Part VIII
Sam stood on the stoop in front of Dean's door, arms full of take-out and trying to figure out how to ring the doorbell, eventually settling on using his elbow after three failed attempts with his pinky finger. When the packages in his arms shifted, he quickly adjusted his balance to keep the chicken soup he'd picked up for Isabella from sliding off the pyramid of food and hitting the bricks beneath his feet. He ended up having to secure it with his chin just as Dean opened the door.
"Hey," his brother said, surprise evident.
Sam had thought long and hard about the impromptu visit and decided that their friendship had progressed to a point where such a thing would not be awkward or out of place. He was happy when Dean opened the door in invitation and stepped back so he could enter.
Sam held up a six pack of bottled beer and Dean took it, leading him into the kitchen. He set the containers of food down on the island between them.
"I figured you wouldn't have a chance to eat, so I brought you something,” Sam said in response to the semi-curious look on Dean's face. He pointed to one of the packages in way of explanation and said, "Garlic chicken."
Dean's brows drew together in confusion, then spiked upward in surprise as he recalled the lunch plans they'd made earlier that morning that never happened. Dean's gaze lingered softly and Sam got the impression that his brother was touched. He wasn't sure if it was the gesture itself or the fact that he remembered Dean's favorite dish
"Thanks,” Dean said with a small smile, long lashes sweeping down, jade gaze slipping away. "Beats the hell out of PB and J."
Since Isabella wouldn't be up for anything resembling solid foods until the following day, Dean put her chicken soup in the fridge and grabbed them each some dishes, silverware and a beer before inviting Sam into the living room.
"Man," Sam said in concern, getting his first look at Isabella as she lay sleeping on the couch, "she looks really sick."
Fever-flushed and restless, Isabella shifted away from his voice, tiny blonde ringlets matted and sweat soaked at the scalp. She looked small and incredibly vulnerable. Spooky lay curled in a ball next to her.
"Yeah," Dean said, "Chloe was right. She's got an ear infection." Dean set his items on the coffee table and settled on the floor in front of the couch with Isabella at his shoulder. He ran a hand over her curls, hand pausing on her forehead to gauge her temperature before adjusting the throw covering her. "Baby girl’s gonna be pretty miserable until the antibiotics kick in."
Sam damn near melted at the endearment and tender touch that came so naturally to his brother. He took a seat opposite Dean on the floor, watched as Dean, who had apparently been doing homework before he arrived, quickly closed his books and set them aside to make room for the food. At the end of the coffee table were a thermometer, some children's Tylenol, a pint size, half-empty container of grape flavored Pedialyte and a box of tissues.
While Sam was well versed in first aid and had taken care of both Dean and Dad in the midst of some fevered infections, taking care of a sick child was, for him, totally different. He wasn’t sure he would know exactly what to do. Dean seemed pretty prepared and ready to deal with just about anything. Of course, he'd had plenty of experience. Sam wasn't sick often as a child, but nine times out of ten, if he was, it was Dean who did the tending.
Dean took a long swallow of his beer and was already dishing garlic chicken and white rice from the take-out container to his plate. Sam watched as he dug in without preamble and with the single-minded intensity of one who had apparently skipped lunch altogether and was only now realizing how hungry he was. More interested in the company than the food, Sam was slower to serve himself. However, he noticed that when Dean had enough in his belly to take the edge off his hunger, he surreptitiously watched as Sam methodically prepared his shrimp egg foo yung.
Sam had to admit, he'd always been a tad ritualistic when it came to eating. He was one of those people that just had to have his food a certain way to fully enjoy it. He could and would eat just about anything, had learned the hard way growing up to eat when food was available as the three square meal a day rule just did not apply in the Winchester household. He couldn't control when he ate, but he could control how he ate it.
Preferably, none of his food should be touching. Peas could touch peas of course, for example, but peas should never touch potatoes. He could tolerate it if necessary, as such a thing did tend to happen from time to time. Admittedly, though, it bothered him more than was likely appropriate. It was a quirk Dean had taken great pleasure in razzing him about but tended to indulge whenever he was the one doing the cooking.
Sam stacked three of his shrimp and egg patties and cut them into bite size pieces before spreading them evenly over his plate. He took care to drizzle the thick brown sauce in equal amounts over each piece before finally taking his first bite.
Dean was openly watching him at this point. "Dude, that's gross."
Sam chuckled and asked, "Have you ever tried egg foo yung?"
The look he gave Sam was a resounding no - followed by a not in this lifetime.
"Did you know that egg foo yung is actually one of the earliest omelets in existence, invented long before the French coined the term?" Dean, who had just taken a bite of food, paused in his chewing, eyes widening imperceptibly as Sam continued. "Foo yung actually translates to lotus flower..."
Dean's brows inched slowly to his hairline at that. He began to nod slowly around his mouthful of food, trying to decide if he should be politely fascinated by this information. Sam’s eyes sparkled. He could just imagine the litany of thoughts running through Dean's head
"Huh," was all Dean said.
Sam grinned, stabbed three or four pieces of his dinner with a fork, and took a huge bite. If he looked happier than anyone eating egg foo yung had a right to be, then so be it. He'd missed this. He would never have admitted so to his brother, but half the reason he'd tended to hoard these little tidbits of odd information was for the sole purpose of seeing that expression on Dean's face. That he was a naturally curious individual and Google was way too accessible in the wee hours of the morning was entirely secondary to the reaction this type of information usually garnered from his brother.
He focused on his food, acutely aware of the glances Dean kept throwing at him when he thought Sam wasn't looking. They had finished their meal and were halfway through a second beer when Isabella began to stir with a whimper. Spooky lifted his head as Dean picked her up, noticeably disgruntled at the removal of his heat source. Sam watched as Isabella curled into Dean mid-air as he pulled her into his lap.
"Shhhhhhhh," he soothed as fever bright eyes finally opened, his hand running gently over her hair and then in small circles on her back as he tucked her under his chin. Isabella calmed at the touch, snuggling into Dean's embrace. He rocked her for a few minutes, let her wake up a little before giving her another dose of Tylenol and somehow managing to get her to take a few small sips of Pedialyte in which she had no interest.
Her eyes grazed over Sam at one point and he smiled sympathetically. He saw one of her fingers twitch in the hand that rested on Dean's chest as if she thought to wave but didn't quite have the energy. When Isabella tensed and started to weep quietly at the sharp pain the Tylenol hadn't yet had time to dull, Dean's hand cupped the back of her head. "I know, baby, I know.” His voice was low and pained as he rocked her back and forth and kissed the crown of her head.
Isabella shifted to his shoulder, hiding her face in the curve of his neck. Dean held her closely, his head resting lightly on hers as he began to softly hum. Sam tilted his head curiously after the first few bars. The tune had the simple easy cadence of a lullaby, but was one that he didn't recognize. Dean got to his feet carefully and walked a slow circular path around the room. Sam settled against the recliner at his back and watched. The medication, movement and the soothing sound of Dean's voice soon had the desired effect. Isabella relaxed against him, limbs dangling, eyes blinking slow and heavy as she fought the healing pull of sleep. It wasn't until Dean started to sing that Sam realized how badly he longed to hear the words that accompanied the whimsical little melody.
“I see the moon
The moon sees me
Down through the leaves of the old oak tree"
Sam stilled at the smooth, even tempo.
"Please let the light that shines on me
Shine on the one I love.”
He had forgotten how beautiful Dean’s voice was.
"Over the mountains
Over the sea
Back where my heart is longing to be"
Sam swallowed.
"Please let the light that shines on me
Shine on the one I love."
Dean paused at the window, humming once again as he gazed into the fading sunset. He continued to rock Isabella gently, patting her back softly. Sam could tell she was asleep, had been for a few minutes now. Dean seemed content to just hold her, running through the lullaby a couple more times before making his way back to the floor opposite Sam. Instead of depositing her back on the sofa, Dean reached awkwardly for the throw with his free hand. By the time Sam thought to help him he'd already managed to wrap it loosely around Isabella's small frame. The curve of his jaw settled lightly on her head, her tiny hand loose and open where it rested over his heart.
After a long moment Sam noticed that Dean, who wasn't the least bit embarrassed or self-conscious through the entire ordeal, was suddenly looking very uncomfortable. It wasn't until Sam realized that he had been silently gawking for several long minutes that he understood why.
"I, ah..." Sam cleared his throat, took a sip of beer as he looked away. "I've never heard that song before." His next words encompassed so much more than the simple lullaby. "It's beautiful."
Their gazes met simultaneously, the sincerity in Sam's voice surprising Dean, who looked away first and then down, the palest of pinks infusing his handsome, angular features. He was quiet for a long moment before responding.
"It was Jenna's favorite," he said.
Oh. Sam waited in expectant anticipation. This is the first time Dean has ever spoken to him of his late wife, a sign of the trust he'd so slowly and painstakingly worked for.
"We met in the hospital where she worked," Dean started as Sam reminded himself to breathe. "I was in an accident and was pretty out of it for awhile,” Dean said by way of explanation, and Sam was amazed at his brother's ability to condense the scope and seriousness of his injury down to that one understated yet accurate sentence.
"I remember waking up and being pretty freaked out because I couldn't move, couldn't talk...couldn't…anything,” Dean continued, not looking at Sam. It was obvious that he wasn't totally comfortable with the discussion, but it was nearly as obvious that Dean needed someone to talk to. "I think I was on the verge of panicking...” When Dean flashed him a small self-conscious smile, still not quite looking at him, Sam held in check the urge to reach out to him. "Then I heard her voice..."
I see the moon
The moon sees me...
"She sang to me for hours." Dean was quiet as he gazed into the distance, lost within the memory. "I think it's the only thing that kept me sane."
Back where my heart is longing to be...
"Let me guess,” Sam gently prompted after a long stretch of silence. "Voice of an angel?
During the weeks leading up to this point, Sam had come to terms with his feelings for Jenna. The occasional flare of jealousy continued to take him by surprise when he wasn't paying attention, but for the most part Sam found himself grateful to her for healing his brother in ways that went well beyond the physical.
The corner of Dean's mouth twitched and Sam caught a rueful and telling smile before he ducked his head, his words filled with loyal and loving affection. "Something like that." Which actually sounded a lot more like not exactly.
For some reason, the unspoken implication that Jenna wasn’t perfect, even in Dean's eyes, made her all the more real and likeable to Sam.
"She centered me, you know?" Dean continued, looking at him once again. "Gave me something to focus on."
Sam nodded, unwilling to speak any more than necessary for fear it would break the spell. He'd waited so long for Dean to open up to him. Jenna was, of course, the first person his brother saw upon waking. Sam listened for close to an hour as Dean recounted a myriad of seemingly innocuous details that catalogued his growing love for the nurse. He listened raptly and smiled in all the right places, knowing, perhaps better than Dean did, just how very much his brother needed this, how important a step it was in the healing process.
Yet it also, albeit inadvertently on Dean's part, gave Sam a glimpse into the rather lengthy and grueling recovery that his brother had endured. Dean never focused on any specifics regarding himself, but it became all too clear to Sam that Jenna was the deciding factor that made what would have been an unbearable set of circumstances...bearable. While Dean remembered how to walk and to talk, the trauma he suffered affected how his brain relayed that information to his body. With time, his speech corrected itself, but he'd essentially had to learn to walk all over again.
Knowing he was taking a chance by shifting the focus from Jenna to Dean, Sam finally ventured, "Sounds like you were in pretty bad shape." His hope was that Dean would trust him enough to tell him everything.
Dean paused. Sam could see in his eyes the realization that he'd revealed much more about himself than intended.
Sam knew he'd made a mistake when the open unguarded expression on Dean's face immediately closed and he looked away.
Damn. Sam's jaw tightened, disappointed and angry with himself for pushing.
As if sensing Dean's discomfort, Isabella shifted in her father's arms. She woke slowly, blinking at Sam before looking up at Dean. Sam watched as their eyes met, witnessed their silent communication as understanding and then acknowledgment dawned in Dean's eyes. Dean leaned forward and touched his nose to Isabella's before rising to his knees. Isabella straightened her legs, feet searching for the floor, apparently deciding that she was perfectly capable of walking. She did however take Dean's hand once he got to his feet.
"Potty break,” Dean said quietly to Sam over his shoulder as he led her from the room. Pointing with his chin at the beer in Sam's hand he asked, "You want another?"
"I'm good, thanks,” Sam said. He'd never seen Dean drink more than two beer in Isabella's presence and figured that was a good guideline to follow.
Spooky jumped from the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him before trotting after Dean and Isabella. Sam let his head fall back against the recliner with a sigh. He wasn't used to being so careful with Dean. It was kind of exhausting. He'd always been able to push his way through his brother's defenses with a minimum of resistance, treading carefully only when Dean was hurting physically or emotionally. At one time, Dean's psyche was a minefield he could traverse in his sleep. But without their shared history to fall back on, he had no edge. He'd always had a free pass where Dean was concerned, able to slip through barriers meant for everyone else, but never him. Never him.
Still, it was progress and Sam wasn't about to balk at that. It had taken Dean weeks to open up about Jenna to him. He would wait as long as he had to for the rest of it. When his brother returned, Isabella was once again in his arms. She was pale as snow with the exception of two bright splotches of color high on her cheeks. The yellow curls were in wild disarray around her small, heart-shaped face. Despite looking frail and very ill, she was wide-eyed and temporarily alert - sleep and Tylenol offering her a brief reprieve from the pain.
When Dean offered her a choice from the collection of children's DVD's hidden in the cupboard beneath the television, Isabella noticeably perked. She gave careful consideration to her selection before deciding with finality on The Smurfs.
For close to twenty minutes, Isabella sat imperiously in Dean's lap. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched as Dean adjusted his posture to suit hers as she ever so slowly folded into the warmth of his chest, the need for more sleep gradually creeping in. The hint of a smile at Gargamel's antics evolved into a full blown giggle at Dean's timely and well done impersonation of the inept sorcerer. Sam could not remember the last time he'd laughed so freely.
--wWw--
Dinner at Liv's the following Sunday was low key. High heat and oppressive humidity kept everyone inside where it was cool. Isabella was feeling better but still sleeping more than usual. The air conditioner in the living room was set to its lowest setting and she was wrapped comfortably in a Strawberry Shortcake blanket as she dozed on the sofa.
Sam sat across from Dean at the dining room table as Liv tended the chili and diced veggies for a salad in the kitchen. For close to an hour Sam worked on grading essays as he surreptitiously watched Dean grow more and more frustrated with his homework. Dean was so absorbed in his work that he was oblivious to the occasional shared glances between Sam and Liv as they quietly watched him struggle.
When Dean dropped his pencil with a defeated sigh and ran a hand through his hair Sam carefully asked, "Everything okay?"
Dean snorted in obvious irritation. He met Sam's gaze but did not respond. Sam didn't like the helpless frustration he saw there.
"Something I can help with?" he asked.
Dean dropped his eyes and Sam could practically feel the knee jerk response of 'I'm fine, thanks' lingering in the air around them. Dean looked uncomfortable with Sam's offer, but surprisingly did not voice a refusal.
Thankfully, Sam wasn't shocked into immobility. He was around the table and sliding into the seat next to Dean before his brother fully realized what he was doing.
"What seems to be the problem?" Sam asked, leaning into Dean's space to survey the rows of neatly lined numbers on the graph paper.
Dean had never shared what class he was enrolled in, despite some subtle probing on Sam's part. Sam knew, of course, had hacked into Dean's university records months ago, but had been hoping Dean would share it with him freely. His brother had always been a private person about anything personal - Sam just wasn't used to that stipulation extending to him.
"Bookkeeping?" Sam asked with feigned innocence, glancing from the sheet and back to Dean. He'd had to admit he was a little surprised by this and wondered at the purpose.
Dean practically squirmed his discomfort. Sam could tell that a classic diversionary tactic and a temporary fleeing of the scene was likely imminent. Let me help you. Please let me help you.
Something in Sam's expression must have hinted at his inner plea. Dean's guard dropped minutely, eyes slowly roaming the contours of Sam's face, a fine line appearing between his brows. Sam could see the individual curve of each eyelash as his brother studied him.
When Isabella coughed softly in the other room it was enough to break the momentary connection.
"I've got her,” Liv said as she retrieved the spill proof sippy cup of juice from the refrigerator and walked past them to the living room.
Dean shook his head, eyes scanning the ledger. "I can't get the numbers to work out right. I've tried everything I can think of."
"Mind if I take a look?" Sam asked.
He saw grudging acquiescence in Dean's gaze as he slid the worksheet in Sam's direction. "Have at it."
Sam was still studying each entry and its components when Liv made her way back through to the kitchen. Algebra was more his specialty but he found accounting straightforward enough to be able to understand its basic language. From what he remembered, Dean was proficient in any type of math that didn't involve letters. Who the hell’s bright idea was that? Sam had given up trying to explain the concept. Dean didn't really care anyway.
He had a general idea what he was looking for and found it in the sixth and ninth entries respectively and then again in the twelfth. For some reason, more so when he was tired, Dean had a tendency to transpose certain numbers when they were paired - four and nine usually being the biggest culprits with three and eight a close second. Sam figured it had something to do with each pair being near mirror images of each other.
His brother had a unique way of dealing with numbers, able to do most math in his head using a system that only he understood. More often than not, he got the right answer, but couldn't explain how he got there. So he usually didn't bother. As far as Dean was concerned, it was the end result that mattered.
Unfortunately, Mr. Vose, Dean's sophomore math teacher, didn't agree. When Dean couldn't show his calculations for the nearly perfect score on his mid-terms, the silly man actually accused his brother of cheating. He really didn't blame Dean for decking him. But John decking him? Well, that had been a total and unexpected surprise. It was awesome. Sam actually felt a little resentful that he didn't get a go at the man.
His brother did not cheat. At math.
As far as Sam could tell there was some miscue between the information in Dean's head and how it transferred to paper. He didn't completely understand it but he'd learned to recognize it. Dean may see the number 1,849 in his head but what he wrote down was 1,894. In the fine art of bookkeeping, it was enough to throw an entire ledger out of whack - especially if it happened more than once.
He tactfully pointed it out to Dean and showed him a quick trick, that ironically enough his brother had taught him at the age of 9, to double check his figures. Dean regarded him quietly before returning to his work with an intensity that indicated this particular assignment had become personal. Sam moved back to his seat on the other side of the table, meeting Liv's grateful gaze in the kitchen as he did so.
Pretending to be engrossed in his grading, Sam focused on the collection of papers in front of him. The brother in him felt the need to stand over Dean’s shoulder and watch, making sure Dean understood the lesson. The teacher in him knew better. Dean had never responded well to that anyway. It was bad enough having your little brother tutor you in the first place. Hovering to make sure it was done right was just asking for an elbow to the gut.
Ten minutes later Dean dropped his pencil, leaning back in his chair, this time with a relieved sigh.
“How’d you make out?” Sam asked, brows quirked.
Dean gave him a small nod, lips parted around a small self conscious smile. “Good, thanks to you,” Dean said seriously.
Sam took the compliment in silence, glad to be of help.
Dean dropped his eyes, a small huff of air that may have passed for a laugh escaping him, then, "I must seem pretty stupid to you."
Peripherally, Sam saw Liv freeze, listening. The statement wasn't meant to be taken seriously, but there was a hint of self deprecation there that hit Sam where it hurt, and enough vulnerability to let him know that Dean really cared about what Sam thought of him.
"No, Dean. You don't." Sam said gently, but with conviction, leaning forward on the table. "You're one of the smartest people I know."
Dean was still looking elsewhere but his yeah right expression said it all. Sam wasn't about to let this one go.
"I've seen what you do for work everyday. It takes skill and knowledge and talent to do what you do. Dean, you can gauge a potential mechanical problem by just listening to an engine idle." Sam let a little of his awe and pride in Dean's abilities color his voice. "You can take apart an entire vehicle and put it back together again, better than it was before you started."
He had Dean's full attention now.
"It amazes me sometimes, the things you can do with your hands." Sam smiled and dipped his head thinking of his first weeks at Walker's. "As a matter of fact, you must find me fairly ineffective at times."
"Nah,” Dean was noticeably embarrassed by Sam's unexpected praise. "Just inexperienced."
Dean had made Sam's point for him. "We all have our gifts, man. Doesn't make me any smarter than you."
With a nod of concession, Dean held Sam's gaze, grateful, but unable to voice it.
"This is also an advance course, Dean, honey." Liv chose that moment to make her presence known, standing behind Dean, hands on his shoulders. "We knew it was going to be a little more difficult than last semester."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, managing to look chagrined and petulant as he looked up at her. "It's just a lot harder than I thought it was going to be."
She gave his shoulders a supportive squeeze, hand going to the back of his head as she said, "Dinner's ready. Wake Bella and get her washed up?"
More than ready to call it quits for the evening, Dean tucked his papers in his book and closed it. "Yes, ma’am," he said with a smirk in Sam's direction, rubbing his head when Liv playfully cuffed him on the way out.
Liv stood looking at him for a long moment after Dean left. As usual, Sam saw a lot more in her gaze than he wanted to. Finally, she said, "Thank you."
Sam nodded.
"He does so much better when it's hands on,” Liv continued. "He's been helping me with the books at Walkers for almost a year now."
"Really?" Sam hoped he didn't sound as surprised as he felt.
"You're so good with him, Sam,” Liv responded without really answering. She had a habit of doing that with him. "I've been working with him for months and haven't been able to explain in all that time the issue with the numbers that you caught in one afternoon. How is that?"
Shrugging, Sam lied with ease. "Beginner’s luck, I guess."
Liv continued to watch him speculatively. "Well, whatever the reason, I can't thank you enough."
"Can I ask you a question?" Sam sidestepped the unnecessary gratitude.
"Sure,” Liv responded.
"Why the interest in the books?" Sam asked. “Dean has more than enough to keep him busy with repairs and rebuilds. Why would he want to add more to an already full plate?”
"The classes were his idea,” Liv started. "I had planned on utilizing more of an on-the-job training approach. As you may have noticed, Dean's great with numbers, he just happens to have a system that no one understands but him."
Despite the fact that Sam genuinely liked Liv, he tended to internally balk on those occasions when she attempted to explain his brother to him. No one knew Dean better than he did. No one
Somehow he managed to not allow those feelings to creep into his voice. "But why...?" he asked, still confused as to Dean's interest in the subject.
"I'm retiring," she said, finally understanding what piece of the puzzle Sam was missing, “signing over all rights to Walker's to Dean. This time next year he'll be running the business himself.
Okay. So that explained some things. "Retiring?"
"From Walker's, yes,” Liv explained. "That was Ramsey's dream, not mine. I kept it going for years when all I wanted to do was sell. I just couldn't do it; it didn't feel right at the time. Now I know why."
When Sam looked at her curiously Liv lovingly added, "It was meant for Dean."
If Sam had been undecided about Liv, her words would have swayed him to her favor in that moment. Unknowingly, she had taken a dream that Dean probably didn't even realize that he had and turned it into a reality.
Sam smiled around the lump in his throat, touched and so very grateful to this woman who'd given his brother a sense of home that had long since been denied. His eyes were a little too bright and his voice a little hoarse when he responded. "Good choice."
"Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” Liv said brightly as Dean entered with Isabella on his hip. "Come to Gramma, sweetie."
Sam cleared the table of paperwork as Liv settled Isabella in her booster seat. Dean set the table while Sam poured everyone a drink and Liv transferred the pot of chili to the table. It was a coordinated effort that Sam fell into with ease. Despite his efforts to slowly infiltrate Dean's life, it occasionally snuck up and surprised him just how well he'd succeeded.
After blessing the meal, Liv and Sam served themselves while Dean and Isabella continued to wait expectantly as if something were missing.
Apparently it was. Liv's gaze traveled back and forth between them for a moment before she realized what it was. "Oh, good heavens, I knew I was forgetting something."
Sam added some sour cream and scallions to his chili as Liv returned with a pan of homemade macaroni and cheese. She set the dish in the center of the table between Dean and Isabella. "What was I thinking?" she said, more to herself than anyone, but with a wink in Sam's direction.
"Perfect,” Dean said as Isabella passed him her bowl, both of them looking very pleased. "Now we can eat."
Sam watched as Dean scooped a generous Izzy-size portion of mac and cheese into her bowl and topped it with a smaller amount of chili. He repeated the procedure for himself with much larger servings.
Sam's left brow rose as a particular memory resurfaced. Dean caught the look and misinterpreted it.
"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it, dude," he said.
John wasn't the best cook as Sam remembered, but he did okay. Dean was better. However, if there was one dish his father prided himself on it was his chili. And if John Winchester was going to make a big ass pot of chili, he damn well was going to make it the way he liked it. It just so happened he liked it spicy hot enough to set the drapes on fire with a single belch.
Sam was often resigned to cereal until the pot disappeared over a day or two. Dean came up with a solution of his own to temper the spice and make it more tolerable. Kraft macaroni and cheese. He'd mix it right in with the chili. Just the sight of it was enough to make Sam gag. Dean thought that was funny. It was a disgusting combination and a serious violation of his no touching food rule. Gross.
"Here,” Dean held a spoonful of mac and cheese over Sam's bowl.
Sam fought the urge to shield his meal with his hands. "Ah...."
Thank God for Liv. "Here you go, Sam," she said as she handed him a small dish. His relief must have been obvious, Liv looked as if she were stifling a giggle.
Dean placed the serving on the plate and gave him a sideways glance that spoke volumes.
Wuss.
Sam ignored him.
--wWw--
Later that evening, leftovers in tow, Liv caught Dean on the way out. "Can I talk to you for a sec, hon?"
"Sure."
Liv's tone had him curious Sam could tell. Him too.
He took Dean's containers with his in one hand and led Isabella out to the Impala to buckle her in. It was a good ten minutes before a very quiet Dean joined them and placed a box on the seat between them.
"Everything okay?" Sam asked, dying to know what was in the box.
"Yeah," Dean seemed surprised by the question. "I'm good. You?"
"Dean..." Sam could tell something was wrong. He must have had the let's talk about it tone in his voice because Dean interrupted before he could get any further.
"I'm fine, Sam." It was friendly, but final. Drop it.
It went against his grain, but Sam let it go.
When Dean was just as withdrawn the next day at work and the day following that, Sam began to regret that decision. He didn't push though, couldn't bring himself to do so. There was something fragile in the way Dean held himself and responded to those around him. Sam noticed that both Liv and Rand were overly careful with him, watching Dean closely but letting him have his space.
Sam didn't ask Liv, though he was tempted, about what she had said or what was in the box. She didn't offer to tell him either. Sam had a very strong feeling that this was purposeful, that she was expecting or hoping that Dean would open up to him on his own.
Sam was praying for the exact same thing.
On Friday his prayer was answered. Dean was still quiet but much more himself. When he invited Sam over after work to watch the game, Sam was so quick to accept that Dean stopped what he was doing and looked at him oddly. When they parted ways with Liv at the end of the day, the relief in her eyes was obvious.
Sam ended up watching a half hour of the game by himself, listening to Dean and Isabella on the baby monitor as he tucked her in. None of the melancholy he observed this week had ever been apparent in her presence. At one point, Sam found himself wondering if Dean even remembered he was downstairs, the two were so wrapped up in each other and the bedtime story that Isabella had chosen.
The game ran later than usual due to extra innings that the Sox put to good use. The victory got a small smile from Dean as they discussed the highs and lows of the game, but it was obvious to Sam that Dean had something else on his mind.
Around ten o'clock conversation began to wind down, and much to Sam's dismay, was becoming awkward. Making a judgment call, Sam decided it was time for him to leave. He'd done his best to make this easy on Dean, but he wasn't going to push.
"It's getting late, man,” Sam said. "I think I'm gonna hit the road."
"Oh." Noticeably caught off guard, Dean's look of disappointment had Sam second guessing himself. "You sure?"
"Yeah," Sam let his reluctance show. "Gotta work in the morning. Boss is as real slave driver."
Dean gave him a real smile at that, but didn't respond. They both had a half day at the garage planned.
The silence stretched
"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Sam said, but made no move to leave.
"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly with a nod. "Tomorrow. Right."
They stood gazing at each other in the living room. Sam not wanting to leave, Dean struggling to ask him not to.
Sam dropped his eyes. He'd done everything he could. The ball was in his brother's court. "Goodnight, Dean."
As he passed Dean on the way to the door Sam felt warm fingers wrap gently around his wrist. He froze at the touch, heart fluttering at Dean's quiet plea.
"Stay."
Part IX