“Okay. I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Dean falls asleep holding his hand.
----
The next time he wakes up he’s alone. The nurse is hovering, and Dean tries to guess what the right thing to say is.
He goes with, “Where’s Sam?”
The woman’s eyebrow lifts as she finishes injecting something into his IV and moves on to writing on his chart.
“I assume that would be the large man in the hallway with the two women demanding to see you? You have to give us permission to let them in. They’ve been harassing my staff all night long.”
Sam snuck in. Dean’s impressed and amused at the same time.
“They have permission.”
She’s smiling through her stern tone. “Press the button if they upset you.”
With that the nurse is gone, and seconds later the door bursts open and he has two arms full of tiny blonde.
“They wouldn’t let us in to see you and we tried but they wouldn’t so we distracted the nurses so Sam could sneak in because he’s sneaky but I wanted to come and Dean I was so worried for-“
Zoe’s hand snakes around and covers her mouth before the other familiar female face appears in his sightline. “Just say sorry next time, Sugar.”
They both pull back after that, and then Sam is there again. He sits on the side of Dean’s bed and studies everything but Dean’s face.
“You went white as a sheet, and then you fell. Hit your head on the edge of the counter before I could catch you. There was blood, and you were screaming. I called the ambulance, and then I called Amy and Zoe. They wouldn’t let me ride with you, and we’re not fam-family so they wouldn’t let me come back.”
Sam starts crying when his voice hitches on the word family. Dean takes the kid’s hand and holds it.
“You scared me Dean.” It’s little boy lost, and Dean responds by pulling Sam down into a hug.
---
They keep him for a day for observation. No permanent head issues beyond what he had, no new bleeds, and Dean is declared safe to go home. Zoe drives while he rides in the back with Sam.
When they get home Bonnie practically assaults him. He pets the slobbering dog for a long time before pushing up and joining Sam in the kitchen. Dinner is simple but delicious after all the hospital food, and Dean is willing to let Sam handle all of the preparations.
He even contains his mocking to a short two or three minutes when Sam serves him and then cleans up afterwards. Just to show his appreciation.
After dinner Dean makes his way towards his room, and stops in the hallway.
“Hey, Sam?”
Footsteps freeze on the stairs and then thunder back down before Sam appears around the corner at top speed.
“Yeah, Dean? What do you need?”
“I was thinking tomorrow we should go out to dinner. I’ll buy.”
Sam grins broadly.
“Sounds good.”
---
Dean spends three hours covertly researching dating tips and local restaurants. He wonders if he was any good at dating, if he dated women or men, and if he needs to get Sam flowers.
Where is he supposed to get flowers?
He ends up texting Lucas and getting back five paragraphs of mockery and a clue. By the end of reading them though Dean decides flowers are a second or third date thing.
Sam ends up changing clothes when he sees Dean in a dress shirt and tie. His friend gives him an odd look, but he comes back down in a white button-up and a black tie that make him look like he’s some government official. Sam wears it well.
Dean drives them the forty minutes to the Brown Derby, and when they get there Dean has learned three new things about himself: his sense of humor is terrible when he’s nervous, he doesn’t like people fiddling with his radio, and he’s really relaxed with Sam in the passenger seat.
The place is awesome, perfect atmosphere and great food. Sam almost orders a salad until Dean urges him into steak. He has the money for it.
“So, I know you said you’ve always been a homeless drifter, but did you ever want to…I dunno, settle down?”
His friend’s eyes cut upwards, side salad filling his mouth, and he looks pale and a little shocked. Dean regrets the question, but he can’t take it back now.
“Dude, never mind, sorry. I’m not good at small talk. Or I don’t think I am.”
His fears melt when Sam’s lips curve into a smile and he swallows his bite and shakes his head. “You aren’t. It’s okay. Yeah I tried settling down once. It didn’t work so well.”
The waiter drops off their meals and refills their drinks. Dean takes a sip before he cuts off a slice of steak and gestures with it.
“Because you didn’t want it to or because it was a bad try?”
“Uh, well, a bit of both?” Sam flushes and his eyes go distant. “To do it I sort of had to leave my brother and father behind. It was lonely, and I tried to distract myself from that, but when I got the chance to go back I couldn’t resist it. Then the door sort of closed behind me. I’ve never functioned very well without my brother honestly.”
Dean fiddles with his fork. There’s so much he wants to ask. What really happened with Sam’s brother, what was his name, how could he not see that Sam was too awesome to give up? He doesn’t ask any of them though, because he might not do this, but he knows better than to do that.
“Not for nothing, but if you wanted I would help you try to get back in contact with him. If that’s where you wanted to go. I know what – yeah I know I said before – well if it was what would make you happy.” It’s like choking, getting those words out, but he has to do it.
Sam’s eyes shine as he stuffs meat in his mouth. Dean feels a little guilty that he focuses on the way Sam’s lips stretch around the fork.
“No. That’s really nice of you, but I’m okay. I’ve got that one kind of figured out. The best way to do that is to just give him time to re – to think on all of it. He’ll get there when he’s ready.”
They settle into less dangerous conversational paths, but each one gets cut off too quickly. Dean doesn’t have much in the way of pop culture references, and Sam seems to have too many of them. It stays relaxed until Dean misses one from some movie. Sam’s reaction is almost violent as he bites into his cheesecake.
“Fistful of Dollars is not something you can live without seeing Dean. We’re getting it tonight. I don’t care what it takes.”
So the date becomes searching movie rental places, and sure enough Sam unearths a copy of the film. Dean gets a membership so they can take it home, and they settle onto the couch to watch it together.
It makes his head hurt, but he likes it more than he thought he would. It might be the movie, or it might be the bright and smiling face Sam keeps turning to him, as if the kid needs Dean to react before he can.
Dean falls asleep on the couch as the third Western starts up, and when he wakes up Sam has draped a blanket over him and gone to bed.
There’s warmth mixed with a sense of regret.
---
The dinner dates become a weekly event, and every time when they’ve finished eating they rent movies Sam insists Dean will like. Sometimes Sam is right, and sometimes Dean fakes it because it seems to mean so much to the kid.
He doesn’t necessarily enjoy the gratuitous violence. It puts him off balance and leaves him nauseous and unsure.
Dean’s pool of stories is fairly shallow, and Sam tells him anecdotes from his childhood. Dean learns that Sam’s mom died when he was young, that his brother saved his life twice, and that the kid might have a bit of a complex over the guy. He talks about his brother a lot. The guy honestly sounds a bit like a shallow and abrasive horn dog, but Dean never voices that opinion.
As much as he loves learning about Sam the headaches are a frequent occurrence, and Dean has perfected not showing the pain on his face. He claims nerves and lets Sam drive so he can fortify with painkillers before they head out.
The headaches are one of two things he hates about their date nights. The other sends him to Amy’s workshop in the middle of the day. She’s in the process of finishing the angel’s face, welding on features carefully. Blue glass has been set in the space of the angel’s eyes, and Dean considers the whole piece before she shuts the torch off and lifts her mask.
“Yes? You are interrupting great art why?” Her smile is bright as always, friendly, and she hops off the stepstool to pour them both water. The days are turning warm, snow forgotten in the grip of spring, and Amy palms sweat off her forehead as Dean considers how to word his complaint.
“I don’t think he knows we’re dating.”
Amy’s face spasms, tightens, and then she breaks into laughter so hard she’s bent over clutching her stomach with tears in her eyes. Dean lets her go and then pushes her gently when she’s done.
“It’s not funny Ames. I seriously don’t think he knows. He doesn’t – I mean shouldn’t we have kissed by now? That’s how it works right?”
“Have you – oh my stomach – have you told him they’re dates?”
Dean sits, staring at her dumbly, and she shakes her head and wipes her eyes.
“You’re an idiot. I love you, but you’re an idiot. Tell the poor boy they’re dates. He probably thinks you’re just being friendly.”
It hadn’t occurred to him.
“What if he thinks there’s like – I dunno, strings attached? He could just go along with it because he wants a place to live Ames.”
She rolled her eyes and leans back on her forearms. “Dean, the kid was living in a car in the winter. I don’t think he’s the type to just ‘go along’ with things.”
There’s a flare of pain in his head, and Dean bites back on it. His pain-killer consumption is too high, and today he’s been trying to avoid giving in. Amy lifts a blond eyebrow but Dean shakes his head gently.
“Yeah. You’re probably right, but that doesn’t change the fact that then we’re dealing with him risking hypothermia and death again just so I can indulge myself.”
“You’re so ridiculous it’s painful. Stop it. I’ve seen the two of you. Sam is totally into you, the kid can’t look anywhere else Dean. It’s all big eyes and soft touches. If he’s not in love with you I’ll eat my MIG torch.”
“It would taste about as good as your cooking, Sweetheart.”
He ignores her good-natured cursing and studies the statue she’s working on.
“This based on someone you know?”
Amy flushes red and pretty before sipping her drink.
“The guy that was scoping out your place before you probably outbid him actually. He came over one day when Zoe was at work and asked, like, a thousand questions. Mostly about the area, but a lot about Zoe and I. He was kind of weird, but he had friendly eyes.”
Dean studies the blue glass eyes.
“Must have done something right if you’re making him into an angel.”
Amy shrugs and pulls her mask back down. “He made way for you.”
Chapter 3
Master post
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
where do we begin, chap 2
Date: 2014-03-06 03:26 am (UTC)I thought it interesting that Amy was working on an angel. Then I started bouncing up and down in my seat when we found out she was making the eyes blue.
Re: where do we begin, chap 2
Date: 2014-04-04 09:23 pm (UTC)Poor Dean's poor brain, and poor Sam's not picking up on hints.