[This was only supposed to be the beginning, I wanted to write where they all actually met up. But life and other stupid demands on my time, you know how it is. So here this.]
“I. You. Uh,” Dean coughed, looking at their father, looking him in the eyes. “We have a, uh…me and Sam, you say we have a what, now? Sir?”
Sam felt like he was operating on two different planes. He was reminded in a wild way of that time when he was fourteen and a hunt took them to San Francisco, his first time in California. He’d never known the famous bridge was a double-decker, that people going to and from the city travelled on different levels. It had blown his mind, somehow, and all he remembers from that trip was how patiently Dean had put up with him talking about cantilevers and suspension mechanics. Dean had been eighteen then and it was about the last time he’d been really patient with Sam. After that Dean had decided Sam was old enough not to be a bitch, and any time Dean indulged him it was when dad was out of town or, with Flagstaff fresh in mind, when Dean was afraid he’d run away again.
Speaking of Flagstaff, Sam had gone there two weekends ago. Brady’s uncle — Brady being Sam’s awesome roommate — worked for a company that did lighting for a bluegrass festival and he’d given Brady a handful of tickets and they’d gone with some friends, spent a long weekend listening to music and drinking cheap beer, smoking pot and not worrying about anything.
Now, here was his father, here was his brother, sitting in his cramped dorm room and dropping the biggest bomb on him since they told him the closet monster was real.
Only, this time, it’s not Dean sitting beside him, nodding along because he’s in the know already and it’s his job to be there to hold Sam and make it better when the lights go out. This time it’s dad sitting on Brady’s bed and Sam sitting on his own, Dean standing by the window (which is dirty and grimy and Brady keeps saying he’s going to borrow some Windex from the RA that has a crush on him but it hasn’t happened yet and fuck but this place is a mess, it’s a disaster, honestly, it’s worse than what their motel rooms looked like on those long weeks that dad left them alone, and Sam’s embarrassed to be here. Okay? He’s ashamed that this is what he ran away for).
“Yeah,” Dad said, nodding at Dean but not looking at him. “I just found out. He, uh, he’s in middle school. Good grades, I guess.” Dad said, glancing at Sam like he’d prepared this tidbit of information just for him, but looked away before he could really see him, before he’d have to pretend not to see the look on Sam’s face.
“So, what,” Dean said, and Sam locked his eyes on his big brother, focused on how he didn’t look any different than he had last year when Sam said goodbye to him. “So that’s it? Dad, we had a shifter on the hook, and you let it go and brought us here for this? What is this kid, some fuckin’ angel? Cuz unless he’s got some magic powers gonna help us get that sonofabitch demon, I’m taking the car and you can walk back for all I care.”
“Dean,” Sam was on his feet and reaching for him, covering his brother’s hand on the doorknob without thinking about it. His heart skipped enough fucking beats he should probably be dead, but he didn’t let up. Old habits, and all that; the Winchester loyalty died hard. “Chill out, okay? It’s…” He glanced at their dad who was just looking down at his hands. Okay, then. He took Dean’s elbow and dragged him out into the lobby.
In the harsh fluorescent lights, Dean looked terrible. Sam wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he’d been eating anything other than gas n’ sip buffet, and if he could help.
“Dude,” Sam said, ducking his head to try and catch Dean’s eye. “Seriously, are you okay? I mean, yeah, it’s a bombshell, but how could you not expect something like this? Dad disappears for weeks at a time and you taught me yourself how to steal condoms out of his bag so he wouldn’t notice. I mean, those things are pretty safe but they’re not idiot-proof and dad’s an idiot sometimes. It makes sense, right? It’s not like all this time we thought he was some kind of monk avenging your mom’s memor—“
lame fill oops sorry! 1/2
“I. You. Uh,” Dean coughed, looking at their father, looking him in the eyes. “We have a, uh…me and Sam, you say we have a what, now? Sir?”
Sam felt like he was operating on two different planes. He was reminded in a wild way of that time when he was fourteen and a hunt took them to San Francisco, his first time in California. He’d never known the famous bridge was a double-decker, that people going to and from the city travelled on different levels. It had blown his mind, somehow, and all he remembers from that trip was how patiently Dean had put up with him talking about cantilevers and suspension mechanics. Dean had been eighteen then and it was about the last time he’d been really patient with Sam. After that Dean had decided Sam was old enough not to be a bitch, and any time Dean indulged him it was when dad was out of town or, with Flagstaff fresh in mind, when Dean was afraid he’d run away again.
Speaking of Flagstaff, Sam had gone there two weekends ago. Brady’s uncle — Brady being Sam’s awesome roommate — worked for a company that did lighting for a bluegrass festival and he’d given Brady a handful of tickets and they’d gone with some friends, spent a long weekend listening to music and drinking cheap beer, smoking pot and not worrying about anything.
Now, here was his father, here was his brother, sitting in his cramped dorm room and dropping the biggest bomb on him since they told him the closet monster was real.
Only, this time, it’s not Dean sitting beside him, nodding along because he’s in the know already and it’s his job to be there to hold Sam and make it better when the lights go out. This time it’s dad sitting on Brady’s bed and Sam sitting on his own, Dean standing by the window (which is dirty and grimy and Brady keeps saying he’s going to borrow some Windex from the RA that has a crush on him but it hasn’t happened yet and fuck but this place is a mess, it’s a disaster, honestly, it’s worse than what their motel rooms looked like on those long weeks that dad left them alone, and Sam’s embarrassed to be here. Okay? He’s ashamed that this is what he ran away for).
“Yeah,” Dad said, nodding at Dean but not looking at him. “I just found out. He, uh, he’s in middle school. Good grades, I guess.” Dad said, glancing at Sam like he’d prepared this tidbit of information just for him, but looked away before he could really see him, before he’d have to pretend not to see the look on Sam’s face.
“So, what,” Dean said, and Sam locked his eyes on his big brother, focused on how he didn’t look any different than he had last year when Sam said goodbye to him. “So that’s it? Dad, we had a shifter on the hook, and you let it go and brought us here for this? What is this kid, some fuckin’ angel? Cuz unless he’s got some magic powers gonna help us get that sonofabitch demon, I’m taking the car and you can walk back for all I care.”
“Dean,” Sam was on his feet and reaching for him, covering his brother’s hand on the doorknob without thinking about it. His heart skipped enough fucking beats he should probably be dead, but he didn’t let up. Old habits, and all that; the Winchester loyalty died hard. “Chill out, okay? It’s…” He glanced at their dad who was just looking down at his hands. Okay, then. He took Dean’s elbow and dragged him out into the lobby.
In the harsh fluorescent lights, Dean looked terrible. Sam wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he’d been eating anything other than gas n’ sip buffet, and if he could help.
“Dude,” Sam said, ducking his head to try and catch Dean’s eye. “Seriously, are you okay? I mean, yeah, it’s a bombshell, but how could you not expect something like this? Dad disappears for weeks at a time and you taught me yourself how to steal condoms out of his bag so he wouldn’t notice. I mean, those things are pretty safe but they’re not idiot-proof and dad’s an idiot sometimes. It makes sense, right? It’s not like all this time we thought he was some kind of monk avenging your mom’s memor—“