FIC: Ride The Skies 11/?
-PART ELEVEN-
In the time it takes Dean to locate a box of their old clothes and haul his burden downstairs, anarchy has erupted.
He pauses uncertainly, his path to the kitchen blocked by a gaggle of children all craning to see what's going at the table. Pushing his way through, Dean freezes in the doorway.
The box smacks loudly at his feet. “What the fuck are you doin' to my- to Ben?” Shit, he almost called him his kid out loud, and he's not sure why that's bad, only that it still rings high terror through him.
Ben looks up from his seat at the kitchen table, wide-eyed. “I wanted, um. I saw it, and...”
“There was this guy on TV!” Alec takes over the explanation, completely approving of this whole mess if his manic grin is anything to go by. He bounces happily in his own seat, watching the process raptly. “His hair was impressive. Ben is finally coming around to the awesome side of life. I didn't even have to talk him into it!” Alec flicks a glare at him, “Don't ruin it, Dad.”
Dean tries to veer his expression away from outright horror, but it's not really working out, especially if they're going to keep calling him that.
He looks at Sam for some kind of adult logic. Sam's no help, though, leaning against the door jamb with his fist pressed to his mouth, eyes dancing and his cheeks gouged deep with dimples.
Bobby huffs impatiently, not even bothering with eye contact, his attention concentrated on honing the monstrosity on Ben's head to perfection. “Boy just wanted a hair cut. I'm givin' him a hair cut.” He brandishes the clippers, like this is all so obvious and simple and Dean is being a total freak of nature right now for no discernible reason.
“Okay, first off, that's not a hair cut.” Dean aims a stern finger at Ben's head. “Second, I give the hair cuts. Ask Sam.”
Bobby doesn't need to ask Sam. “Who the hell do you think cut yours when you were younger, ya idgit? Your daddy sure as hell didn't. He woulda shaved you bald all the time if he had his way.”
“Dean,” Sam admonishes. “Ben wants his hair like that. There's nothing wrong with it.”
That might have been more convincing if Sam's face wasn't wobbling to maintain his frown, his grin winning the battle by a mile. But Dean turns back to Ben, and the kid looks on the verge of tears. Dean's disapproval will pretty much rip him apart and leave him splayed in messy ribbons all over the place, so he scrounges up a tight smile.
“Nothin' wrong with it,” he agrees, relieved at how sincere he sounds. “It's great, Ben. Very creative. I was just... a little surprised.”
Bobby snorts. “Shouldn't be. You damn near bit my head off the day I stopped giving you mo-hawks.”
Dean gapes. “What? I did not-“
“Horse shit. Your daddy pitched a fit after the third hair cut I gave you. Said you'd best come out lookin' normal and not like a muppet, or he'd shoot me in the face.”
There's specific reproach there, Dean can hear it in Bobby's gruff teasing. It's still hard not to leap to John's defense, but Dean's steadily been learning that his father was fallible. Dad did his best, he doesn't doubt that, but his best came up short. Dean won't be perfect, the uneasy flip of his gut every time he hears them call him Dad proves that, but he's no fun-killer.
“Shut up, dude,” Dean grumbles at Sam's childish snickering, even if he is enjoying the hell out of his brother's temporary regression. “It's awesome, Ben,” he says with more conviction, and Ben gives him a timid smile. “Maybe we should dye it blue, what d'ya think?”
“Hell yeah!” Alec cheers, standing up in his seat. “I saw spray paint earlier! I can't wait til I get hair, this is gonna rock so fucking hard!”
“Hey, watch your mouth!” Sam calls after the hyperactive little streak as he runs up the stairs.
“Fuck that!” is Alec's resounding rebuttal.
Dean chuckles, and Sam just looks at him. “See what you did?”
“Me?” Dean can't even believe this shit. “The cussing is all my fault? Seriously?”
“Damn straight.” Sam smirks, slouching back against his leaning post as Bobby trims off the last bits of hair, leaving Ben with a zig-zagging mo-hawk that, okay, Dean has to admit is actually pretty awesome. He just never expected Ben to be the one that wanted to Damn The Man, Save The Empire, and all that fun shit.
He guesses Ben's worry that Alec is pissed at him, and some expression of interest at TV mo-hawk guy on Alec's part might have had something to do with it, though.
Ben runs his fingers over it skeptically. “Does it really look okay? Not too weird?”
Dean remembers Sam saying something about Ben's fear of standing out. Honestly, the hair's not any weirder than the bushwhacked thing he had before. “Not too weird, dude. You're gonna be a total chick-magnet rockin' that do.”
As if to prove this, Cece detaches from the throng and moves to inspect him up close. “I like it,” she announces firmly, grabs Ben's hand and pulls him along toward the bathroom. “There's a mirror in here, c'mon.”
Ben blushes, but lets himself be pulled, and the other kids follow after him, all so enthralled by this strange freedom of choice in something as simple as a hair cut.
Dean shakes his head fondly and moves to sit at the table. The sandwich stuff is all gone, so he supposes the kids inhaled that shit already. Bobby swipes the stray hair from his lap and wheels himself over to the fridge while Sam takes a seat next to his brother.
“So what's this genius idea Missouri came up with?” Dean asks, glancing at his watch. It took him longer than he thought to find that box, and Cas should've been here by now. He frowns. Another half hour and then he'll start worrying.
Bobby distributes a fresh round of beers and settles in for the big reveal.
“She agreed to look after a few of the kids until we find something more permanent,” Sam explains, taking a long gulp of his drink. “I had to catch her up on a lot, explain Cas and stuff, ya know?”
Dean nods. Rehashing the whole shebang couldn't have been a pleasant experience, Sam's guilt-ridden features attest to that much, and Dean doesn't envy him.
“She wants us to stop by in person so she can yell at us for not keeping in touch, by the way.” Sam smirks, because they both know damn well all the yelling is going to be directed at Dean. That woman seems to have a serious yen for picking on him. “Anyway, I told her I'd let Cas know he could start bringing some kids over. She was strict about imposing a limit of ten, but then she called me back a few minutes later and said Jenny agreed to take five.”
Dean cocks a brow, remembering the kick-ass young mother of two that lives in their old house. “She tell Jenny just what she'd be getting herself into?”
“The whole story,” Sam confirms, visibly mystified that a civilian, even an informed one who knows what bumps in the night, would volunteer to disrupt their own blissful lives with something like this. It's a lot to take on, since they have no idea when they'll be able to find permanent homes. “She said we should think about calling up some of the people we've 'enlightened' along the way and see if maybe they wanna help out. We might even find someone willing to adopt them, unofficially.”
Dean whistles, because yeah, actually, it's not a bad idea. Not a bad one at all. They were thinking more along the lines of hunters, but civilians. Why the hell not? They'd have more stable environments in which to raise these kids, and the hunters they would have trusted enough to do this are down to a bare few, thanks to the Winchester reign of Apocalyptic terror. It's not like there are a lot of options.
He starts a mental list of people he thinks will be best qualified as Sam continues.
“So I've kinda already started. I called Hudak, Ballard and Daniels first, asked them how we could make the whole adoption thing look legit and keep the kids' identities safe.”
“Cops and lawyers are definitely the best place to start with that,” Bobby agrees. “What'd they have to say?”
Sam shrugs, still wearing that mystified smirk. “I got them talking to each other. Family law isn't exactly their specialty, but they said they might know some people that can help. Ya know, other supernaturally aware authorities. It's kinda weird, the way they were talking? I think I mighta started an underground network of hunter-friendly law enforcement.”
Dean chuffs out a laugh. “Shit, too bad we didn't think of it before. That coulda helped us out a few times.”
Sam snorts, not exactly amused because it's too true. They totally should have thought of it before. “I told 'em we were gonna have to start dividing the kids up anyway, 'cause it'll take a while to get the legalities sorted and they can't stay here forever. Mara suggested keeping detailed records of which kids go where, making up a list of what we know so far, like medical conditions and special requirements.”
“The pills,” Dean realizes, working his jaw. He didn't forget, exactly, it just kinda got shoved onto his back burner once Ben was all cured. “We need to find out what they are and how to get more. The boys are gonna need to keep takin' 'em.”
“Yeah, I already had a look at the stuff. It's not all that hard to come by, and we should make sure they drink milk regularly, too.”
Dean puffs out a relieved breath, relaxing a little further in his seat. “Good. That's good.”
“All right, then,” Bobby decides. “I guess we split up our contact lists and start makin' calls.” He glances at his own watch. “I'm sure not too many people are gonna bitch us out for wakin' 'em up at three in the damn morning,” he says dryly.
“Three?” Sam repeats on a sigh as he sprawls bonelessly, exhaustion plain. “Jesus, it seems like it's been days already.”
Dean and Bobby just grunt, the latter rolling his wheelchair out into the living room to rummage through his desk, returning with a handful of legal pads and pens. “Sam, you make up those lists. Me and Dean can make the calls, write down names as we go so we don't double up on anyone.”
“Awesome,” Dean deadpans, pulling out his phone yet again. He glances up as Alec and Ben's voices grow louder and closer, the boys engrossed in their very first argument.
“I don't want it to be blue!” Ben says adamantly.
“It needs to be blue, Ben! It can't achieve its full potential without being blue!”
There's the distinct click-rattle of a paint can being shaken, and Dean's suddenly very sorry he even made the suggestion. Ben apparently does have some lines in the sand when it comes to pleasing his brother, which is a good thing-Dean doesn't want to imagine what Alec could talk Ben into if the kid exhibited zero independence-but it's also causing unnecessary hullabaloo that Dean's sure Ben is not enjoying.
Sam sighs and gets up. “I got this one.” He moves out into the hallway to intercept them just as a couple of other kids pipe up and start taking sides. “Okay, you know you can't actually use spray paint on his head, right? It could make him blind,” Sam starts, opting for logic first. Dean snickers as the argument rapidly deteriorates into full-blown kid nonsense, “But whyyyy?” and Sam has to resort to, “Because I said so!”
Bobby is endlessly amused at Sam's voice of reason being overtaken by a whole chorus of kids who are rapidly learning the art of rebellion, just cocks a brow at Dean's beseeching look as if to say, Payback's a bitch, son. Get in there and deal with yourself from twenty years ago and see how you like it.
Dean huffs and stomps down the hall. “All right, break it up!” he bellows, a tone straight from the John Winchester handbook that halts all insubordination in its tracks.
Biggs, girl-Sam, Cece, Dolby, (yes, as in surround sound; Dean takes no responsibility for the fingers intent on the ads in the phone book), Alec and Ben snap trained eyes up to his imposing figure, and Sam straightens from his crouch where he was trying to play on their level.
“Alec, if your brother doesn't want this hair to be blue, it's not gonna be blue. We don't force people into doing shit they don't wanna do, understand?”
Alec's face hardens, but he clips out a, “Yes, sir.”
“What'd I tell about that?”
“Yes, Dean,” Alec corrects through grit teeth, and even though it kills Dean to have his little lookalike so pissed at him that he refuses to address him by the terrifying title Sam decided for all of them, he'll just have to cope.
“Good. Gimme the paint.” Dean holds out his hand, glaring when Alec smacks the can into his palm with more force than necessary.
He doesn't miss the way Biggs, girl-Sam, and Cece all crowd up behind the boy, and Dean has no doubt they'd pounce and disembowel him if they suspected any kind of unacceptable threat to their teammate. He respects that, and it brings something else they haven't really considered to light.
Dolby takes to glaring at Ben like he insulted him personally, Ben returning the evil eye with a disturbingly lethal calm, and Alec takes a moment from his upset with Dean to stare the other boy down until he finds something else to look at. Doesn't matter that he was an inch from holding Ben down to graffiti his head a second ago, apparently no one else gets to be a dick to his brother. Dean is so proud.
He clears his throat to regain their attention. “When Uncle Sam tells you to do something, you don't argue, got it?” Ben and Alec both nod. “Alec, I want everyone in the living room in ten minutes. We got some shit to talk about before bedtime. Think you can handle that?”
“I think I can figure out how to announce a debriefing somehow.” Alec's still being a sarcastic little shit but at least his tone is a bit less severe.
Dean smirks and slides a hand over his head. “Go on then, smart-ass.” Alec doesn't go just yet, waiting as Dean turns to Ben and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the dusty box from the attic. “You got clothes duty, buddy. We're setting all that gray camo on fire later, so make sure it's all stripped and piled up somewhere, okay?”
Alec takes Ben's wrist before he can answer in the affirmative, and yanks him off to grab the box while he starts yelling at everyone to converge, squabble already forgotten.
“We're holding a meeting?” Sam asks, bumping Dean's shoulder in thanks as they head back for the kitchen.
“Those kids are pretty tight, dude. Alec was telling me about his unit before. I don't think plucking them up one by one and carting them off to wherever is gonna fly unless we tell 'em what's goin' on first.”
Besides that, Dean thinks they deserve to be informed after having every single routine since birth decided for them without so much as a 'by your leave'. And he knows Alec's not going to take this news of splitting up after being reunited with his unit lightly. Ben doesn't seem to know any of the kids so far, but most of those he bonded with had escaped and are probably well hidden by now.
He includes Bobby in his next suggestion as they return to the table. “We should see about getting them placed with as many of their own unit members as possible. Try to talk anyone who'll take them into no less than a pair, 'cause I'm pretty sure all this is bad enough without throwing them out into the world alone.”
“They're pretty adaptable,” Sam says, not really arguing, but trying to make Dean feel better if it doesn't work out the way they want.
Dean gives his brother a wan smirk, appreciating the effort. “Yeah, I know. But we gotta try. It'll go better.”
Bobby plops a hand down on his blank notepad, rubbing at his eyelids with the other and trying to talk around a huge yawn. “Okay, new plan. You boys still got a lotta shit to work out with them kids. Ain't nobody gonna be very amenable to what we're peddlin' at this hour, anyway, so give your little speech and get some rest. We'll re-hash the rest tomorrow, make sure it all still makes sense in the light of day, regroup.” He doesn't ask if they're agreeable to his plan, simply wheels himself around and takes off down the hall at a sluggish roll. “G'night!” he calls over his shoulder before his bedroom door slams shut.
“It's obvious why we love him,” Sam snorts, looking relieved that the phone calls are postponed. Neither of them had been willing to suggest it, eager as Bobby seemed to have his house back. They want to get him out of the hole they dug and dragged him into, they really do, but some actual sleep would be pretty spectacular too.
“He just gets more charming every day,” Dean agrees with a small grin.
He looks at his watch again. Fifteen minutes until his next scheduled meltdown, for which Cas had better show his ass up to prevent. Dean is running on fumes, table-induced nap notwithstanding, and he doesn't have the energy to panic properly anymore. Something's bound to get shot at if he has to spike up into that mode again with his cognitive functions hazed the way they are.
The hum of murmurs in the living room increases as the kids gather, intensify for a moment, and suddenly go silent, like someone jabbed an all-powerful mute button. It's easy enough to identify that another disagreement is taking place, though they seem to be making more of an effort not to alert the adults for this round.
That can't be good.
Sam gives him a tired, thoughtful look, picks up his issued notepad, and Dean sighs as he follows his brother into the living room. “These kids are gettin' drugged if they don't collapse in the next thirty minutes.”
Sam chuffs, which Dean decides to interpret as a vote in favor of his proposal, and then they've reached the site of the latest disturbance.
Dean stops, and the first thing that hits him is the weird-ass flashback. The kids have all dutifully changed clothes, faded sweat pants of various patterns, the best of the eighties staring back at him from every tiny t-shirt: awesome cartoons he'd forgotten about, and some of his and Sam's more questionable musical tastes (the whole Pat Benatar kick was entirely Sam's fault, Dean swears it).
The second thing that hits him is the hushed standoff, the scene somehow more troubling for its utter calm. Sam seems to share that sentiment, because he's wearing a similarly uncomfortable look as he surveys everyone.
On one side of the room-the side Dean long ago came to think of as the Leaning Towers of Geekdom, where most of Bobby's overflowing bookshelves are aligned at haphazard angles against one another-thirty-odd children are standing at parade rest, in perfect formation. Their gazes are trained sharply on one of two things: Ben, who is standing rigidly in front of the ancient, lump-riddled couch, or Alec, who has Dolby backed against the front door.
Both Dolby and Alec's faces are contorted with fury as they hiss back and forth, Alec poking the shorter kid in the chest and giving him the dressing down of his life. Dolby is holding onto his rage for all it's worth, but it's clear there's some kind of hierarchy. with Alec on a higher rung, and the boy's having a hard time rebelling too blatantly.
Ben's meeting every single glare that falls on him and returning it with interest. He's every bit the cornered animal, and unfortunately, there are no cutesy bunnies in his DNA. Ben won't be fleeing into a rabbit hole anytime soon, and if he had actual claws, Dean imagines he'd be sharpening them right about now. As it is, he manages a pretty effective snarl.
Clearly, this goes way beyond a difference of hair-styling opinions. Someone is about to be seriously hurt here, and Dean really, really freaking hopes he has a chance in hell of stopping it.
“Ben,” Sam beats him to the punch, focusing on the most volatile land mine as the kid hunches in on himself like he's getting ready to pounce and shred. Ben snaps a look over to him, a few of the braver kids' gazes following suit. Most others plummet to the uneven wooden planks of Bobby's floor upon realizing the higher-ups have arrived and are not pleased. Sam waggles his fingers. “C'mere.”
Ben marches over obediently, but he's careful not to turn his back on the others.
“Alec, what the hell is this all about?” Dean demands as Sam scoops Ben up to talk to him, disapproving grown-up scowl aimed at anyone who might've had a part in picking on his awesome little nephew.
Alec snaps something inaudible at Dolby before addressing Dean. “It's nothing I can't handle.” He crosses his arms and squares his shoulders, no hint of the mischievous, smart-mouthed child looking up at him, but a miniature and very proud, capable soldier.
Dolby sniffles and swipes at his beet-red face behind him. Whatever's going on, Alec is not fucking around right now.
Dean frowns, flicks a glance at Sam, who shakes his head. Ben's not talking, either. “That's all well and good, but that's not what I asked,” he says sternly.
Alec grinds his teeth, but it's obvious his ire is not currently directed at Dean, even if his burning gaze stares straight at him, like he's afraid of what will happen if he looks anywhere else. “It's just a misunderstanding. It's not easy for most of us to just forget certain aspects of our training. I had to explain a few things, but I believe the situation has been defused.” His tone hardens toward the end of his little report, a clear challenge for anyone to contradict him.
“Well, that's nice and vague,” Dean drawls, eyes ranging over the shuffling kids again.
Alec is pissed right the hell off, the air thick and combustible with the collective tension. Dean's fingers itch for the gun at his waist, and it's just so very wrong that he aches to be armed in the presence of children. But his life long ago exceeded nine kinds of fucked up, so what else is new?
“Sam.” Dean jerks his head toward the couch, and Sam carries Ben over to it and plops him down. Alec heeds a similar gesture from Dean, moving to sit next to his brother, while Dolby is silently ordered to rejoin his comrades. “Everyone have a seat.”
The rectangle of youngsters fall to their asses as one, perfect little robots with blank slate faces. That's so disturbing, Dean can't look directly at them for long. It's like some ass-backwards Stephen King concoction come to life.
Dean moves to the center of the room, facing his clones with his most authoritative stance, and Sam angles himself so that he has the rest of the room in view, covering his back. It's just habit, and the air of threat is too palpable for them to do anything else. “All right, little dudes. One of you needs to tell me what just happened. In detail,” he clarifies as Alec opens his mouth again.
Alec's teeth clack loudly together as he scowls. He doesn't want help, utterly confident in his ability to handle everything, but he still has a hard time denying Dean's commanding tone. He forces a deep inhale, says flatly, “Part of Ben's unit escaped last year. Certain routines were changed to accommodate the... security breach.” He stumbles over the words, conflicted. “It was harder on some than others.”
Alec won't meet Dean's eyes, which tells him he's one of the some who had it the hardest.
“He's a traitor!” Dolby pipes up, seeming to have gained some courage back within his huddle. “He abandoned his unit!”
Another wave of murmurs comes on the heels of this declaration, too many kids seeming to agree with him, while some just sound entirely put out.
“I did not!” Ben shrieks, vaulting to his feet, and Alec's right behind him, barking at everyone to, “Shut the fuck up!” as he keeps a restraining hand on Ben's bicep.
Sam contributes a booming, “Hey!” that effectively shuts them all down again.
Ben's eyes are bright, raging murder, but fortunately for those not endowed with superstrength, he heeds the physical contact and lets Alec pull him against his side. “M'not a traitor, Alec,” he mumbles shakily, little fists clenched white at his hips. Alec doesn't respond, mouth twisted tight, but he keeps his arm around Ben and won't let him go. Ben dares a look up at Dean, desperate for anyone to see his side of it. Dean really needs to find a way to drive it home, the fact that he'll always be on his side. There are Winchesters, and then there's everyone else. End of story. “I'm not. They kept taking us away. We just didn't wanna go to the basement.”
“Coward,” someone hisses, and Dean looks sharply over to see the four kids nearest Dolby staring coldly.
Girl-Sam shoots them a haughty look. “What are you complaining about, anyway? You're not the ones who had to go through re-indoctrination.”
A smaller boy with strikingly similar features speaks up, indignant. Devon, Dean thinks is his name. “No, but I did! And we all had to deal with those stupid rules! They broke up the barracks, and Psy-Ops wasn't a regular part of the drill until they deserted us!” He jabs a finger at Ben, who flinches, and Dean's had just about enough of this bullshit.
He doesn't even want to know what the hell Psy-Ops is, sounds ominous enough without specifics, and it'll just give him that urge to kill with nowhere to aim it again.
“Nobody here's a goddamn traitor,” he declares firmly, turning to address the whole of the room. The kids fall silent, mutinous little faces peering up at him. “News flash, kiddies. Your lives have been pretty fucked up. If you wanna be pissed at anyone, be pissed at the people who did this to you. Ben got out of a bad situation, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes him smart, not a back-stabber.” He glares hard at others, he and Sam simultaneously inching closer to Ben in support as the boy looks up at him in awe, like he can't believe anyone would praise him for his choice. “Stand up and tell me you never thought about getting out once. Tell me you were never scared, never fed up, never angry at those sick fucks for treating you how they did. You look me in the eye and you tell me you wanna go back to your cages and your orders, and I'll send you on your way.”
No one stands up, and Dean is enormously relieved. He wasn't so sure the brainwashing hadn't screwed them all completely until just now, and the fear of being overthrown has been pretty high on his list of concerns. It's not like there's a heck of lot he could do if they decide their new handlers are incompetent and they don't want to listen anymore.
It's hard too, because he can kinda sympathize with each point of view. Normally, he'd be the first to agree with not abandoning your unit, but this particular situation's jacked the fuck up, and there are no absolute rights and wrongs here. He's not sorry Ben got away, and he certainly won't be condemning him for it. His only regret is that he wasn't waiting on the other side of the fence, or hell, that he didn't bust the place wide open before it got that far.
“Great.” Dean nods curtly. “Then I don't wanna hear another damn thing about betrayal. You're all refugees now, so maybe you wanna start lookin' to Ben for some helpful tips on the real world instead of holding on to old grudges.”
“He's got a point,” Sam takes over, a proud smirk aimed at Dean before he gets all serious and laser-focused. “You guys wanna thrive outside the fence, you gotta let a lot of that stuff go. There's a lot to relearn, but you're smart and you're strong, and you can do it.”
His brother firmly at the reins now, Dean drops onto the couch, pulling Ben and Alec with him. They situate themselves on either side, burrowing into his embrace, tiny hands spanning his lap to interlock. He doesn't need to say anything, there's just this: holding them close and staking his claim once more, with feeling.
Sam keeps going, and Dean, while suitably impressed with Sam's ability to throw together an inspirational speech on the spot, is too wrung out to keep his attention on it. He revels in the warmth of the small bodies pressing in on him, and drops his head back, closing his eyes.
Jesus fuck, they haven't even gotten to the placement shit yet. Stuff just keeps popping up, and now they've got Alec's suppressed issues with the post-escape crack-down to contend with on top of Ben's budding psychosis. At this rate, it's going to be next week before he gets any shut-eye, if he even lives that long.
Kids are awesome, but stressful. Dean feels like he's been catapulted into his late fifties.
“M'sorry, Alec,” Dean hears Ben mutter softly, and the hands in his lap shift a little.
“You didn't know.” Alec's tone is one Dean recognizes. The boy doesn't really know how to feel about it, and he definitely doesn't want to rehash his trauma. Dean squeezes them both closer, keeps his eyes closed.
“I knew it was gonna be bad for anyone we left behind. You should be mad.”
A head jostles on Dean's right. “I did stuff, too. Stuff that didn't help anyone but me. S'just survival, Ben. It's what they taught us.”
They go quiet for long minutes, soft puffs of breath against his shirt, tiny, worn out bodies sinking further and further against Dean, and then Ben mumbles around a yawn, “They're your unit.” One last effort to get Alec to come to his senses.
“You're my family,” Alec says easily, and Dean's familiar enough with the conviction that he hears the unspoken, “and family sticks together.”
Christ. Can a guy die from a figuratively swollen heart? Dean never got around to imparting that particular bit of wisdom, what with the whirlwind of drama the night has presented.
That means someone else beat him to it.
Fucking Sammy, he thinks drowsily, the sound of his brother's passionate lecture lulling him toward the black.
NEXT