Dichotomy VII
Title: Dichotomy VII
Pairings : Walter Kovacs / Dean Winchester
Time period : 1957
Warnings: Sexual language, Supernatural crossover, long
Summary : affection, violence, love ; Walter Kovacs tutors and is befriended by a boy dichotomous of him.
Disclaimer: Walter Kovacs is Alan Moore's creation. Sam, Dean and John Winchester are Eric Kripke's.
"The Tyger" is by William Blake. Walter's poem is by me.
Walter was fascinated by English class. He always had a million questions he wanted to ask the teacher, but he kept silent. It was better to keep his mouth shut instead of drawing even more attention to himself. Smallest in his class, and lone redhead; he already had enough negative attention. When he did ask questions, it was after class, when talking to his teachers alone. On one such day, as he was coming to ask questions about "Of Mice and Men", he overheard the raised, pleading voice of another boy from his class.
"C'mon teach! I know my grades ain't the best, but I'm tryin', yanno'? I just don't get this stuff!"
"Mr. Winchester, if you don't manage at least a B for this term, we're holding you back another year."
Walter snuck around to the cracked door to listen.
"I'm trying as hard as I can! But I can't do the assignments if I don't understand the material, sir."
Walter raised his hand and knocked on the classroom door before coming in, face blank as though he had not heard anything.
"Ah, Mr. Kovacs, do come in," his english teacher, Mr. Dougherty said.
Dean Winchester raised an eyebrow.
"Excellent timing! I do believe Mr. Winchester could use a tutor. It would be beneficial to you both."
Walter kept silent, his eyes asking what possible reward there was for him.
"We'll give you a little extra pocket money, and Dean here will manage a passing grade. What do you say?"
Dean looked as if he was going to protest, but his mouth was a firm line as he looked at Walter. The two locked eyes and assessed each-other silently. After a long moment, they nodded in unison.
"Yes Sir," Walter said.
"Understood, Sir," Dean said.
***
Walter started tutoring Dean on odd days of the week, after they had English class. Or at least, he tried. The first time, they met at the library.
"So... the boy who always has a million questions on his face but never says a peep. I'm Dean Winchester." Dean looked up at Walter and grinning, held out his hand to be shaken. Walter shook his hand automatically; manners had been drilled into him and he also did not want to start this off on the wrong foot. Nonetheless, his lips moved seemingly of their own accord.
"Walter Kovacs. So, the boy who whores himself out to all girls," he replied, his lips twitched slightly to one side.
"Hey Hey Hey now! Yeah I'm that good, but I'm not that kinda' guy!" Dean said good-naturedly. Walter couldn't help a small smile from forming.
Dean was slouched in his chair, rocking it on the back two legs. "I think we should get to know each-other first. It'll help us to work together better, you know?"
"No, I don't know. Seems superfluous, Dean."
Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face, and he clapped Walter on the back, continuing as if he hadn't heard the slightly smaller boy. "My pop's a world war II vet, a traveling salesman. After mom died, he couldn't look after me and Sammy so well. Got into a lot of fights in school, so I got shipped here and Sammy got shipped off to some private boarding school."
Walter watched Dean's dancing eyes as he spoke. Everyone had different ways of expressing grief, he supposed. "Unfortunate. You must miss...Sam. He's your younger brother?"
"Yeah, three years younger. Little bastard is sprouting up like a weed and already taller than me. He's not too far from here, so we see each-other and dad on holidays. It's not so bad. Still, I can't wait to get out of here so I can go shoot some commies like my dad." Dean's smile was crooked.
"You wish to join the army right out of school, then."
"Hell yeah. Say Red, what do you wanna' do when you get out of this hell-hole?"
Walter was a little startled. He'd never really thought about it. Mostly, in his years here he'd been trying to catch up to the other children in his schooling, and tried to stay un-noticed. "I... I do not know, Dean."
Dean rocked in chair, still chockful of nervous energy. "You thought about the army? Or the navy?" there was something odd about Dean's smile at that last word. Walter couldn't quite put his finger on it, however.
"Cannot join either. Flat-footed; they do not take people who cannot wear standard issue uniform boots."
"Tough break!"
"Some people...born into bad luck." Walter whispered.
Dean appeared not to hear him; maybe he hadn't.
***
Slowly, the two boys got to know each-other. Dean was always full of piss and vinegar, forever enthusiastic in everything he did. Walter was cool and methodical in how he approached explaining the material and assignments to the other boy, but warmed to him considerably. Sometimes, he even smiled.
One day they were studying outside, Walter and Dean both working on a poetry assignment with a nature theme.
"Rargh! Why is this so hard?" Dean exclaimed after a prolonged bout of his pen not moving on paper.
"Not difficult, Dean. Try not to think about how hard it is, but instead look at the colours and shapes of things; see if they remind you of anything else."
Dean's eyes were on Walter, "Hmm..." he looked at his tutour for another moment before falling silent. When he finally did speak again, his voice was shy and he wouldn't look at Walter. "Your freckles remind me of the speckles on a robin's egg."
"Not bad. Eggs are symbols of rebirth, the teacher would like it."
"Ok, what've you got then, Red?"
Walter cleared this throat and said in deadpan,
"
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire? "
For a moment, Dean looked awestruck. Walter looked smug. Slowly, Dean's expression twisted into disgust as he whacked Walter lightly in the arm. "You little bastard! We covered that last month in class!"
Walter looked at where his arm had been touched curiously while grinning into his hand. "Just testing how much you're remembering, Dean. This stuff is on tests."
Dean let out a frustrated puff of air. "Man, I don't need this stuff. Soon as I graduate this year, I'm going into the army."
"What? But you still have another year!"
"Oh, well sort of. Either I repeat this year and have to finish high-school, or I finish this year and join the army. My birthday's in a couple of months; I'll be eighteen then. Dad put these stupid conditions on me, though..."
"Should be grateful you have a father to care."
"I am. It's just, you know. He's not around and this place sucks." Dean didn't ask about Walter's mother. The one time he had, it hadn't gone well.
"It could be worse."
"Yeah yeah, I know, it can always be worse. Anyway, what the hell did you write?"
Walter passed over his notebook, it read:
"Winter was a hollow echo
of potential long spent, now dormant
life faded into black white and grey
Spring is a rainbowed refraction
of promises unfulfilled, lies not meant
death in waiting stalks shrill voiced blue-jay"
Dean was taken aback. "Blank verse?"
Walter shrugged, "If Mr.Dougherty won't accept it, I'll do something else. They're not expecting sonnets out of us."
***
Spring break came, such as it was. Dean's father came and took the boy away so they could have the week together as a family. The cherry blossoms fell, and Walter's mood with them. He found the extra money in his wallet a poor comfort without Dean.
Mr. Winchester had had a few words with Walter before he left, "I hear you've been helping Dean with his studies. I'm John Winchester."
Walter was wary as the two shook hands. He wasn't sure what to make of this situation. Formalities, he supposed. "Yes Sir. I'm Walter Kovacs and I'm helping Dean with English and literature."
"I hope you're not one of those artie liberal fags, son. Keep your spine straight and your head down. I'm grateful for your help with Dean, but at the same time I'm a little sad. I was hoping extra time in school would help with his maturity. War is hell, Walter. I don't know why my eldest is so eager to throw his life away..."
Walter wouldn't dare shrug, that was far too flippant a gesture for this man. Instead, he dared to hold John's gaze with his own, "He wants to do you proud, Sir. Uphold family tradition." Murky coloured eyes with a sharp, hawk-like gaze. How like yet unlike his son this man was. Walter wondered what Dean's brother was like.
John shook his head, "Yes, that sounds like Dean. You're astute, Kovacs. Keep your nose clean and you may get somewhere. Thank-you for helping my son with his schoolwork. Good-bye." With that dismissal,he left Walter.
Walter's birthday came and went over spring break. He was 17, but there would be no presents.
***
After a great deal of thought, one day while they were studying, or trying, (Dean insisted on finishing the newest issue of Superman), Walter told Dean what his career choice would be.
"I'll become an officer of the law," he said.
Dean's head whipped up from the book he was reading. "What?"
"I can't do America justice by joining in war efforts, but I can help clean up here at home."
Dean was thoughtful, worrying his lip between his teeth. Walter tried not to look. "Yeah Red, sounds good. You're a bit scrawny though."
Walter bowed his head and sighed inaudibly. Yes, that was true, but...
"Dean, p..please help me. Help me to get stronger."
Dean brightened, "Hey yeah, sure! That's a great idea! Join the school boxing club, and I'll look out for you there."
And so he did. The next year, after Dean left, he joined gymnastics. Boxing was pointless unless he could get sweaty with Dean. No one else gave him as much of a work out.
***
Getting strong enough to not be a joke outside his division in boxing club was difficult. Dean was as good as his word; he gave Walter a regimen of exercises to do and a training routine. Walter did fine in the light welterweight division because of his sheer viciousness and tenacity; but he longed to be strong enough to live up to his friend's expectations. To give Dean a run for his money in a fight.
Dean was a patient trainer and sparring partner; ruthless, fluid, and efficient in his movements, deadly calm. Walter began to idolize his friend. It was a thing of beauty, watching Dean fight. Club rules stated that a winner was declared when first blood was drawn. Walter longed to split Dean's lip, see blood fly.
As these things do, one day it came to a head. It was June, and Dean was antsy. Walter was at least as bad; it felt like insects were burrowing under his skin and marching across his bones every hour of every day. When he tried to sleep, the vision behind his eyelids was red and he tasted blood in his mouth. He had troubled dreams of licking coppery blood off of salty skin; didn't remember them on waking.
Walter couldn't bear it. He didn't want to let go of one of the only friends he'd ever had. Dean was excited, desperate to escape. It was after a boxing club meeting, they were cleaning up before heading off to study, and still pumped full of adrenaline.
"Dean, it might be better if you stayed another year . I think your father would like it." Walter would like it.
Dean's face, already flushed from physical exertion, flushed farther in anger. "Don't talk to me about my father!"
"I'm sorry if I crossed a line. He did mention to me that he'd prefer you stay, however."
Dean snorted, calmed a little "Yeah, well tough shit on what the old man wants. A deal's a deal."
Walter's heart broke a little. He didn't know what to do. "Dean, I will... I will miss you."
"Aww, you little fag. Adorable," Dean grinned, and noogied the shorter boy's hair. "Yeah I know. But listen, I gotta' do what I gotta' do. And I already have a little brother, Red."
Walter squirmed under Dean's arm, in a headlock. He felt trapped and confused. And angry... very angry. Seemingly of its own accord, his mouth closed around Dean's arm and bit. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood.
Dean abruptly released the other boy and pressed his hand down onto the wound. "Oww! What the fuck! Jesus Walter, what's your problem?"
Walter could taste blood. He licked it off of his lips. His body, traitorously, was rock hard. Every ounce of him tensed, including the part he pretended didn't exist except while urinating.
"I...I don't want you to leave, Dean." Walter was panting, and his erection was clearly visible.
Dean noticed, his expression was caught between morbid curiousity and amusement. "You sound like a girl, Red."
With a small roar, Walter leapt at Dean and crashed hard against him, into the lockers behind the two boys. He ground his erection into Dean's hip, his teeth on the other boy's neck, and snarled.
"I'm not a girl! I'm not one of your little whores!"
Dean was a bit dazed, in shock. His hand came up to rest on Walter's head. He stroked the redhead's hair, both their bodies trembling, "Shh. I know, Red. Relax. I'll stay." Dean said, gently taking hold of Walter's wrists and starting to disentangle them.
Walter was still shaking, and his eyes were wet with the kind gesture. He didn't know what to do, so he let Dean separate them. "Alright. Good," he said, and slumped against the locker and Dean's side.
"Dean. My mother died. I..."
Shocked, Dean put his arm around Walter's shoulders in a loose, one-armed hug.
"Walter, I'm sorry... why. Why didn't you tell me?"
Water slowly leaked out of Walter's eyes. "I thought it was irrelevant. She died at the hands of her pimp. She beat me. I hated her..."
Things clicked into please for Dean. Attention, physical contact, fighting, his sexual reputation. To his friend, Dean was... a substitute. Perhaps better than the original, but a substitute all the same. Just like Walter had been a substitute for his scrawny, nerdy little brother.
Dean lifted Walter's chin and forced the other boy to meet his eyes. Walter saw the depth of compassion and understanding in his friend's murk coloured eyes, "I understand. Red, let's make the most of it." Dean turned his body into Walter's, and they shared a single, gentle kiss.
They never talked of the incident or Walter's home-life again, nor did Dean speak of leaving. He simply left, forever taking a piece of Walter's heart with him. It had been intended to be quick and painless, like ripping off a scab, but he never recovered. Spring's promises remained unfulfilled, though the lies had been meant.
Pairings : Walter Kovacs / Dean Winchester
Time period : 1957
Warnings: Sexual language, Supernatural crossover, long
Summary : affection, violence, love ; Walter Kovacs tutors and is befriended by a boy dichotomous of him.
Disclaimer: Walter Kovacs is Alan Moore's creation. Sam, Dean and John Winchester are Eric Kripke's.
"The Tyger" is by William Blake. Walter's poem is by me.
Walter was fascinated by English class. He always had a million questions he wanted to ask the teacher, but he kept silent. It was better to keep his mouth shut instead of drawing even more attention to himself. Smallest in his class, and lone redhead; he already had enough negative attention. When he did ask questions, it was after class, when talking to his teachers alone. On one such day, as he was coming to ask questions about "Of Mice and Men", he overheard the raised, pleading voice of another boy from his class.
"C'mon teach! I know my grades ain't the best, but I'm tryin', yanno'? I just don't get this stuff!"
"Mr. Winchester, if you don't manage at least a B for this term, we're holding you back another year."
Walter snuck around to the cracked door to listen.
"I'm trying as hard as I can! But I can't do the assignments if I don't understand the material, sir."
Walter raised his hand and knocked on the classroom door before coming in, face blank as though he had not heard anything.
"Ah, Mr. Kovacs, do come in," his english teacher, Mr. Dougherty said.
Dean Winchester raised an eyebrow.
"Excellent timing! I do believe Mr. Winchester could use a tutor. It would be beneficial to you both."
Walter kept silent, his eyes asking what possible reward there was for him.
"We'll give you a little extra pocket money, and Dean here will manage a passing grade. What do you say?"
Dean looked as if he was going to protest, but his mouth was a firm line as he looked at Walter. The two locked eyes and assessed each-other silently. After a long moment, they nodded in unison.
"Yes Sir," Walter said.
"Understood, Sir," Dean said.
***
Walter started tutoring Dean on odd days of the week, after they had English class. Or at least, he tried. The first time, they met at the library.
"So... the boy who always has a million questions on his face but never says a peep. I'm Dean Winchester." Dean looked up at Walter and grinning, held out his hand to be shaken. Walter shook his hand automatically; manners had been drilled into him and he also did not want to start this off on the wrong foot. Nonetheless, his lips moved seemingly of their own accord.
"Walter Kovacs. So, the boy who whores himself out to all girls," he replied, his lips twitched slightly to one side.
"Hey Hey Hey now! Yeah I'm that good, but I'm not that kinda' guy!" Dean said good-naturedly. Walter couldn't help a small smile from forming.
Dean was slouched in his chair, rocking it on the back two legs. "I think we should get to know each-other first. It'll help us to work together better, you know?"
"No, I don't know. Seems superfluous, Dean."
Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face, and he clapped Walter on the back, continuing as if he hadn't heard the slightly smaller boy. "My pop's a world war II vet, a traveling salesman. After mom died, he couldn't look after me and Sammy so well. Got into a lot of fights in school, so I got shipped here and Sammy got shipped off to some private boarding school."
Walter watched Dean's dancing eyes as he spoke. Everyone had different ways of expressing grief, he supposed. "Unfortunate. You must miss...Sam. He's your younger brother?"
"Yeah, three years younger. Little bastard is sprouting up like a weed and already taller than me. He's not too far from here, so we see each-other and dad on holidays. It's not so bad. Still, I can't wait to get out of here so I can go shoot some commies like my dad." Dean's smile was crooked.
"You wish to join the army right out of school, then."
"Hell yeah. Say Red, what do you wanna' do when you get out of this hell-hole?"
Walter was a little startled. He'd never really thought about it. Mostly, in his years here he'd been trying to catch up to the other children in his schooling, and tried to stay un-noticed. "I... I do not know, Dean."
Dean rocked in chair, still chockful of nervous energy. "You thought about the army? Or the navy?" there was something odd about Dean's smile at that last word. Walter couldn't quite put his finger on it, however.
"Cannot join either. Flat-footed; they do not take people who cannot wear standard issue uniform boots."
"Tough break!"
"Some people...born into bad luck." Walter whispered.
Dean appeared not to hear him; maybe he hadn't.
***
Slowly, the two boys got to know each-other. Dean was always full of piss and vinegar, forever enthusiastic in everything he did. Walter was cool and methodical in how he approached explaining the material and assignments to the other boy, but warmed to him considerably. Sometimes, he even smiled.
One day they were studying outside, Walter and Dean both working on a poetry assignment with a nature theme.
"Rargh! Why is this so hard?" Dean exclaimed after a prolonged bout of his pen not moving on paper.
"Not difficult, Dean. Try not to think about how hard it is, but instead look at the colours and shapes of things; see if they remind you of anything else."
Dean's eyes were on Walter, "Hmm..." he looked at his tutour for another moment before falling silent. When he finally did speak again, his voice was shy and he wouldn't look at Walter. "Your freckles remind me of the speckles on a robin's egg."
"Not bad. Eggs are symbols of rebirth, the teacher would like it."
"Ok, what've you got then, Red?"
Walter cleared this throat and said in deadpan,
"
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire? "
For a moment, Dean looked awestruck. Walter looked smug. Slowly, Dean's expression twisted into disgust as he whacked Walter lightly in the arm. "You little bastard! We covered that last month in class!"
Walter looked at where his arm had been touched curiously while grinning into his hand. "Just testing how much you're remembering, Dean. This stuff is on tests."
Dean let out a frustrated puff of air. "Man, I don't need this stuff. Soon as I graduate this year, I'm going into the army."
"What? But you still have another year!"
"Oh, well sort of. Either I repeat this year and have to finish high-school, or I finish this year and join the army. My birthday's in a couple of months; I'll be eighteen then. Dad put these stupid conditions on me, though..."
"Should be grateful you have a father to care."
"I am. It's just, you know. He's not around and this place sucks." Dean didn't ask about Walter's mother. The one time he had, it hadn't gone well.
"It could be worse."
"Yeah yeah, I know, it can always be worse. Anyway, what the hell did you write?"
Walter passed over his notebook, it read:
"Winter was a hollow echo
of potential long spent, now dormant
life faded into black white and grey
Spring is a rainbowed refraction
of promises unfulfilled, lies not meant
death in waiting stalks shrill voiced blue-jay"
Dean was taken aback. "Blank verse?"
Walter shrugged, "If Mr.Dougherty won't accept it, I'll do something else. They're not expecting sonnets out of us."
***
Spring break came, such as it was. Dean's father came and took the boy away so they could have the week together as a family. The cherry blossoms fell, and Walter's mood with them. He found the extra money in his wallet a poor comfort without Dean.
Mr. Winchester had had a few words with Walter before he left, "I hear you've been helping Dean with his studies. I'm John Winchester."
Walter was wary as the two shook hands. He wasn't sure what to make of this situation. Formalities, he supposed. "Yes Sir. I'm Walter Kovacs and I'm helping Dean with English and literature."
"I hope you're not one of those artie liberal fags, son. Keep your spine straight and your head down. I'm grateful for your help with Dean, but at the same time I'm a little sad. I was hoping extra time in school would help with his maturity. War is hell, Walter. I don't know why my eldest is so eager to throw his life away..."
Walter wouldn't dare shrug, that was far too flippant a gesture for this man. Instead, he dared to hold John's gaze with his own, "He wants to do you proud, Sir. Uphold family tradition." Murky coloured eyes with a sharp, hawk-like gaze. How like yet unlike his son this man was. Walter wondered what Dean's brother was like.
John shook his head, "Yes, that sounds like Dean. You're astute, Kovacs. Keep your nose clean and you may get somewhere. Thank-you for helping my son with his schoolwork. Good-bye." With that dismissal,he left Walter.
Walter's birthday came and went over spring break. He was 17, but there would be no presents.
***
After a great deal of thought, one day while they were studying, or trying, (Dean insisted on finishing the newest issue of Superman), Walter told Dean what his career choice would be.
"I'll become an officer of the law," he said.
Dean's head whipped up from the book he was reading. "What?"
"I can't do America justice by joining in war efforts, but I can help clean up here at home."
Dean was thoughtful, worrying his lip between his teeth. Walter tried not to look. "Yeah Red, sounds good. You're a bit scrawny though."
Walter bowed his head and sighed inaudibly. Yes, that was true, but...
"Dean, p..please help me. Help me to get stronger."
Dean brightened, "Hey yeah, sure! That's a great idea! Join the school boxing club, and I'll look out for you there."
And so he did. The next year, after Dean left, he joined gymnastics. Boxing was pointless unless he could get sweaty with Dean. No one else gave him as much of a work out.
***
Getting strong enough to not be a joke outside his division in boxing club was difficult. Dean was as good as his word; he gave Walter a regimen of exercises to do and a training routine. Walter did fine in the light welterweight division because of his sheer viciousness and tenacity; but he longed to be strong enough to live up to his friend's expectations. To give Dean a run for his money in a fight.
Dean was a patient trainer and sparring partner; ruthless, fluid, and efficient in his movements, deadly calm. Walter began to idolize his friend. It was a thing of beauty, watching Dean fight. Club rules stated that a winner was declared when first blood was drawn. Walter longed to split Dean's lip, see blood fly.
As these things do, one day it came to a head. It was June, and Dean was antsy. Walter was at least as bad; it felt like insects were burrowing under his skin and marching across his bones every hour of every day. When he tried to sleep, the vision behind his eyelids was red and he tasted blood in his mouth. He had troubled dreams of licking coppery blood off of salty skin; didn't remember them on waking.
Walter couldn't bear it. He didn't want to let go of one of the only friends he'd ever had. Dean was excited, desperate to escape. It was after a boxing club meeting, they were cleaning up before heading off to study, and still pumped full of adrenaline.
"Dean, it might be better if you stayed another year . I think your father would like it." Walter would like it.
Dean's face, already flushed from physical exertion, flushed farther in anger. "Don't talk to me about my father!"
"I'm sorry if I crossed a line. He did mention to me that he'd prefer you stay, however."
Dean snorted, calmed a little "Yeah, well tough shit on what the old man wants. A deal's a deal."
Walter's heart broke a little. He didn't know what to do. "Dean, I will... I will miss you."
"Aww, you little fag. Adorable," Dean grinned, and noogied the shorter boy's hair. "Yeah I know. But listen, I gotta' do what I gotta' do. And I already have a little brother, Red."
Walter squirmed under Dean's arm, in a headlock. He felt trapped and confused. And angry... very angry. Seemingly of its own accord, his mouth closed around Dean's arm and bit. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood.
Dean abruptly released the other boy and pressed his hand down onto the wound. "Oww! What the fuck! Jesus Walter, what's your problem?"
Walter could taste blood. He licked it off of his lips. His body, traitorously, was rock hard. Every ounce of him tensed, including the part he pretended didn't exist except while urinating.
"I...I don't want you to leave, Dean." Walter was panting, and his erection was clearly visible.
Dean noticed, his expression was caught between morbid curiousity and amusement. "You sound like a girl, Red."
With a small roar, Walter leapt at Dean and crashed hard against him, into the lockers behind the two boys. He ground his erection into Dean's hip, his teeth on the other boy's neck, and snarled.
"I'm not a girl! I'm not one of your little whores!"
Dean was a bit dazed, in shock. His hand came up to rest on Walter's head. He stroked the redhead's hair, both their bodies trembling, "Shh. I know, Red. Relax. I'll stay." Dean said, gently taking hold of Walter's wrists and starting to disentangle them.
Walter was still shaking, and his eyes were wet with the kind gesture. He didn't know what to do, so he let Dean separate them. "Alright. Good," he said, and slumped against the locker and Dean's side.
"Dean. My mother died. I..."
Shocked, Dean put his arm around Walter's shoulders in a loose, one-armed hug.
"Walter, I'm sorry... why. Why didn't you tell me?"
Water slowly leaked out of Walter's eyes. "I thought it was irrelevant. She died at the hands of her pimp. She beat me. I hated her..."
Things clicked into please for Dean. Attention, physical contact, fighting, his sexual reputation. To his friend, Dean was... a substitute. Perhaps better than the original, but a substitute all the same. Just like Walter had been a substitute for his scrawny, nerdy little brother.
Dean lifted Walter's chin and forced the other boy to meet his eyes. Walter saw the depth of compassion and understanding in his friend's murk coloured eyes, "I understand. Red, let's make the most of it." Dean turned his body into Walter's, and they shared a single, gentle kiss.
They never talked of the incident or Walter's home-life again, nor did Dean speak of leaving. He simply left, forever taking a piece of Walter's heart with him. It had been intended to be quick and painless, like ripping off a scab, but he never recovered. Spring's promises remained unfulfilled, though the lies had been meant.