"Another Soldier 6/6" by ellipsisblack, commentary by ladyvyola

[ladyvyola]

Another Soldier on the Road to Nowhere
by ellipsisblack (conquest)


PART 5
Part 6: XXIX- XXXIII. R.
"then something unusual something strange
comes from nothing at all
but i'm not a miracle and you're not a saint
just another soldier on a road to nowhere"

* *

A few hours later, Michael woke up feeling hot and disgusting, and sore, trapped underneath two Winchesters instead of one. The temperature in the room had climbed while they slept, and he was covered in sweat, hair damp with it, skin prickling where he was pressed against either Dean or Sam (and at this point he wasn't entirely sure which body parts belonged to which Winchester).

His mind shied away from the thought of what they'd done, that somehow, completely sober, he'd lost his virginity, not to Dean, but to Dean and Sam, who were brothers, fucking brothers, who were fucking, and that was what the green lady meant when she'd said Dean hadn't told Michael about him and Sam. That was why whenever he shared a bed with either of them they wrapped around him like a blanket, because they were used to sleeping wrapped around each other.

He shifted and realized that Dean's dick was still in him. He'd gone to sleep like that, fucked open with Dean inside him and Sam's spunk on his stomach. He grabbed the slats of the headboard and pulled himself up between their bodies. Dean snuffled and grumbled as he slid out, and Michael felt the beginnings of an ache in his muscles. Dean woke up as Michael sat, leaning against the headboard.

Mikey needs to hurry up and come to terms with everything so I can perv on this situation in comfort. As it is, it's every bit as awkward and uncomfortable as it should be. I'm amazed he hasn't run screaming out of the motel and straight into the nearest Greyhound station.

"Mikey," he said, putting his hand lightly on Michael's knee.

Michael flinched and said quietly, the words scraping against his vocal cords. "Where are you going next?"

Dean blinked twice, trying to wake up properly. "We gotta go to California, why?"

"Can you drop me home on your way through?" Michael stared resolutely at the bathroom door as he said it.

Dean's hand slid off his knee. "Sure," he said. "That's fine."

Michael opened his mouth to say thank you, but he couldn't quite get it out. Instead, he crawled down the bed, over tangled limbs, and off.

"He's still agreeable, isn't he?" he said, opening the bathroom door, back to Dean.

"I didn't order him. I wasn't doing much talking." Dean laughed humourlessly, then paused. "You'd have to ask him."

Michael hadn't even asked the question, but he thought to himself, bullshit. Dean could tell him why Sam had agreed if he wanted to. It wasn't like Dean had ever doubted that Sam would.

He heard Dean shift on the bed, then Sam mumbled sleepily. He didn't turn around.

When he got out of the bathroom, skin flushed and raw and his hair washed (twice), Sam was awake too, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dean said, "I'll take the bathroom."

Michael didn't ask Sam.

It's like he's an honorary Winchester or something, all the talking he's not doing.

* *XXX.

It took a day to drive to Fitchburg. Michael sat in the back, staring out the window. Sam drove. Dean sat in the passenger seat and scowled. They took a few breaks, but otherwise drove through the night, Dean feeding Sam coffee and talking to him periodically like had talked to Michael when Michael had taken his stint behind the wheel.

Michael didn't listen much. They were mostly talking over memories, arguing about which actresses were hot, that sort of thing.

When they stopped, he avoided being alone with either of them. Dean, he couldn't think of anything to say to, because he really just wanted his Dean, the one who had nearly split a seam when Michael said "toast", not this Dean, who wouldn't say anything, and just watched Sam like Sam was going to vanish into a fairy illusion at any moment.

This is another place where Michael is clearly very young. They're both "his" Dean, along with a bunch of others Michael hasn't met yet.

Sam, he was sure would try to fix things. Try to explain, or rationalise. Make Michael feel like shit for making Dean feel like shit. Michael figured he didn't need that. He already felt pretty shitty.

Besides, if he were alone with Sam, he might have to ask. Even if he didn't want to, the words would creep out when he wasn't paying attention, but there was a part of him, a big part, that just didn't want to know.

For so long, Michael has see it as Michael is to Asher as Dean is to Sam. Now the equation is upset and he can't make sense of it. If he was wrong about that, what else is he wrong about?

They drove into Fitchburg around eight in the morning, just after his mom would have opened up the office. Michael got out of the car, as did Dean. Sam stayed in, but killed the engine and handed the keys to Dean so he could unlock the trunk.

Dean pulled Michael's duffel out of the back seat and handed it to him. Michael took it, putting the kit Tony had made him over his shoulder, placing his hands so they didn't brush Dean's, and turned towards the main building of the 2400 Motel. He glanced in the car at Sam and attempted a little wave, trying to train his brain to remember Sam's slightly mournful smile instead of his long body slick with sweat and his long hands crushing their dicks together.

Dean leant against the car, staring at the motel like his second sight was showing him ghosts forming a conga line around the buildings. It hadn't changed much at all since the last time Dean had seen it, and Dean'd hidden in Joanna's room while the shtriga climbed in the window.

Michael tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't, so he just said, "Um," and smiled because he didn't want Dean to remember him sulking in the back seat. If Dean remembered him at all.

Dean nodded and said, "See ya, Mikey," and Michael turned around and walked slowly up to the motel. In spite of himself, he wondered if Dean would tell him to stop, if he'd feel Dean's hand on his wrist, spinning him around, pinning him against the wall of his Mom's little motel.

He didn't.

So he didn't turn back when he put his hand on the door handle and opened it.

"Mikey," said Dean, and then Michael turned around. Dean was standing a few feet away from the car, like he'd taken a couple of steps and stopped himself. "Thanks," said Dean. "For Sam. And..." he rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Sorry."

Michael nodded, "Yeah," he said, and stepped into the motel.

There's so much guilt and angst and doubt here, it's a wonder no one's drowned yet.

His mother's startled, "Michael!" was almost drowned out by the low roar of the Impala starting up and pulling out of the parking lot.

Joanna came around the desk. "You're back. Why didn't you call? Are you okay?"

"I'm just tired, Mom," said Michael. "I'm not a kid." He put up with his mom's hug like he was a kid though, leaning against her a little, his chin on her shoulder. "Where's Asher?"

"He's upstairs. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Let me dump my stuff, and I'll go find him."

Joanna eyed the duffel bag. "Leave it here and I'll take it straight to the laundry."

Michael nodded. "Thanks." He dumped the duffel and took the kit upstairs to stash it under his bed before his mom asked about it.

Just like Michael had got used to sleeping with someone, he got used to sleeping alone again, in his old room, with Asher in the bed over. He got used to being the big brother, the man around the house. When his friends called, he told them he couldn't hang out because it was peak season at the motel and his mom needed all the help he could give her. He got used to being normal, and for a while he thought normal might be okay. He had college starting in a couple of weeks, at the University of Wisconsin, which was close enough that he wouldn't have to leave home, so he could keep an eye on his family.

He's got Sam's dream situation here, doesn't he?

But somehow, as the messy feelings faded, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted the thrill of the hunt, not to protect his family, but just because it was fun, and exciting, and there were people out there who needed even such protection as Michael could offer more than his family did. In the years since Sam and Dean blew through, he hadn't heard about one attack that could possibly be Supernatural anywhere in the town.

He told his mother he was out seeing the world. In spite of himself, he did. And now he's grown too big to fit into the little box he came out of.

He rang Eveline. She said she'd heard Sam and Dean were back running together and saying very nice things about him, and said he must be mighty pleased with himself. He was. She asked whether Dean had lived up to everything Michael imagined him to be. Michael agreed that Dean Winchester sure deserved his reputation. There was a short silence, then Eveline said, "Honey, what's wrong?"

Michael told her, leaving out certain events, because they still felt shameful, as if that last night with Dean and Sam both had smudged soot all through the entire thing with Dean. Evie heard some of what he didn't say anyway. It made for a pretty patchy story without those details.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" she said gently.

Michael didn't respond.

"Sweetie, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone knew Dean was your type. Hell, Dean's everyone's type. You pretty much get bragging rights for that in hunter circles."

I want bumper stickers and membership badges and secret handshakes and reunions.

Michael laughed weakly. He wasn't going to be doing any bragging. "Evie, he said, changing the topic. "I think-I don't think I want to go to college."

"What? After you busted your gut to get that track scholarship?"

"I know," said Michael. "But I think I want to hunt. Like, as a job."

"This isn't about Dean?"" Evie said hesitantly. "You can't build a future on Dean Winchester, Mikey."

"No, I doubt if I'll ever see him again," said Michael. "I mean, I guess if we're both in the life, we might cross paths, but it's a big country. Anyway, I just think I'm going to turn down my place."

Eveline sighed, the sound becoming tinny down the phone line. "Maybe you just got it in the blood," she said.

"Yeah," said Michael.

Perfect that it took a hunt all about illusion and trickery to show Michael what he really wanted.

* *XXXI.

In early September, Michael took himself on his first solo hunt. It was partially to get away from his mother's reproachful looks and lengthy sighs that her son had given up his chance to haul himself out of the working class, and partly to escape the realisation in himself that he had just given up the future he'd thought he wanted since he was ten. He'd never really thought that hunting could be his job, just something he did on weekends. He'd been stupid. Hunting got into his blood. He couldn't just do it part-time.

One of the first things he'd done when he got back to Fitchburg had been to go for his license so that the next time he wouldn't have to hunt by public transport. Consequently, when he got wind of two mysterious deaths, father and daughter, in Oklahoma, he rented a car (Bob Segnier still had enough credit for that, it seemed), and drove down there himself.

Yay! No more buses!

It was a banshee. He recognized that pretty quickly, because ironically enough, he'd been wading through stories of the banshee, or bean sidhe, only a month earlier. The banshee had fixed on the family because the first victim, the father, had tricked and ruined hundreds of businessmen across the country. At some point, one of them had invoked the banshee, and she was taking vengeance on the family. He staked out the house, and when he heard the characteristic wail, he bust in and threw himself in front of the second daughter, who screamed and clung to him, pointing, He couldn't see a thing, because banshees only manifested to those they were after.

He couldn't help thinking that Dean's second sight would be really bloody useful right now.

Of course, throwing himself between a banshee and her target was enough, apparently, to get him put on the hit list, because there was a tremendous scream and he was flung to the side. When he opened his eyes, there was a graceful woman with pale skin and red hair standing before him, her form flickering as she leant over.

Michael felt her tugging at his life force and new a moment of terror. He couldn't kill her, he couldn't escape her; desperately, he searched his brain. What would Dean do?

WWDD? Bracelets are available from our gift department. Operators are standing by now to take your order.

The answer to that was easy. He pulled his glock out of the holster and shot her in the face. It wasn't rocksalt, but they were wrought iron, which had worked pretty well on the sidhe. The banshee reeled back and vanished as the bullets buried themselves in the opposite wall. Michael grabbed the girl, who was screeching hysterically, and hauled her out of the house.

Michael's right, though. Dean's hunter's instincts are spot-on the money most of the time. Shoot it or burn it. Or both.

In the end, he was wrong about it being a banshee. Well, partly wrong. The spirit was definitely manifesting as a banshee, but he was fairly sure that it was actually an Assyrian spirit called an ekimmu, born of a violent death and unburied remains. A quick article search pulled up the fact that a woman whose husband had been ruined by the family had committed suicide in the woods, and left a note for the family blaming the first victim for her decision. Her remains had never been recovered.

It took him longer than it should have to find the damn body, especially carting the second daughter along so she didn't get killed in the meantime, but eventually he did. Instead of doing a salt and burn, he returned the body to the family, who agreed to give the woman a proper funeral and burial.

He stuck around town for long enough to establish that the banshee-ekimmu, whatever-had been banished, then headed north, where a pair of skinwalkers were impersonating people and committing violent robberies. He caught up with them easily enough and dispatched them both. After that, he hunted a splintercat in the wilds of Idaho, which gave him a nice long gash on the arm before he killed it.

Scars. Now he's a real hunter. :)

Then, Bob Segnier finally ran out of money, and Michael was forced to throw the card and head back to Fitchburg until a new one could be arranged.

* *XXXII.

Being back home in Fitchburg meant manning the counter at the 2400. Late September wasn't a peak period for travelers, so Michael was lounging in the TV room which joined reception, flicking through daytime shows, when the bell was rung briskly.

"Coming," he called, turning off the TV and jumping out of the chair. He ran a quick hand over his hair to make sure he didn't look like an idiot, and head out into reception.

He stopped dead.

"I know, I know," said Dean, "of all the motels in all the world, I had to walk into yours."

How many times has Dean watched Casablanca on the Late, Late Show?

"Um," he said, then mentally kicked himself. "Hi." Well, that was a big improvement.

"You know," said Dean, leaning against the counter, "I looked for you at the University of Wisconsin, and they told me they didn't have nor ever had had, a student called Michael Sorenson. Didn't you tell me you were going there this fall?"

Michael shrugged. "I changed my mind," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"I need a place to stay for a few nights."

Michael frowned.

"I know you're not booked up," said Dean quickly. "I checked the sign and I'll pay in cash, so you won't have the credit card company on your back."

Michael still frowned.

"Please, Mikey?" said Dean, smiling.

Michael folded like a pack of cards in the face of that smile.

Still can't say no.

"King or two queens?"

Dean paused. "King. It's just me." There was no bitterness in his gaze.

"What, where's Sam?"

"Palo Alto." Dean shrugged. "See, Sam took a leave of absence back when we first started hunting together, because-well, his girlfriend burned up on the ceiling." He paused. "God, why am I telling you this? The point is, he's decided to go back to college this semester."

Sam's in school. Michael isn't. Oh, the irony is thick enough to cut.

"Why?" Michael asked, not willing to give Dean an inch. Well, an inch more than he had already.

Dean eyed him. "You want the story?" Michael nodded briskly. "Okay. Well, like I said, his girlfriend burned up on the ceiling. It was a demon-the demon my Dad died hunting-but the police investigation put it down to an electrical fault. Anyway, Sam took a leave of absence. Stanford only allows leaves of up to one year. So at the end of the first year, went back there and Sam, the budding lawyer, threatened to sue the college for negligence if they didn't keep his place open until he had finished grieving and was ready to move forward." Dean shrugged. "Anyway, every year since, we've gone back just before the start of the school year to convince them to keep Sam's spot free. My brother is a real smooth talker. You didn't-see his best side, Mikey."

I might disagree with that assessment.

Michael raised his eyebrows.

Mikey might have something to say about it, too.

"This year, they finally said, no. If he wanted his place, he had to come back this fall. So he did." Dean rolled his eyes. We kinda thought this might be the year, actually." Dean paused. "Sam's got this idea in his head that he'll be the first hunting law specialist or something. Kinda like what Mel is to doctors."

Michael blinked. "Oh yeah, how's your wrist?"

Dean brushed it aside. "It's fine. Healed all right and tight. Anyway, so, my brother turns around and says, 'Dean, I'm going to take my place this year.' And I say, 'well, what do you expect me to do?' " Dean paused and looked at Michael. "You know what he said?"

Michael shrugged, trying desperately not to forget all the reasons he had to be wary of Dean Winchester.

"He said, 'you should go find Mikey and say you're sorry for being a complete asshat'."

Sam FTW, that big lawyer-y yenta.

"Oh," said Michael flushing.

Dean leaned over the counter, right into Michael's personal space.

Oh no no, that was a bad idea.

"I am sorry, you know," said Dean, really turning up the charm.

"Sorry for what?" said Michael, his voice dipping dangerously.

"For everything I did that was wrong. I was-only interested in me and my brother. I miss you, Mikey. I kinda got used to having you around."

That was the last straw. Without really ,thinking about it, he pulled his arm back and punched Dean right on his smug, attractive cheekbone. Dean's head snapped back and his hand went to his face, shocked.

Oh, you deserved that! I mean, I know what you were trying to say but you certainly managed to say it in the most insulting way possible. Dean, no one will ever be able to take your Man Card away.

Michael threw a room key at him and stomped into the TV room, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it, fuming.

There was a long silence in the other room, then Dean started talking.

"Hey Sammy. Yes, it's me. I think-I broke Mikey." His voice was slightly baffled. "No, I broke him. Not like that, moron. I just told him-that-Sammy, I was not a jerk about it. God." He paused. "He, um, punched me. In the face. You stop laughing or so help me, I will drive to Palo Alto and break your fingers." He paused again. "You're fucking useless, and I hope you fail all your exams." Michael heard the phone click shut, and he couldn't help but snort.

Dean, you're the kind of guy who scams flowers out of a girl's own flower bed and gives them to her at the front door.

There was a jingle, and then the door to reception opened and shut. Apparently Dean had headed for his room.

Michael peered out and discovered Dean had left a stack of notes on the counter.

That night, Michael didn't sleep very well. Asher was asleep in the bed next to him, and Dean in a room only a few hundred feet away. And Dean, back, and saying sorry, and he missed him, and wanting... what? Michael wasn't sure. But he was sure that picking up where they left off was not a good idea. And while they were on that topic, did he really want to have anything to do with a guy who had apparently been screwing his own brother for years? That went beyond any kind of sane normal family.

The big brother he'd been idolising, was, in fact, banging his little brother.

Michael rolled over and looked at Asher.

That... just... gross.

Don't ever change, Michael. You are a welcome breath of normality in this wacky world of Winchester.

On the other hand, Sam was in California, and Dean was here, with Michael.

Possession is nine-tenths of the law.

Dean had missed Michael.

And he actually admitted it when not under duress.

Michael was pretty sure that picking up where they left off was a bad idea, but would hunting with Dean for a while be so bad?

Did Dean even want Michael to hunt with him?

Michael rolled out of bed and glanced at the clock. It was 3.12am. If he didn't get to sleep, Dean didn't either. He pulled a shirt on over his boxers and padded out of the main building and across to the room he'd given Dean.

Trying not to think too hard about it, he banged on the door, waited a second, then banged again.

Dean, sleep-tousled, eyes puffy and hair in every direction, opened the door wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

It looked like he'd actually been sleeping. Unfair.

"What do you want?" asked Michael without preamble.

Dean rubbed his eyes and then eyed Michael suspiciously. "You're not going to punch me again, are you?"

Occasionally, Dean learns from his mistakes.

Michael shook his head, unapologetic. Dean had a fairly spectacular bruise flowering across his cheek.

"Okay." Dean opened the door more. "Wanna come in?" he said, lip tilting into a smirk.

"No. None of that. I want an answer."

"Oh. Well," Dean frowned. "Fuck it, Mikey, did it have to be the middle of the night?"

Michael frowned at him.

"Fine. I want-I liked how we worked together. That was good. We made a good team."

"And now Sam's taken off, you want me to replace him?"

Dean scratched his stomach and looked away. "Trust me," he said, voice catching a little, "Nobody can replace Sam."

Oddly, this made Michael feel better not worse.

Nothing odd about it. Sam's Sam. Michael's Michael. It's better to be a real you than a fake someone else.

"Okay," he said. "Night."

Dean grabbed his forearm, and warmth shot up Michael's arm and into his chest.

"That's it?"

With superhuman resolution, Michael pulled himself away.

Now he learns to say no to Dean. That just may be a verifiable superpower.

* *XXXIII.

Dean came in bright and early that morning. Joanna was covering the desk. She came up to the bedroom.

"Mike, Miles Dagobert, the guy in room 5 wants to talk to you."

"I'll bet he does," said Michael darkly. "Gimme a moment."

Joanna eyed him suspiciously, but left the room without comment.

Dean was lounging on the bench outside reception when Michael emerged.

"I was wondering," said Michael, figuring that if he was going to agree to run with Dean (which he sorta thought he might), he kinda had to get this out between them, "you and Sam. How did that happen?"

Dean looked away. "You remember you asked me how I lost my virginity?"

Michael sat down abruptly, doing some horrified math in his head. "You-he was, what, twelve?"

"Horrified math". Okay, that's funny.

"No! God, no. There was this girl. Dad was on a hunt, and Alison was in my class at school. And-I liked her, a lot, Mikey. We went out for a few months, and eventually I got her into bed. But there was something wrong with her. When I was-when we were fucking, when I was coming, she changed. Shifted through all these forms, other people in our class, anyone she knew I knew." He looked up.

"She was a shapeshifter, she was taunting me. She was going to kill me, and she wanted me off-balance. She was what Dad was hunting, why we were in this town in the first place. I jumped off the bed and she followed me, still shifting: my ex, even Dad, and eventually she became Sam. Like you said, twelve-year-old Sam. Then she aged him up... I watched my brother grow up in a second. And she got me against the dresser, she was stronger than him, and she kissed me. I let her, because there was a gun in the drawer that I was reaching for." He swallowed. "I got it and shot her-shot Sam-through the heart. Not silver, so they didn't stop her, but I had time to run out of the room and down the hall to where Dad kept the spare kit, and I shot her through the heart and head. I shot Sam through the heart and head."

That is deeply, deeply disturbing. A nightmare come to life. And it's horrifying enough that we might actually see something like this on the show (minus the Not!Sam kissing, of course) and I'm already traumatized at the thought.

Michael didn't respond.

"Anyway, I couldn't look at Sam right after that. I'd kissed him, then I'd shot him, and I couldn't forget it. It was worse when he grew up into the face she'd shown me. I couldn't..." he swallowed. "I just couldn't forget it, how he'd felt against me, warm and alive. It took him a while to work it out, why we weren't working right, but a few years back he did. And he kissed me again, but it was him, not some-" he paused, then spat the word, "-monster."

There's a whole 'nother story in there that I'm pleased to say ellipsisblack has also written.

Michael waited, but Dean didn't say anything else. "But... it's wrong and illegal." He understood, but he didn't understand, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Dean shot him a look and fished around in his pocket. "You know what else is wrong and illegal?" he asked blandly, flicking a card at Michael. "Stealing."

Michael took it. "Callum Ramsey?" he read.

Dean nodded. "Got you a new one."

Identity Theft: the gift that keeps on giving.

"Maxed out the old one," Michael admitted sheepishly.

Dean grinned. "Attaboy. So are we hitting the road or what?"

"Sure. But we gotta keep it professional. Anything else just confuses things." Michael slid a look at Dean as he said it.

Dean looked at him with a grin and before Michael could react, he had his hand on Michael's neck, curling in his hair, and he'd kissed Michael, quick and light, and Michael remembered just what a beautiful kisser Dean was.

What was harder to remember was why he was insisting on a professional relationship at all.

"Yeah, sure," said Dean, standing up. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

And whose definition of "best" are we using?

Michael swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "That doesn't mean much," he muttered.

He's onto you, Dean.

Dean laughed. "Oh toast yes it does. I am a Winchester; my word is my bond."

Michael made a rude noise and stomped inside to get his stuff, Dean close enough behind him that he was treading on Michael's heels.

"There's a haunting down in Arizona we should check out," said Dean, following Michael up the stairs.

"Sounds good," said Michael. "We can do that on our way down to New Mexico."

"What's in New Mexico?"

Michael turned around. "Zombies!" he said with unholy glee.

Dean eyed him like he wasn't sure whether Michael was joking or completely insane.

And there it ends, with Dean and Michael about to hit the road (and the zombies, naturally). But there's more stories in the 'verse, including how Mikey and Dean made up, Dean being introduced to Joanna as the wicked older boyfriend, and Michael, Dean and Sam finding the balance they need between themselves. (I'm happy to mention that the balance is NC-17 rated. Twice.)