Hide in the Lights
Title: Hide in the Lights
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2800
Disclaimer: Not my boys. Kripke broke them long before I ever got to them.
Summary: Dean is all bruised-up and miserable from his last hunt. The townsfolk jump to conclusions (hey, they've all met the boys' Dad. It's not like anyone's surprised).
Written for the Summer H/C Comment Fic Meme on hoodie_time.
Sam doesn't even feel bad when Dean groans and holds his side when he slides off the bed. He doesn't. Because nobody's forcing Dean to drag his bruised-up ass all across town, really, they aren't.
All Sam's doing is going and if Dean thinks he has to tag along even though he's all beat up from the last hunt he and Dad went on, then that's his problem, not Sam's.
Sam's going.
It's summer in Georgia, the air is thick and hot and like you can fold it into layers and Dean wants to spend it holed up in their motel room with the busted A/C and most of the time Sam can't even go get a cool shower because Dean's in there, jerking off or whatever.
There's a pool, just a couple of blocks away, not too far to walk, even though the air hits Sam like a sack of wet cement.
Behind him Dean mumbles, "fuckin' shit, I hate this shit" or something, and Sam rolls his eyes.
"Eloquent..." he says under his breath and Dean slaps him upside the head so fast Sam didn't even have time to tense. "Just go back. I don't want you with me, anyway."
Sam kicks a crashed Pepsi can out into the street and ignores the quick flash of hurt on his brother's face.
It's not like Dean is taking him to the pool because he wants to hang out. Or even likes spending time with Sam. He's following orders, keeping tabs on Sam, reporting back to Dad like a good, mindless soldier boy and Sam is sick of it. Yes, sir. No, sir. Please sir, can I have some more, sir.
Really, who do they think they're kidding? What kind of seventeen-year-old enjoys spending time with his kid brother when he could be doing, literally, anything else?
"Suck it up."
Dean hits Sam again, right above his ear, not with his hand but with his knuckles and it hurts, makes Sam stumble when he sucks in the stupid hot air that makes his lungs sore. Sam's eyes water and he keeps his head down, shucks his sweaty hair into his face and hopes to God nobody saw.
"Fuckin' sun," Dean grumbles, glares up at the sky and tries to wipe his forehead with his bruised arm. He hisses and whispers another curse.
"Go home then."
Sam walks faster. He feels like kicking another can, but the sidewalk's empty, so he stubs his toes on the ground instead, which hurts and makes his eyes water even more.
"Dad said we have to stay together," Dean says in that stupid, fake-ass voice that he only ever uses to piss Sam off.
"Dad said," Sam mimics under his breath. He rolls his eyes and makes sure Dean sees how much Sam's had it with this blind obedience bullshit.
Dad said. If Dad told him to, Dean would run into oncoming traffic. Grin and click his heels and die happy.
The pool is full when they get there. Sam wanted to leave early but his head already hurts so he doesn't point it out.
Dean gives him a look when he pays the guy at the entrance and for a second Sam feels bad. Then he remembers that normal people can go to the pool all the time, even poor people who live in trailer parks and anyway, if Dad let them buy swim trunks at the store last week then that means they can spend their money on using them.
"Awesome," Dean grumbles and when Sam looks up he figures Dean is taking in the lack of girls in bikinis or dudes like his jackass friends back in Ohio who spent every recess smoking pot behind the dumpsters.
The small pool is overflowing with kids, Sam's age at best, most of them younger. And parents. Guys with soft stomachs and women in the kind of too big bathing suits they only wear after they've popped out at least two kids.
Dean pulls his Walkman out of his pocket and winces, sinking down into one of the white plastic chairs, right by the bathrooms where nobody else is sitting.
"You're not going in?"
Dean gives him a long look before he scoffs and shakes his head, doesn't even answer.
"Quit lookin' at me like that," he says and Sam resists the urge to point out that he wasn't looking at anyone like anything. He was just looking.
Dean pulls his shirt up over his head and Sam feels his mouth fall open. Dean's entire chest is black and blue with a couple of angry red welts standing out on top. Sam was sleeping when Dean and Dad got back a week ago. Nobody yelled at him to get any meds, so Sam didn't...Sam didn't even realize -- Sam's only seen the bruises on Dean's arms, he didn't...
"Wowzer," he says and shuts his mouth so hard his teeth click together because seriously, who the hell says wowzer?
Dean pushes his shades up for just a second to glare at Sam.
"Yeah," he says, lets the sunglasses slide back down his nose and puts his earphones over his head. "Whatever. Get lost."
Sam knows he must have made a face because Dean glares at him again and turns up the volume on his Walkman.
"Play Marco Polo or some shit."
Sam kicks the empty chair next to Dean's, which, fucking ow, bare feet, sharp plastic, fuck, but he's not about to talk to Dean again right now, so he hobbles away to stand on the edge of the water.
He looks around, tries to figure out if he should jump in or use the stairs over to the right where a couple of old dudes are sitting with their fat bellies hanging out. None of the kids even look at him, not that Sam really cares about playing with stupid little kids or talking to any of the adults it's just that...well, it's not exactly that Sam has a problem with swimming all on his own, it's just that usually they go to the hotel pools or the swimming hole behind Bobby's house and you're not supposed to make friends there, but this is different and Sam just doesn't know.
Back when they were little, Dean would grab Sam's sweaty baby hand and drag him out into the playground and they'd just have friends. Dean could do that to people, make them be his friends, make them like him and laugh at his stupid jokes. He still can, Sam reckons, he just doesn't do it anymore unless it's for girls or hunting and somehow that makes Sam's eyes sting all over again.
Sam does his best to make sure people know he hates his brother, thinks he's stupid and a moron and a million other things (because Dean stopped acting like he liked him ages ago and Sam doesn't know what he did to deserve that but he can sure as hell give as good as he gets), but yeah, knowing that Dean doesn't even really want friends anymore makes Sam sad and angry in a way that twists his stomach into a million knots.
The stone tiles are hot under his bare feet so Sam shuffles closer until he's standing in the shallow puddle of lukewarm water that's spilled over the edge of the pool.
He looks over his shoulder once but Dean isn't even looking at him. He's lounging in his chair, sits sort of stiffly with his right hand wrapped tightly around the arm rest -- to take pressure of his back, probably, not like Sam cares.
The water isn't as cool as Sam had hoped. Nothing like Bobby's swimming hole and Sam tries not to think about all the little kids who've probably been pissing in the water all morning.
There is a group of boys over on the shallow end of the pool. They're splashing each other, shrieking with laughter, and paddle away innocently when one of their mothers comes over. It kind of makes Sam want to throw up even though he's not quite sure why.
He swims to the other side in a couple of quick, strong strokes. It feels good, but also way too much like something Dad would approve of, too much like training, so Sam stops right there and just floats on his back. He's closer to the kids now, so he lets his head sink into the water until his ears clog up and he can't hear them anymore.
He looks up once, when some kid jumps into the pool and water sloshes into Sam's eyes and up his nose. He glares at the group of parents and finds a couple of them staring right at him. Not at the kid and not in a way that they're trying to make sure Sam's fine, just...staring.
Sam shucks his hair back into his eyes and turns away.
He only notices the woman when she sits down on her heels, right by the side of the pool.
"Hi, I'm Susan."
"Huh?"
"Susan," she says again. "Kevin's mom." She nods over to where her kid and his stupid friends are dunking each other or whatever. Sam doesn't say anything. "That boy you came with. Is he your brother?"
She's squinting against the bright surface of the pool right at where Dean's sitting, Sam doesn't even have to look. There is a quick pang deep in his belly. Even with strangers it's always about Dean.
"How did he get so banged up?"
Nobody ever cares when Sam's bruised up all over from training.
He does his best to pull off a disinterested shrug while still treading water. "Fell down the stairs," he mumbles and sinks under. The chlorine stings his eyes but Sam doesn't care. He pushes himself off the wall and slides past the stupid kids, and stays under until he's completely out of air.
When he comes up, Susan's gone back over to her group of friends, pointing, whispering. Sam wants to throw up, so he sinks back under again.
He isn't sure when the change happens. It doesn't happen all of a sudden. It builds and builds and then the whispering is somehow louder than the normal people at a pool buzz.
The parents are crowded together around a couple of plastic tables, shooting covert glances across the pool at Dean. Susan says something to a balding man next to her. The guy catches Sam's eye and gives him the saddest head shake Sam's ever seen.
He looks around and...and...They keep looking at him like Sam's got something ugly stuck to his face. Everybody's looking. Everybody's talking about them.
Dad says Sam can be paranoid sometimes (which is wrong and even if it's true then Sam knows where he gets it from). He closes his eyes, stops the small paddling motions he's doing with his feet until he's so far under water he can only see the yellow-tinged blue of the swimming pool. He counts in his head, hopes that when he gets back everything will be back to normal, like he's three again and the world will just disappear as long as Sam isn't looking at it.
It doesn't though, and by the third time he comes up, gulping for air, even the kids are whispering.
Dean glares at him when Sam shakes his shoulder. He brushes his hand away and hisses another curse.
"What?" It's like it takes him a minute to remember he's wearing earphones. He shoves them back and Sam can hear the dull bass of some stupid hard rock song. "What?"
"They're looking at us," Sam says quietly. He glances up, over Dean's head to check, and yes, everybody's still looking. "Talkin' about us, too."
Sam half expects Dean to brush him off, call him a bitchy kid or something and go back to his music, but he doesn't. He sits up straighter in his chair, doesn't look around, but turns off his Walkman and listens.
"They're talking about us," Sam says again. Dean holds his hand up, like Dad sometimes does when he needs quiet.
Some people look away when Dean meets their eyes. They go and stare at the ground or their drinks and pretend they were talking about something else. The bald dude gives Dean the same sad look he gave Sam and it makes Dean bite his lip and flick his eyes down towards his chest.
"They think that Dad did this."
At first, Sam isn't sure what he means, then the pieces click together like they sometimes do in English tests when he thinks about a question a couple of times.
"What? Why?"
"That lady in the green bathing suit? She runs the gas station. The fat guy's the diner owner. Hell, Sammy, it's a small as fuck town, Dad's probably pissed off all of them by now."
"But Dad didn't -- Just because he's not super nice to them, doesn't mean Dad hit you." Then Sam remembers that thing he saw in a PSA once. About how kids who get hit end up hitting their kids and Dean's been whacking Sam an awful lot lately and suddenly Sam feels cold and sick and like he can't quite remember how to breathe. "Did he?"
Dean looks like he's about to smack Sam about the head again, but he doesn't. "Yeah, jackass. 'Cause that's a great way to keep your ass covered, beating up your hunting partner. Here." Dean yanks Sam closer, shoves his arm into Sam's face so Sam's staring at the dark purple marks around Dean's wrist. "That's the one Dad put there. When he pulled me back before I could get my head bit off."
"Oh..."
"Oh..." Dean mimics, and this time he does whack Sam on the head. "Did he? Get your head outa your ass, Sam."
Over, on the other side of the pool, they're all still talking, talking about calling the police most likely and Sam is really glad that cellphones are way to expensive for ordinary folks hanging out at a swimming pool.
"Is Dad gonna get in trouble?"
Dean lets out a hard, fast breath of air. "I don't know."
"Are we gonna have to leave town?"
"I don't know."
"Are they gonna call CPS?"
"Aw, fuck, Sammy, I don't know."
"We should probably leave..."
And then...and then Susan walks right up to them again. They're both watching the parking lot when she gets up, so by the time they notice, she's already halfway there and it's too late to bolt.
She's got one of the men tagging along. Some guy with a baseball cap and sunburned shoulders who has his lips pinched like he's been sucking on a lemon.
"I'm Susan," she says again, jeez. "This is Dan."
Dean grimaces when he gets up. He stands and at first Sam thinks that it's just because that's what you do when somebody's talking to you but then he notices how Dean's sliding in in front of Sam, like he somehow figures these suburban parents are an immediate threat (which is so stupid, especially because Sam looks fine and Dean would be smart to hide his mess behind his little brother).
Susan and Dan look at each other, like they expected Sam or Dean to say something and now that they're not, they don't know how to deal.
"You're new in town," Susan tries after a couple of seconds.
"Yup," Dean says. He pulls his shirt over his head without wincing this time.
He grabs Sam by the shoulder and starts leading him towards the rusty iron gate.
"Wait." That's Dan. He says it more like a sigh though, looks uncomfortable as hell, like maybe Susan forced him to come with her. Dean keeps pushing Sam forward. "Wait, your dad drives the Mustang, right?"
That makes Dean turn around. He's pissed, though Sam isn't sure what got him upset, the wrong car or the fact that Dan's talking about Dad in the first place.
Dean's fists flex at his sides and Sam puts his hand on his elbow as if he'd ever be able to hold Dean back if he needed to.
"Let's just go," he hisses, pulling on Dean's arm, right under a red, swollen welt.
"Batmobile, actually," Dean growls and lets Sam pull him away.
Susan's the one who hurries after them this time.
"Dan," she says, waving a small white card that's already welled up and soft from her wet fingers. "Dan, he...he works with the hospital. You can...you boys can call him. If you ever need anything."
Dean looks down at the card, Sam can see how the muscles in his jaw are drawn tight, like Dean is pressing his teeth so hard against each other they gotta hurt.
"Thanks," he says and doesn't take it. His lip curls ever so slightly. "But it's really more Cats in the Cradle than Hell is for Children."
Sam doesn't get it.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2800
Disclaimer: Not my boys. Kripke broke them long before I ever got to them.
Summary: Dean is all bruised-up and miserable from his last hunt. The townsfolk jump to conclusions (hey, they've all met the boys' Dad. It's not like anyone's surprised).
Written for the Summer H/C Comment Fic Meme on hoodie_time.
Sam doesn't even feel bad when Dean groans and holds his side when he slides off the bed. He doesn't. Because nobody's forcing Dean to drag his bruised-up ass all across town, really, they aren't.
All Sam's doing is going and if Dean thinks he has to tag along even though he's all beat up from the last hunt he and Dad went on, then that's his problem, not Sam's.
Sam's going.
It's summer in Georgia, the air is thick and hot and like you can fold it into layers and Dean wants to spend it holed up in their motel room with the busted A/C and most of the time Sam can't even go get a cool shower because Dean's in there, jerking off or whatever.
There's a pool, just a couple of blocks away, not too far to walk, even though the air hits Sam like a sack of wet cement.
Behind him Dean mumbles, "fuckin' shit, I hate this shit" or something, and Sam rolls his eyes.
"Eloquent..." he says under his breath and Dean slaps him upside the head so fast Sam didn't even have time to tense. "Just go back. I don't want you with me, anyway."
Sam kicks a crashed Pepsi can out into the street and ignores the quick flash of hurt on his brother's face.
It's not like Dean is taking him to the pool because he wants to hang out. Or even likes spending time with Sam. He's following orders, keeping tabs on Sam, reporting back to Dad like a good, mindless soldier boy and Sam is sick of it. Yes, sir. No, sir. Please sir, can I have some more, sir.
Really, who do they think they're kidding? What kind of seventeen-year-old enjoys spending time with his kid brother when he could be doing, literally, anything else?
"Suck it up."
Dean hits Sam again, right above his ear, not with his hand but with his knuckles and it hurts, makes Sam stumble when he sucks in the stupid hot air that makes his lungs sore. Sam's eyes water and he keeps his head down, shucks his sweaty hair into his face and hopes to God nobody saw.
"Fuckin' sun," Dean grumbles, glares up at the sky and tries to wipe his forehead with his bruised arm. He hisses and whispers another curse.
"Go home then."
Sam walks faster. He feels like kicking another can, but the sidewalk's empty, so he stubs his toes on the ground instead, which hurts and makes his eyes water even more.
"Dad said we have to stay together," Dean says in that stupid, fake-ass voice that he only ever uses to piss Sam off.
"Dad said," Sam mimics under his breath. He rolls his eyes and makes sure Dean sees how much Sam's had it with this blind obedience bullshit.
Dad said. If Dad told him to, Dean would run into oncoming traffic. Grin and click his heels and die happy.
The pool is full when they get there. Sam wanted to leave early but his head already hurts so he doesn't point it out.
Dean gives him a look when he pays the guy at the entrance and for a second Sam feels bad. Then he remembers that normal people can go to the pool all the time, even poor people who live in trailer parks and anyway, if Dad let them buy swim trunks at the store last week then that means they can spend their money on using them.
"Awesome," Dean grumbles and when Sam looks up he figures Dean is taking in the lack of girls in bikinis or dudes like his jackass friends back in Ohio who spent every recess smoking pot behind the dumpsters.
The small pool is overflowing with kids, Sam's age at best, most of them younger. And parents. Guys with soft stomachs and women in the kind of too big bathing suits they only wear after they've popped out at least two kids.
Dean pulls his Walkman out of his pocket and winces, sinking down into one of the white plastic chairs, right by the bathrooms where nobody else is sitting.
"You're not going in?"
Dean gives him a long look before he scoffs and shakes his head, doesn't even answer.
"Quit lookin' at me like that," he says and Sam resists the urge to point out that he wasn't looking at anyone like anything. He was just looking.
Dean pulls his shirt up over his head and Sam feels his mouth fall open. Dean's entire chest is black and blue with a couple of angry red welts standing out on top. Sam was sleeping when Dean and Dad got back a week ago. Nobody yelled at him to get any meds, so Sam didn't...Sam didn't even realize -- Sam's only seen the bruises on Dean's arms, he didn't...
"Wowzer," he says and shuts his mouth so hard his teeth click together because seriously, who the hell says wowzer?
Dean pushes his shades up for just a second to glare at Sam.
"Yeah," he says, lets the sunglasses slide back down his nose and puts his earphones over his head. "Whatever. Get lost."
Sam knows he must have made a face because Dean glares at him again and turns up the volume on his Walkman.
"Play Marco Polo or some shit."
Sam kicks the empty chair next to Dean's, which, fucking ow, bare feet, sharp plastic, fuck, but he's not about to talk to Dean again right now, so he hobbles away to stand on the edge of the water.
He looks around, tries to figure out if he should jump in or use the stairs over to the right where a couple of old dudes are sitting with their fat bellies hanging out. None of the kids even look at him, not that Sam really cares about playing with stupid little kids or talking to any of the adults it's just that...well, it's not exactly that Sam has a problem with swimming all on his own, it's just that usually they go to the hotel pools or the swimming hole behind Bobby's house and you're not supposed to make friends there, but this is different and Sam just doesn't know.
Back when they were little, Dean would grab Sam's sweaty baby hand and drag him out into the playground and they'd just have friends. Dean could do that to people, make them be his friends, make them like him and laugh at his stupid jokes. He still can, Sam reckons, he just doesn't do it anymore unless it's for girls or hunting and somehow that makes Sam's eyes sting all over again.
Sam does his best to make sure people know he hates his brother, thinks he's stupid and a moron and a million other things (because Dean stopped acting like he liked him ages ago and Sam doesn't know what he did to deserve that but he can sure as hell give as good as he gets), but yeah, knowing that Dean doesn't even really want friends anymore makes Sam sad and angry in a way that twists his stomach into a million knots.
The stone tiles are hot under his bare feet so Sam shuffles closer until he's standing in the shallow puddle of lukewarm water that's spilled over the edge of the pool.
He looks over his shoulder once but Dean isn't even looking at him. He's lounging in his chair, sits sort of stiffly with his right hand wrapped tightly around the arm rest -- to take pressure of his back, probably, not like Sam cares.
The water isn't as cool as Sam had hoped. Nothing like Bobby's swimming hole and Sam tries not to think about all the little kids who've probably been pissing in the water all morning.
There is a group of boys over on the shallow end of the pool. They're splashing each other, shrieking with laughter, and paddle away innocently when one of their mothers comes over. It kind of makes Sam want to throw up even though he's not quite sure why.
He swims to the other side in a couple of quick, strong strokes. It feels good, but also way too much like something Dad would approve of, too much like training, so Sam stops right there and just floats on his back. He's closer to the kids now, so he lets his head sink into the water until his ears clog up and he can't hear them anymore.
He looks up once, when some kid jumps into the pool and water sloshes into Sam's eyes and up his nose. He glares at the group of parents and finds a couple of them staring right at him. Not at the kid and not in a way that they're trying to make sure Sam's fine, just...staring.
Sam shucks his hair back into his eyes and turns away.
He only notices the woman when she sits down on her heels, right by the side of the pool.
"Hi, I'm Susan."
"Huh?"
"Susan," she says again. "Kevin's mom." She nods over to where her kid and his stupid friends are dunking each other or whatever. Sam doesn't say anything. "That boy you came with. Is he your brother?"
She's squinting against the bright surface of the pool right at where Dean's sitting, Sam doesn't even have to look. There is a quick pang deep in his belly. Even with strangers it's always about Dean.
"How did he get so banged up?"
Nobody ever cares when Sam's bruised up all over from training.
He does his best to pull off a disinterested shrug while still treading water. "Fell down the stairs," he mumbles and sinks under. The chlorine stings his eyes but Sam doesn't care. He pushes himself off the wall and slides past the stupid kids, and stays under until he's completely out of air.
When he comes up, Susan's gone back over to her group of friends, pointing, whispering. Sam wants to throw up, so he sinks back under again.
He isn't sure when the change happens. It doesn't happen all of a sudden. It builds and builds and then the whispering is somehow louder than the normal people at a pool buzz.
The parents are crowded together around a couple of plastic tables, shooting covert glances across the pool at Dean. Susan says something to a balding man next to her. The guy catches Sam's eye and gives him the saddest head shake Sam's ever seen.
He looks around and...and...They keep looking at him like Sam's got something ugly stuck to his face. Everybody's looking. Everybody's talking about them.
Dad says Sam can be paranoid sometimes (which is wrong and even if it's true then Sam knows where he gets it from). He closes his eyes, stops the small paddling motions he's doing with his feet until he's so far under water he can only see the yellow-tinged blue of the swimming pool. He counts in his head, hopes that when he gets back everything will be back to normal, like he's three again and the world will just disappear as long as Sam isn't looking at it.
It doesn't though, and by the third time he comes up, gulping for air, even the kids are whispering.
Dean glares at him when Sam shakes his shoulder. He brushes his hand away and hisses another curse.
"What?" It's like it takes him a minute to remember he's wearing earphones. He shoves them back and Sam can hear the dull bass of some stupid hard rock song. "What?"
"They're looking at us," Sam says quietly. He glances up, over Dean's head to check, and yes, everybody's still looking. "Talkin' about us, too."
Sam half expects Dean to brush him off, call him a bitchy kid or something and go back to his music, but he doesn't. He sits up straighter in his chair, doesn't look around, but turns off his Walkman and listens.
"They're talking about us," Sam says again. Dean holds his hand up, like Dad sometimes does when he needs quiet.
Some people look away when Dean meets their eyes. They go and stare at the ground or their drinks and pretend they were talking about something else. The bald dude gives Dean the same sad look he gave Sam and it makes Dean bite his lip and flick his eyes down towards his chest.
"They think that Dad did this."
At first, Sam isn't sure what he means, then the pieces click together like they sometimes do in English tests when he thinks about a question a couple of times.
"What? Why?"
"That lady in the green bathing suit? She runs the gas station. The fat guy's the diner owner. Hell, Sammy, it's a small as fuck town, Dad's probably pissed off all of them by now."
"But Dad didn't -- Just because he's not super nice to them, doesn't mean Dad hit you." Then Sam remembers that thing he saw in a PSA once. About how kids who get hit end up hitting their kids and Dean's been whacking Sam an awful lot lately and suddenly Sam feels cold and sick and like he can't quite remember how to breathe. "Did he?"
Dean looks like he's about to smack Sam about the head again, but he doesn't. "Yeah, jackass. 'Cause that's a great way to keep your ass covered, beating up your hunting partner. Here." Dean yanks Sam closer, shoves his arm into Sam's face so Sam's staring at the dark purple marks around Dean's wrist. "That's the one Dad put there. When he pulled me back before I could get my head bit off."
"Oh..."
"Oh..." Dean mimics, and this time he does whack Sam on the head. "Did he? Get your head outa your ass, Sam."
Over, on the other side of the pool, they're all still talking, talking about calling the police most likely and Sam is really glad that cellphones are way to expensive for ordinary folks hanging out at a swimming pool.
"Is Dad gonna get in trouble?"
Dean lets out a hard, fast breath of air. "I don't know."
"Are we gonna have to leave town?"
"I don't know."
"Are they gonna call CPS?"
"Aw, fuck, Sammy, I don't know."
"We should probably leave..."
And then...and then Susan walks right up to them again. They're both watching the parking lot when she gets up, so by the time they notice, she's already halfway there and it's too late to bolt.
She's got one of the men tagging along. Some guy with a baseball cap and sunburned shoulders who has his lips pinched like he's been sucking on a lemon.
"I'm Susan," she says again, jeez. "This is Dan."
Dean grimaces when he gets up. He stands and at first Sam thinks that it's just because that's what you do when somebody's talking to you but then he notices how Dean's sliding in in front of Sam, like he somehow figures these suburban parents are an immediate threat (which is so stupid, especially because Sam looks fine and Dean would be smart to hide his mess behind his little brother).
Susan and Dan look at each other, like they expected Sam or Dean to say something and now that they're not, they don't know how to deal.
"You're new in town," Susan tries after a couple of seconds.
"Yup," Dean says. He pulls his shirt over his head without wincing this time.
He grabs Sam by the shoulder and starts leading him towards the rusty iron gate.
"Wait." That's Dan. He says it more like a sigh though, looks uncomfortable as hell, like maybe Susan forced him to come with her. Dean keeps pushing Sam forward. "Wait, your dad drives the Mustang, right?"
That makes Dean turn around. He's pissed, though Sam isn't sure what got him upset, the wrong car or the fact that Dan's talking about Dad in the first place.
Dean's fists flex at his sides and Sam puts his hand on his elbow as if he'd ever be able to hold Dean back if he needed to.
"Let's just go," he hisses, pulling on Dean's arm, right under a red, swollen welt.
"Batmobile, actually," Dean growls and lets Sam pull him away.
Susan's the one who hurries after them this time.
"Dan," she says, waving a small white card that's already welled up and soft from her wet fingers. "Dan, he...he works with the hospital. You can...you boys can call him. If you ever need anything."
Dean looks down at the card, Sam can see how the muscles in his jaw are drawn tight, like Dean is pressing his teeth so hard against each other they gotta hurt.
"Thanks," he says and doesn't take it. His lip curls ever so slightly. "But it's really more Cats in the Cradle than Hell is for Children."
Sam doesn't get it.