To Fight in the Shade - Part 6
Dean’s eyes were wide open, glittering in the near dark, and Sam could almost see the expression on his face. He couldn’t believe that Dean wasn’t proud of him, even just a little bit. Dad had dismissed the whole thing like it had been nothing, just Dad to the rescue to sign the stupid paperwork and that was it, they were done. Nothing about Sam, except-
“Do you think I was right not telling them who I was? Dad said I was.” Not that Dad’s opinion mattered even near as much as Dean’s did. Didn’t Dean know that?
Dean scrunched under the light cotton sheet, like he was pulling a woolen blanket over him on a cold, wintery night. “You guys were gone for hours, I didn’t know where you were. Maybe if you’d ‘a told him, then you’d have been back earlier.”
The liquid remains of Sam’s last Otter Pop (Little Orphan Orange, the strongest and best flavor of them all) churned a bit in his stomach. He felt all light headed to think about it, how worried Dean had been.
“But I didn’t mean for you to-I was trying to save you from the F.B.I, I thought I was doing it right? Dean, didn’t I do it right?” His voice rose and ended in a sharp crack that Dad was sure to hear and come in to ask what was going on. But the TV continued to drone and Sam didn’t hear any hard, Dad-footsteps coming across the wooden floor.
“The F.B.I?” asked Dean, sounding a little distracted.
“Yeah, Dad said if I played soccer, it would raise a red flag and that’s when maybe the F.B.I. would come.”
“Oh, that,” said Dean. He sounded like he knew all about it and wasn’t worried. “Yeah, that part, you did that right.”
Sam started to smile a little bit because that was good, Dean had said he’d done okay.
“But Sam,” said Dean, and now he sounded more serious than ever. “I think he went to beat up that guy.”
“What guy?”
“That guy, the officer who threw you to the ground. I think that’s what he did.”
“What who did?” Sam was totally confused now and his stomach hadn’t settled down one little bit.
“Dad. He drove down to Ft. Payne and found Officer Johnson and beat him up. Because of what he did to you.” Sam felt Dean nodding against his pillow. “Yeah, an hour there, and hour back and time enough in the middle to beat the crap out of ole Officer Johnson.”
Dean sounded proud of Dad, like that was the right thing for Dad to do. Except to Sam, it was the worst thing ever and it was very probably what had happened, and would explain all of Dad’s bruises and the blood on the backs of his hands.
What if Officer Johnson recognized Dad and then they came up to arrest him? Then Sam would be sent to foster care, and Dean would be carted off to Juvie Hall for sure, and would have nothing to eat but slimy peas and bread with margarine and ginger ale without any ice-and Sam would never, ever see Dean again.
“I can’t do it,” said Sam and he leaped out of bed, cupping his hand over his mouth, his stomach racing around as he hopped over the fan in the bedroom doorway, holding his other hand on his hip to stop the pains shooting up into his side.
He managed to knock the fan over, and the loud, screaming noise brought Dad hurrying over just as Sam got into the bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet. The puke came out all orange and purple, and Sam tried to crouch a little closer so it wouldn’t splash all over the place.
It tasted terrible coming up, and Sam squinted his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dad and Dean standing in the doorway watching him throw up. When he was finished, he flushed the toilet and stood up, wiping his mouth with his trembly fingers.
Sam opened his eyes to look at Dad, who looked at him with an unsympathetic glare. Sam glared back.
“It’s not fair!” said Sam. “Those are the only Otter Pops I’ll ever get for the whole summer and now they’re gone!” His stomach whirled around a bit, but couldn’t find anything more to throw up.
“Too many Otter Pops,” said Dad. “That’s what made you sick.”
“Uh, Dad?” asked Dean. When Dad turned to look at him, Dean said, “Maybe he saw you, maybe he knows who it was that-I think maybe Sam’s worried that now they’ll come and arrest you.”
Dad flinched, and his eyes were hard, but Dean shrugged and stood his ground. Sometimes Dean was so brave, Sam couldn’t even believe it.
“Will they?” asked Dean.
Sam waited for Dad to deny it. But Dad shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand against his sore mouth. It was swollen even more than before, and it didn’t look like he’d put any ice on it at all.
“He didn’t recognize me,” said Dad. “I jumped him in the alley in back of his house. It was plenty dark.”
Plenty dark for Officer Johnson, but not too dark for Dad. Sam didn’t know what to think, and even Dean looked a little surprised.
“You need any baking soda and water, Sam” Dad asked that and waited for Sam to shake his head, which Sam did, because baking soda and water was the worst. Sam would rather have an upset stomach than drink that stuff.
“Then get to bed, both of you. I’m not letting you sleep in tomorrow just because you were up late.”
It was obvious that that was the end of it; Dad had confessed to beating up a cop, and now, they were to pretend it never happened.
Sam thought about saying something, and asking more questions, but Dad looked at Sam. There were circles under Dad’s eyes, and his busted lip was all purple and messy, and Sam hoped there was some aspirin in the house, though he didn’t dare offer to get it for him. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to touch what was in the first aid box unless Dad told him specifically to get something from it.
Dean set the fan on its edge again and Sam stepped around him to get into bed as fast as he could. His heart was beating a little fast, but that was because of throwing up and not because-
Dean got into his side of the bed, without a word. Sam waited till the bed stopped moving. He lay on his back and pulled the sheet up as far as he could, even though the back of his left hip pounded and he knew it would be too hot.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam swallowed; his mouth felt dry and his nose was clogged up, but talking to Dean always made him feel better. Well, usually better.
When Dean didn’t answer, Sam said, “I didn’t mean for me to get arrested. All I wanted was to bring that soccer ball home so you and I could play with it.”
“You’re the one that likes soccer, not me.”
Sam screwed up his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose. The soccer ball wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that, at the end of it all, Dad went and beat up a guy, and that was because he’d been mean to Sam. Sam couldn’t believe that Dad would do something like that, just for Sam. And that’s what was bothering Dean now. Right?
“I won’t let them arrest Dad,” said Sam. “I’ll say it was my fault.”
“Like they’ll believe some dumb kid.”
Sam wanted to say that he wasn’t a dumb kid, and that he could be pretty convincing when he wanted to be, but, only now, Dean was grouchy and mad and worried, and nothing Sam could say or do would make any difference, and Dean would fall asleep, hating him.
“Dean,” he said. Then he took a breath and faced Dean again even though it hurt his hip, so he would make sure that Dean heard him. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I beat up that kid, and I’m sorry that I didn’t just tell them who I was, and I’m sorry I worried Dad and you, and that I made-that Dad beat up that guy. Honest, I’m so, so sorry-I just wanted to play soccer a little bit, with other kids.”
Dean was silent, and Sam figured he needed to add something more, something that was much harder to say. “I’ve tried to not mess up your summer, like you asked me, I tried to do stuff that Dad wants, I’ve tried and tried, but I just wanted soccer for me and-”
“When did I tell you not to mess up my summer” Dean sounded confused, and he twisted his head on the pillow to look at Sam. Sam could see the reflection, a glitter of light in his eyes. “When did I say that?”
Sam thought back. “When you punched me that one time. Last time Dad and I went to Ft. Payne.” He didn’t add the part about the whipping; he didn’t want to upset Dean any more than he already had.
“I shouldn’t have punched you,” said Dean, “but you’re such a little bitch sometimes, always whining and crying about stuff.”
“I didn’t cry today,” said Sam. “Well, I did a little bit, but no one saw me, okay?” He counted out a few heartbeats waiting for Dean to say something, anything.
Dean didn’t.
“I really am sorry, Dean,” said Sam, his voice catching. “I know you want to be a hunter, like Dad, and I’m trying to want to be a hunter too, only, it’s really, really hard.”
Dean didn’t say anything then, either. Sam ducked his head and scrubbed at his eyes, and tried not to care. Then he felt Dean’s hand, lightly at first, on the top of his head, and then more roughly, messing it up in a way that Dean sometimes found hilarious.
“I know,” said Dean. “I seen you trying.”
That was okay, then, that was what mattered. Dean had seen him trying, knew that Sam was trying his hardest to do it right, and not mess it up for Dean. Sam nodded his head, his throat was too tight to say anything, but he didn’t nod his head very much, because he didn’t want Dean to think that Sam didn’t like his hand there, because then he would take it away. And Sam wanted to feel it there, as he fell asleep.
“I’ll help you with the run tomorrow,” said Dean, his voice soft. “It’ll be three miles, but we’ll make up a dirty song to sing as we go.”
“A dirty sailor song,” Sam clarified, half mumbling.
“Right,” said Dean. “Something to make Popeye proud.”
Now Sam could fall asleep, now that Dean wasn’t so mad at him anymore. Sam started to list all the dirty words he knew, because Dean could find rhymes for all of them, and that would make the run much more fun. Except he fell asleep halfway through the dirty words starting with B, which Dean wouldn’t find challenging at all.
*
In the morning, Sam got up, still sore all over, and pulled on his shorts and yesterday’s t-shirt and stumbled to the kitchen table, still half-asleep. Dad was at the stove, scrambling eggs, and Sam just hoped he’d taken out the white string and beaten the eggs to a froth like Sam liked it.
Behind him, Dean came out, half-asleep too, and he sat in his chair, and they both yawned while Dad made them scrambled eggs and toast and even bacon, which he brought over to the table and shoveled onto their plates.
“Drink your milk,” said Dad, as he sat down at the table.
Sam ate his eggs, and his toast and his bacon, and then drank his milk, and when he set the empty glass back down, he looked around. The box that once held Otter Pops was gone, and so were the wrappers that Sam and Dean had left lying about. Dad must have taken out the trash. The scissors were probably back in the drawer, too, so all evidence of last night’s Otter Pop feast was long gone, like it never had been.
Dad’s lip was a little less swollen and the bruise on his cheek hardly showed at all. If Sam didn’t know he’d been in a fight, he wouldn’t have any idea what had happened. But Dad had confessed it, and it was all true. Plus, Dean had seen Sam trying, and wasn’t mad at him anymore, so if Sam kept trying, then maybe Dad would notice too, and get him some more Otter Pops?
It was worth a try.
“So if Dean and me can run the whole three miles without walking, can we get more Otter Pops?” asked Sam. Sam would have to run very slowly because of his hip, and stop to catch his breath, but he thought he could run all the way, if Dean slowed down, too, and stayed near him.
“Otter Pops,” said Dad. He blinked into his coffee cup.
“I’d rather have marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwiches,” said Dean, around a yawn.
Dad sighed and chomped through his bacon, and it was really like any other morning had been all summer, with the day getting hotter, even though it was early, and Dad making plans for their training for the day. Only now, he’d caved and bought them Otter Pops once, so maybe he would again.
“If we train hard,” said Dean. “Can we?”
Sam wanted to add that even if he’d had Otter Pops the day before, he’d thrown them all up so it was really as if he’d never eaten them in the first place. He could still see a little purple stain on Dean’s mouth, and there was probably an orange stain on his own.
Dad studied the last tail end of a piece of bacon, and Sam knew, through experience, that sometimes, it was better to let Dean do all the talking, because for some reason, Dad sometimes listened to Dean and sometimes, though rarely, he followed Dean’s suggestion. Sometimes.
Dad finished his bacon, and wiped his hands on a piece of paper towel. “If everyone can stay out of trouble for the next while, then we’ll see.” Dad looked at Sam rather than Dean as he said this, and Sam ducked his head because yes, if anyone was going to get into trouble it was likely to be Sam.
“Sam’s really been trying, Dad,” added Dean.
“I know it,” said Dad, which was really strange because the last thing Sam ever expected was that Dad had been paying close enough attention to Sam to figure that out. And he probably knew anyway, that Sam was trying hard for Dean, rather than because Dad wanted him to. But that’s the way it always was, and, somehow, for Dean, it was always worth it.
“Okay,” said Dad. He stood up. “Dishes and chores first, and then you boys go for a run. Two miles today, two and a half tomorrow, and then three after that, got it?”
As Sam got up to clear the table (it was his turn to do the dishes and Dean’s turn to dry and put them away), he ducked his head so Dad wouldn’t see him smiling and then ask what Sam was smiling about.
Maybe Dad had forgotten that he’d said last night that they were to run three miles today, or maybe he changed his mind. Either way, it would be easier for Sam and Dean to do the run, and they’d still have plenty of time to sing dirty sailor songs, and it looked like Dad was in a good mood, besides.
Sam wanted to keep him in a good mood and not make him angry, because that would make Dean happy, and if all went well, and Sam stayed out of trouble, then, yes, more Otter Pops were on the way. And Otter Pops were the very best part of summer and if he had enough of them, then maybe it would be easier to want to be a hunter like Dean.
*
Sam woke up and opened his eyes, blinking. The bedroom was quiet and dark, and the fans were whirring, creating a low hum that made him want to fall back asleep. The air felt thick and damp, and if it hadn’t been for the fans moving the air around, it would have settled on Sam’s skin like dew. Next to him, sprawled all over the bed like he owned it (which he didn’t), Dean breathed, almost snoring, but not quite.
Sam didn’t know what had woken him, but now he was thirsty. Dad had made them spend three whole days in the heat, running, sparring, and knife throwing, until Sam was so worn out with it that he just wanted to fall over every other minute and never move again. But Dad had driven both him and Dean until darkness had come each day, and sometimes even past that, and Dean had finally said, “Dad,” in that voice that only Dean dared use on Dad, and that was it, Dad pulled back a little bit.
Sam couldn’t understand why Dad was pushing them so hard, but Dad never explained, even when Sam asked. He’d asked so often that day that Dad had gotten irritated enough to threaten Sam with a whipping if he asked again, so Sam had worked very hard at keeping his mouth shut.
But a glass of water would taste really good right about now, and not just any old water, not water cupped in his hand from the tap. No, he wanted a glass of water, with ice in it, water so cold, the glass beaded on the outside, and when he would drink it, his teeth would hurt. That kind of water.
He looked over at Dean, who was still sleeping and almost-snoring in the rumpled sheet. He twitched, because maybe he knew, in his sleep, that Sam was awake and looking at him. Sam thought about waking Dean up, to make him go get a glass of water with Sam, but that would just make Dean grouchy, and besides, Sam was old enough to get a glass of water on his own.
He pushed the sheet back and got out of bed, looking back to check to make sure that he’d not woken Dean up. He padded across the cool, wooden floor, feeling the breeze of the fan against his bare legs, feeling it flutter through his t-shirt. He was careful not to knock the fan over as he moved it a little bit to get passed it, and left it slightly ajar, so he could get back into bed without waking Dean.
As he stepped into the eating area, he realized that all of the lights were off, and that was mostly normal, but it was all of the lights, including the porch light that Dad usually left burning all night long. Like some kind of beacon to anything that wanted to find them (and Dad was always sure something did). Dad usually said that the light was a deterrent against the dark; Sam didn’t believe him, but wondered now if he should let Dad know the light was off or that the bulb had burned out.
He’d do that tomorrow. Right now, he wanted a glass of water.
“What are you doing up, Sam?”
Sam felt like he jumped at least a foot in the air as he whirled around.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, in his usual chair, a smudged outline in the half-dark, barely lit by the starlight coming in through the open window. Sam thought that Dad had his elbows on the table and had been resting his head in them, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Uh,” said Sam.
“What do you need?”
“I want a glass of water,” said Sam. “With ice,” he added, just to make it clear.
“You thirsty?” asked Dad.
Sam nodded, even though Dad probably couldn’t see him clear enough to know. But Dad got up anyway, and brushed past Sam in the dark, smelling warm and feeling solid. From the sounds on the floor, Sam realized that Dad had taken his socks and boots off and was barefoot, something he seldom did; Dean had explained to Sam that Dad wore his boots all the time so he could take off running anytime, anywhere, if he needed to. Sam guessed that in the middle of the night, Dad didn’t feel the need to run so much.
Dad was getting a glass out of the cupboard, and opened the freezer to get out the ice tray. Sam went over to stand next to him; he could get his own glass of ice water, and if the freezer was a little high for him to reach all the way in, he could have used a chair to get the ice. But Dad was doing it for him, twisting the plastic tray between his hands to make the ice cubes pop out, and tipping the tray to catch a few of the loosest ones in his cupped hand.
“Three?” Dad asked.
He meant did Sam want three ice cubes, and Sam nodded again. “Yeah,” he said. He’d been in the darkness with Dad so long that he could almost see the backs of Dad’s hands against the lighter countertop. Dad put the cubes in the glass and then turned on the tap to fill it up. Then he handed the glass to Sam.
Sam took it with both hands. It was cold, so cold against his palms that it was almost shocking against the warm, dewy air of the summer night.
“Thanks,” he said.
Sam thought that Dad would go back to sitting down and leave Sam to drink his glass of ice water, but as Dad stood there, he held out his hand.
“And then there’s this,” Dad said. “I found it in the freezer.”
The second his hand touched it, Sam realized what it was, and took it, amazed. “Oh,” he said. But he knew Dad was lying, and wanted to say you don’t just find an Otter Pop in the freezer, because Otter Pops came in packs of 18 or a hundred, and between him and Dean, they’d finished them all off. And Dad hadn’t gone to the store since then, so there must be a stash hidden somewhere. But if he said that Dad was lying, Dad might take it in his head to get rid of the Otter Pops and that would be that.
“Thank you,” he said, instead, and realized that he meant it.
“Let’s take this out on the front porch, so we don’t wake your brother.” Dad got the scissors out of the drawer, and taking the Otter Pop back for a second, cut it open. When he handed it back, Sam stuck it in his mouth right away. Sam didn’t know how Dad could cut such a perfect circle in the near-darkness, but he had. It was Little Orphan Orange, besides, so he followed Dad without complaining that he’d rather just eat the Otter Pop by himself.
It would probably be like this, that every now and then, Dad would bring out an Otter Pop as a treat. But he wouldn’t say anything about it, wouldn’t say well done or good job or anything, not like some Dads would. Sam wondered whether Dad knew that handing Sam a Sir Isaac Lime wasn’t that much of a treat, but he seemed to know what Sam’s favorite flavor was, so that was something.
(Little Orphan Orange, the strongest, sweetest flavor of them all.)
Sam thought about asking where the Otter Pops were stashed, but knew that Dad wouldn’t tell him anyway. Sam wondered if he and Dean could find the stash, if they could look for it without Dad figuring out that they were looking, but the Otter Pops were somewhere close by, Sam just knew it.
Dad led the way out the screen door and sat down on the top step, taking the glass of ice water from Sam so that he could sit down without spilling it. Sam sat next to Dad, and Dad put the ice water between them, and Sam ate his Otter Pop. It was so good, so orange and bright in his mouth, chasing the heat and the thirst away. The glass of water, even as cold as it was, would taste a little bitter after the orange, but that was okay, that was a part of summer too.
They sat there for a little bit, him and Dad, on the top step of the cabin, in the moist, still air. Dad stared out in the darkness, along the line of the gravel drive as it led off through the trees, and Sam ate his Otter Pop, sucking the ice between his teeth, chomping on the solid bits that got through. Dad kept looking down the road and into the woods for a while, till Sam almost asked him what he was looking for, even though he didn’t really want to know.
Finally, Dad shifted back on the step. His shoulders seemed to come down, and he turned his head, and looked at Sam. There were enough stars out and a glow from starlight reflected on the gravel that Sam could see his eyes, could almost see his expression.
“Can I have some of your water?” Dad asked.
“Sure,” said Sam, around a mouthful of sugary ice.
Dad picked up the glass and drank from it. Sam could hear the ice clinking around, and listened to him swallow and wondered why Dad didn’t get his own glass of water. But it was okay, he guessed, since he always shared his water with Dean, even if Dean didn’t always ask first if Sam wanted to share.
When Dad put the glass of water down between them on the top step, he looked at Sam. Sam looked back at him, and wondered what Dad was thinking and whether he was going to decide that now was a good time to give Sam a lecture on not complaining, or doing your best, or how he should look up to Dean and do everything the way Dean did. Of course Sam looked up to Dean; Dad never needed to say that to him, and probably already knew it.
But Dad didn’t say anything. Instead he sighed and turned away, to look at the road again, and shifted his weight forward, resting his elbows against the tops of his thighs.
Sam finished off his Otter Pop, sucking hard on the plastic tube to get all of the flavor out, tipping his head back to let gravity help. But he’d gotten it all and the tube was empty, so he put the wrapper on the top step next to the glass, and waited for Dad to tell him to hurry up and drink his water so he could get back to bed.
Dad still didn’t say anything, so Sam picked up the glass of water, and held it loosely between his bare knees, brushing the glass against his skin once in a while to feel the goose pimples pop up. Then he took a drink. The first swallow of ice water was as he thought it’d be, bitter and flat compared to the orange sugar, although it was just as cold.
Dad had drunk half the water in the glass, so Sam had to tip the glass back, like he’d done with the Otter Pop tube, far enough so that the ice clunked against his mouth. Then after that, every now and then, he took a sip of the melting ice water, drawing it out, wanting to stay right there, in the soft dark night. With Dad sitting beside him on the top step, bare footed like Sam, solid and still, and for once, not yelling.
Slowly, Sam finished the water and crunched through the ice and wasn’t thirsty anymore.
When he put the glass back on the top step, Dad said, “Okay, Sam,” and stood up. Sam knew he had to go back to bed now, so he stood up too, and picked up the glass and the wrapper. But instead of just opening the screen door for him, Dad took the glass and the wrapper from Sam, and held them in one hand while he opened the screen door and waited for Sam to walk ahead of him.
For a moment, Sam felt as though Dad was standing between him and whatever was out there in the dark, that it would have to go through Dad to get to Sam. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when Dad had admitted that he’d beaten up Officer Johnson, for Sam, because he’d hurt Sam. His stomach did the same little dipping movement, stirring, making him feel like he was seeing the world from a different place, from Dad’s place. Seeing it how Dean always told him he should, you gotta understand, Sam, he’s like Superman, he’s protecting us and teaching us how to protect ourselves.
But that was too scary, thinking of it like that, that there was bad stuff out there, and the only thing shielding him from that was Dad. Dad, who yelled and snapped out commands and expected them to be obeyed instantly. He was never satisfied because Sam was never good at that part, the obeying, but he was getting better with the knives, and trying hard not to hate hunting so much.
Besides, Dean would always protect him, even if maybe Dad might not, just to teach Sam a lesson. Then there were the Otter Pops, hidden somewhere, with Dad handing them out as he saw fit. But that was okay, because even if Dad would decide the when and where, Sam had been able to decide the what: Otter Pops, and Little Orphan Orange, the strongest, sweetest flavor of them all.
“Bedtime, Sam,” said Dad, getting Sam to move by moving forward. “Your teeth won’t rot in one night, so you don’t have to brush your teeth, just be sure not to wake Dean.”
Of course he wouldn’t wake Dean, at least not on purpose. Dean was always grouchy when Sam woke him up in the middle of the night. And it would be better if Dean was in a good mood in the morning, because he was going to be mad that Sam had gotten an extra Otter Pop, all on his own; Sam planned to break it to him gently.
As Dad walked behind him to the kitchen counter, Sam scooted across the cool wooden floor and stepped around the fan, moving it back into place. Then he walked around to his side of the bed, and crawled in next to Dean. The sheets and pillow were almost cool, and as he put his head down and pulled up the sheet halfway, he turned toward Dean to look at his brother’s outline in the near-darkness.
“That you, princess?” asked Dean, mumbling, still half asleep; in the morning, he wouldn’t remember that he’d asked Sam anything.
Sam nodded against the pillow, but didn’t say yes. He secretly liked it that Dean had all these funny little names for him, and suddenly his heart was full of things he wanted to tell Dean; he wanted to wake Dean up and tell him about having an Otter Pop in the middle of the night and how he’d shared his glass of water with Dad.
He wouldn’t do it to make Dean feel bad that he hadn’t been there but to show Dean how he could be like him, could be with Dad and not say something that would make Dad mad. To tell Dean about Dad’s secret stash, and have him and Dean plan how they would find the Otter Pops and maybe have some without telling Dad, have them raw, without freezing them, and laugh in secret, their mouths turning orange and blue in the summer heat.
(Otter Pops, RAW)
But most of all he wanted to tell Dean about that moment, when Dad had stood between Sam and the darkness, not saying anything, just being there. And how, maybe, just maybe, that Sam got it, what Dean was always going on about. Just a little. Not that that would make him work any harder, he was working so hard already, he was earning at least a box of Otter Pops every day. But it made it a little easier, somehow, to see why Dad pushed so hard, and yelled so much.
Then Sam thought about Dad staring out into the darkness, and wondered, suddenly, if that’s what he did most nights, standing guard, and which was why he was always so grouchy and sleepy in the morning, not saying much till he’d had his coffee.
It was something Dean didn’t even know, at least he’d never said anything to Sam about it, and he would have said don’t you know Dad’s always keeping watch if he’d known. But if Sam told Dean, then Dean would have something else to worry about, so maybe Sam wouldn’t tell him.
It would just be between him and Dad, not that he would ever say anything to Dad, not that Dad would ever say anything about it to him. No, Dad would just keep watching at night, and hollering during the day, putting Sam and Dean through their paces, making them run and spar and train till their lungs burst, and then some more after that.
Thinking about it made Sam mad, a little, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now and he was sleepy anyway. So he burrowed into the pillow and scooted toward Dean. Not close enough so that it would be too hot for either of them, but close enough so that he could feel the sheets rise and fall with Dean’s breathing.
“Quit moving,” said Dean, quite clearly for being asleep. He suddenly flung himself on his side, away from Sam, but he moved a little closer too. Close enough so that Sam could tip his head forward, and rest his forehead against Dean’s back, between his shoulder blades.
Dean was warm, and smelled like the day’s sweat, like he’d not washed up before going to bed, like Dad had told them to. But Sam didn’t care, he would rather run a hundred miles than tell Dad and turn Dean in. Besides, he liked the way Dean smelled, it made him feel all still and quiet inside, made him feel safe, even in the darkness. Whether Dad had gone back out to stand guard, or whether he was already asleep on the couch, Sam had Dean. Just like this. Dean would protect him from everything.
And in the morning, Sam would run, and throw, and spar, and learn to protect Dean right back. There would be plenty of Otter Pops to be earned from Dad, as well, and maybe Sam would let Dean have some of the orange ones. Maybe.
The End
Master Fic Post
Long Author's Notes
“Do you think I was right not telling them who I was? Dad said I was.” Not that Dad’s opinion mattered even near as much as Dean’s did. Didn’t Dean know that?
Dean scrunched under the light cotton sheet, like he was pulling a woolen blanket over him on a cold, wintery night. “You guys were gone for hours, I didn’t know where you were. Maybe if you’d ‘a told him, then you’d have been back earlier.”
The liquid remains of Sam’s last Otter Pop (Little Orphan Orange, the strongest and best flavor of them all) churned a bit in his stomach. He felt all light headed to think about it, how worried Dean had been.
“But I didn’t mean for you to-I was trying to save you from the F.B.I, I thought I was doing it right? Dean, didn’t I do it right?” His voice rose and ended in a sharp crack that Dad was sure to hear and come in to ask what was going on. But the TV continued to drone and Sam didn’t hear any hard, Dad-footsteps coming across the wooden floor.
“The F.B.I?” asked Dean, sounding a little distracted.
“Yeah, Dad said if I played soccer, it would raise a red flag and that’s when maybe the F.B.I. would come.”
“Oh, that,” said Dean. He sounded like he knew all about it and wasn’t worried. “Yeah, that part, you did that right.”
Sam started to smile a little bit because that was good, Dean had said he’d done okay.
“But Sam,” said Dean, and now he sounded more serious than ever. “I think he went to beat up that guy.”
“What guy?”
“That guy, the officer who threw you to the ground. I think that’s what he did.”
“What who did?” Sam was totally confused now and his stomach hadn’t settled down one little bit.
“Dad. He drove down to Ft. Payne and found Officer Johnson and beat him up. Because of what he did to you.” Sam felt Dean nodding against his pillow. “Yeah, an hour there, and hour back and time enough in the middle to beat the crap out of ole Officer Johnson.”
Dean sounded proud of Dad, like that was the right thing for Dad to do. Except to Sam, it was the worst thing ever and it was very probably what had happened, and would explain all of Dad’s bruises and the blood on the backs of his hands.
What if Officer Johnson recognized Dad and then they came up to arrest him? Then Sam would be sent to foster care, and Dean would be carted off to Juvie Hall for sure, and would have nothing to eat but slimy peas and bread with margarine and ginger ale without any ice-and Sam would never, ever see Dean again.
“I can’t do it,” said Sam and he leaped out of bed, cupping his hand over his mouth, his stomach racing around as he hopped over the fan in the bedroom doorway, holding his other hand on his hip to stop the pains shooting up into his side.
He managed to knock the fan over, and the loud, screaming noise brought Dad hurrying over just as Sam got into the bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet. The puke came out all orange and purple, and Sam tried to crouch a little closer so it wouldn’t splash all over the place.
It tasted terrible coming up, and Sam squinted his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dad and Dean standing in the doorway watching him throw up. When he was finished, he flushed the toilet and stood up, wiping his mouth with his trembly fingers.
Sam opened his eyes to look at Dad, who looked at him with an unsympathetic glare. Sam glared back.
“It’s not fair!” said Sam. “Those are the only Otter Pops I’ll ever get for the whole summer and now they’re gone!” His stomach whirled around a bit, but couldn’t find anything more to throw up.
“Too many Otter Pops,” said Dad. “That’s what made you sick.”
“Uh, Dad?” asked Dean. When Dad turned to look at him, Dean said, “Maybe he saw you, maybe he knows who it was that-I think maybe Sam’s worried that now they’ll come and arrest you.”
Dad flinched, and his eyes were hard, but Dean shrugged and stood his ground. Sometimes Dean was so brave, Sam couldn’t even believe it.
“Will they?” asked Dean.
Sam waited for Dad to deny it. But Dad shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand against his sore mouth. It was swollen even more than before, and it didn’t look like he’d put any ice on it at all.
“He didn’t recognize me,” said Dad. “I jumped him in the alley in back of his house. It was plenty dark.”
Plenty dark for Officer Johnson, but not too dark for Dad. Sam didn’t know what to think, and even Dean looked a little surprised.
“You need any baking soda and water, Sam” Dad asked that and waited for Sam to shake his head, which Sam did, because baking soda and water was the worst. Sam would rather have an upset stomach than drink that stuff.
“Then get to bed, both of you. I’m not letting you sleep in tomorrow just because you were up late.”
It was obvious that that was the end of it; Dad had confessed to beating up a cop, and now, they were to pretend it never happened.
Sam thought about saying something, and asking more questions, but Dad looked at Sam. There were circles under Dad’s eyes, and his busted lip was all purple and messy, and Sam hoped there was some aspirin in the house, though he didn’t dare offer to get it for him. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to touch what was in the first aid box unless Dad told him specifically to get something from it.
Dean set the fan on its edge again and Sam stepped around him to get into bed as fast as he could. His heart was beating a little fast, but that was because of throwing up and not because-
Dean got into his side of the bed, without a word. Sam waited till the bed stopped moving. He lay on his back and pulled the sheet up as far as he could, even though the back of his left hip pounded and he knew it would be too hot.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam swallowed; his mouth felt dry and his nose was clogged up, but talking to Dean always made him feel better. Well, usually better.
When Dean didn’t answer, Sam said, “I didn’t mean for me to get arrested. All I wanted was to bring that soccer ball home so you and I could play with it.”
“You’re the one that likes soccer, not me.”
Sam screwed up his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose. The soccer ball wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that, at the end of it all, Dad went and beat up a guy, and that was because he’d been mean to Sam. Sam couldn’t believe that Dad would do something like that, just for Sam. And that’s what was bothering Dean now. Right?
“I won’t let them arrest Dad,” said Sam. “I’ll say it was my fault.”
“Like they’ll believe some dumb kid.”
Sam wanted to say that he wasn’t a dumb kid, and that he could be pretty convincing when he wanted to be, but, only now, Dean was grouchy and mad and worried, and nothing Sam could say or do would make any difference, and Dean would fall asleep, hating him.
“Dean,” he said. Then he took a breath and faced Dean again even though it hurt his hip, so he would make sure that Dean heard him. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I beat up that kid, and I’m sorry that I didn’t just tell them who I was, and I’m sorry I worried Dad and you, and that I made-that Dad beat up that guy. Honest, I’m so, so sorry-I just wanted to play soccer a little bit, with other kids.”
Dean was silent, and Sam figured he needed to add something more, something that was much harder to say. “I’ve tried to not mess up your summer, like you asked me, I tried to do stuff that Dad wants, I’ve tried and tried, but I just wanted soccer for me and-”
“When did I tell you not to mess up my summer” Dean sounded confused, and he twisted his head on the pillow to look at Sam. Sam could see the reflection, a glitter of light in his eyes. “When did I say that?”
Sam thought back. “When you punched me that one time. Last time Dad and I went to Ft. Payne.” He didn’t add the part about the whipping; he didn’t want to upset Dean any more than he already had.
“I shouldn’t have punched you,” said Dean, “but you’re such a little bitch sometimes, always whining and crying about stuff.”
“I didn’t cry today,” said Sam. “Well, I did a little bit, but no one saw me, okay?” He counted out a few heartbeats waiting for Dean to say something, anything.
Dean didn’t.
“I really am sorry, Dean,” said Sam, his voice catching. “I know you want to be a hunter, like Dad, and I’m trying to want to be a hunter too, only, it’s really, really hard.”
Dean didn’t say anything then, either. Sam ducked his head and scrubbed at his eyes, and tried not to care. Then he felt Dean’s hand, lightly at first, on the top of his head, and then more roughly, messing it up in a way that Dean sometimes found hilarious.
“I know,” said Dean. “I seen you trying.”
That was okay, then, that was what mattered. Dean had seen him trying, knew that Sam was trying his hardest to do it right, and not mess it up for Dean. Sam nodded his head, his throat was too tight to say anything, but he didn’t nod his head very much, because he didn’t want Dean to think that Sam didn’t like his hand there, because then he would take it away. And Sam wanted to feel it there, as he fell asleep.
“I’ll help you with the run tomorrow,” said Dean, his voice soft. “It’ll be three miles, but we’ll make up a dirty song to sing as we go.”
“A dirty sailor song,” Sam clarified, half mumbling.
“Right,” said Dean. “Something to make Popeye proud.”
Now Sam could fall asleep, now that Dean wasn’t so mad at him anymore. Sam started to list all the dirty words he knew, because Dean could find rhymes for all of them, and that would make the run much more fun. Except he fell asleep halfway through the dirty words starting with B, which Dean wouldn’t find challenging at all.
*
In the morning, Sam got up, still sore all over, and pulled on his shorts and yesterday’s t-shirt and stumbled to the kitchen table, still half-asleep. Dad was at the stove, scrambling eggs, and Sam just hoped he’d taken out the white string and beaten the eggs to a froth like Sam liked it.
Behind him, Dean came out, half-asleep too, and he sat in his chair, and they both yawned while Dad made them scrambled eggs and toast and even bacon, which he brought over to the table and shoveled onto their plates.
“Drink your milk,” said Dad, as he sat down at the table.
Sam ate his eggs, and his toast and his bacon, and then drank his milk, and when he set the empty glass back down, he looked around. The box that once held Otter Pops was gone, and so were the wrappers that Sam and Dean had left lying about. Dad must have taken out the trash. The scissors were probably back in the drawer, too, so all evidence of last night’s Otter Pop feast was long gone, like it never had been.
Dad’s lip was a little less swollen and the bruise on his cheek hardly showed at all. If Sam didn’t know he’d been in a fight, he wouldn’t have any idea what had happened. But Dad had confessed it, and it was all true. Plus, Dean had seen Sam trying, and wasn’t mad at him anymore, so if Sam kept trying, then maybe Dad would notice too, and get him some more Otter Pops?
It was worth a try.
“So if Dean and me can run the whole three miles without walking, can we get more Otter Pops?” asked Sam. Sam would have to run very slowly because of his hip, and stop to catch his breath, but he thought he could run all the way, if Dean slowed down, too, and stayed near him.
“Otter Pops,” said Dad. He blinked into his coffee cup.
“I’d rather have marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwiches,” said Dean, around a yawn.
Dad sighed and chomped through his bacon, and it was really like any other morning had been all summer, with the day getting hotter, even though it was early, and Dad making plans for their training for the day. Only now, he’d caved and bought them Otter Pops once, so maybe he would again.
“If we train hard,” said Dean. “Can we?”
Sam wanted to add that even if he’d had Otter Pops the day before, he’d thrown them all up so it was really as if he’d never eaten them in the first place. He could still see a little purple stain on Dean’s mouth, and there was probably an orange stain on his own.
Dad studied the last tail end of a piece of bacon, and Sam knew, through experience, that sometimes, it was better to let Dean do all the talking, because for some reason, Dad sometimes listened to Dean and sometimes, though rarely, he followed Dean’s suggestion. Sometimes.
Dad finished his bacon, and wiped his hands on a piece of paper towel. “If everyone can stay out of trouble for the next while, then we’ll see.” Dad looked at Sam rather than Dean as he said this, and Sam ducked his head because yes, if anyone was going to get into trouble it was likely to be Sam.
“Sam’s really been trying, Dad,” added Dean.
“I know it,” said Dad, which was really strange because the last thing Sam ever expected was that Dad had been paying close enough attention to Sam to figure that out. And he probably knew anyway, that Sam was trying hard for Dean, rather than because Dad wanted him to. But that’s the way it always was, and, somehow, for Dean, it was always worth it.
“Okay,” said Dad. He stood up. “Dishes and chores first, and then you boys go for a run. Two miles today, two and a half tomorrow, and then three after that, got it?”
As Sam got up to clear the table (it was his turn to do the dishes and Dean’s turn to dry and put them away), he ducked his head so Dad wouldn’t see him smiling and then ask what Sam was smiling about.
Maybe Dad had forgotten that he’d said last night that they were to run three miles today, or maybe he changed his mind. Either way, it would be easier for Sam and Dean to do the run, and they’d still have plenty of time to sing dirty sailor songs, and it looked like Dad was in a good mood, besides.
Sam wanted to keep him in a good mood and not make him angry, because that would make Dean happy, and if all went well, and Sam stayed out of trouble, then, yes, more Otter Pops were on the way. And Otter Pops were the very best part of summer and if he had enough of them, then maybe it would be easier to want to be a hunter like Dean.
*
Sam woke up and opened his eyes, blinking. The bedroom was quiet and dark, and the fans were whirring, creating a low hum that made him want to fall back asleep. The air felt thick and damp, and if it hadn’t been for the fans moving the air around, it would have settled on Sam’s skin like dew. Next to him, sprawled all over the bed like he owned it (which he didn’t), Dean breathed, almost snoring, but not quite.
Sam didn’t know what had woken him, but now he was thirsty. Dad had made them spend three whole days in the heat, running, sparring, and knife throwing, until Sam was so worn out with it that he just wanted to fall over every other minute and never move again. But Dad had driven both him and Dean until darkness had come each day, and sometimes even past that, and Dean had finally said, “Dad,” in that voice that only Dean dared use on Dad, and that was it, Dad pulled back a little bit.
Sam couldn’t understand why Dad was pushing them so hard, but Dad never explained, even when Sam asked. He’d asked so often that day that Dad had gotten irritated enough to threaten Sam with a whipping if he asked again, so Sam had worked very hard at keeping his mouth shut.
But a glass of water would taste really good right about now, and not just any old water, not water cupped in his hand from the tap. No, he wanted a glass of water, with ice in it, water so cold, the glass beaded on the outside, and when he would drink it, his teeth would hurt. That kind of water.
He looked over at Dean, who was still sleeping and almost-snoring in the rumpled sheet. He twitched, because maybe he knew, in his sleep, that Sam was awake and looking at him. Sam thought about waking Dean up, to make him go get a glass of water with Sam, but that would just make Dean grouchy, and besides, Sam was old enough to get a glass of water on his own.
He pushed the sheet back and got out of bed, looking back to check to make sure that he’d not woken Dean up. He padded across the cool, wooden floor, feeling the breeze of the fan against his bare legs, feeling it flutter through his t-shirt. He was careful not to knock the fan over as he moved it a little bit to get passed it, and left it slightly ajar, so he could get back into bed without waking Dean.
As he stepped into the eating area, he realized that all of the lights were off, and that was mostly normal, but it was all of the lights, including the porch light that Dad usually left burning all night long. Like some kind of beacon to anything that wanted to find them (and Dad was always sure something did). Dad usually said that the light was a deterrent against the dark; Sam didn’t believe him, but wondered now if he should let Dad know the light was off or that the bulb had burned out.
He’d do that tomorrow. Right now, he wanted a glass of water.
“What are you doing up, Sam?”
Sam felt like he jumped at least a foot in the air as he whirled around.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, in his usual chair, a smudged outline in the half-dark, barely lit by the starlight coming in through the open window. Sam thought that Dad had his elbows on the table and had been resting his head in them, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Uh,” said Sam.
“What do you need?”
“I want a glass of water,” said Sam. “With ice,” he added, just to make it clear.
“You thirsty?” asked Dad.
Sam nodded, even though Dad probably couldn’t see him clear enough to know. But Dad got up anyway, and brushed past Sam in the dark, smelling warm and feeling solid. From the sounds on the floor, Sam realized that Dad had taken his socks and boots off and was barefoot, something he seldom did; Dean had explained to Sam that Dad wore his boots all the time so he could take off running anytime, anywhere, if he needed to. Sam guessed that in the middle of the night, Dad didn’t feel the need to run so much.
Dad was getting a glass out of the cupboard, and opened the freezer to get out the ice tray. Sam went over to stand next to him; he could get his own glass of ice water, and if the freezer was a little high for him to reach all the way in, he could have used a chair to get the ice. But Dad was doing it for him, twisting the plastic tray between his hands to make the ice cubes pop out, and tipping the tray to catch a few of the loosest ones in his cupped hand.
“Three?” Dad asked.
He meant did Sam want three ice cubes, and Sam nodded again. “Yeah,” he said. He’d been in the darkness with Dad so long that he could almost see the backs of Dad’s hands against the lighter countertop. Dad put the cubes in the glass and then turned on the tap to fill it up. Then he handed the glass to Sam.
Sam took it with both hands. It was cold, so cold against his palms that it was almost shocking against the warm, dewy air of the summer night.
“Thanks,” he said.
Sam thought that Dad would go back to sitting down and leave Sam to drink his glass of ice water, but as Dad stood there, he held out his hand.
“And then there’s this,” Dad said. “I found it in the freezer.”
The second his hand touched it, Sam realized what it was, and took it, amazed. “Oh,” he said. But he knew Dad was lying, and wanted to say you don’t just find an Otter Pop in the freezer, because Otter Pops came in packs of 18 or a hundred, and between him and Dean, they’d finished them all off. And Dad hadn’t gone to the store since then, so there must be a stash hidden somewhere. But if he said that Dad was lying, Dad might take it in his head to get rid of the Otter Pops and that would be that.
“Thank you,” he said, instead, and realized that he meant it.
“Let’s take this out on the front porch, so we don’t wake your brother.” Dad got the scissors out of the drawer, and taking the Otter Pop back for a second, cut it open. When he handed it back, Sam stuck it in his mouth right away. Sam didn’t know how Dad could cut such a perfect circle in the near-darkness, but he had. It was Little Orphan Orange, besides, so he followed Dad without complaining that he’d rather just eat the Otter Pop by himself.
It would probably be like this, that every now and then, Dad would bring out an Otter Pop as a treat. But he wouldn’t say anything about it, wouldn’t say well done or good job or anything, not like some Dads would. Sam wondered whether Dad knew that handing Sam a Sir Isaac Lime wasn’t that much of a treat, but he seemed to know what Sam’s favorite flavor was, so that was something.
(Little Orphan Orange, the strongest, sweetest flavor of them all.)
Sam thought about asking where the Otter Pops were stashed, but knew that Dad wouldn’t tell him anyway. Sam wondered if he and Dean could find the stash, if they could look for it without Dad figuring out that they were looking, but the Otter Pops were somewhere close by, Sam just knew it.
Dad led the way out the screen door and sat down on the top step, taking the glass of ice water from Sam so that he could sit down without spilling it. Sam sat next to Dad, and Dad put the ice water between them, and Sam ate his Otter Pop. It was so good, so orange and bright in his mouth, chasing the heat and the thirst away. The glass of water, even as cold as it was, would taste a little bitter after the orange, but that was okay, that was a part of summer too.
They sat there for a little bit, him and Dad, on the top step of the cabin, in the moist, still air. Dad stared out in the darkness, along the line of the gravel drive as it led off through the trees, and Sam ate his Otter Pop, sucking the ice between his teeth, chomping on the solid bits that got through. Dad kept looking down the road and into the woods for a while, till Sam almost asked him what he was looking for, even though he didn’t really want to know.
Finally, Dad shifted back on the step. His shoulders seemed to come down, and he turned his head, and looked at Sam. There were enough stars out and a glow from starlight reflected on the gravel that Sam could see his eyes, could almost see his expression.
“Can I have some of your water?” Dad asked.
“Sure,” said Sam, around a mouthful of sugary ice.
Dad picked up the glass and drank from it. Sam could hear the ice clinking around, and listened to him swallow and wondered why Dad didn’t get his own glass of water. But it was okay, he guessed, since he always shared his water with Dean, even if Dean didn’t always ask first if Sam wanted to share.
When Dad put the glass of water down between them on the top step, he looked at Sam. Sam looked back at him, and wondered what Dad was thinking and whether he was going to decide that now was a good time to give Sam a lecture on not complaining, or doing your best, or how he should look up to Dean and do everything the way Dean did. Of course Sam looked up to Dean; Dad never needed to say that to him, and probably already knew it.
But Dad didn’t say anything. Instead he sighed and turned away, to look at the road again, and shifted his weight forward, resting his elbows against the tops of his thighs.
Sam finished off his Otter Pop, sucking hard on the plastic tube to get all of the flavor out, tipping his head back to let gravity help. But he’d gotten it all and the tube was empty, so he put the wrapper on the top step next to the glass, and waited for Dad to tell him to hurry up and drink his water so he could get back to bed.
Dad still didn’t say anything, so Sam picked up the glass of water, and held it loosely between his bare knees, brushing the glass against his skin once in a while to feel the goose pimples pop up. Then he took a drink. The first swallow of ice water was as he thought it’d be, bitter and flat compared to the orange sugar, although it was just as cold.
Dad had drunk half the water in the glass, so Sam had to tip the glass back, like he’d done with the Otter Pop tube, far enough so that the ice clunked against his mouth. Then after that, every now and then, he took a sip of the melting ice water, drawing it out, wanting to stay right there, in the soft dark night. With Dad sitting beside him on the top step, bare footed like Sam, solid and still, and for once, not yelling.
Slowly, Sam finished the water and crunched through the ice and wasn’t thirsty anymore.
When he put the glass back on the top step, Dad said, “Okay, Sam,” and stood up. Sam knew he had to go back to bed now, so he stood up too, and picked up the glass and the wrapper. But instead of just opening the screen door for him, Dad took the glass and the wrapper from Sam, and held them in one hand while he opened the screen door and waited for Sam to walk ahead of him.
For a moment, Sam felt as though Dad was standing between him and whatever was out there in the dark, that it would have to go through Dad to get to Sam. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when Dad had admitted that he’d beaten up Officer Johnson, for Sam, because he’d hurt Sam. His stomach did the same little dipping movement, stirring, making him feel like he was seeing the world from a different place, from Dad’s place. Seeing it how Dean always told him he should, you gotta understand, Sam, he’s like Superman, he’s protecting us and teaching us how to protect ourselves.
But that was too scary, thinking of it like that, that there was bad stuff out there, and the only thing shielding him from that was Dad. Dad, who yelled and snapped out commands and expected them to be obeyed instantly. He was never satisfied because Sam was never good at that part, the obeying, but he was getting better with the knives, and trying hard not to hate hunting so much.
Besides, Dean would always protect him, even if maybe Dad might not, just to teach Sam a lesson. Then there were the Otter Pops, hidden somewhere, with Dad handing them out as he saw fit. But that was okay, because even if Dad would decide the when and where, Sam had been able to decide the what: Otter Pops, and Little Orphan Orange, the strongest, sweetest flavor of them all.
“Bedtime, Sam,” said Dad, getting Sam to move by moving forward. “Your teeth won’t rot in one night, so you don’t have to brush your teeth, just be sure not to wake Dean.”
Of course he wouldn’t wake Dean, at least not on purpose. Dean was always grouchy when Sam woke him up in the middle of the night. And it would be better if Dean was in a good mood in the morning, because he was going to be mad that Sam had gotten an extra Otter Pop, all on his own; Sam planned to break it to him gently.
As Dad walked behind him to the kitchen counter, Sam scooted across the cool wooden floor and stepped around the fan, moving it back into place. Then he walked around to his side of the bed, and crawled in next to Dean. The sheets and pillow were almost cool, and as he put his head down and pulled up the sheet halfway, he turned toward Dean to look at his brother’s outline in the near-darkness.
“That you, princess?” asked Dean, mumbling, still half asleep; in the morning, he wouldn’t remember that he’d asked Sam anything.
Sam nodded against the pillow, but didn’t say yes. He secretly liked it that Dean had all these funny little names for him, and suddenly his heart was full of things he wanted to tell Dean; he wanted to wake Dean up and tell him about having an Otter Pop in the middle of the night and how he’d shared his glass of water with Dad.
He wouldn’t do it to make Dean feel bad that he hadn’t been there but to show Dean how he could be like him, could be with Dad and not say something that would make Dad mad. To tell Dean about Dad’s secret stash, and have him and Dean plan how they would find the Otter Pops and maybe have some without telling Dad, have them raw, without freezing them, and laugh in secret, their mouths turning orange and blue in the summer heat.
(Otter Pops, RAW)
But most of all he wanted to tell Dean about that moment, when Dad had stood between Sam and the darkness, not saying anything, just being there. And how, maybe, just maybe, that Sam got it, what Dean was always going on about. Just a little. Not that that would make him work any harder, he was working so hard already, he was earning at least a box of Otter Pops every day. But it made it a little easier, somehow, to see why Dad pushed so hard, and yelled so much.
Then Sam thought about Dad staring out into the darkness, and wondered, suddenly, if that’s what he did most nights, standing guard, and which was why he was always so grouchy and sleepy in the morning, not saying much till he’d had his coffee.
It was something Dean didn’t even know, at least he’d never said anything to Sam about it, and he would have said don’t you know Dad’s always keeping watch if he’d known. But if Sam told Dean, then Dean would have something else to worry about, so maybe Sam wouldn’t tell him.
It would just be between him and Dad, not that he would ever say anything to Dad, not that Dad would ever say anything about it to him. No, Dad would just keep watching at night, and hollering during the day, putting Sam and Dean through their paces, making them run and spar and train till their lungs burst, and then some more after that.
Thinking about it made Sam mad, a little, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now and he was sleepy anyway. So he burrowed into the pillow and scooted toward Dean. Not close enough so that it would be too hot for either of them, but close enough so that he could feel the sheets rise and fall with Dean’s breathing.
“Quit moving,” said Dean, quite clearly for being asleep. He suddenly flung himself on his side, away from Sam, but he moved a little closer too. Close enough so that Sam could tip his head forward, and rest his forehead against Dean’s back, between his shoulder blades.
Dean was warm, and smelled like the day’s sweat, like he’d not washed up before going to bed, like Dad had told them to. But Sam didn’t care, he would rather run a hundred miles than tell Dad and turn Dean in. Besides, he liked the way Dean smelled, it made him feel all still and quiet inside, made him feel safe, even in the darkness. Whether Dad had gone back out to stand guard, or whether he was already asleep on the couch, Sam had Dean. Just like this. Dean would protect him from everything.
And in the morning, Sam would run, and throw, and spar, and learn to protect Dean right back. There would be plenty of Otter Pops to be earned from Dad, as well, and maybe Sam would let Dean have some of the orange ones. Maybe.
The End
Master Fic Post
Long Author's Notes