Shadows 07
A/N: Hey guys! I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! The college has been all kinds of crazy. I can't promise it won't repeat but I promise to work twice as hard not to let it happen again.
IMPORTANT! Though this WILL BE Dean/Cas, some of the chapters so far contain little to no interaction between the two of them. That means I can't post those chapter on deancastiel. You can either wait for the approved chapters on deancastiel or you can follow the story here or on hoodie-time. Thank you for understanding.
- Sam -
“Hey, geeky geek.”
Sam opened his eyes. He’d closed them to regain some of the lost balance when the previous memory had morphed into this new one. His hand kept twitching nervously, and the urge to grab Dean and run far and fast away from the world made his body shake with small tremors.
“Where have you been, Dean?” Sam’s younger self asked rather harshly over a thick, well-thumbed book. He sat at a dining table in the same motel room where Dean had counted the bills dad had left them, made Sammy pancakes, and generally been a proud, protective idiot.
Sam had yet to stomach the fact that Dean would rather spend the school time working than ask for damn help.
Dean slipped off his sneakers, using his feet, in the entryway. He kicked them away and headed straight for the bedroom, undressing his t-shirt before even getting there. He vanished inside the room, leaving the door open. “What came over you?”
“The drama club,” Sammy snapped loudly, so Dean would hear.
Sam heard a rustling of clothes, opening and closing of a cabinet. A moment passed before Dean responded. “The drama club came over you?”
Sammy clasped the book angrily shut, putting it none too gently onto the table. He turned in the chair, and glared at the wall separating him from Dean. “The play you promised to come to see.”
Dean peeked out of the bedroom. He was halfway through buttoning up an old shirt that would stay dirty even after a marathon of laundering. He’d changed into faded jeans with holes on the knees. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Dean sighed. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He took a chair beside his brother, turning it backward and straddling it. “I completely forgot.”
“Everyone had someone there,” Sam’s younger self complained. “I was the only freak whose family didn’t bother to show up.”
“Hey, you’re no freak so stop saying that,” Dean retorted angrily. “Besides, who in their right mind joins a drama club? Those people are freaks, not you.”
“I’ve joined as well, Dean. You know, that’s why there was a performance...”
Dean blinked. “I thought the principal made you? As a punishment?”
“Punishment for what?” Sammy crossed his arms over the chest defiantly. “The principal offered it to me ‘cause Tom’s broken his leg badly, so someone had to take over his role, and he thought I’d manage. I had three days to memorize all Tom’s lines, but I did manage. I had a moment of a normal life and you were supposed to be there.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment. “Sometimes, I don’t even know how the two of us can be related.”
Sammy smirked and punched him in the shoulder playfully. The problem between them solved just like that. “Shut up. I’m awesome.”
“You are the lamest bitch of a brother I could have,” Dean said, grinning, “but I still love you.” He ruffled Sammy’s hair, and the boy swatted a hand at him.
“Oh, by the way,” he spoke, when Dean stood up to walk away. “Mr. Morgan’s been asking for you. Count yourself lucky dad doesn’t answer his phone, so he came to me.”
Dean looked puzzled. “Who’s Mr. Morgan?”
“Seriously?” Sammy rolled his eyes. “He’s your homeroom teacher, Dean! Do you ever go to school anymore?”
Sam was relieved to hear himself somehow notice Dean’s absence at school. His eleven (Twelve?) year-old self had been kind of subdued in the last memory that had taken place in this motel room. Of course Sam didn’t remember much of his childhood. His memories were tangled and hazy, occasionally springing up a few moments with clarity. For instance, he knew he’d had a friend named Jake for a couple of weeks in the third grade, but he wasn’t able to figure out what they’d ever talked about or most of what they’d done together. What Sam could be certain of was that he’d asked a lot of questions as a kid. And that didn’t add up to the Sammy in Dean’s last memory from this place, but Sam realized now it had probably been caused by John’s fresh absence. It’d always taken its toll on him.
Sam was immensely glad to see that he hadn’t been so ignorant after all, as the impressions of the memories left him feel. He’d wondered, and doubted, but Dean was good at lying and dodging answers. And it was easier at his young age (and in the following years as well) to believe those lies.
Dean stretched his arms like an overgrown cat. “You know girls go for the bad boy crap. I gotta keep up my appearances, y’know. If I show up there too often, they’ll notice and think I’m turning into a big softie.”
“Softie meaning responsible and smart?”
Dean grinned. “Exactly.”
Sammy sighed. He lifted his book again. “Just go there sometimes, okay? Wouldn’t want the teachers to call CPS again. That was so not funny the last time.”
Dean put on his leather jacket, bending down for his sneakers. “We made it, didn’t we?”
“Dad was so angry I thought his head was gonna explode,” Sammy said, chuckling.
That was one of the memories Sam remembered in detail even now.
Sammy pursed his lips in thought. “One more thing… Mrs. Johnson said you paid for the school trip. Did you call Pastor Jim? Or Bobby?”
“There. See? I go to school,” Dean said. When Sam just raised his eyebrow expectantly, he continued. “I told you not to worry about the money, okay?”
Sammy lowered his gaze. “Yeah, but…”
Dean sighed. “I borrowed from the money dad’s left us. And, uh, then I called him… he said he’d send us more.” Lying, Sam thought bitterly, always lying to him.
“Really?” Sammy’s head perked up.
It was time for Dean to roll his eyes. “Really. Dad cares about us studying, alright? He’s not nearly as ignorant as you’re making him.”
“I’m not making him ignorant, he-“
“I know, I know,” Dean cut him off. “Anyway, I’m outta here.”
“Where’re you going?”
Dean’s hand rested on the door knob. “Meeting Taylor.”
“Again?” Sam’s younger self huffed. “And in this?” He eyed critically Dean’s clothes. “Is she blind or brain damaged?”
Dean grabbed one of Sammy’s shoes off the floor and threw it at his brother. “Shut up.”
Sammy laughed, dodging the flying shoe.
Before Dean exited, he turned around one last time. “You know the drill. No parties, no orgies, no…” He gazed at his brother. “Ah, why am I even bothering? You’re gonna stay buried in those books of yours, aren’t you?”
Sammy rolled his eyes. “I’m twelve, Dean, I don’t do parties yet.”
“You shouldn’t do books either,” Dean countered.
“Someone from this family has to.”
“You’re such a lost case,” Dean said. Sammy stuck out his tongue. Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and walked out of the apartment.
Sam wondered as the door closed behind Dean with a soft thump. He wondered if what he’s doing was right.
…
“Hey, Taylor, you know what’s total bullshit?”
A smell of oil and gasoline filled Sam’s nostrils. He drew the scent in dreamily. The familiarity of it slowed his thumping heart. He was nervous, becoming uncertain. He was still determined to find out what so terrible thing had happened that it made his brother give up. Dean was supposed to be strong, not… the alien version Sam had been seeing in the memories.
But a small voice in the back of his mind pleaded with him to stop. The voice that grew stronger with memories of the perverted truck driver, the suburban house and the man who opened the door for Dean.
What Benny had said though in their little fight made the voice so quiet Sam barely heard it at all. The vampire considered himself Dean’s brother. He thought he knew Dean better. Normally, Sam would have laughed at him. So ridiculous it would have sounded. Benny-who’d met Dean one year ago-declared he knew more than Sam did after so many years spent by Dean’s side.
The more however Sam saw of Dean’s life, the more it made him doubt the certainty of himself knowing Dean at all. There was so much that had escaped his notice.
“You tell me.”
Sam followed the voice. His eyes fell onto the man who had invited Dean into his fancy house, and his blood ran cold. The feeling of something definitely not right came back. Sam’s younger self had assumed Taylor was a girl, and Dean hadn’t bothered to correct the assumption. It was so Dean-like to avoid the truth, Sam thought angrily. The inability to talk was what had gotten them to this point.
Dean stood next to the man, carefree and oblivious, his hands buried in a car’s insides. They were in the middle of what looked like a house’s garage. Steel shelves with various tools-from wrenches to jacks and gas cans-covered the room’s walls. There was no place left free of them. A small bench stood next to the car.
“Making beds. I mean, why? It’s not like someone’s gonna barge in the room and blow my brains out just ‘cause a freaking coin won’t bounce back off the covers. It can’t even be possible!”
The guy-Taylor-chuckled. He handed Dean a rug, which Dean used to wipe small droplets of sweat running down his brow. Taylor tracked the movement with his eyes.
“Oh, and the fucking-“
“Language.”
Dean turned to the man. “I already said bullshit.”
“And I let that one slip.”
Dean grinned mischievously, like he contemplated rebelling. Instead he discarded the rug unceremoniously on the floor, and bent over underneath the car’s propped up hood again. “The voicemail. Is it so hard to answer a freaking call? I swear if I hear the stupid beep one more time, I’m gonna smash the damn thing with my foot.”
Taylor rested his back against the car so he was facing Dean, fixing his eyes firmly on the boy. “I’m sure your daddy would answer if he could.”
Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause my daddy’s such a responsible parent.”
“You should respect the man that raised you.”
Dean frowned. “He didn’t raise me. I raised myself and I raised Sammy. He put a gun in my hands and showed me how to aim.”
“To protect you and your brother.”
“To help him-“
Dean stopped. He didn’t need to finish the sentence though. Sam understood. His own voice echoed in his head. To help him kill monsters, to help dad find the demon who had killed mom. John may have seen it differently but this was how Sam had viewed it all along. Even now when he was an adult, Sam was certain dad had dragged them over the states mainly for revenge. He could have stayed with his two small sons in one place and induct them into hunting, just like Bobby had done. That would equal protecting them. Instead, the man had been leaving them in motels, running off to chase monsters.
That was Sam’s opinion and he’d made sure everyone knew it.
He was shocked to learn Dean had felt this way too. He’d never said anything, never complained. He’d been always so pliable to dad. Everything John did was a law to him. In every fight between Sam and dad, Dean had defended dad, making up excuses for the man. Sam remembered being so pissed those times. He’d wanted to grab Dean and shake him to make him see the reality.
And apparently, all the while, Dean had been having his own doubts about the perfection of John Winchester. He’d simply never shared them aloud.
“What?” Taylor prompted.
Dean shook his head. “Never mind.” He wiped his hands on jeans and sat down on the bench, sighing. “I’m gonna miss this.”
Taylor joined him. “You planning on goin’ somewhere, boy?”
“Not me,” Dean replied. “Dad is. He’s coming back this Friday. We’re-we’re moving. Again.” His eyes shone with pain as he looked at Taylor. He exposed himself to a man he hardly knew and let him see his doubts, fears; his vulnerability. Why did this Taylor get to see the real Dean when Sam had been kept in the dark? At least a little part of Dean had obviously resented dad for their lifestyle just like Sam had, and yet, he’d never said a damn word. He’d smile, throw “Yes, sir.” and “No, sir.” here and there, then come here and confide in someone as untrustworthy as this guy.
It may have been Sam’s prejudice talking, influenced by the memory of the trucker, and Sam’s own jealousy-yes, jealousy, because that’s what it was that he felt, and there was no denying it. Maybe the man wasn’t dangerous. Just because he looked at Dean too long and was obviously spending his free time in the presence of a teenager didn’t have to necessarily mean his intentions were shady. He could be the fatherly type who liked kids and wanted to help the ones that seemed troubled.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Taylor said, and even though it sounded honest, Sam couldn’t help himself but hear something in the voice that told a different story. It was almost like the prospect of Dean leaving thrilled the man. “Maybe we could hang out one last time?”
Dean brightened considerably. “That’d be awesome. But won’t Catherine mind? I’ve already been spending a lot of time here…”
“Don’t be stupid. My wife loves you.” When Dean didn’t look too convinced, Taylor added, “Cat got up extra early today to bake before work. She even slapped my hand away, telling me that ‘It’s for Dean,’ so I better be careful to leave you some. If that’s not love I don’t know what is.”
At Dean’s sheepish smile, Taylor grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s playing bridge on Thursdays. She’s able to spend there the whole night, nursing one glass of wine and going through the news of our neighborhood. Last week she got back at three in the morning. I swear the women are such gossipmongers...”
Dean laughed softly. If Sam hadn’t been paying such a close attention to his brother, he’d never guess this kind of sound came out of him. Dean glanced briefly at Taylor before lowering his head to hypnotize his shoelaces. “My mom… she was never like that, I think,” he said quietly.
Sam took a step closer. This was unexpected. For the moment he forgot all worries he was having, and just listened. Dad had never talked about mom, Dean rarely. Every word was precious and treasured.
“I… I remember her two friends. They would come over sometimes. They’d talk and laugh for hours. But mom never went over to their houses. She’d stay, looking after me and Sammy. She wouldn’t want to leave us.” Dean smiled absently, bringing a smile on Sam’s lips as well. “She would let me sit in her lap and… she’d just hold me while she was talking to her friends.”
Taylor placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing. Dean cleared his throat. “Doesn’t matter now. You were telling?”
The man let his hand rest on Dean’s body. “I can tell Cat not to hurry. What’d you say? I could show you my old M16 if you want. It’s not much a fancy rifle but I gave her my heart.”
Dean grinned. “Catherine’s not jealous?”
“She hates guns.” Taylor motioned for him to lean closer, and Dean eagerly complied. “So I keep them my secret,” Taylor whispered.
Cas’ hand gripped Sam’s shoulder, startling him. He’d completely forgotten about his and Benny’s presences. “Sam, please let’s leave here. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Cas felt the same as Sam? That was unexpected… and disturbing to say the least.
“I-“
“This has come too far, Sam,” Cas said firmly. “I’ve been patient so far in hopes you’ll understand yourself, but you aren’t thinking clearly. If trying to exclude me and the vampire away from this place didn’t work, I must insist you try and leave Dean’s mind together with us. The spell could possibly have bound us together.”
“I agree with Feathers,” Benny supplied. “My vamp senses are tingling.”
“Do not agree with me,” Cas retorted. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
Benny laughed.
“Sam,” the angel addressed him again, his razor blue eyes digging a hole through Sam’s resolve to continue. “This won’t end well. I beg you to realize what this will do to Dean. What it’ll do to you and us. I can’t bear to see Dean broken, I…“ Cas let the sentence hang between them. Benny looked strangely sympathetic as he gazed at the angel.
The scene changed before Sam had a chance to answer.
chapter six
chapter eight
IMPORTANT! Though this WILL BE Dean/Cas, some of the chapters so far contain little to no interaction between the two of them. That means I can't post those chapter on deancastiel. You can either wait for the approved chapters on deancastiel or you can follow the story here or on hoodie-time. Thank you for understanding.
- Sam -
“Hey, geeky geek.”
Sam opened his eyes. He’d closed them to regain some of the lost balance when the previous memory had morphed into this new one. His hand kept twitching nervously, and the urge to grab Dean and run far and fast away from the world made his body shake with small tremors.
“Where have you been, Dean?” Sam’s younger self asked rather harshly over a thick, well-thumbed book. He sat at a dining table in the same motel room where Dean had counted the bills dad had left them, made Sammy pancakes, and generally been a proud, protective idiot.
Sam had yet to stomach the fact that Dean would rather spend the school time working than ask for damn help.
Dean slipped off his sneakers, using his feet, in the entryway. He kicked them away and headed straight for the bedroom, undressing his t-shirt before even getting there. He vanished inside the room, leaving the door open. “What came over you?”
“The drama club,” Sammy snapped loudly, so Dean would hear.
Sam heard a rustling of clothes, opening and closing of a cabinet. A moment passed before Dean responded. “The drama club came over you?”
Sammy clasped the book angrily shut, putting it none too gently onto the table. He turned in the chair, and glared at the wall separating him from Dean. “The play you promised to come to see.”
Dean peeked out of the bedroom. He was halfway through buttoning up an old shirt that would stay dirty even after a marathon of laundering. He’d changed into faded jeans with holes on the knees. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Dean sighed. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He took a chair beside his brother, turning it backward and straddling it. “I completely forgot.”
“Everyone had someone there,” Sam’s younger self complained. “I was the only freak whose family didn’t bother to show up.”
“Hey, you’re no freak so stop saying that,” Dean retorted angrily. “Besides, who in their right mind joins a drama club? Those people are freaks, not you.”
“I’ve joined as well, Dean. You know, that’s why there was a performance...”
Dean blinked. “I thought the principal made you? As a punishment?”
“Punishment for what?” Sammy crossed his arms over the chest defiantly. “The principal offered it to me ‘cause Tom’s broken his leg badly, so someone had to take over his role, and he thought I’d manage. I had three days to memorize all Tom’s lines, but I did manage. I had a moment of a normal life and you were supposed to be there.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment. “Sometimes, I don’t even know how the two of us can be related.”
Sammy smirked and punched him in the shoulder playfully. The problem between them solved just like that. “Shut up. I’m awesome.”
“You are the lamest bitch of a brother I could have,” Dean said, grinning, “but I still love you.” He ruffled Sammy’s hair, and the boy swatted a hand at him.
“Oh, by the way,” he spoke, when Dean stood up to walk away. “Mr. Morgan’s been asking for you. Count yourself lucky dad doesn’t answer his phone, so he came to me.”
Dean looked puzzled. “Who’s Mr. Morgan?”
“Seriously?” Sammy rolled his eyes. “He’s your homeroom teacher, Dean! Do you ever go to school anymore?”
Sam was relieved to hear himself somehow notice Dean’s absence at school. His eleven (Twelve?) year-old self had been kind of subdued in the last memory that had taken place in this motel room. Of course Sam didn’t remember much of his childhood. His memories were tangled and hazy, occasionally springing up a few moments with clarity. For instance, he knew he’d had a friend named Jake for a couple of weeks in the third grade, but he wasn’t able to figure out what they’d ever talked about or most of what they’d done together. What Sam could be certain of was that he’d asked a lot of questions as a kid. And that didn’t add up to the Sammy in Dean’s last memory from this place, but Sam realized now it had probably been caused by John’s fresh absence. It’d always taken its toll on him.
Sam was immensely glad to see that he hadn’t been so ignorant after all, as the impressions of the memories left him feel. He’d wondered, and doubted, but Dean was good at lying and dodging answers. And it was easier at his young age (and in the following years as well) to believe those lies.
Dean stretched his arms like an overgrown cat. “You know girls go for the bad boy crap. I gotta keep up my appearances, y’know. If I show up there too often, they’ll notice and think I’m turning into a big softie.”
“Softie meaning responsible and smart?”
Dean grinned. “Exactly.”
Sammy sighed. He lifted his book again. “Just go there sometimes, okay? Wouldn’t want the teachers to call CPS again. That was so not funny the last time.”
Dean put on his leather jacket, bending down for his sneakers. “We made it, didn’t we?”
“Dad was so angry I thought his head was gonna explode,” Sammy said, chuckling.
That was one of the memories Sam remembered in detail even now.
Sammy pursed his lips in thought. “One more thing… Mrs. Johnson said you paid for the school trip. Did you call Pastor Jim? Or Bobby?”
“There. See? I go to school,” Dean said. When Sam just raised his eyebrow expectantly, he continued. “I told you not to worry about the money, okay?”
Sammy lowered his gaze. “Yeah, but…”
Dean sighed. “I borrowed from the money dad’s left us. And, uh, then I called him… he said he’d send us more.” Lying, Sam thought bitterly, always lying to him.
“Really?” Sammy’s head perked up.
It was time for Dean to roll his eyes. “Really. Dad cares about us studying, alright? He’s not nearly as ignorant as you’re making him.”
“I’m not making him ignorant, he-“
“I know, I know,” Dean cut him off. “Anyway, I’m outta here.”
“Where’re you going?”
Dean’s hand rested on the door knob. “Meeting Taylor.”
“Again?” Sam’s younger self huffed. “And in this?” He eyed critically Dean’s clothes. “Is she blind or brain damaged?”
Dean grabbed one of Sammy’s shoes off the floor and threw it at his brother. “Shut up.”
Sammy laughed, dodging the flying shoe.
Before Dean exited, he turned around one last time. “You know the drill. No parties, no orgies, no…” He gazed at his brother. “Ah, why am I even bothering? You’re gonna stay buried in those books of yours, aren’t you?”
Sammy rolled his eyes. “I’m twelve, Dean, I don’t do parties yet.”
“You shouldn’t do books either,” Dean countered.
“Someone from this family has to.”
“You’re such a lost case,” Dean said. Sammy stuck out his tongue. Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and walked out of the apartment.
Sam wondered as the door closed behind Dean with a soft thump. He wondered if what he’s doing was right.
…
“Hey, Taylor, you know what’s total bullshit?”
A smell of oil and gasoline filled Sam’s nostrils. He drew the scent in dreamily. The familiarity of it slowed his thumping heart. He was nervous, becoming uncertain. He was still determined to find out what so terrible thing had happened that it made his brother give up. Dean was supposed to be strong, not… the alien version Sam had been seeing in the memories.
But a small voice in the back of his mind pleaded with him to stop. The voice that grew stronger with memories of the perverted truck driver, the suburban house and the man who opened the door for Dean.
What Benny had said though in their little fight made the voice so quiet Sam barely heard it at all. The vampire considered himself Dean’s brother. He thought he knew Dean better. Normally, Sam would have laughed at him. So ridiculous it would have sounded. Benny-who’d met Dean one year ago-declared he knew more than Sam did after so many years spent by Dean’s side.
The more however Sam saw of Dean’s life, the more it made him doubt the certainty of himself knowing Dean at all. There was so much that had escaped his notice.
“You tell me.”
Sam followed the voice. His eyes fell onto the man who had invited Dean into his fancy house, and his blood ran cold. The feeling of something definitely not right came back. Sam’s younger self had assumed Taylor was a girl, and Dean hadn’t bothered to correct the assumption. It was so Dean-like to avoid the truth, Sam thought angrily. The inability to talk was what had gotten them to this point.
Dean stood next to the man, carefree and oblivious, his hands buried in a car’s insides. They were in the middle of what looked like a house’s garage. Steel shelves with various tools-from wrenches to jacks and gas cans-covered the room’s walls. There was no place left free of them. A small bench stood next to the car.
“Making beds. I mean, why? It’s not like someone’s gonna barge in the room and blow my brains out just ‘cause a freaking coin won’t bounce back off the covers. It can’t even be possible!”
The guy-Taylor-chuckled. He handed Dean a rug, which Dean used to wipe small droplets of sweat running down his brow. Taylor tracked the movement with his eyes.
“Oh, and the fucking-“
“Language.”
Dean turned to the man. “I already said bullshit.”
“And I let that one slip.”
Dean grinned mischievously, like he contemplated rebelling. Instead he discarded the rug unceremoniously on the floor, and bent over underneath the car’s propped up hood again. “The voicemail. Is it so hard to answer a freaking call? I swear if I hear the stupid beep one more time, I’m gonna smash the damn thing with my foot.”
Taylor rested his back against the car so he was facing Dean, fixing his eyes firmly on the boy. “I’m sure your daddy would answer if he could.”
Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause my daddy’s such a responsible parent.”
“You should respect the man that raised you.”
Dean frowned. “He didn’t raise me. I raised myself and I raised Sammy. He put a gun in my hands and showed me how to aim.”
“To protect you and your brother.”
“To help him-“
Dean stopped. He didn’t need to finish the sentence though. Sam understood. His own voice echoed in his head. To help him kill monsters, to help dad find the demon who had killed mom. John may have seen it differently but this was how Sam had viewed it all along. Even now when he was an adult, Sam was certain dad had dragged them over the states mainly for revenge. He could have stayed with his two small sons in one place and induct them into hunting, just like Bobby had done. That would equal protecting them. Instead, the man had been leaving them in motels, running off to chase monsters.
That was Sam’s opinion and he’d made sure everyone knew it.
He was shocked to learn Dean had felt this way too. He’d never said anything, never complained. He’d been always so pliable to dad. Everything John did was a law to him. In every fight between Sam and dad, Dean had defended dad, making up excuses for the man. Sam remembered being so pissed those times. He’d wanted to grab Dean and shake him to make him see the reality.
And apparently, all the while, Dean had been having his own doubts about the perfection of John Winchester. He’d simply never shared them aloud.
“What?” Taylor prompted.
Dean shook his head. “Never mind.” He wiped his hands on jeans and sat down on the bench, sighing. “I’m gonna miss this.”
Taylor joined him. “You planning on goin’ somewhere, boy?”
“Not me,” Dean replied. “Dad is. He’s coming back this Friday. We’re-we’re moving. Again.” His eyes shone with pain as he looked at Taylor. He exposed himself to a man he hardly knew and let him see his doubts, fears; his vulnerability. Why did this Taylor get to see the real Dean when Sam had been kept in the dark? At least a little part of Dean had obviously resented dad for their lifestyle just like Sam had, and yet, he’d never said a damn word. He’d smile, throw “Yes, sir.” and “No, sir.” here and there, then come here and confide in someone as untrustworthy as this guy.
It may have been Sam’s prejudice talking, influenced by the memory of the trucker, and Sam’s own jealousy-yes, jealousy, because that’s what it was that he felt, and there was no denying it. Maybe the man wasn’t dangerous. Just because he looked at Dean too long and was obviously spending his free time in the presence of a teenager didn’t have to necessarily mean his intentions were shady. He could be the fatherly type who liked kids and wanted to help the ones that seemed troubled.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Taylor said, and even though it sounded honest, Sam couldn’t help himself but hear something in the voice that told a different story. It was almost like the prospect of Dean leaving thrilled the man. “Maybe we could hang out one last time?”
Dean brightened considerably. “That’d be awesome. But won’t Catherine mind? I’ve already been spending a lot of time here…”
“Don’t be stupid. My wife loves you.” When Dean didn’t look too convinced, Taylor added, “Cat got up extra early today to bake before work. She even slapped my hand away, telling me that ‘It’s for Dean,’ so I better be careful to leave you some. If that’s not love I don’t know what is.”
At Dean’s sheepish smile, Taylor grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s playing bridge on Thursdays. She’s able to spend there the whole night, nursing one glass of wine and going through the news of our neighborhood. Last week she got back at three in the morning. I swear the women are such gossipmongers...”
Dean laughed softly. If Sam hadn’t been paying such a close attention to his brother, he’d never guess this kind of sound came out of him. Dean glanced briefly at Taylor before lowering his head to hypnotize his shoelaces. “My mom… she was never like that, I think,” he said quietly.
Sam took a step closer. This was unexpected. For the moment he forgot all worries he was having, and just listened. Dad had never talked about mom, Dean rarely. Every word was precious and treasured.
“I… I remember her two friends. They would come over sometimes. They’d talk and laugh for hours. But mom never went over to their houses. She’d stay, looking after me and Sammy. She wouldn’t want to leave us.” Dean smiled absently, bringing a smile on Sam’s lips as well. “She would let me sit in her lap and… she’d just hold me while she was talking to her friends.”
Taylor placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing. Dean cleared his throat. “Doesn’t matter now. You were telling?”
The man let his hand rest on Dean’s body. “I can tell Cat not to hurry. What’d you say? I could show you my old M16 if you want. It’s not much a fancy rifle but I gave her my heart.”
Dean grinned. “Catherine’s not jealous?”
“She hates guns.” Taylor motioned for him to lean closer, and Dean eagerly complied. “So I keep them my secret,” Taylor whispered.
Cas’ hand gripped Sam’s shoulder, startling him. He’d completely forgotten about his and Benny’s presences. “Sam, please let’s leave here. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Cas felt the same as Sam? That was unexpected… and disturbing to say the least.
“I-“
“This has come too far, Sam,” Cas said firmly. “I’ve been patient so far in hopes you’ll understand yourself, but you aren’t thinking clearly. If trying to exclude me and the vampire away from this place didn’t work, I must insist you try and leave Dean’s mind together with us. The spell could possibly have bound us together.”
“I agree with Feathers,” Benny supplied. “My vamp senses are tingling.”
“Do not agree with me,” Cas retorted. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
Benny laughed.
“Sam,” the angel addressed him again, his razor blue eyes digging a hole through Sam’s resolve to continue. “This won’t end well. I beg you to realize what this will do to Dean. What it’ll do to you and us. I can’t bear to see Dean broken, I…“ Cas let the sentence hang between them. Benny looked strangely sympathetic as he gazed at the angel.
The scene changed before Sam had a chance to answer.
chapter six
chapter eight