Instinct (5/8)
The second time Dean awoke, it was to the smell of bacon and a warm body pressed against his. Hair tickled across his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose, blinking his eyes open in confusion. It was a few moments before he recalled the events of the night before, and he glanced down to find that Sam had wriggled impossibly closer, nose tucked into Dean’s neck.
The hunter would be lying if he said that it was unpleasant, and his arm tightened instinctively across the shifter’s back.
The angle that they were lying at gave him the perfect view of Sam’s chest, and his flat stomach. His eyes fell to the stab wound, and he resisted the urge to fist pump in pure excitement when he discovered that not only had the black traces of poison disappeared completely, but the wound itself was beginning to heal.
Sam would undoubtedly going to be in pain for at least a few more days, if the healing rate he’d observed in other shifter’s in the past was any indication, but he was out of immediate danger and that was good enough for Dean.
As if feeling Dean’s gaze, Sam’s nose wrinkled a little and he stirred, eyelashes fluttering before blinking open. He shifted slightly, and Dean noted the exact moment that he realized how they were lying by the dark blush that spread across his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment, pulling away a little. Dean resisted the urge to tuck him back in, and let him create some space between them.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, searching the young man’s eyes.
“Sore.” Sam admitted. “But not like I’m dying not anymore, so that’s a bonus.”
He cracked a smile, and Dean found himself following suit. It was the first time that he’d seen Sam smile, and the dimples that appeared on either side of his mouth caught him by surprise.
“Definitely a bonus,” He agreed. “And thank you, by the way. If you hadn’t jumped into the fight, then that guy would most likely have severed my spine... or stuck his knife straight into my heart. You saved my life.”
Sam turned his head into the pillow a little, blush intensifying.
“I was just returning the favour,” He replied quietly. “You saved me first… I thought I was gonna die in that cage, just like the others. I’d given up on getting out, and when you first walked in, the best I hoped for was that you might put a bullet in my head before you torched the place.”
Dean couldn’t help the pity that clogged his throat. He could remember all too clearly the smell of rotting meat that had permeated the air, the stomach-flipping sight of dead bodies everywhere you looked. He couldn’t imagine spending any length of time there. “You… how long were you there?”
“Two years.” The shifter admitted after a pregnant pause. “Best as I can figure, at least. It was hard to keep track of the days… It’s around about the end of September now, right?”
Dean nodded. “Just about. Third of October today.”
“Then two years and four days.” Sam corrected, reaching up and running his fingers over the bruise on his neck. “Feels like longer, though.”
“I can imagine.” He hesitated for a long moment, knowing that he should leave it there for now, but his curiosity was insatiable. “How did you end up there?”
Sam’s face shuttered, and for a moment Dean thought that he’d pushed too hard and that the shifter would clam up completely, and then he took a steady breath and forced himself to meet Dean’s eyes.
“I grew up in this little town in California, just outside of Palo Alto, with my mum and my dad. Both of them were like me… shifters, but they raised me to pretend that I was a normal human. Wanted me to blend in. Stay safe. We had a pack there, a couple of other shifter families that we looked out for, and it was nice, y’know? Peaceful.”
Dean nodded.
“When I was fourteen, a hunter broke into our house. We were sitting eating dinner, just laughing and joking around, and then there’s this huge crash and suddenly there’s this stranger there… He accused my dad of being a killer, of murdering all of these people - he was working when some of them were killed, so it couldn’t have been him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
He sucked in a staggered breath, and just when Dean thought he might break down, he visibly composed himself and continued.
“He shot my dad right in front of me and my mom, and then he turned and tried to shoot my mom. He was aiming for her heart, but she ducked or he missed or something - I can’t really remember - and she threw a lamp at him.” He paused, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“We… we had to leave my dad there. Just took off running. Mom said we couldn’t go home after that, that the hunters would be looking for us, so she bought a car with her savings and we just… never stopped.”
Dean could almost picture him, fourteen years old and scared for his life, sitting in the passenger seat of a crappy car whilst he and his mom ran away from everything they’d ever known. It was a familiar story; reminded him of being four-years-old, of his father packing him in the car and promising him that they’d never go back to Lawrence.
“About a year and a half later, we stopped in this little town. It was so quiet, and we couldn’t find a motel anywhere, so we pulled into this diner. We couldn’t see anyone from the car, so my mom told me to wait there while she went inside… later on, the demon said he was waiting for her there, that he’d killed everyone while he was waiting. I kind of think it was just coincidence that she walked in when she did.
“He pointed a gun at her head, and I freaked out. All I could think of was watching my dad die, and I was running for the door before I even realized it was a trap. There was three more inside, and they were so strong… We never stood a chance. He chained us in silver, kept us in cages, did all kinds of… experiments. He was crazy.”
He shuddered, and Dean knew when enough was enough, but he couldn’t help one last question slipping free.
“Your mom…” He inquired carefully. “Was she there? When we found you?”
Sam shook his head, the first of his tears slipping free. “No. He killed her after a couple of months, said he was sick of her trying to defend me. He just… tore her head straight off her body. Left it outside of my cage for me to look at.”
Dean thought he might throw up, and when Sam shuddered with repressed emotions, he didn’t hesitate before pulling him in close.
“Jesus,” He breathed, stroking a hand through the younger man’s hair. “Jesus, Sam. I’m so sorry, kid.”
**
By the time that the two of them dragged themselves from Dean’s bed, it was nearly five in the afternoon. Both of them had red-rimmed eyes, and Sam was still less than steady on his feet, weaving slightly as he made his way down the hallway. Dean watched him carefully, hand stretched out in case he fell, but the kid made it to the kitchen without face planting.
Bobby and Jim were sat around the kitchen table, cups of coffee in their hands, and they offered the boys two weary-looking smiles as Dean helped Sam lower himself into a seat. The shifter slumped down automatically, trying to take some of the strain off his stomach, and cast nervous glances at Bobby and Jim.
“We won’t hurt you,” Jim told him carefully, clearly picking up on the younger man’s nervousness. He reached for his hand, persisting even when Sam flinched, and squeezed it safely. “You’re safe here, okay?”
Sam nodded quickly, though Dean thought that it might have more to do with a desperate urge to get Jim’s hand away from him than it was an acceptance of what was being told. He smiled reassuringly, moving over the fridge and pulling out a packet of pre-prepared pancakes, shoving a few of them into the microwave.
He fussed around for a few moments, grabbing some syrup and sugar out of one of the cupboards before diving the pancakes between two plates and heading towards the table, placing one of the plates in front of his own seat and the other in front of Sam. The seventeen-year-old looked at him with wide eyes.
“What?” Dean grinned. “You didn’t think I was still going to make you eat out of a dog bowl, did you?”
Sam blushed, ducking his head a little.
“I guess not,” He smiled, and hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. “Thank you… all of you. You saved my life.”
Bobby shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what friends are for, son. We watch each other’s backs.”
“Dude,” Dean groaned. “Enough chick flick moments for one day. Eat your pancakes before they go cold, Sammy.”
Sam blushed harder at the nickname, but obediently reached for his cutlery and began to eat. Dean couldn’t help but take in the familiar red leather around his neck, and he registered for the first time that the kid was still wearing it. He wondered, briefly, if he should offer to take it off - if, perhaps, the kid was afraid to remove it.
The way that he reached an absent had up to fiddle with it whilst he ate suggested otherwise, and Dean bit back a grin as he turned his attention to his own food.
Across the table, Bobby shot his young friend a knowing smile.
**
Sam looked exhausted by the time that he’d eaten, and when he headed upstairs for a nap, Dean barely resisted the urge to accompany him. He couldn’t understand why it was that he felt the need to be so close to Sam all the time, or why having the young man out of sight made him feel restless and irritable.
Thankfully, neither Jim nor Bobby seemed desperate to mention it, and Dean did his best to steer clear of the subject whilst he helped the men tidy up. In his haste the night before, Bobby had made one hell of a mess of the Pastor’s kitchen, and Dean left the two of them to clean up the foul-smelling blender as he mopped up the mud that had gotten smudged along the floorboards in the hallway and up the stairs.
He was halfway along the upstairs hallway when he heard the familiar rhythm of ‘Smoke On The Water’ beginning to play from his room, and he reached instinctively for his pocket. His phone wasn’t there, and he swore under his breath as he nudged the door to his bedroom open and located his cell phone as quietly as possible.
He obviously hadn’t been quick enough, Sam beginning to stir from his nap, and he darted across the room to snatch up his room, quickly pressing the mute button.
“Go back to sleep,” He whispered, stroking a hand through the younger man’s hair. “I’ve got this.”
Sam settled back into sleep as if he was following an order, and Dean made a point of tugging the door shut behind him as he glanced down at the name on the call screen. He almost swore for a second time when he saw his father’s name, feeling the beginning twinges of panic stir in his stomach.
Reluctantly, he pressed the green ‘accept call’ button and raised it to his ear.
“Dean? What the hell took you so long, kid?” His father demanded. “You missed two calls - I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry,” The young hunter apologized. “I left it upstairs by accident.”
He could practically hear John scowl. “Best you don’t make a habit of that, son. I was just ringing to let you know that I’m on my way to Jim’s - should be there tomorrow at the latest.”
“Great,” Dean answered, trying to force enthusiasm into his voice. If John caught onto the fact that it was less than honest, he didn’t let on. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
John said his goodbyes, before hanging up the call, and Dean was left feeling vaguely sick. He collected the mop and wandered aimlessly downstairs towards the kitchen, phone still clasped tightly in one hand.
“Dean?” Jim asked, as soon as the young man came into view. “What’s wrong? Is Sam okay?”
Dean nodded his head. “My dad just rang. He says he’ll be here tomorrow.”
For the first time that Dean could recall, Jim swore loudly. It didn’t exactly go a long way to soothing Dean’s fears.
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Not really helping there, Pastor.”
“No,” Jim acknowledged. “I suppose I’m not. I’m afraid that there’s not much we can do - as much as I’m loathe to admit it, I think we might have no other option than to hope that John listens to reason for once.”
He didn’t sound too hopeful.
“And what happens if he doesn’t?” Dean asked, somewhat hysterically. “What happens if he pulls a knife and tries to stab him? Or better yet, what if he tries to shoot him.”
Jim caught his wrist, forcing him to meet the Pastor’s eyes. His expression was deadly serious.
“Now you listen here, young man.” He said firmly.“I wasn’t lying when I said that nobody will harm Sam under my roof, and your father is no exception. If worst comes to worst, then I will remove him from my property and ensures that he stays removed until he sees reason. There will be no shooting or stabbing involved. Understood?”
Dean nodded his head slowly, dropping into his seat.
“I can’t help but feel like I’m going to have to choose between them,” he admitted quietly. “And it should be such an easy decision - hell, John’s my dad - but it’s really, really not. Sam needs me, really needs me, and I’m starting to think that maybe I need him too.”
Bobby sighed. “Nobody can make that choice for you, Dean. But if it really comes down to losing one of them, none of us will judge you on who you choose, okay? And if you choose your father, then you should know that there’s no need to worry about Sam. Jim and I will take care of him, okay? We’ll keep him safe if we need to.”
Dean nodded his head, turning in his seat when he heard the sound of feet padding along the wooden floorboards. He’d leant Sam a t-shirt and some clean socks before he’d gotten back into bed, remembering how icy the kid’s toes had been against his legs, and there something almost childlike about the way that the teenager was slouched over, rubbing his eyes.
He navigated the kitchen awkwardly, taking in each of their faces as he slowly sank into the seat next to Dean’s.
“Is something wrong?” He asked hesitantly, curling in on himself a little. Dean’s heart broke at the sight, at the knowledge that Sam automatically assumed that he was the problem.
For a moment, Dean genuinely considered lying to him and reassuring him that everything was fine, if only to wipe that shuttered expression from his face. Lying to him like that wouldn’t be fair, though, so Dean reached out and gently squeezed the young man’s shoulder.
“My dad just rang and said that he’s coming here tomorrow,” He informed the shifter softly, and hesitated for a long moment before he continued. “He’s a hunter, too, Sam… only, he doesn’t quite look at things the way that we do.”
Sam frowned for a long moment, before realization dawned on his face. “You think he’s going to hurt me.”
“We think he might try to hurt you,” Bobby interrupted soothingly. “But none of us are going to let him get away with that, you understand?”
Sam nodded absently.
“I… can’t I just shift shapes, pretend to be a dog again?” He asked, and there was a desperate hope in his voice. Dean felt like a jackass as he shook his head.
“That wouldn’t work, Sam. He already wanted me to test you, and if you’re a dog when he gets here, I’m pretty sure he’d find some way to do the tests behind my back. He’d find out that you’re a shifter sooner rather than later… same goes for telling him that you’re human.” He admitted. “We can’t run the risk of him finding out by himself. At least if we tell him straight away, we can control the outcome.”
Sam nodded his head reluctantly, and Dean found himself tugging the kid into his side, squeezing him gently.
“Everything’s gonna work out, okay?” He reassured him quietly, knowing just how scared Sam must be - his confession earlier that morning had enable Dean to understand the fear that had caused him to duck away from Jim when he’d first arrived, and he knew that an altercation with John wasn’t going to help his phobia of hunters in the slightest. “I’m gonna make sure of it, Sam.”
Sam nodded, visibly pulling himself together. “Okay. Just… please don’t let yourself get hurt because of me?”
Dean pulled back to look at the shifter with a raised eyebrow, taking in the completely earnest expression on his face, and was once more taken aback by just how much Sam rated Dean’s life over his own. He had thrown himself into the line of fire more than once to save Dean from getting hurt, had almost died to protect him, and here he was telling Dean that he didn’t want that same sacrifice returned.
Dean couldn’t bring himself to promise anything, knew without a doubt that he’d stand in the path of a gun for Sam if he had to, and forced himself to nod his head instead. He’d never felt quite so guilty as when he caught a glimpse of the grateful look on Sam’s face and knew that he’d just lied to the young man for the first time. And Sam had bought it - hook, line and sinker.
**
Dean used the few hours they had left before sunset to take Sam for a tour around the rectory and its grounds, keeping the pace slow out of deference to Sam’s still-healing stomach, and couldn’t help but grin to himself when Sam looked up at the small church in awe.
“Never seen a church before, Sammy?” He teased, nudging the shifter’s shoulder gently with his own.
Sam blushed again, a look that was becoming more and more familiar as the day wore on. “Only as we drove past them… my mom had this weird superstition about them, said that we weren’t welcome there or something. That God didn’t like our kind invading the human’s houses of worship. I never really understood it.”
Dean cocked his head, watching as Sam reverently reached for the large, wooden door, and hesitated for a long moment before easing it open. He made his way hesitantly inside, stepping lightly as if scared to break the silence, and his eyes were wide as he took in the patterns that the stained glass windows cast across the floor.
Dean watched in silence as the kid turned his head this way and that, admiring the wooden arches and the large organ, the decorative pew where a well-loved copy of the bible stood open.
“It’s beautiful,” He breathed, turning to offer Dean a wide grin. “Thank you, for bringing me here. It’s… amazing.”
“We can sit for a while,” Dean offered, nodding to the pews. “If you’d like to, of course.”
Sam nodded his head eagerly, sinking down onto the worn wood of the nearest pew, taking in the hymn books tucked into the backs of the bench in front of them, and the prayer cushions tucked beneath it.
“I kind of forgot how awesome this place is,” Dean admitted, leaning forwards a little to take in the church as if he was looking at it for the first time. One the far wall, Jesus hung from the crucifix; it didn’t look morbid, as some of them did, but instead he seemed almost peaceful. “My dad used to drop me off here when I was a kid and he was following a lead for a hunt. I’d stay here for weeks… sometimes months, and when Jim had a service, I’d crawl around under the pews and look for change that people had dropped.”
Sam laughed quietly, watching Dean with happiness clear on his face.
“I remember this one time, when I was like seven or eight or something,” Dean recalled, a wide grin breaking over his own face. “And this old lady caught me. Scary woman - had these big, thick glasses that made her look like an owl - and she caught my belt as I tried to crawl past her. I thought for sure that she’d make a big fuss, pull me out and tell me off in front of everyone, but she just kept me there until everyone had gone, and then let me crawl out.”
He paused, picturing the woman in his mind’s eye, recalling the hideous floral pattern on her dress and the kind smile that her pink-painted lips had curled into.
“I stood there, waiting for her to yell, and instead she asked me how much I’d found.” He laughed. “I told her that I’d found a dollar and twenty-five cents, and she asked if I would give it to her. I was totally gutted, dude, all brooding and scowling because I figured I’d wasted an hour crawling around on the floor for nothing, but I didn’t want to get into shit with Jim, so I gave it to her. And then she handed me five dollars.”
Sam tilted his head in curiosity, and Dean smiled at him. “She said that most kids would have lied and said they hadn’t found anything, and I hadn’t even tried. She gave me five dollars every Saturday I was there for the next eight years… long after I’d stopped crawling around under the pews, and when she died she left me a letter and five-hundred dollars in her will.”
Sam smiled, soft and warm. “She sounds like a nice lady.”
“She was,” Dean agreed. “Her kids still come, sometimes. Justin and Kendra… about my age. You’d like them.”
The two of them fell silent for a long moment, lost in thought, and when Sam spoke again, his voice was soft and hesitant.
“My mom believed in God,” he confessed. “My dad thought it was a load of bullshit, but mom believed in him. She used to wear a cross around her neck, never took it off, and when the demon tried to take it from her she damn-near bit one of his fingers off.”
He smiled a little, absently, and Dean could almost picture the demon’s outrage.
“When he first caught us, she used to sing me hymns and tell me stories that she’d memorized from the bible,” He said softly, sucking in a deep breath and turning to face Dean for the first time since he’d started speaking. “She said that God always had a plan, and that sometimes he tested our loyalty. I used to laugh at her, but… the day that you and Bobby showed up, the day that you set me free, that was the first day that I ever prayed for anything.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. Some distant part of him recalled his mother telling him that angels were watching over him, but Dean had been raised mostly by a father that had never believed that the world had any good to offer him. He’d seen demons and vampires and all sorts of creatures, and he truly believed that there was hell - but he’d never quite believed that there might be a heaven, or a God.
“It sounds crazy, I know that.” The shifter continued. “But sometimes I wonder if there really is a God out there after all.”
Dean smiled softly, reaching out and cupping the shifter’s cheek in his hand.
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” He told Sam softly, and then he reached over and in a moment of complete and utter boldness, he pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss.
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