Road From Perdition
Sam and Cas had discovered gardening.
Because if there was anything the Morgan-Winchester household needed, it was to be more girlie and more gay.
Dean was keyed in to an America’s Most Wanted marathon in the living room, while his ridiculous boyfriend and little brother were chatting away joyously in the kitchen, catalogues spread between them. It had all started when Sammy, in his constant efforts to “contribute” to the household, had said it would be nice to plant some bushes or something in the front yard. Cas had mentioned he’d always wanted to make a real garden, and just didn’t have the time to devote to it, and they were off. Now there were catalogues flooding in, nightly discussions of perennials versus annuals, trips to the Home Depot and the local Mom and Pop gardening shops, and the two marching out into their back yard in jeans and t-shirts armed with their clippings and trying to determine what should go where, and when, and how often it should be watered, and where the sun was best, and when Cas climbed into bed at night he had a distinctly new smell of Earth, and when Sam slumped close on the couch Dean could feel the muscle rebuilding from using the shovel and carrying bags of mulch, their new hobby didn’t seem all that bad.
“Dean, how would you feel about purchasing a suuoit feeder?” Cas asked.
Dean took a drink of his Pepsi. “I think you can buy whatever you want with what you rake in,” he grinned at his boyfriend, who was frowning and staring at two separate magazines marked with post-it notes.
“Cas thinks we could get Gold Finches if we time it right,” Sam said excitedly. “Maybe even Cardinals.”
“It would be worth trying,” Cas agreed. Dean cocked an eyebrow.
“Won’t they all stop at the bird-bath?”
“We can’t decide on a bird-bath,” Sam sighed.
“Bird-baths are to be carefully considered, given their pre-disposition to attract squirrels, cats, and other predators,” Cas explained.
“It has to be high, but it can’t be too high, or the birds won’t come, because they’re seeking ground-level water supplies,” Sam added.
“We’ve found several styles that are more than adequate, but we’ll have to find the best place to position them.”
“Which is all dependent on whether we opt for perennials or annuals in the south-west part of the yard.”
“Which is dependent on the sun between-”
Dean held up a hand in a “enough” gesture. “Just no pink flamingos, okay?”
The phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Sam grinned, and hustled off. Dean and Cas’ smiles followed him.
“It’s good to have him home,” Cas said, turning back to Dean.
“You having fun?”
“I am,” Cas beamed, flipping through the catalogue. “There was no such thing as a yard in New York. And when I drive around and see how nice the flowerbeds are here, I wanted to try. Do you think I have a green thumb?”
“If you don’t, try giving them milk.”
“Really?”
“Made sure Sammy drank his, and look what happened.”
“You’re tall too, Dean.”
“I’m not complaining,” he winked. “Even if him being home means you’re depriving me.” Cas blushed.
“I just think we should keep it to a volume he can’t hear,” he whispered.
“Whatever, prude.”
“Whatever...man-skank,” Cas tried. Dean laughed. Cas smiled, all pink cheeks and sweetness.
“You’ve been taking Sammy lessons,” Dean teased, just as Sam yelled, “Dean! Pick up!” sounding beside himself with excitement. Dean reached over and grabbed the living room phone. “Dean here.”
“Hello Dean,” a voice that sounded all too familiar-and very much meant to be forgotten-came through.
“Dean, it’s Jim! You know, Pastor Jim? As in, the Pastor Jim? As in, the guy we used to-”
“Yeah, Sammy, I got it,” Dean said, feeling a terrible clench in his gut. Cas frowned in a clear what is it? way. Dean met his eyes and tried to match his calm.
“He was in Arizona and then he got shipped up to Washington and then he went to study in Rome and now he’s back in the area!”
“For a bit, at least,” the Pastor said carefully.
“Hey there, Jimbo,” Dean said, forcing cheer into his voice. Cas was frowning now, blue eyes boring into him.
“How long will you be around? Can we see you?”
Jim took a breath. “I’d hoped you would...but I know it’s been awhile. It’s...I’m so very glad you two are still...together.”
Dean felt his stomach lurch, bile rising abruptly in his throat. “Well what, you didn’t think we could keep it together without you and your ‘Lord’ looking over our shoulders?”
The silence between the three of them was murder until Sam said “hey, Jim-can you hold for a quick sec?” and muted the Pastor. Dean rubbed his eyes as Cas asked “what’s wrong?” and Sam flew from the kitchen to the living room.
“Dean? What is it?” Sam asked. “I thought you’d be happy to see him-are you mad I invited him to hang? I mean, I wasn’t thinking here-I know this house isn’t mine, I wouldn’t do that-I just thought we could go out. I can pay for it-I’ll still have enough for rent. I just thought-”
“Sammy,” Dean barked, “I’m not mad. No one’s mad.”
“Then what’s wrong? It’s Pastor Jim...I thought you liked him.”
Dean took a slow breath. He’d never told Sam how things had ended between him and PJ: Sam’s memory had been spotty back then anyway, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to tell him that the man he’d always looked up to had given up on him returning to the land of the living. As far as Sam knew, Jim had made his scheduled move to Arizona, and they’d lost touch. Dean didn’t want to take that from him now.
“I do,” he said, softening his tone. “Sorry. It’s fine. Why don’t you invite him here, okay?” Dean would be damned if he’d have a repeat of Michael Morgan. If he had the urge to leap across the table, he was going to do it without worrying about a crowd.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” To prove his point, he unmuted his phone. “Sorry ‘bout that, PJ. It’s been a hell of a week.”
“Dean,” the Pastor said carefully. “I understand you’re upset, given how things went the last time I saw you. I’d like to try and make it right, and explain.”
“How about dinner then? You want to come here, see what we made of ourselves?”
Sammy lit up instantly, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. He’d never outgrow the joy of seeing his little brother happy.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, hang tight, Sammy’ll give you directions.” Sam immediately beelined back to the kitchen. Dean waited until he heard him pick up before carefully putting the phone back.
“Dean, this isn’t necessary,” Cas said.
“Dude....you saw his face. Sammy loves the guy.”
“Sam wouldn’t impose if you told him how you feel.”
“Look-Bobby was my go-to guy, Jim was his. He wants to see him, he can see him.”
“Your brother knows you, Dean. He’s going to know something’s not right.”
“So I’ll put on my poker face.”
Cas sighed. “For someone who hates religion, you make a wonderful martyr.”
Dean laughed. Cas was getting bolder-he’d even told him off a few times when Dean had been couch-ridden and tormenting him with his endless demands. Having Sam home and on track had brought a whole new sense of security to the house, and it was showing on all three of them.
He should have known it was too good to last.
That’s how his life worked.
*
It turned out Jim was staying only twenty minutes from their house. Cas had the night off, Sammy had gone to an early NA meeting, Bobby and Ellen were at a trade show out of town, Andy and his Dad were going to a jazz fest, and there was no reason that Jim shouldn’t come by.
None except that Dean had never wanted a drink so goddamn bad since Sobriety.
If he had a damn sponsor-like Missouri said he should-he’d be on the phone hollering for a life raft. Instead, he was banging around the kitchen, slamming pots and pans, trying hard to keep it together and wanting nothing more than to get drunk and get in a fight. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to entertain a Priest, let alone one who he knew would want to know the details of the lives they’d lead the past few years. He could just imagine his damn told you so looks. And Cas...what the hell was he supposed to say about Cas? Hi there, Father. Meet my homosexual co-habitator.
“Dean?”
Dean nearly dropped what he was holding. Sam was in the doorway, hunched over, clearly in one of his anxiety fits.
“Hey,” he sighed, forcing a smile. “You okay?”
“I was thinking...maybe I shouldn’t be here when Jim comes.”
Dean shook his head, as if it clear it. “What?”
“I mean...you and Cas are doing great. You could meet him.” Sam started rubbing at his wrist, an almost unconscious expression of anxiety that always reminded Dean of his brother’s attempt to die by his own hand.
“Quit it,” he barked. Sam jumped. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“That...with your...”he gestured to the scars. “Leave them alone, alright?” he turned back to the stove. He didn’t know what the fuck he was suppose to cook for dinner. Takeout sounded perfect. They could slap it on their own serving dishes. Jim wouldn’t know.
“I understand, Dean. I’m not mad.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean barked.
“You’re embarrassed...and it’s okay. I get it. Everything you did for me back then-I know. You can just-”
“I did what I had to to keep this family together. I’ve never been embarrassed about it. And I won’t be now.”
“I get it. I know.” Sam shifted awkwardly. “I’ll call Andy. Or Ash. I’m sure they can come get me.”
“What-Sammy, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Jim...here. You’ll-he’ll want to know. About...me.”
Dean felt like he’d been slammed in the gut. He couldn’t breathe for a second. “Jesus-Christ,” he snapped, and stalked across the room to grab Sam’s shoulders. “You moron. I am not ashamed of you.”
“But you’re so-”
“It’s Cas, okay?”
Sam paled. “You’re ashamed of Cas?”
“No-no I’m not-damnit, Sam I’m not, ashamed of any of this!”
“Then what is wrong?”
“That man is the Goddamn angel of death!” he practically shouted. “Every time I saw him he was hounding me-give up you, give up Dad, give up the garage, give up-” he waved his hands somewhat helplessly, breathing hard. Sam moved forward and touched his arm. Dean threw him off.
“Dean,” Sam murmured, and took his arm once more. Dean refused to look at him, refused to relax as Sam put his arms around him and held tight. “Fuck him,” Sam said, with unusual boldness. “It doesn’t matter what he said back then. Everything’s different now. We muddled through, just like you said we would.” He broke away, a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Dean managed. “I’m sorry, man, I just-” his eyes fell on the gardening catalogs, and he couldn’t get another word out. Sam put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed gently.
“You’re not doing anything wrong by being with Cas.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Dean nodded. “I just...don’t want to hear that I have give up anyone else.”
“So don’t.” Sam leaned against him. “Besides, Cas has a say in this too. I know he’s the quieter, more polite one, but somehow I don’t think he’d take off because you told him too.”
He did before.
As if Sam had read his mind-in the endlessly irritating way the kid could do that-Sam said “Dean...I know none of us ever threw you guys a Coming Out party or anything, but you know...I don’t care. Neither do Bobby and Ellen and-”
“God, man, shutup.”
“You can be with whoever the hell you want to be with, and anyone who has a problem with that is not welcome here. You wouldn’t tolerate them lecturing me, and I won’t tolerate them lecturing you.”
Dean felt himself smile almost against his will. Since Sam had moved home, Dean had seen more and more of the brother he’d known before the loss of Jess: the one who fought just as hard for Dean had he did for him. It was, in no way, Sam’s job to look out for his big brother. But look out he did.
Sam patted him on the back and pulled away. “Go change. I’ll handle dinner.”
Dean wandered up the stairs to the master bedroom. He could hear the sounds of Cas in the bathroom, banging around after a shower. He stood and looked out over the small backyard, the stakes Sam and Cas had put in to mark where the sun hit strongest, where the birdbath might be. He wanted a drink.
He heard his boyfriend pad across the floor, tried not to be so tense when Cas slipped his arms around him and leaned his chin on his shoulder.
“It’d be nice to look out and see some flowerbeds, hm?”
“That’s you and Sammy’s thing, not mine.”
“Still. You and I have never had the time to devote to the yard. It will be a nice touch.”
“On a slightly different topic-what the hell was Sammy talking about rent for?”
“Oh,” Cas sighed and stepped away. “He brought this up the other day. I thought he’d spoken to you about it.”
“No one’s telling me anything these days,” Dean grumbled. Cas touched his arm.
“Dean,” he scolded. “You know that’s not true. Paying rent is important to Sam-and important to treatment. He wants to feel he’s making amends and contributing to the family.”
“So you’re taking money from him?”
“I had a thought-what if we agree to the rate Ash charges, and put it into a high-interest savings account. Hopefully Sam will marry some day, and we can give him that money as a nest egg. He never needs to know where it came from.”
Dean felt a sudden swell of emotion yet again. “Dude, you’re...awesome.”
“And you’re not telling me something.” Cas reached out and gently took Dean’s hand. “Listen-no matter what happens tonight, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
“Even if Jim rains down fire and brimstone. Or tells me things about when you were young you’d hoped I wouldn’t hear. Or offers to introduce me to some hot young Deacon.”
“I’m so sick of change,” Dean admitted.
“You won’t have to do a thing. One day you’ll look out and the yard will be a garden. And you can just enjoy it.”
“I’m trying.”
Cas sighed. “Dean. Do you want me to pretend to be just a friend? I don’t mind.”
“No.”
“What is it about him that scares you?”
Dean shook his head. “I just...don’t want anything to be different.”
Cas squeezed his fingers. “It won’t. Sam and I aren’t going to let someone march in here and tell you you haven’t done well by keeping us all together. We know what, and where, we’d be without you, Dean. Even if you don’t believe it.”
And this...this is what Dean loved and hated about these two. He was most comfortable leading the pack-protecting, defending, providing.
He hated that they saw his weaknesses.
He Goddamned loved them more than breathing for it.
He moved forward and hugged Cas tight, as tight as Sammy had held him. Cas responded instantly, resting a gentle hand between his shoulder blades.
“I won’t leave you,” Cas murmured. “I won’t. Even if you send me away. I’ll be the little devil on your shoulder. I’ll even buy the headband, horns and all.”
Dean chuckled. “It’s not you, you get that, right? It’s him.”
“I know,” Cas soothed. “You know you taught me to face my fears, Dean. Sam and I both. Can you trust us to be there for you now?”
“Of course I can. Doesn’t mean I want to,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Cas! Where’d you put the spinach?” Sam called up the stairs.
“Bottom drawer on the left!” Cas called back. Dean made a face.
“Health food on top of this?”
“I’ll go help him with dinner. Make sure we fry something for you.”
“How’d I get such an awesome dude?” Dean asked, trying for casual and hoping Cas missed the catch in his voice.
“I have low standards,” Cas grinned, and kissed him.
***
Jim Murphy couldn’t believe how nervous he was.
Just calling Dean had been the first station of the cross. He was blessed that Sam was there to ease the tension.
But seeing the boys he’d taken in so many years ago-when they were truly and honestly boys-again as men was overwhelming. Last time he’d been with them, Sam had been in a coma and Dean had been full of rage and despair.
And now he was sitting outside their home: their home, not their father’s. There was a porch, and some grass overturned in anticipation of flowers, and a two-car garage. The siding was a warm, yellowed stucco with tasteful dark-brown shutters, and football lay by the front door, fresh from Sam and Dean’s hands.
During the stress of the past few months, he’d wanted so badly to connect with someone. And yet, none of the people who’d graciously taken him in had inspired such fear and hope as these two. They’d been lodged in his heart for years, throughout his travels and sanctuaries and parishes. No matter where he went, he never stopped loving the kids he’d found in that Church.
The kids who were grown men. With their own home.
Jim drew a deep breath, shot a quick note up to God, grabbed the bottle of wine he’d bought, and made his way up to the front door. When he rang the bell, voices called from all sides: he recognized Dean’s low bellow, and Sam’s irritated response, and couldn’t help but smile. Their constant banter and nudging and picking on each other was a thin veil for the incredible love they shared, the simple joy they found in each other’s company, and Jim had always enjoyed watching it.
He clutched the bottle tighter as the door opened and Sam Winchester appeared, beaming.
“Hi!” he said, and wrapped him up in a hug.
“Sam,” he held the young man tightly, than pushed back to look at him. He couldn’t believe this was the same kid, barely as tall as his leg, who had stared up at him in wonder and fear, nestled tight against his brother.
“God, Jim...it’s so great to see you!” Sam pulled back, beaming, and, no matter how long it had been, those big brown eyes were the same as that scared little boy’s.
“Sam,” he repeated, his eyes suddenly damp, throat aching. Sam looked so strong and fit and healthy, miles from the scrawny, frightened little boy or the comatose, vulnerable young man he’d been. “Sammy,” he gasped, and clutched him close. Sam laughed.
“God, it’s been ages! I mean...no offense. But...wow! You look just how I remembered! I mean...my memory from around the last time I saw you is a bit screwy. But what I remember of seeing you before...you’re exactly the same! I can’t believe you looked us up!”
“Of course I did,” Jim stood back, taking the young man in. “Sam, you look wonderful.”
Something shifted then: Sam’s smile went from beaming to slightly worried and forced. “Well...c’mon in! Guys!” he called. Jim forced his own face to look calm as he crossed into the living room. The downstairs was warm, painted a welcoming tan sponge with green carpet, lighter-tan furniture, framed vintage rock posters, and a large television set. The living room opened to a welcoming dining room, and an open door showcased a kitchen just beyond.
A man with black hair, bright blue eyes, and a warm smile emerged from the kitchen in a button down shirt and slacks. “Hello. I’m Cas Morgan,” he said, and extended a hand.
“Jim Murphy,” Jim said, expecting an explanation of his presence. Cas didn’t offer one, simply called “Dean?” up the stairs.
And down came Dean-every bit the warrior Jim remembered. T-shirt, open button-down, jeans, boots, even indoors, the amulet Jim had bestowed on Sam now hanging proudly around his own neck. He stepped firmly, protectively, between Sam and the other man, and extended a calm, strategic hand.
“Jim.”
“Dean,” Jim felt his smile waver. “I brought...some nice wine,” he tried, extending the bottle. Something shifted in Sam and Cas’s faces, but Dean’s stayed blank.
“Thank you. Cas,” Dean said, and immediately handed the bottle over to the dark-haired stranger.
“Thank you, Jim,” Cas smiled. “Would you like a glass?”
“That’d be great,” Jim said, desperate to ease his aching gut. Cas moved off toward the kitchen.
“So...” Sam said, still smiling, “want the tour?”
“Our house is pretty obvious,” Dean said. “Living room, dining room, kitchen. Bedrooms upstairs. You know...like houses tend to be.”
“How do you know Cas?” Jim blurted out. Dean’s façade suddenly wavered.
“Cas is-” he stalled. Dean shifted, suddenly at a loss. “Listen. Cas-”
“Cas is Dean’s. And Dean’s Cas’s,” Sam countered. “C’mon. I want to show you what we’re doing out back.”
And just like that, Jim realized he’d missed far more than the past few years.
***
“...the hell does he think he is?”
Cas poured a generous portion of wine into a glass. “Try to be calm,” he warned, turning to pull the baked chicken from the oven, and catching Dean’s longing eye at the wine. “Dean,” he snapped, and his boyfriend turned to him. “You’re alright. We’re alright.”
Dean stared out the kitchen window to Sam explaining the yard to Jim. “God...he looks the same. A few gray hairs and laugh lines and crap. But the same.”
“I imagine the feels that way about you two.”
“I was nine when I met the jerk.”
“And I bet you had every bit of the attitude you did now.”
Dean grinned at Cas. “Alright, smartass. That doesn’t mean he gets to-”
“Show up at our door with a nice bottle of wine and a good attitude?”
“Have I ever told you I hated you?”
Cas smiled. “Find a serving platter, Dean.”
***
“...and the we’re thinking the birdbath might go here,” Sam finished. Jim smiled.
“Your home is very peaceful, Sam.”
“It’s not my home, really. It’s Dean and Cas’s.” Sam pointed to a random patch of earth and smiled. “Dean’s probably staring at us, so look casual, and ask me all you want.”
Jim started, then laughed. “You really do take after your brother.”
“Dean raised me right.”
“He did.” Jim felt his smile waver. “You assumed I’d be appalled at Dean with a man?”
“I assumed you’d be startled he’d settled down, period. And we both know Dean loved the ladies.”
“But he’s with a guy for the long-haul?”
“He’s with Cas for the long-haul,” Sam snapped, still smiling, and gesturing to another part of the yard. “Cas has been so great to us, Jim...you can’t imagine.”
“Sam, I don’t care who you and Dean choose to be with.”
“The Church does.”
“I left the Church.”
He hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that-but he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. Maybe it was selfish of him to come here, to find the two boys he’d never let out of his heart.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Really? When?”
“About a month ago.”
“Why?”
“I had to-” the back door swung open, and Cas crossed the lawn, glass of wine in hand.
“Here you are,” he said, smiling. “Sam has been telling you about our yardwork, I take it?”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Jim said, trying to appear friendly.
“I’m from...the East Coast.”
“Anywhere near New York?” he took a large swill out of his wine glass. Cas’s smile wavered.
“My family home is in the city, yes.”
“I recognized a little bit of the accent. My Grandmother was a New Yorker, born and raised. She lived above the U.N.”
“Near Sutton Place?”
“Sutton-yes! I haven’t heard that name in years!”
Cas smiled. “I have friends near there.”
“New York wasn’t what it is now, of course. You can’t get into Sutton Place without at least ten million in the bank.” Cas suddenly flushed. “Of course, that’s not important,” Jim said hastily. “There are plenty of places to live on a budget: at least, that’s what I understand.”
“I’m sure there are,” Cas gulped, looking around the yard.
“Cas has been out here the past few years. The pace has been better for him,” Sam said carefully.
“I imagine. Awhile back I was reading a magazine on a plane featuring this New York CEO who says he only sleeps every other day. He’s nearly tripled his investments in two years, but he’s gained a lot of bad press along the way.” Jim chuckled. “Funny enough-his name was Morgan too. Lewis or something. He’s one of a group of brothers-” Jim suddenly stopped as Cas paled and Sam scooted closer to his friend. “You’re not-”
“Lou’s...one of my older brothers,” Cas managed. “But I’m...I’m not like that. I’m a doctor. I moved out here to try and...escape. My last name.”
Sam put an arm around his friend’s shoulders and raised his chin defiantly. “Cas paid for all my medical treatment, when I had to go to rehab for drug and alcohol dependence,” he said calmly, as if he wasn’t shooting another bullet into Jim’s heart.
“Maybe I should go,” he blurted out. “I’m making you all so uncomfortable.”
“No,” Cas said, reaching out. “Please, I want you to stay. I know-I mean, Dean and Sam have told me all the wonderful things you did for them growing up. I’ve wanted to meet you.”
“I never meant to upset him back then. I just felt I owed it to Sam.”
“Owed me what?” Sam asked, as Dean slammed the door open and bellowed “soup’s on!”
Station One of the cross down.
Now arriving at Station Two.
Part II