Fic: Life on Earth - Chapter 10/? [SPN]
TITLE: "Life on Earth" - Part 10/?
AUTHOR: nanoochka
RATING: This part R for swearing and adult themes
PAIRINGS: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa
SPOILERS: All of Season 5, and Season 6... kinda? Veers sharply from canon post 5x22.
SUMMARY: With Lucifer dead, Sam in the ground and the world effectively saved, Dean has forsaken hunting and everyone associated with it to settle into a life of domestic bliss with Lisa and her son, Ben. The only ghosts left for Dean to lay to rest are his own, but they are plenteous indeed, and some of them don't go down without a fight.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all associated content is, sadly, owned by others much more fortunate and creative than I. Up yours, Kripke.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, guys, I'm so sorry that I haven't posted anything new in so long. The claims of real life being what they are--and at this point they have shifted to include a novel I'm full-steam-ahead on, amongst other things--it's been difficult to get back to this story long enough to just knuckle down and get 'er done. Plus, this chapter was extraordinarily hard to write, for some reason, and I struggled on-and-off with the last few paragraphs for months (I didn't forget about you, don't worry). Weirdly, I want to thank waltermelona for nudging me to get back to work, and hellozombies for being the best cheerleading squad ever, right from the beginning. I'll try to be better about finishing this thing up for good, before the real season 6 can depress me further.
Life on Earth - Chapter 10/? by nanoochka
One of Dean’s major failures as a human being is that he knows a lot more about what to say when someone dies, than he does when someone is upset. This would probably be okay, if Dean’s only reputation were for killing people; but it’s not. He makes a lot of people cry, too. Whether or not he ever intends to means jack shit.
Though Dean will never admit it, Sammy was actually the less emotional one, ever since they were kids. He was more uptight, sure, and more likely pluck his eyebrows or line the bathroom counter with girly face products, but when it came to actual tears Dean was always first to the plate. Hands down. Granted, Dean has a lot more to be sad about than the average thirtysomething male, but that factors into the manliness quotient about as much as it does his ability to respond appropriately to crying.
Enter Lisa.
Ben voluntarily excuses himself to his room in order to give him and Lisa some privacy to talk, and Dean would congratulate himself on growing as a person-for the talking-if it weren’t under such shitty circumstances. With everything more or less out in the open between him and Ben, Dean got away with less than twenty-four hours of dragging his heels before he was forced to show his face in the kitchen after dinner, where Lisa was washing dishes and Ben was doing his best to remain scarce. At the best of times, giving the break-up speech sucks, and this is partly why Dean likes to avoid relationships altogether; but it’s so much worse when the recipient is someone he doesn’t really want to leave. This might be one of the few times he will honestly admit to being the sole source of the problem, but the truth won’t make it better for either of them. Symmetrically-speaking, though, it works: the kitchen was where it all started, two years ago. Dean picks up a dishcloth and begins drying.
Lisa doesn’t even miss a beat. “So, what?” she asks, setting a plate down in the dishrack with surprising gentleness given the strain in her voice. “You’ve decided to start talking to your family again, just like that?”
“I spoke with Ben yesterday,” Dean answers slowly. “He kind of cornered me, but it needed to happen. Otherwise-”
“As much as it thrills me to know that you’ll talk to my son before you can talk to me,” Lisa interrupts, “let’s not lie to ourselves about how much of an asshole you’ve been for the last two weeks.” Another plate goes into the rack, porcelain clinking, and Dean is completely disconcerted by the fact that she won’t look him in the eye. It’s like talking to someone on the opposite end of a one-way mirror, with no idea if anyone’s even listening. “If you want me to stick around for rest of this conversation, I’d skip any attempt at excusing why you moved into the basement, and just fast forward to the part where you tell me whether you’re planning to stay, or get the hell out.”
Dean sighs, and pauses with the dishtowel wrapped halfway around a damp plate. It is warm and soothing in his hands, not unlike the feel of grabbing a towel fresh from the dryer, but he takes no comfort from it. “Disappearing into the basement wasn’t the best decision, not even in my history of bad decisions,” he admits slowly. Finally, finally, Lisa looks at him. Predictably, her face is angry and brittle, closed-off, but at least Dean feels like they’re having a real conversation now. He just isn’t sure whether to cheer internally or cower in fear. “But I at least deserve to explain where I’m at now. Or you deserve to hear it, whatever.”
“I deserve a lot of things,” Lisa points out, and with a rough flick shakes the dishwater off her hands. She snatches another clean dishcloth from the countertop to dry them, one hip braced against the sink, arms folding across her chest in the universal sign for ‘fuck you and the Impala you rode in on’. “I deserve to have a father for my kid, and a boyfriend who is going to keep his promises and not disappear without warning. I deserve to be in a relationship with an adult.”
“I don’t disagree,” says Dean. “I said I’d be all those things and I haven’t come through on any of them, not lately.” He sets the plate down, and resists the urge to cross his arms back at her. If he learned anything from the years he spent impersonating FBI agents and cops, it’s that the most effective way to deal with angry people is to maintain open body language. He doesn’t want to treat Lisa like a job, nothing like that, but he needs all the help he can get at this point.
“Dean,” she says, and her voice cracks in a very obvious and very painful way. The tears are starting and Dean wants to fidget his fingers. “I need to know where we stand. Not tomorrow or in a month; right now.”
“I’m leaving.”
The words come out in a rush, before Dean can figure out whether it’s the right thing to say, or the right time to just cut to the chase and lay it down. Too late now, he figures. Sometimes he appreciates his own lack of tact, because when the alternative is the tendency to run away from his problems and never look back, blurting things out is kind of like meeting himself at the top of the stairs on the way down to Irresponsible and Immature.
“You know as well as I do that things have been really weird for the last month or so, and I hoped this wouldn’t be the outcome, but it is. I have to go.”
“Go where?” Lisa demands, and it’s clear from her refusal to acknowledge the first part of what he said that she needs to fight this out with him, regardless of her earlier statement. “Is this somehow related to hunting? You’re talking like you aren’t the one making the choices here.”
“It’s not really,” he says carefully. “And I am. For once I’m not going to try and lie and pretend like I wasn’t the one who got myself-or you and Ben-into this mess, because you weren’t the ones who came and found me. I don’t know whether I’ve been making the wrong choices for the right reasons, or the other way ‘round, but you and I both know that things aren’t working out. I hate that they aren’t, but force of will ain’t gonna change anything.”
“Oh, now Ben and I were the ‘wrong choice’?”
This conversation has been going on for less than ten minutes, and already Dean feels like it’s getting away from him. He hates these kinds of discussions at the best of times, but sometimes Lisa’s style of arguing makes it feel like he’s trying to dodge guided missiles at close range. “You know that’s not what I mean,” Dean grates out, bunching up the dishcloth in his fists.
“Then enlighten me.”
“Listen,” he says, trying again. “You know the kind of life I had before, and you know how hard it was, but I wasn’t thinkin’ too straight when I left it all behind. Sammy knew how much you and Ben meant to me-mean to me-and he made me promise that after he died I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time on hunting. I want to keep that promise, and I want to stay with you guys here, but what neither of us realized at the time was that walking away didn’t just mean walking away from hunting. It was turning my back on family I already had, like they didn’t exist or weren’t important.”
“You told me you had no desire to go back to hunting,” Lisa snipes, and she’s crying freely now. Dean hates it, naturally, but he doesn’t blame her for being distraught at the idea that she’s getting punked for a lifestyle he always hated.
“I don’t!” Dean is impressed that he manages keep his cool. “But damn it, Lisa, I can’t just scrub away that part of who I am like it’s blood on my collar. It’s in my blood. For the last two years, I’ve done a really, really good job at pretending like I belong in Indiana with all the other mooks who go to baseball games and the fucking farmer’s market on weekends. If I could keep up the charade, I would, because I care about you and Ben as much as I ever did Sammy or Bobby or-” Here Dean has to stop himself, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. Because his voice has been escalating steadily over the course of his speech, he tries to get things back under control and not sound like an unreasonable asshole, even if he kind of is. “But I walked away from all them thinking that it wouldn’t matter. And it does. It matters a lot.”
“So your solution is to just abandon us, like you’ve done everything else.” Palpable hit. “You don’t think that maybe you’re just perpetuating a pattern, here?"
“I’m trying to correct the fucking pattern,” he says, passionately. “I’m not blind, Lisa. No one’s saying I haven’t fucked up a whole bunch over the years, but for once I’m trying to make things better before either of us loses everything. I could stay, and then we’d both end up miserable and hating each other like in every other failed marriage. Then what?”
“How noble of you, Dean,” Lisa spits, and at this rate they’re going to end up yelling at each other, if Dean doesn’t storm out first. He’d really rather not; he thinks about Ben up in his room, and how much he’d rather not subject him to a crying, screaming fight. “Good to know that you’re putting Ben and I first, while you fuck off without bothering to try and make this work.”
“Thanks, that’s real fair,” he snorts. “Obviously I just up and decided that I’ve run out of ways to feel like I still belong here, or that I’m happy.”
“And there’s someone else you think you belong with more, is that it?”
When Dean doesn’t reply, it’s actually more because he doesn’t know how to correct the semantics of Lisa’s statement without sounding like a douchebag, than it is a sign of guilt. He thinks about Cas, of course, but Cas isn’t the sole reason they’re talking about this. He’s both a separate issue and a symptom of something bigger, which is hard to explain in words when the “other woman”-or in this case, man-angel-is always the wronged party’s favourite thing to jump on in a crisis. To Dean’s dismay, Lisa takes his silence as admission of exactly that.
“I don’t believe it,” she says, voice cracked and hardly above a whisper. “There is someone else.”
“I know everyone always says this, but it totally isn’t about that.” God, telling the truth is fun. Dean wonders if Cas can hear him, because there’s something for everyone in what he’s got to say next. “Even if there wasn’t, I still would’ve come to this conclusion eventually, maybe after we’d gotten married and things were even more complicated. But in the interest of full disclosure, there’s been someone else for a long time-and I’m not exaggerating when I say it goes back a helluva lot further than two years and a couple dimensions.”
“I need to sit down,” says Lisa, and goes to do so, heavily, at the kitchen table.
Unwisely or not, Dean chooses to join her, taking the seat at her right so that it doesn’t feel like they’re at an exit interview. “Don’t think I’ve been out cheatin’ on you, Leese,” he tells her. In spite of what might have happened in the alleyway with that woman, or Cas kissing him, he feels like this is an almost-truth he can live with, since both incidents were aborted rather awkwardly. Surprisingly, she lets him take her hand, although she’s looking out across the kitchen like she doesn’t recognize where she is. “Cas hasn’t been around since Sam died, and even since he’s been back we haven’t-”
“He?” She grabs her hand back as though burned, and pushes herself up from the table violently enough that it rocks against the floor.
Dean stops mid-sentence. “Yeah. The guy who was-”
“Holy shit.”
Dean doesn’t bother to gripe about finishing his sentences, but Jesus. At this rate he’ll only manage to say about half of what he wants to get off his chest, and afterwards will be accused of withholding information, if past fights are anything to go by.
“He was here, in my home?” demands Lisa, her irises so dark and stormy and directed at him that Dean can’t help but think about how much they could resemble demon eyes. “You brought him here?”
“I didn’t ask him to show up,” Dean argues, peeved, but he tries to ignore his frustration over something so irrelevant. For once he’s actually trying to give the full, uncensored version of an explanation, and it’s falling on deaf ears. He doesn’t know whether to throw something, or feel bad that he can’t even break up with his fiancée gracefully. “You’ll notice that we left right away, and Lisa, I’m telling you: nothing’s happened between me and Cas. Christ, I’ve only kissed him once, period.” That isn’t totally a lie, either, since dreamland doesn’t count. The moral grey area he’s beginning to stray onto isn’t entirely to Dean’s liking, but he’s gotten used to it after decades of lying to people about his line of work, or his family. “I wouldn’t do that to you. His whole being here is not something I planned on, ever again; I thought he was out of my life for good after Sammy died.”
“And now that he’s back you’re just going to go running, and forget about the life you’ve built here with us,” Lisa quips, getting some of her anger back. “We have a hell of a lot more between us than a single kiss, and Christ, Dean, you aren’t even gay.” She says it with such venom that Dean can’t help but wonder how much more difficult the fact of Cas’s junk is making this conversation go down. He’s pretty sure that Lisa would be wielding a Santoku knife in his face if there was another woman involved, but he doesn’t see how her derision is much better.
“No, not really,” Dean acknowledges, recognizing that he’s not going to escape the personal hell of his sexuality anytime soon, “but until very recently Cas wasn’t exactly a guy.” When Lisa blinks, he sighs, “This is getting us completely sidetracked. Cas isn’t human; he’s a fucking angel of God. And I’m sorry, but aside from the fact that it took me embarrassingly long to realize that I’ve probably been in love with him for years, ‘one kiss’ is not how I’d choose to sum up our relationship. He literally pulled me out of Hell, and he’s given his life for me in more ways than I’d care to describe. I fucked it up, though, so there’s no reason to assume that I’m even gonna see him again, after this.” Wincing, because it hurts to admit that out loud, Dean gives Lisa a warning look when he correctly intuits that her next question is going to be about angels or God or Dean’s holiday in Hell. “Leese, I get that this sounds seriously fucked up, but knowing my history with Cas isn’t going to change anything.”
“Not even if it helps me understand?”
“You know I didn’t exactly associate with normal folks in my old line of work,” reminds Dean. “Just trust me when I say Cas isn’t around here, and leave it at that. What I’m trying to tell you is that none of this is about choosing between you and him, because I don’t deserve either of you. Okay? It’s about me.”
Dean recoils when Lisa sinks to her knees in front of him, fists pressing against the fabric of his jeans. Years ago, when his relationship with Cassie ended, Dean learned a valuable lesson about breakups: never beg. It never changes anything, and inevitably leaves one person feeling even more embarrassed afterwards. Plus, he’s pretty sure that if Lisa begs, he’s fucked. She’s never been the type, but all the same Dean wishes she’d get up off the floor, because he’s about as equipped to deal with that as sobbing. He’s not going anywhere if she begs him to stay.
“Come on,” he says, as gently as possible, nudging at her arm. He wonders if it would be better if he got down on the floor with her, more even-matched. “Don’t do that, Leese, get up.”
“Dean,” she responds, voice firm, “if you’re saying that you don’t love me anymore-”
“That’s not what I’m saying-”
“-that’s one thing.” Weirdly, her eyes are dry-drying-when she looks up at him. “But I know you love Ben, and you’re the only person who’s ever been a real father to him. If you leave, you’re going to destroy his life.”
This, at least, is something Dean feels adequately prepared to address. The old family responsibility schtick is so deeply-ingrained in him-and Ben such a constant, aching reminder of the goofy, too-smart kid Sam used to be-that he stayed up most of the night thinking about how the hell he could reconcile his need to go, with the overwhelming desire to give Ben everything Dean never had growing up. He thinks he might have arrived at something like a solution, but Dean never knows with these things, whether such a thing can be solved, or whether he’s the person to decide anything.
“I’m not saying this to be a dick,” he begins, “but you aren’t giving the kid enough credit.” Yep, he’s a dick; he feels it in his bones. “Being Ben’s dad is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, there’s no denying that. He wants what’s best for everyone, though, and he’s actually the one who helped me figure out that there’s a better life waiting for you if I go. If I didn’t believe before that he’s my son, I do now, because that’s totally the type of thing Sammy would have said. Winchesters protect their family, even if it means walking away. Ben figured out in twenty minutes what I took seventy years to learn.” At this point, it can’t hurt to ask. “He is my real son, isn’t he?”
Lisa doesn’t even blink. “Of course he is, you dumbass.”
It’s incredibly strange to find a moment of such happiness in the middle of what feels like one of the saddest conversations he’s ever had, but it’s there, even if Dean knew the answer all along. As when he first met Ben, he has a moment of panic over how many other little Deans or Deannas there are running around out there; but for the moment he can only think about Ben, who might just be the greatest thing he’s ever done, even greater than saving the world.
“That makes me really glad,” he says honestly. “Regardless of if he weren’t, though, I’d still consider him my son. I still want to be a part of his life, whatever happens. Camping trips, baseball games, graduation, everything-fuck, I’ll be here every other weekend, if you let me. I got no right to this, but it’s not a responsibility I ever wanna give up, not until you tell me to. Even then, I might not give up so easily. But I think we could work something out.” He pauses, considering. “Does Ben know the truth?”
“I do now.”
Both Lisa and Dean turn around at the sign of Ben’s voice, from the hallway. He has the wide-eyed look of someone who has just witnessed something unspeakably difficult right in front of them, but there is a brave, determined set to his jaw that Dean would recognize anywhere. What he doesn’t look, is surprised. If possible, Dean wants to hug him even more than yesterday, but he doesn’t know whether it’s to give or receive strength. Maybe both. What he’s less sure of is how appropriate it would be in the current situation, or if Ben wouldn’t just push him away right now.
As if reading the thought, Ben gives Dean a hard, painful look that lasts a few seconds, and that answers the question. Space it is. Ben nods appreciatively before he slides his gaze over to Lisa. “Dean’s telling the truth, Mom,” he says simply. “We talked about it yesterday; this sucks for everyone.”
Dean thinks that Lisa looks overwhelmed, but can’t tell whether it’s because of Ben’s sudden appearance, or because the conversation is shifting onto even rockier territory than before. “Ben, this is an adult conversation,” she says in warning, and gestures towards some part of the house that isn’t the kitchen. “Please go back up to your room.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ben complains, using the still-a-brat, not-quite-a-gentleman voice to full effect. “Just because I’m not old enough to vote, doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Ben, watch your mouth,” Dean snaps, and Lisa shoots him a look of unexpected gratitude for not making her play the bad cop.
With a grimace, Ben mutters an apology, but then sets his jaw in the way both Dean and Lisa know means he’s about to go on a verbal rampage. It’s a trait that, in light of his real parentage, Dean likes to think he shares with Sammy. “Everything’s all screwed up now,” he says passionately, directing his tirade in his mother’s direction. “Dean’s really bummed about leaving his family behind, and you’re bummed out, too, because you know things won’t go back to the way they were. All you’re gonna do is fight if he sticks around, and I’m seriously going to kill myself if I have to listen to any more of it.” At this timely bit of melodrama, Dean just blinks. “I want Dean to go, if it’ll make things better.” He pauses, and without even glancing at Dean, adds, “And I’d like to go with him.”
Lisa explodes. “Ben, are you cra-” Both she and Dean are up from their chairs before the sentence is even finished, and Dean feels a leap in his stomach that could be elation or dread, which he immediately feels guilty for.
“Not for good!” Ben interjects suddenly, and Dean swears he can see a flash of dramatic satisfaction in his eyes. They’ll need to work on his timing, but damn if the kid doesn’t already know how to play to an audience. The little punk could probably hustle pool like no one’s business. “I just want to make the drive with him to Bobby’s. That’s like, what? A week, tops? I can get the homework from school and work on it during the drive.”
Dean’s on board. “That would be fantastic.” Off Lisa’s look he says, “If it’s okay with your mother.” When that doesn’t help, he addresses Lisa directly. “Look, Lisa. I know I’m your least favourite person right now, but I’m serious about what I said before Winchester Jr. here interrupted us. It ain’t perfect, but in my experience families never are.” Smirking, he adds, “Plus, Bobby would love to meet him, and if anyone can put the fear of God into this little shit-disturber, it’s him. He’d come back a changed kid.”
“I’d be down with that,” says Ben, his voice starting to show an edge of uncertainty at the Bobby thing. At some point overnight he went from hating Dean’s guts to being his sole remaining supporter, like Dean’s emotional breakdown opened something up between them that hadn’t previously existed. It bolsters Dean more than he can say.
Lisa, not so much. “What, we’re just going to give you every other weekend under supervised visitation, so I can be sure you aren’t teaching my kid how to slay vampires?” To Ben she says, “And you, it sounds like you got it all figured out, huh?”
“What is there to figure out?” Ben shoots back. His temerity is starting to make Dean a bit nervous, in spite of himself. Goading Lisa on is not the best way to win an argument, and Ben knows it. Still, he forges bravely onward. “Dean’s been doing this his whole life, same as all the Winchesters. That shit’s, like… birthright.”
“I don’t want you in that life,” says Dean, gently, and he’s genuinely glad for the wash of relief that schools over Lisa’s face. “My mom-your grandmother-never wanted me or Sammy in it, either, and I’d never let you get involved in hunting against your mother’s wishes. It’d be against my wishes, too. You’re a normal kid, Ben, and I’d kinda like you to stay that way for as long as possible. Hell, I’m thrilled that you want to come with me to Bobby’s, but I don’t even want to get back into that lifestyle once I’m there. I walked away for a reason.”
He looks over at Lisa with an expression that’s not unlike saying, How’d I do? but to his lack of surprise she only gazes impassively back, eyebrow raised. “This is either the weirdest breakup I’ve ever been through, or the most adult,” she says.
“If I’m involved, it probably isn’t the most adult,” Dean points out.
Hesitating for a moment, Dean moves closer to Lisa and waits for her nonverbal permission before he pulls her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms as tightly as he can and kissing her on the top of the head. A moment later, he’s surprised when she pulls away to place a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispers to her, and she neither responds favourably, nor pushes him away, but he does feel her arms tighten around his waist somewhat. It kills him that he’s always walking away from one of the few class acts in his life, but he mentally promises himself-and Lisa-that this is going to be the last time.
“Can I at least learn to shoot?” Ben asks suddenly, and both Dean and Lisa say, “Shut up, Ben,” in response. Dean can practically hear the kid smiling from five feet away, and he gestures for Ben to come nearer so that Dean can hug him, too.
He barely feels it before Lisa goes tense, a quick prickling at the back of his neck and then she’s withdrawing to step back with a noise of alarm. Although Ben is significantly less perturbed by comparison, the strange reactions of his family make Dean frown and turn around, only to find Cas standing quietly at the opposite end of the room. He looks beautiful as always, if a bit rumpled in his jeans and sweater, and the seriousness of his expression is so perfect that Dean can’t think of anything he wants to do more than go over and kiss it off his face. The two weeks he spent waiting for Cas to show up again passed about as slowly as two years; seeing him now makes something jam up in Dean’s chest, like a shirtsleeve snagged on a splinter.
However strong the rush of affection, he can’t bring himself to go over, though, because this? Seriously bad timing on Cas’s part. Dean sees the tiny falter Cas makes in his direction, and knows he’s thinking the same thing.
“Cas, what are you doing here?” he asks, puzzled.
“Dean, this is really inappropriate,” Lisa says darkly, and even though she’s thrown a protective arm around Ben, Dean can’t tell whether she’s using their son as a shield against Cas and the emotional betrayal he represents, or if Ben is meant to shield Cas from her.
He puts his hands up in a way he hopes is disengaging. “I know, just gimme a minute,” he tells her, and looks back at Castiel. “It’s good to see ya, buddy, but we’re kind of in the middle of something here.” With a jerk of his head in Lisa and Ben’s direction, Dean raises his eyebrow and wills Cas to get the point, that they should continue whatever conversation this is when they’re both far beyond the blast radius of Lisa’s anger. Dean wouldn’t blame her for going ballistic on either of them right now.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and his voice is more conflicted than Dean’s heard in a while. “I tried to wait until the end of your conversation, but Bobby and I have been attempting to reach you for some time.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean says impatiently, “but there' are some things I've had to sort out with my family. You and Bobby put up with me being radio-silent for two years-figured another couple days wouldn’t kill you.” It should bother him that Cas is in one of his obstinate moods, either purposely or inadvertently failing to get the hint that he needs to leave the humans to their emotional drama for a little while; but something in Cas’s face makes him swallow his irritation, makes him more concerned than anything. “Is everything okay?”
After a pause, Cas shakes himself, and then shakes his head strongly to the negative. “No, Dean. I wish I could leave you and your family in peace for longer, but you need to come with me immediately.”
“Why?” demands Lisa.
For the first time, Cas turns his eyes to her, and Dean sees that there is far more pity than animosity in his expression. He glances back at Dean, then, and the look in his face makes Dean blanch in worry.
“Because,” Castiel says, “Sam is back.”
AUTHOR: nanoochka
RATING: This part R for swearing and adult themes
PAIRINGS: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa
SPOILERS: All of Season 5, and Season 6... kinda? Veers sharply from canon post 5x22.
SUMMARY: With Lucifer dead, Sam in the ground and the world effectively saved, Dean has forsaken hunting and everyone associated with it to settle into a life of domestic bliss with Lisa and her son, Ben. The only ghosts left for Dean to lay to rest are his own, but they are plenteous indeed, and some of them don't go down without a fight.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all associated content is, sadly, owned by others much more fortunate and creative than I. Up yours, Kripke.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, guys, I'm so sorry that I haven't posted anything new in so long. The claims of real life being what they are--and at this point they have shifted to include a novel I'm full-steam-ahead on, amongst other things--it's been difficult to get back to this story long enough to just knuckle down and get 'er done. Plus, this chapter was extraordinarily hard to write, for some reason, and I struggled on-and-off with the last few paragraphs for months (I didn't forget about you, don't worry). Weirdly, I want to thank waltermelona for nudging me to get back to work, and hellozombies for being the best cheerleading squad ever, right from the beginning. I'll try to be better about finishing this thing up for good, before the real season 6 can depress me further.
Life on Earth - Chapter 10/? by nanoochka
One of Dean’s major failures as a human being is that he knows a lot more about what to say when someone dies, than he does when someone is upset. This would probably be okay, if Dean’s only reputation were for killing people; but it’s not. He makes a lot of people cry, too. Whether or not he ever intends to means jack shit.
Though Dean will never admit it, Sammy was actually the less emotional one, ever since they were kids. He was more uptight, sure, and more likely pluck his eyebrows or line the bathroom counter with girly face products, but when it came to actual tears Dean was always first to the plate. Hands down. Granted, Dean has a lot more to be sad about than the average thirtysomething male, but that factors into the manliness quotient about as much as it does his ability to respond appropriately to crying.
Enter Lisa.
Ben voluntarily excuses himself to his room in order to give him and Lisa some privacy to talk, and Dean would congratulate himself on growing as a person-for the talking-if it weren’t under such shitty circumstances. With everything more or less out in the open between him and Ben, Dean got away with less than twenty-four hours of dragging his heels before he was forced to show his face in the kitchen after dinner, where Lisa was washing dishes and Ben was doing his best to remain scarce. At the best of times, giving the break-up speech sucks, and this is partly why Dean likes to avoid relationships altogether; but it’s so much worse when the recipient is someone he doesn’t really want to leave. This might be one of the few times he will honestly admit to being the sole source of the problem, but the truth won’t make it better for either of them. Symmetrically-speaking, though, it works: the kitchen was where it all started, two years ago. Dean picks up a dishcloth and begins drying.
Lisa doesn’t even miss a beat. “So, what?” she asks, setting a plate down in the dishrack with surprising gentleness given the strain in her voice. “You’ve decided to start talking to your family again, just like that?”
“I spoke with Ben yesterday,” Dean answers slowly. “He kind of cornered me, but it needed to happen. Otherwise-”
“As much as it thrills me to know that you’ll talk to my son before you can talk to me,” Lisa interrupts, “let’s not lie to ourselves about how much of an asshole you’ve been for the last two weeks.” Another plate goes into the rack, porcelain clinking, and Dean is completely disconcerted by the fact that she won’t look him in the eye. It’s like talking to someone on the opposite end of a one-way mirror, with no idea if anyone’s even listening. “If you want me to stick around for rest of this conversation, I’d skip any attempt at excusing why you moved into the basement, and just fast forward to the part where you tell me whether you’re planning to stay, or get the hell out.”
Dean sighs, and pauses with the dishtowel wrapped halfway around a damp plate. It is warm and soothing in his hands, not unlike the feel of grabbing a towel fresh from the dryer, but he takes no comfort from it. “Disappearing into the basement wasn’t the best decision, not even in my history of bad decisions,” he admits slowly. Finally, finally, Lisa looks at him. Predictably, her face is angry and brittle, closed-off, but at least Dean feels like they’re having a real conversation now. He just isn’t sure whether to cheer internally or cower in fear. “But I at least deserve to explain where I’m at now. Or you deserve to hear it, whatever.”
“I deserve a lot of things,” Lisa points out, and with a rough flick shakes the dishwater off her hands. She snatches another clean dishcloth from the countertop to dry them, one hip braced against the sink, arms folding across her chest in the universal sign for ‘fuck you and the Impala you rode in on’. “I deserve to have a father for my kid, and a boyfriend who is going to keep his promises and not disappear without warning. I deserve to be in a relationship with an adult.”
“I don’t disagree,” says Dean. “I said I’d be all those things and I haven’t come through on any of them, not lately.” He sets the plate down, and resists the urge to cross his arms back at her. If he learned anything from the years he spent impersonating FBI agents and cops, it’s that the most effective way to deal with angry people is to maintain open body language. He doesn’t want to treat Lisa like a job, nothing like that, but he needs all the help he can get at this point.
“Dean,” she says, and her voice cracks in a very obvious and very painful way. The tears are starting and Dean wants to fidget his fingers. “I need to know where we stand. Not tomorrow or in a month; right now.”
“I’m leaving.”
The words come out in a rush, before Dean can figure out whether it’s the right thing to say, or the right time to just cut to the chase and lay it down. Too late now, he figures. Sometimes he appreciates his own lack of tact, because when the alternative is the tendency to run away from his problems and never look back, blurting things out is kind of like meeting himself at the top of the stairs on the way down to Irresponsible and Immature.
“You know as well as I do that things have been really weird for the last month or so, and I hoped this wouldn’t be the outcome, but it is. I have to go.”
“Go where?” Lisa demands, and it’s clear from her refusal to acknowledge the first part of what he said that she needs to fight this out with him, regardless of her earlier statement. “Is this somehow related to hunting? You’re talking like you aren’t the one making the choices here.”
“It’s not really,” he says carefully. “And I am. For once I’m not going to try and lie and pretend like I wasn’t the one who got myself-or you and Ben-into this mess, because you weren’t the ones who came and found me. I don’t know whether I’ve been making the wrong choices for the right reasons, or the other way ‘round, but you and I both know that things aren’t working out. I hate that they aren’t, but force of will ain’t gonna change anything.”
“Oh, now Ben and I were the ‘wrong choice’?”
This conversation has been going on for less than ten minutes, and already Dean feels like it’s getting away from him. He hates these kinds of discussions at the best of times, but sometimes Lisa’s style of arguing makes it feel like he’s trying to dodge guided missiles at close range. “You know that’s not what I mean,” Dean grates out, bunching up the dishcloth in his fists.
“Then enlighten me.”
“Listen,” he says, trying again. “You know the kind of life I had before, and you know how hard it was, but I wasn’t thinkin’ too straight when I left it all behind. Sammy knew how much you and Ben meant to me-mean to me-and he made me promise that after he died I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time on hunting. I want to keep that promise, and I want to stay with you guys here, but what neither of us realized at the time was that walking away didn’t just mean walking away from hunting. It was turning my back on family I already had, like they didn’t exist or weren’t important.”
“You told me you had no desire to go back to hunting,” Lisa snipes, and she’s crying freely now. Dean hates it, naturally, but he doesn’t blame her for being distraught at the idea that she’s getting punked for a lifestyle he always hated.
“I don’t!” Dean is impressed that he manages keep his cool. “But damn it, Lisa, I can’t just scrub away that part of who I am like it’s blood on my collar. It’s in my blood. For the last two years, I’ve done a really, really good job at pretending like I belong in Indiana with all the other mooks who go to baseball games and the fucking farmer’s market on weekends. If I could keep up the charade, I would, because I care about you and Ben as much as I ever did Sammy or Bobby or-” Here Dean has to stop himself, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. Because his voice has been escalating steadily over the course of his speech, he tries to get things back under control and not sound like an unreasonable asshole, even if he kind of is. “But I walked away from all them thinking that it wouldn’t matter. And it does. It matters a lot.”
“So your solution is to just abandon us, like you’ve done everything else.” Palpable hit. “You don’t think that maybe you’re just perpetuating a pattern, here?"
“I’m trying to correct the fucking pattern,” he says, passionately. “I’m not blind, Lisa. No one’s saying I haven’t fucked up a whole bunch over the years, but for once I’m trying to make things better before either of us loses everything. I could stay, and then we’d both end up miserable and hating each other like in every other failed marriage. Then what?”
“How noble of you, Dean,” Lisa spits, and at this rate they’re going to end up yelling at each other, if Dean doesn’t storm out first. He’d really rather not; he thinks about Ben up in his room, and how much he’d rather not subject him to a crying, screaming fight. “Good to know that you’re putting Ben and I first, while you fuck off without bothering to try and make this work.”
“Thanks, that’s real fair,” he snorts. “Obviously I just up and decided that I’ve run out of ways to feel like I still belong here, or that I’m happy.”
“And there’s someone else you think you belong with more, is that it?”
When Dean doesn’t reply, it’s actually more because he doesn’t know how to correct the semantics of Lisa’s statement without sounding like a douchebag, than it is a sign of guilt. He thinks about Cas, of course, but Cas isn’t the sole reason they’re talking about this. He’s both a separate issue and a symptom of something bigger, which is hard to explain in words when the “other woman”-or in this case, man-angel-is always the wronged party’s favourite thing to jump on in a crisis. To Dean’s dismay, Lisa takes his silence as admission of exactly that.
“I don’t believe it,” she says, voice cracked and hardly above a whisper. “There is someone else.”
“I know everyone always says this, but it totally isn’t about that.” God, telling the truth is fun. Dean wonders if Cas can hear him, because there’s something for everyone in what he’s got to say next. “Even if there wasn’t, I still would’ve come to this conclusion eventually, maybe after we’d gotten married and things were even more complicated. But in the interest of full disclosure, there’s been someone else for a long time-and I’m not exaggerating when I say it goes back a helluva lot further than two years and a couple dimensions.”
“I need to sit down,” says Lisa, and goes to do so, heavily, at the kitchen table.
Unwisely or not, Dean chooses to join her, taking the seat at her right so that it doesn’t feel like they’re at an exit interview. “Don’t think I’ve been out cheatin’ on you, Leese,” he tells her. In spite of what might have happened in the alleyway with that woman, or Cas kissing him, he feels like this is an almost-truth he can live with, since both incidents were aborted rather awkwardly. Surprisingly, she lets him take her hand, although she’s looking out across the kitchen like she doesn’t recognize where she is. “Cas hasn’t been around since Sam died, and even since he’s been back we haven’t-”
“He?” She grabs her hand back as though burned, and pushes herself up from the table violently enough that it rocks against the floor.
Dean stops mid-sentence. “Yeah. The guy who was-”
“Holy shit.”
Dean doesn’t bother to gripe about finishing his sentences, but Jesus. At this rate he’ll only manage to say about half of what he wants to get off his chest, and afterwards will be accused of withholding information, if past fights are anything to go by.
“He was here, in my home?” demands Lisa, her irises so dark and stormy and directed at him that Dean can’t help but think about how much they could resemble demon eyes. “You brought him here?”
“I didn’t ask him to show up,” Dean argues, peeved, but he tries to ignore his frustration over something so irrelevant. For once he’s actually trying to give the full, uncensored version of an explanation, and it’s falling on deaf ears. He doesn’t know whether to throw something, or feel bad that he can’t even break up with his fiancée gracefully. “You’ll notice that we left right away, and Lisa, I’m telling you: nothing’s happened between me and Cas. Christ, I’ve only kissed him once, period.” That isn’t totally a lie, either, since dreamland doesn’t count. The moral grey area he’s beginning to stray onto isn’t entirely to Dean’s liking, but he’s gotten used to it after decades of lying to people about his line of work, or his family. “I wouldn’t do that to you. His whole being here is not something I planned on, ever again; I thought he was out of my life for good after Sammy died.”
“And now that he’s back you’re just going to go running, and forget about the life you’ve built here with us,” Lisa quips, getting some of her anger back. “We have a hell of a lot more between us than a single kiss, and Christ, Dean, you aren’t even gay.” She says it with such venom that Dean can’t help but wonder how much more difficult the fact of Cas’s junk is making this conversation go down. He’s pretty sure that Lisa would be wielding a Santoku knife in his face if there was another woman involved, but he doesn’t see how her derision is much better.
“No, not really,” Dean acknowledges, recognizing that he’s not going to escape the personal hell of his sexuality anytime soon, “but until very recently Cas wasn’t exactly a guy.” When Lisa blinks, he sighs, “This is getting us completely sidetracked. Cas isn’t human; he’s a fucking angel of God. And I’m sorry, but aside from the fact that it took me embarrassingly long to realize that I’ve probably been in love with him for years, ‘one kiss’ is not how I’d choose to sum up our relationship. He literally pulled me out of Hell, and he’s given his life for me in more ways than I’d care to describe. I fucked it up, though, so there’s no reason to assume that I’m even gonna see him again, after this.” Wincing, because it hurts to admit that out loud, Dean gives Lisa a warning look when he correctly intuits that her next question is going to be about angels or God or Dean’s holiday in Hell. “Leese, I get that this sounds seriously fucked up, but knowing my history with Cas isn’t going to change anything.”
“Not even if it helps me understand?”
“You know I didn’t exactly associate with normal folks in my old line of work,” reminds Dean. “Just trust me when I say Cas isn’t around here, and leave it at that. What I’m trying to tell you is that none of this is about choosing between you and him, because I don’t deserve either of you. Okay? It’s about me.”
Dean recoils when Lisa sinks to her knees in front of him, fists pressing against the fabric of his jeans. Years ago, when his relationship with Cassie ended, Dean learned a valuable lesson about breakups: never beg. It never changes anything, and inevitably leaves one person feeling even more embarrassed afterwards. Plus, he’s pretty sure that if Lisa begs, he’s fucked. She’s never been the type, but all the same Dean wishes she’d get up off the floor, because he’s about as equipped to deal with that as sobbing. He’s not going anywhere if she begs him to stay.
“Come on,” he says, as gently as possible, nudging at her arm. He wonders if it would be better if he got down on the floor with her, more even-matched. “Don’t do that, Leese, get up.”
“Dean,” she responds, voice firm, “if you’re saying that you don’t love me anymore-”
“That’s not what I’m saying-”
“-that’s one thing.” Weirdly, her eyes are dry-drying-when she looks up at him. “But I know you love Ben, and you’re the only person who’s ever been a real father to him. If you leave, you’re going to destroy his life.”
This, at least, is something Dean feels adequately prepared to address. The old family responsibility schtick is so deeply-ingrained in him-and Ben such a constant, aching reminder of the goofy, too-smart kid Sam used to be-that he stayed up most of the night thinking about how the hell he could reconcile his need to go, with the overwhelming desire to give Ben everything Dean never had growing up. He thinks he might have arrived at something like a solution, but Dean never knows with these things, whether such a thing can be solved, or whether he’s the person to decide anything.
“I’m not saying this to be a dick,” he begins, “but you aren’t giving the kid enough credit.” Yep, he’s a dick; he feels it in his bones. “Being Ben’s dad is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, there’s no denying that. He wants what’s best for everyone, though, and he’s actually the one who helped me figure out that there’s a better life waiting for you if I go. If I didn’t believe before that he’s my son, I do now, because that’s totally the type of thing Sammy would have said. Winchesters protect their family, even if it means walking away. Ben figured out in twenty minutes what I took seventy years to learn.” At this point, it can’t hurt to ask. “He is my real son, isn’t he?”
Lisa doesn’t even blink. “Of course he is, you dumbass.”
It’s incredibly strange to find a moment of such happiness in the middle of what feels like one of the saddest conversations he’s ever had, but it’s there, even if Dean knew the answer all along. As when he first met Ben, he has a moment of panic over how many other little Deans or Deannas there are running around out there; but for the moment he can only think about Ben, who might just be the greatest thing he’s ever done, even greater than saving the world.
“That makes me really glad,” he says honestly. “Regardless of if he weren’t, though, I’d still consider him my son. I still want to be a part of his life, whatever happens. Camping trips, baseball games, graduation, everything-fuck, I’ll be here every other weekend, if you let me. I got no right to this, but it’s not a responsibility I ever wanna give up, not until you tell me to. Even then, I might not give up so easily. But I think we could work something out.” He pauses, considering. “Does Ben know the truth?”
“I do now.”
Both Lisa and Dean turn around at the sign of Ben’s voice, from the hallway. He has the wide-eyed look of someone who has just witnessed something unspeakably difficult right in front of them, but there is a brave, determined set to his jaw that Dean would recognize anywhere. What he doesn’t look, is surprised. If possible, Dean wants to hug him even more than yesterday, but he doesn’t know whether it’s to give or receive strength. Maybe both. What he’s less sure of is how appropriate it would be in the current situation, or if Ben wouldn’t just push him away right now.
As if reading the thought, Ben gives Dean a hard, painful look that lasts a few seconds, and that answers the question. Space it is. Ben nods appreciatively before he slides his gaze over to Lisa. “Dean’s telling the truth, Mom,” he says simply. “We talked about it yesterday; this sucks for everyone.”
Dean thinks that Lisa looks overwhelmed, but can’t tell whether it’s because of Ben’s sudden appearance, or because the conversation is shifting onto even rockier territory than before. “Ben, this is an adult conversation,” she says in warning, and gestures towards some part of the house that isn’t the kitchen. “Please go back up to your room.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ben complains, using the still-a-brat, not-quite-a-gentleman voice to full effect. “Just because I’m not old enough to vote, doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on here.”
“Ben, watch your mouth,” Dean snaps, and Lisa shoots him a look of unexpected gratitude for not making her play the bad cop.
With a grimace, Ben mutters an apology, but then sets his jaw in the way both Dean and Lisa know means he’s about to go on a verbal rampage. It’s a trait that, in light of his real parentage, Dean likes to think he shares with Sammy. “Everything’s all screwed up now,” he says passionately, directing his tirade in his mother’s direction. “Dean’s really bummed about leaving his family behind, and you’re bummed out, too, because you know things won’t go back to the way they were. All you’re gonna do is fight if he sticks around, and I’m seriously going to kill myself if I have to listen to any more of it.” At this timely bit of melodrama, Dean just blinks. “I want Dean to go, if it’ll make things better.” He pauses, and without even glancing at Dean, adds, “And I’d like to go with him.”
Lisa explodes. “Ben, are you cra-” Both she and Dean are up from their chairs before the sentence is even finished, and Dean feels a leap in his stomach that could be elation or dread, which he immediately feels guilty for.
“Not for good!” Ben interjects suddenly, and Dean swears he can see a flash of dramatic satisfaction in his eyes. They’ll need to work on his timing, but damn if the kid doesn’t already know how to play to an audience. The little punk could probably hustle pool like no one’s business. “I just want to make the drive with him to Bobby’s. That’s like, what? A week, tops? I can get the homework from school and work on it during the drive.”
Dean’s on board. “That would be fantastic.” Off Lisa’s look he says, “If it’s okay with your mother.” When that doesn’t help, he addresses Lisa directly. “Look, Lisa. I know I’m your least favourite person right now, but I’m serious about what I said before Winchester Jr. here interrupted us. It ain’t perfect, but in my experience families never are.” Smirking, he adds, “Plus, Bobby would love to meet him, and if anyone can put the fear of God into this little shit-disturber, it’s him. He’d come back a changed kid.”
“I’d be down with that,” says Ben, his voice starting to show an edge of uncertainty at the Bobby thing. At some point overnight he went from hating Dean’s guts to being his sole remaining supporter, like Dean’s emotional breakdown opened something up between them that hadn’t previously existed. It bolsters Dean more than he can say.
Lisa, not so much. “What, we’re just going to give you every other weekend under supervised visitation, so I can be sure you aren’t teaching my kid how to slay vampires?” To Ben she says, “And you, it sounds like you got it all figured out, huh?”
“What is there to figure out?” Ben shoots back. His temerity is starting to make Dean a bit nervous, in spite of himself. Goading Lisa on is not the best way to win an argument, and Ben knows it. Still, he forges bravely onward. “Dean’s been doing this his whole life, same as all the Winchesters. That shit’s, like… birthright.”
“I don’t want you in that life,” says Dean, gently, and he’s genuinely glad for the wash of relief that schools over Lisa’s face. “My mom-your grandmother-never wanted me or Sammy in it, either, and I’d never let you get involved in hunting against your mother’s wishes. It’d be against my wishes, too. You’re a normal kid, Ben, and I’d kinda like you to stay that way for as long as possible. Hell, I’m thrilled that you want to come with me to Bobby’s, but I don’t even want to get back into that lifestyle once I’m there. I walked away for a reason.”
He looks over at Lisa with an expression that’s not unlike saying, How’d I do? but to his lack of surprise she only gazes impassively back, eyebrow raised. “This is either the weirdest breakup I’ve ever been through, or the most adult,” she says.
“If I’m involved, it probably isn’t the most adult,” Dean points out.
Hesitating for a moment, Dean moves closer to Lisa and waits for her nonverbal permission before he pulls her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms as tightly as he can and kissing her on the top of the head. A moment later, he’s surprised when she pulls away to place a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispers to her, and she neither responds favourably, nor pushes him away, but he does feel her arms tighten around his waist somewhat. It kills him that he’s always walking away from one of the few class acts in his life, but he mentally promises himself-and Lisa-that this is going to be the last time.
“Can I at least learn to shoot?” Ben asks suddenly, and both Dean and Lisa say, “Shut up, Ben,” in response. Dean can practically hear the kid smiling from five feet away, and he gestures for Ben to come nearer so that Dean can hug him, too.
He barely feels it before Lisa goes tense, a quick prickling at the back of his neck and then she’s withdrawing to step back with a noise of alarm. Although Ben is significantly less perturbed by comparison, the strange reactions of his family make Dean frown and turn around, only to find Cas standing quietly at the opposite end of the room. He looks beautiful as always, if a bit rumpled in his jeans and sweater, and the seriousness of his expression is so perfect that Dean can’t think of anything he wants to do more than go over and kiss it off his face. The two weeks he spent waiting for Cas to show up again passed about as slowly as two years; seeing him now makes something jam up in Dean’s chest, like a shirtsleeve snagged on a splinter.
However strong the rush of affection, he can’t bring himself to go over, though, because this? Seriously bad timing on Cas’s part. Dean sees the tiny falter Cas makes in his direction, and knows he’s thinking the same thing.
“Cas, what are you doing here?” he asks, puzzled.
“Dean, this is really inappropriate,” Lisa says darkly, and even though she’s thrown a protective arm around Ben, Dean can’t tell whether she’s using their son as a shield against Cas and the emotional betrayal he represents, or if Ben is meant to shield Cas from her.
He puts his hands up in a way he hopes is disengaging. “I know, just gimme a minute,” he tells her, and looks back at Castiel. “It’s good to see ya, buddy, but we’re kind of in the middle of something here.” With a jerk of his head in Lisa and Ben’s direction, Dean raises his eyebrow and wills Cas to get the point, that they should continue whatever conversation this is when they’re both far beyond the blast radius of Lisa’s anger. Dean wouldn’t blame her for going ballistic on either of them right now.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says, and his voice is more conflicted than Dean’s heard in a while. “I tried to wait until the end of your conversation, but Bobby and I have been attempting to reach you for some time.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean says impatiently, “but there' are some things I've had to sort out with my family. You and Bobby put up with me being radio-silent for two years-figured another couple days wouldn’t kill you.” It should bother him that Cas is in one of his obstinate moods, either purposely or inadvertently failing to get the hint that he needs to leave the humans to their emotional drama for a little while; but something in Cas’s face makes him swallow his irritation, makes him more concerned than anything. “Is everything okay?”
After a pause, Cas shakes himself, and then shakes his head strongly to the negative. “No, Dean. I wish I could leave you and your family in peace for longer, but you need to come with me immediately.”
“Why?” demands Lisa.
For the first time, Cas turns his eyes to her, and Dean sees that there is far more pity than animosity in his expression. He glances back at Dean, then, and the look in his face makes Dean blanch in worry.
“Because,” Castiel says, “Sam is back.”