On Our Own, 2/11, PG-13, Gen, AU
Title: On Our Own
Chapter: 2 of ?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the end of season 5, though especially for 5x04.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
Summary: AU. When Sam is fifteen, his dad makes a decision based on a dark future he was apparently shown by an 'angel': split his sons up and abandon his youngest to keep that future at bay. Dean refuses to let it happen, but if they want to stay together, there's only one option: run.
Wordcount: This chapter, 2,163.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11A
Part 11B
Epilogue (to come!)
They were screwed. It was as simple as that.
And not in a, “Oh, we wait for Dad, and then we'll get out of this,” sort of screwed, because Dad was the reason they were screwed.
The hell was he thinking, separating them?
Dean tried not to shift on the bed and instead focused his listening to the sounds around him. The arguing of earlier was quiet now, and there were tell-tale creaks of people walking downstairs. Outside, a scuffle between Bobby's dog and another animal - probably a wayward cat - rose to hisses and growls before subsiding. In the bed across from him, Sam was doing his best to even out his breathing and pretend he was asleep, except Dean could see him continuously clutching at the sheets in a fit of nervousness. It would've gotten them caught if Dad had walked in right then, but so far, Dad hadn't come upstairs, and Sam definitely deserved to have his moment of anxiety.
Dean felt his stomach twist until he was viciously swallowing back something hard in his throat. He'd only gone to find Sam. They were supposed to leave early, and the kid still wandering up and around at midnight was only going to leave him with no sleep. “I'll be back in a minute,” Sam had told him, and then had promptly disappeared for ten. So Dean had gone to find him, because that was what he did. He found Sam, and he was pretty damn good at it.
Except when he'd found Sam, the voices from the living room had caught his attention as much as Sam's wide eyes had. He'd managed to make it down the steps in time to keep Sam from making their presence known. Whatever Dad had been thinking regarding separating them, Dean had wanted to know. He'd needed to listen in: Sam blowing their cover wouldn't have helped.
Dean hadn't really wanted to hear what came next. Or after that.
It was only when Sam had almost taken a tumble down the stairs that Dean had decided enough was enough. The kid was pale and completely unresponsive all the way up the stairs and in the bedroom. Dean had called, pinched, shaken, done practically everything he could to get Sam's far away, stunned gaze back to the here and now.
What had happened after had been a spur of the moment, driven by his need to keep Sam safe. He couldn't do that away from Sam, could he?
But now that night had settled in, now that his nerves were getting tired from jumping so much, doubts started creeping in. Was running seriously the best move? It was Dad they were talking about. John Winchester, hunter extraordinaire. He'd find them faster than a shark finding a bloody fish ten feet in front of its face. They were screwed if they ran.
The other options, however, were even worse. Talking to Dad would get them nowhere, and only give Dad the ammo he needed to separate them. Obviously listening into conversations like children meant they should be treated as such. He knew what was best for them. They would save lives. It was all the usual stuff Dad used to batten down the hatches and get them to buckle up and take what he dished out.
Dean was starting to understand just what Sam had been talking about for the past couple of years, though. Dad didn't respect their opinions. He didn't want sons, he wanted soldiers. He'd been a dad...once. And Dean was fairly certain that their dad still loved them. He had to, right?
His eyes darted across the way to where Sam was still restlessly shifting beneath the sheets. Hearing Dad so coldly dismiss Sam, so willing and able to let him go...
Any and all doubts Dean had vanished in that moment. No. Letting Sam go wasn't an option. Once upon a time, when Dad had been a dad and not a hunter, he'd told Dean to look after Sam, to keep him safe. Once upon an even earlier time, their mom had put Sam in Dean's arms for the first time and whispered, “He's your little brother. Careful, Dean, don't drop him; you're probably only going to get one baby brother sweetheart.”
He only had one. Dean wasn't going to drop the ball on this, or let Sam go. No, he was keeping his brother safe.
If there was even a tiny part of Dad left that was still a dad, maybe he'd understand what Dean was going to do that night. Probably even approve. He had no doubt their mom would.
And for the first time, Dean was grateful that she was gone, and that she couldn't see what her husband was about to do to her boys. He shut his eyes tight.
A louder creak from inside the house caught his attention. That was the third stair up from the ground floor. From the way Sam inhaled sharply, the kid had heard it too. The steps were solid but soft now, a soldier always waiting for what came around the corner.
A soldier. Their dad was a frickin' soldier, and Dean thought they could run and hide from him. Jesus Christ but they were screwed.
But they couldn't stay. They were even more screwed that way.
The footsteps were on the second floor now. Dean couldn't hear what Sam was doing the next bed over; there was too much buzzing in his ears. If he had a panic attack now, he'd shoot himself. If they could get past this, they could get out. Have a chance at proving...he didn't know. Maybe Dad would realize how serious they were about staying together.
Maybe Dad just wouldn't care and would do whatever Dad wanted, no matter who or what was collateral damage. Like Sammy. The memory of Sam's face after Dad had thrown down his ultimatum, the whimper Sam had made of shock and despair, flooded through Dean's head.
And just as the door opened, all the buzzing in Dean's ears, all of his painful, staccato heartbeats, fell away to the same calm state he adopted when on a hunt. If Dad wanted to hunt them down after they ran, he could try.
But he'd taught Dean everything that he knew, and Dean was his own brand of dangerous, especially when it came to Sam. Dad wasn't winning this time.
Now that he could hear again, everything came in super loud. His father's soft breathing as he stood in the doorway. Sam's light, steady breaths, as if sound asleep. His own breathing, a little heavy like he was about to snore. For a long moment, all that could be heard were the quiet breaths from the three individuals in the room.
A step into the room made Dean curl his fist where no one could see. Oh god, what if their dad decided to just up and leave in the middle of the night? They'd done it before. Dean had thought Bobby wouldn't kick them out, but Dad...Dad had been on the business end of Bobby's shotgun enough times to warrant an exit. And if he took Dean with him...
After a long pause, one where Dean wasn't certain he breathed at all, let alone correctly, there was a step, softer this time, and then the door quietly swung shut. The click of the catch sliding into place sounded louder than it should've. Once the door was shut, the footsteps walked away and down the hall, to the room their dad always stayed in.
When Dean clearly heard the sound of that door shutting, he let out a huge breath he'd apparently been holding. “Holy shit,” he murmured. Then, “Sammy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. His voice trembled slightly, but when Dean sought to see him through the moonlight outside, his brother looked determined. Better than broken like he had earlier.
The urge to slam his fist through his dad's face was suddenly raging strong and sure. Whatever the hell he'd been drinking when he'd had his futuristic dream was no excuse for what he'd done to Sam. His 'angel' was probably named Jack Daniels or Jose Cuervo.
There would be an emotional fall-out for his little brother, Dean had no doubt. You didn't just get abandoned, practically disowned, and then be okay with it.
But that was later. Later, as in, when they got out of there.
“When?” Sam asked a moment later, voice a little more solid.
“Now,” Dean said. “Quietly.”
As one they gently slid from bed and began stuffing pillows under the sheets. It wouldn't fool their dad for very long, but maybe long enough to buy them an hour at most. Any little bit was helpful. In a sacrifice to the cause, Dean grabbed a pair of his socks and shoved one into the other, manipulating the fabric until it looked sort of like a foot. He set it under the sheets near the edge of the bed, then closed his bag back up and turned for the door where Sam was waiting. The kid was shifting restlessly from foot to foot, but straightened when Dean looked back his way. Trying to look calm and failing, but still ready and willing to do whatever Dean told him to. Fully trusting in his big brother to keep him safe.
The rush of love he felt for the kid was almost enough to make him stumble. Most days, Dean didn't feel worthy of that trust or dedication or love that came from Sam, but tonight, he refused to be anything less than what Sam saw him as. He had to.
As quietly as he could Dean grabbed the knob and began to twist it. It opened with a few tiny squeaks that made the both of them cringe. After a moment of waiting, no other sounds came forth. Dean carefully stuck his head out as much as he could in order to see down the hall.
The door to their dad's room was shut, the light off. The hallway itself was dark, and the only light came from downstairs. A small lamp that Bobby kept on the table, and Dean knew it was that lamp because the light looked green, thanks in part to the shade Bobby had on it. A soft rustling sound told him that Bobby was still in the living room, probably lost in a book. The front door was out, then.
“Back door,” Dean breathed, barely a sound, but Sam nodded at him. After making sure the coast was clear once more, Dean crept out into the hallway. He knew where the creaks were, same as Sam. But tonight, tonight he felt paranoid that he'd miss one.
They made their way down the stairs as silently as possible. Dean kept his grip on his duffel bag tight, the weight heavy against his shoulder. His other hand was back in Sam's jacket, wrapped tightly around the upper part that wasn't zipped. Sam's own hands were busy with his duffel and wound tight enough in the back of Dean's leather jacket to make it squeak.
When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Dean risked a peek into the living room. Bobby was at the desk, reading a book, but his eyes were looking anywhere except at the text. For half a second, Dean thought about calling out to him, asking for his help, anything to keep Dad from splitting them.
He couldn't. There was nothing Bobby could do to convince John Winchester from changing his mind. And while Bobby didn't want them split up, he probably didn't want one barely legal teen and his definitely not legal little brother out there on their own. Helping them run wasn't going to happen.
With one last sad, resigned look at the man he'd come to call a second father, Dean quietly slipped down the hall past the kitchen to the back door, still holding on as tightly to Sam as before.
He slid the duffel up higher on his shoulder to get the door open: letting go of Sam wasn't an option. When the door finally opened to the cold night air, Dean fought back a shiver. Once they were out there, in the yard, it was them versus John Winchester and the rest of the world. There was no turning back.
He glanced back at Sam, who was still watching him with wide, scared, but trusting eyes. There'd never been a turning back point, Dean realized. Not when it came to Sam.
Dean tugged gently at Sam's coat, and together the two disappeared out into the night.
Part 3
~Nebula
Chapter: 2 of ?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the end of season 5, though especially for 5x04.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
Summary: AU. When Sam is fifteen, his dad makes a decision based on a dark future he was apparently shown by an 'angel': split his sons up and abandon his youngest to keep that future at bay. Dean refuses to let it happen, but if they want to stay together, there's only one option: run.
Wordcount: This chapter, 2,163.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11A
Part 11B
Epilogue (to come!)
They were screwed. It was as simple as that.
And not in a, “Oh, we wait for Dad, and then we'll get out of this,” sort of screwed, because Dad was the reason they were screwed.
The hell was he thinking, separating them?
Dean tried not to shift on the bed and instead focused his listening to the sounds around him. The arguing of earlier was quiet now, and there were tell-tale creaks of people walking downstairs. Outside, a scuffle between Bobby's dog and another animal - probably a wayward cat - rose to hisses and growls before subsiding. In the bed across from him, Sam was doing his best to even out his breathing and pretend he was asleep, except Dean could see him continuously clutching at the sheets in a fit of nervousness. It would've gotten them caught if Dad had walked in right then, but so far, Dad hadn't come upstairs, and Sam definitely deserved to have his moment of anxiety.
Dean felt his stomach twist until he was viciously swallowing back something hard in his throat. He'd only gone to find Sam. They were supposed to leave early, and the kid still wandering up and around at midnight was only going to leave him with no sleep. “I'll be back in a minute,” Sam had told him, and then had promptly disappeared for ten. So Dean had gone to find him, because that was what he did. He found Sam, and he was pretty damn good at it.
Except when he'd found Sam, the voices from the living room had caught his attention as much as Sam's wide eyes had. He'd managed to make it down the steps in time to keep Sam from making their presence known. Whatever Dad had been thinking regarding separating them, Dean had wanted to know. He'd needed to listen in: Sam blowing their cover wouldn't have helped.
Dean hadn't really wanted to hear what came next. Or after that.
It was only when Sam had almost taken a tumble down the stairs that Dean had decided enough was enough. The kid was pale and completely unresponsive all the way up the stairs and in the bedroom. Dean had called, pinched, shaken, done practically everything he could to get Sam's far away, stunned gaze back to the here and now.
What had happened after had been a spur of the moment, driven by his need to keep Sam safe. He couldn't do that away from Sam, could he?
But now that night had settled in, now that his nerves were getting tired from jumping so much, doubts started creeping in. Was running seriously the best move? It was Dad they were talking about. John Winchester, hunter extraordinaire. He'd find them faster than a shark finding a bloody fish ten feet in front of its face. They were screwed if they ran.
The other options, however, were even worse. Talking to Dad would get them nowhere, and only give Dad the ammo he needed to separate them. Obviously listening into conversations like children meant they should be treated as such. He knew what was best for them. They would save lives. It was all the usual stuff Dad used to batten down the hatches and get them to buckle up and take what he dished out.
Dean was starting to understand just what Sam had been talking about for the past couple of years, though. Dad didn't respect their opinions. He didn't want sons, he wanted soldiers. He'd been a dad...once. And Dean was fairly certain that their dad still loved them. He had to, right?
His eyes darted across the way to where Sam was still restlessly shifting beneath the sheets. Hearing Dad so coldly dismiss Sam, so willing and able to let him go...
Any and all doubts Dean had vanished in that moment. No. Letting Sam go wasn't an option. Once upon a time, when Dad had been a dad and not a hunter, he'd told Dean to look after Sam, to keep him safe. Once upon an even earlier time, their mom had put Sam in Dean's arms for the first time and whispered, “He's your little brother. Careful, Dean, don't drop him; you're probably only going to get one baby brother sweetheart.”
He only had one. Dean wasn't going to drop the ball on this, or let Sam go. No, he was keeping his brother safe.
If there was even a tiny part of Dad left that was still a dad, maybe he'd understand what Dean was going to do that night. Probably even approve. He had no doubt their mom would.
And for the first time, Dean was grateful that she was gone, and that she couldn't see what her husband was about to do to her boys. He shut his eyes tight.
A louder creak from inside the house caught his attention. That was the third stair up from the ground floor. From the way Sam inhaled sharply, the kid had heard it too. The steps were solid but soft now, a soldier always waiting for what came around the corner.
A soldier. Their dad was a frickin' soldier, and Dean thought they could run and hide from him. Jesus Christ but they were screwed.
But they couldn't stay. They were even more screwed that way.
The footsteps were on the second floor now. Dean couldn't hear what Sam was doing the next bed over; there was too much buzzing in his ears. If he had a panic attack now, he'd shoot himself. If they could get past this, they could get out. Have a chance at proving...he didn't know. Maybe Dad would realize how serious they were about staying together.
Maybe Dad just wouldn't care and would do whatever Dad wanted, no matter who or what was collateral damage. Like Sammy. The memory of Sam's face after Dad had thrown down his ultimatum, the whimper Sam had made of shock and despair, flooded through Dean's head.
And just as the door opened, all the buzzing in Dean's ears, all of his painful, staccato heartbeats, fell away to the same calm state he adopted when on a hunt. If Dad wanted to hunt them down after they ran, he could try.
But he'd taught Dean everything that he knew, and Dean was his own brand of dangerous, especially when it came to Sam. Dad wasn't winning this time.
Now that he could hear again, everything came in super loud. His father's soft breathing as he stood in the doorway. Sam's light, steady breaths, as if sound asleep. His own breathing, a little heavy like he was about to snore. For a long moment, all that could be heard were the quiet breaths from the three individuals in the room.
A step into the room made Dean curl his fist where no one could see. Oh god, what if their dad decided to just up and leave in the middle of the night? They'd done it before. Dean had thought Bobby wouldn't kick them out, but Dad...Dad had been on the business end of Bobby's shotgun enough times to warrant an exit. And if he took Dean with him...
After a long pause, one where Dean wasn't certain he breathed at all, let alone correctly, there was a step, softer this time, and then the door quietly swung shut. The click of the catch sliding into place sounded louder than it should've. Once the door was shut, the footsteps walked away and down the hall, to the room their dad always stayed in.
When Dean clearly heard the sound of that door shutting, he let out a huge breath he'd apparently been holding. “Holy shit,” he murmured. Then, “Sammy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. His voice trembled slightly, but when Dean sought to see him through the moonlight outside, his brother looked determined. Better than broken like he had earlier.
The urge to slam his fist through his dad's face was suddenly raging strong and sure. Whatever the hell he'd been drinking when he'd had his futuristic dream was no excuse for what he'd done to Sam. His 'angel' was probably named Jack Daniels or Jose Cuervo.
There would be an emotional fall-out for his little brother, Dean had no doubt. You didn't just get abandoned, practically disowned, and then be okay with it.
But that was later. Later, as in, when they got out of there.
“When?” Sam asked a moment later, voice a little more solid.
“Now,” Dean said. “Quietly.”
As one they gently slid from bed and began stuffing pillows under the sheets. It wouldn't fool their dad for very long, but maybe long enough to buy them an hour at most. Any little bit was helpful. In a sacrifice to the cause, Dean grabbed a pair of his socks and shoved one into the other, manipulating the fabric until it looked sort of like a foot. He set it under the sheets near the edge of the bed, then closed his bag back up and turned for the door where Sam was waiting. The kid was shifting restlessly from foot to foot, but straightened when Dean looked back his way. Trying to look calm and failing, but still ready and willing to do whatever Dean told him to. Fully trusting in his big brother to keep him safe.
The rush of love he felt for the kid was almost enough to make him stumble. Most days, Dean didn't feel worthy of that trust or dedication or love that came from Sam, but tonight, he refused to be anything less than what Sam saw him as. He had to.
As quietly as he could Dean grabbed the knob and began to twist it. It opened with a few tiny squeaks that made the both of them cringe. After a moment of waiting, no other sounds came forth. Dean carefully stuck his head out as much as he could in order to see down the hall.
The door to their dad's room was shut, the light off. The hallway itself was dark, and the only light came from downstairs. A small lamp that Bobby kept on the table, and Dean knew it was that lamp because the light looked green, thanks in part to the shade Bobby had on it. A soft rustling sound told him that Bobby was still in the living room, probably lost in a book. The front door was out, then.
“Back door,” Dean breathed, barely a sound, but Sam nodded at him. After making sure the coast was clear once more, Dean crept out into the hallway. He knew where the creaks were, same as Sam. But tonight, tonight he felt paranoid that he'd miss one.
They made their way down the stairs as silently as possible. Dean kept his grip on his duffel bag tight, the weight heavy against his shoulder. His other hand was back in Sam's jacket, wrapped tightly around the upper part that wasn't zipped. Sam's own hands were busy with his duffel and wound tight enough in the back of Dean's leather jacket to make it squeak.
When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Dean risked a peek into the living room. Bobby was at the desk, reading a book, but his eyes were looking anywhere except at the text. For half a second, Dean thought about calling out to him, asking for his help, anything to keep Dad from splitting them.
He couldn't. There was nothing Bobby could do to convince John Winchester from changing his mind. And while Bobby didn't want them split up, he probably didn't want one barely legal teen and his definitely not legal little brother out there on their own. Helping them run wasn't going to happen.
With one last sad, resigned look at the man he'd come to call a second father, Dean quietly slipped down the hall past the kitchen to the back door, still holding on as tightly to Sam as before.
He slid the duffel up higher on his shoulder to get the door open: letting go of Sam wasn't an option. When the door finally opened to the cold night air, Dean fought back a shiver. Once they were out there, in the yard, it was them versus John Winchester and the rest of the world. There was no turning back.
He glanced back at Sam, who was still watching him with wide, scared, but trusting eyes. There'd never been a turning back point, Dean realized. Not when it came to Sam.
Dean tugged gently at Sam's coat, and together the two disappeared out into the night.
Part 3
~Nebula