On Our Own, 4/11, PG-13, Gen, AU
So I raced and messed with it but the entire story's done. Well, almost. Just gotta write out the last chapter. But it is, for all intents and purposes, done. \o/
And yes, it got bigger than it was supposed to. And yes, it's messing with my stories for my auctionees. *curses her muse* Little fickle bitch.
Title: On Our Own
Chapter: 4 of 11
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, 2,292.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Dean had to admit, heading back straight in the direction they'd come from was making him nervous. Logically, he knew exactly which highway Dad would take, which was the one he always took: the fastest way straight east from the west. At this point, his dad didn't have any reason to suspect that he was being played. That would take another couple of days, at best. After that, then his patterns would change. Then, they were going to have to get clever.
But Dean was hoping to get a good night's sleep between now and then. Somewhere preferably horizontal for both him and Sam. He had about forty bucks on him, but they'd have to ditch the credit cards somewhere. Sam was right: Dad would trace them. Dean could order new ones, ones Dad didn't know about, but they'd take time, and Dean would have to set up a new mailbox for them to be sent to that Dad didn't know about. It was all going to take time.
The one thing they didn't have.
He turned his head towards Sam. His little brother's head was pressed against the glass window, and his eyes were finally, mercifully shut. The kid had insisted on staying awake with Dean, but the lull of the car and the music had finally done him in. Dean had known Sam would be even more wrung out after that mini meltdown in the diner. Kid tended to conk out after a good cry, and the panic attack in the car earlier probably hadn't helped.
He still looked exhausted beyond belief, but at least he'd eaten something at the diner. Just a plain old BLT, but Dean had taken his good fortune where he could. Something was better than nothing.
His eyes glanced back up to the side of the road, the exit for North Dakota looming ahead of them. The last thing Dean wanted was to get back into the Dakotas, but if he skirted north once he got into the states, way north, it'd be the last way Dad would think of them going. Too close to the border, heading into mountainous areas that Sam hated, less states to hide in.
Plenty of space between Dean and Canada. At this point, he highly doubted Sam would care about the mountains: he'd get the kid gum for the ear popping. And Dean didn't need multiple states to hide in, he just needed one.
Decision made, he took the exit and headed north. He knew there was a highway that led straight up, then another that headed west, or was it just the one highway that turned? He'd deal with it. He could stop on the way up. Get the both of them some real beds.
God, sleep.
It was a few hours later, when Dean nearly ran off the road for the third time, that he finally admitted they needed to stop. He pulled off at the first exit he found and rambled down the main road of the sparse town until he found a motel that looked like it was in their price range. Twenty dollars later and he had a motel room for the night.
Dean stopped on the way back to the Impala. Sam was all but curled up towards the window, lashes fanned across his face in a way that made him look so much younger than fifteen. His father's words raced through his mind again, and Dean found his lips curling into a snarl. “Screw you, Dad,” he muttered under his breath, and couldn't believe how freeing it was to say it. The fact that his dad could so easily give up on Sam and be ready to cut his youngest loose, at fifteen...
Made the words easier to say, so he said them again, just because he could. Sam was right: it felt pretty good.
Now wasn't the time to curse their dad out, though. That would come later, when Sam really broke down. Oh, the kid had done an enthusiastic job earlier, twice. But that was residual, and Dean knew it. When Sam let go, he'd let go. Sam tended to bottle it up and then explode; it was what made his fighting with Dad so violent and dangerous. No, this had just been leaks.
Of course, if it all wound up merely leaking out and thus not causing an explosion, Dean was totally okay with that. It would be better for Sam, and better for them both in the long run.
Dean didn't have his hopes pinned on that happening, though.
As quickly as he could Dean opened the car door and reached inside, catching Sam with his hand. Sam mumbled something but remained asleep. This, at least, was familiar. This, Dean knew how to do.
Propping the door open with his hip, he made sure he had the room key in hand before ducking down and reaching in for his brother. Dean barely felt a twinge in his back as he caught his little brother behind the back and underneath the knees before standing. Sam fit easily against him as he always did, head lolling to rest against Dean's neck. As gently and smoothly as he could Dean headed for the room, Sam cradled in his arms.
It was a testament to Sam's exhaustion that the kid didn't wake all the way through the jostling as Dean fought with the door, the near stumbling in when the door gave, and the careful placement onto the bed farthest from the entrance. Dean snagged the other end of the blankets he'd placed his little brother on and pulled them over to cover Sam. Trying to get his little brother under them was just going to be a hassle.
Even as exhausted as he was, tired down to his bones, his own rest needing to wait on his grabbing their gear from the car, Dean still couldn't help but stand near the bed and watch Sam sleep. Sam's eyes were starting to look sunken, dark smudges beneath his eyes that Dean wanted to wipe away.
It was a long five minutes later that Dean finally forced himself to move. He wouldn't be any good to Sam without a little sleep under his own belt. He had no salt, no journal to turn to. Only the weapons in the trunk, and that supply was limited as well. They'd been planning on stocking up on Dean's weapon stores in the next week. Dad had most of it, having taken it out to clean it.
Despite the fact that they were sleeping unarmed and nowhere near fortified enough for any supernatural evil that came their way, Dean still crashed hard when the door was finally locked behind them.
When Dean finally surfaced, it was to a crashing sound from somewhere in the room. He jolted awake and jack-knifed straight up in his bed, hand reaching for the weapon beneath his pillow that wasn't there. The room was assessed with speed: the door was still shut and locked, the room appeared in one piece, and the other bed was empty. Sammy.
“Sammy?” Dean yelled, shoving the tangled sheets aside and stumbling out of the bed. His heart was pounding as he raced to the other side of the room, expecting to find Sam on the floor. When he didn't, his eyes scanned the room until he found the bathroom light on. “Sammy?” he called again, anxiousness and Sam's lack of a response doing nothing for his racing heart. He didn't even bother knocking, simply slammed the door open.
Sam was sitting on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It broke,” he said simply, like that explained everything. Dean tore his eyes from his whole, in one piece, alive little brother to where the towel rack was. Or had been: only one side was still fastened to the wall. The other half was hanging, broken, with towels spilled all over the floor.
Dean slowly swung his gaze back to Sam. “Sorry,” Sam said, wincing. “I didn't mean to break it. I just wanted to get a towel.”
It was completely unstoppable at that point: Dean burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he wound up leaning against the door to try and stay upright. Adrenaline was still coursing through his system, his fight or flight response was making his heart bounce like a jackrabbit in his ribcage, and all he could do was laugh. Better stress relief than sobbing uncontrollably, but still.
It was only when he finally began to settle that he realized he'd wound up on the floor anyways. “Dean?” Sam asked, eyes wider now than they had been before. “Are you okay?”
“I'm not the one getting attacked by a towel rack,” Dean retorted, still snickering. Sam stuck his tongue out and Dean snorted in amusement. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he felt even more tired than before. Still, his mind was a little more clear than it had been yesterday. Today. No, yesterday. What time was it?
He made to stand up and find out when a dash of red caught his eye. He frowned and peered at the color on the otherwise white towel. Bright red, a few splotches here and there. Like a spill.
Immediately Dean whipped his head towards Sam, any trace of amusement long gone. “You're hurt?” Dean asked, crawling across the small space between them to get a closer look.
Sam blinked, as if confused by the question. “I am?” he said. His gaze went inward as he self-assessed, forcing Dean to wait patiently. That turned to impatience, and Dean finally started lifting limbs and checking Sam over for himself.
Sam hissed when he lifted the left arm, and Dean quickly turned it over to find a cut down his palm. It was still bleeding, though parts of it looked like they were trying to clot. “Let me get the kit,” Dean said, hurrying to stand. It was only when Sam grabbed at him that he stopped and turned back around. “What's the matter?”
“Dad has it,” Sam said quietly. “He took it out to restock, remember?”
Because it had been damn near empty. Any medical supplies Dean needed were going to cost money, which at the moment they didn't have. Which meant Dean was going to have to find a bar, somewhere, and stock up on cash before he hit any stores. Which meant any medical treatment for a simple cut - which had been cut by a dirty piece of metal, thank god they'd had tetanus shots the previous year - was going to take time.
“Just...let me wash it out,” Sam told him, as if reading Dean's mind. “I'll be fine.”
It wasn't acceptable in the slightest, but it was going to have to do. Unable to do anything else except this, Dean carefully hauled Sam to his feet, then turned the faucet on to a decent temperature. The kid was fifteen, could easily wash his hand himself. He'd been arguing with Dad three days ago about being able to hunt without Dad looking over his shoulder all the time.
Yet he was letting Dean wash out the cut like he was all of five again, dependent on his big brother for everything and unwilling to go anywhere without Dean.
The bloodied towel, which was on top of all the others, was already ruined. Dean grabbed it, sniffed it to make sure it was actually clean, then pressed the clean side against Sam's cut. “I'll get you bandages,” he promised. “We'll get a new kit.”
“We need to talk, Dean,” Sam reminded him. Yeah, they did. About what was going on from there.
“Let's get something to eat first,” Dean said after a minute. “We'll think better if we've got food.” He had a twenty left, he'd be fine.
Of course, if he was going to go hustling, Dean would need money to start with. A quick look back into the room and at the clock told him that it was almost six in the afternoon. Bars wouldn't be open for a little while longer, and they needed food now.
“I've got some cash,” Sam said, tearing him from his thoughts. He was still diligently putting the towel on the cut, but he was leaning against the doorway. He still looked way too tired. Kid needed to eat something besides greens. Something with meat on it.
Then Sam's words clicked in. “You do?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Since when?”
“Since I cut Mr. McCall's lawn the other day,” Sam said. “It's only a fifty, though.”
A fifty was better to hustle with than a twenty, though. Meant he was more willing to get his ass kicked, or so it would look. “It's perfect for pool bait,” he said, smiling. “You'll have it back before sunrise.”
Sam gave a quick grin back, a touch of pride in his face, and Dean wondered again how and why their dad couldn't just give Sam anything. A kind word, a hint of praise, anything. The kid was always eager to please, happy to help. He'd earned fifty bucks to his own name for mowing that godforsaken huge plot of land of McCall's, and here he was, offering it up like it was theirs instead of his.
Then again, with the two of them, it had always been a 'we' instead of a 'me'. Dad had said it was dangerous. Dean could only see it as a strength.
“Pizza?” Dean asked. “We'll plan out where we're going from here.”
Sam nodded. “Bet the front desk would know of a good, cheap place.”
And probably have a first aid kit for random hurts and accidents.
Perfect.
Part 5
~Nebula
And yes, it got bigger than it was supposed to. And yes, it's messing with my stories for my auctionees. *curses her muse* Little fickle bitch.
Title: On Our Own
Chapter: 4 of 11
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, 2,292.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Dean had to admit, heading back straight in the direction they'd come from was making him nervous. Logically, he knew exactly which highway Dad would take, which was the one he always took: the fastest way straight east from the west. At this point, his dad didn't have any reason to suspect that he was being played. That would take another couple of days, at best. After that, then his patterns would change. Then, they were going to have to get clever.
But Dean was hoping to get a good night's sleep between now and then. Somewhere preferably horizontal for both him and Sam. He had about forty bucks on him, but they'd have to ditch the credit cards somewhere. Sam was right: Dad would trace them. Dean could order new ones, ones Dad didn't know about, but they'd take time, and Dean would have to set up a new mailbox for them to be sent to that Dad didn't know about. It was all going to take time.
The one thing they didn't have.
He turned his head towards Sam. His little brother's head was pressed against the glass window, and his eyes were finally, mercifully shut. The kid had insisted on staying awake with Dean, but the lull of the car and the music had finally done him in. Dean had known Sam would be even more wrung out after that mini meltdown in the diner. Kid tended to conk out after a good cry, and the panic attack in the car earlier probably hadn't helped.
He still looked exhausted beyond belief, but at least he'd eaten something at the diner. Just a plain old BLT, but Dean had taken his good fortune where he could. Something was better than nothing.
His eyes glanced back up to the side of the road, the exit for North Dakota looming ahead of them. The last thing Dean wanted was to get back into the Dakotas, but if he skirted north once he got into the states, way north, it'd be the last way Dad would think of them going. Too close to the border, heading into mountainous areas that Sam hated, less states to hide in.
Plenty of space between Dean and Canada. At this point, he highly doubted Sam would care about the mountains: he'd get the kid gum for the ear popping. And Dean didn't need multiple states to hide in, he just needed one.
Decision made, he took the exit and headed north. He knew there was a highway that led straight up, then another that headed west, or was it just the one highway that turned? He'd deal with it. He could stop on the way up. Get the both of them some real beds.
God, sleep.
It was a few hours later, when Dean nearly ran off the road for the third time, that he finally admitted they needed to stop. He pulled off at the first exit he found and rambled down the main road of the sparse town until he found a motel that looked like it was in their price range. Twenty dollars later and he had a motel room for the night.
Dean stopped on the way back to the Impala. Sam was all but curled up towards the window, lashes fanned across his face in a way that made him look so much younger than fifteen. His father's words raced through his mind again, and Dean found his lips curling into a snarl. “Screw you, Dad,” he muttered under his breath, and couldn't believe how freeing it was to say it. The fact that his dad could so easily give up on Sam and be ready to cut his youngest loose, at fifteen...
Made the words easier to say, so he said them again, just because he could. Sam was right: it felt pretty good.
Now wasn't the time to curse their dad out, though. That would come later, when Sam really broke down. Oh, the kid had done an enthusiastic job earlier, twice. But that was residual, and Dean knew it. When Sam let go, he'd let go. Sam tended to bottle it up and then explode; it was what made his fighting with Dad so violent and dangerous. No, this had just been leaks.
Of course, if it all wound up merely leaking out and thus not causing an explosion, Dean was totally okay with that. It would be better for Sam, and better for them both in the long run.
Dean didn't have his hopes pinned on that happening, though.
As quickly as he could Dean opened the car door and reached inside, catching Sam with his hand. Sam mumbled something but remained asleep. This, at least, was familiar. This, Dean knew how to do.
Propping the door open with his hip, he made sure he had the room key in hand before ducking down and reaching in for his brother. Dean barely felt a twinge in his back as he caught his little brother behind the back and underneath the knees before standing. Sam fit easily against him as he always did, head lolling to rest against Dean's neck. As gently and smoothly as he could Dean headed for the room, Sam cradled in his arms.
It was a testament to Sam's exhaustion that the kid didn't wake all the way through the jostling as Dean fought with the door, the near stumbling in when the door gave, and the careful placement onto the bed farthest from the entrance. Dean snagged the other end of the blankets he'd placed his little brother on and pulled them over to cover Sam. Trying to get his little brother under them was just going to be a hassle.
Even as exhausted as he was, tired down to his bones, his own rest needing to wait on his grabbing their gear from the car, Dean still couldn't help but stand near the bed and watch Sam sleep. Sam's eyes were starting to look sunken, dark smudges beneath his eyes that Dean wanted to wipe away.
It was a long five minutes later that Dean finally forced himself to move. He wouldn't be any good to Sam without a little sleep under his own belt. He had no salt, no journal to turn to. Only the weapons in the trunk, and that supply was limited as well. They'd been planning on stocking up on Dean's weapon stores in the next week. Dad had most of it, having taken it out to clean it.
Despite the fact that they were sleeping unarmed and nowhere near fortified enough for any supernatural evil that came their way, Dean still crashed hard when the door was finally locked behind them.
When Dean finally surfaced, it was to a crashing sound from somewhere in the room. He jolted awake and jack-knifed straight up in his bed, hand reaching for the weapon beneath his pillow that wasn't there. The room was assessed with speed: the door was still shut and locked, the room appeared in one piece, and the other bed was empty. Sammy.
“Sammy?” Dean yelled, shoving the tangled sheets aside and stumbling out of the bed. His heart was pounding as he raced to the other side of the room, expecting to find Sam on the floor. When he didn't, his eyes scanned the room until he found the bathroom light on. “Sammy?” he called again, anxiousness and Sam's lack of a response doing nothing for his racing heart. He didn't even bother knocking, simply slammed the door open.
Sam was sitting on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It broke,” he said simply, like that explained everything. Dean tore his eyes from his whole, in one piece, alive little brother to where the towel rack was. Or had been: only one side was still fastened to the wall. The other half was hanging, broken, with towels spilled all over the floor.
Dean slowly swung his gaze back to Sam. “Sorry,” Sam said, wincing. “I didn't mean to break it. I just wanted to get a towel.”
It was completely unstoppable at that point: Dean burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he wound up leaning against the door to try and stay upright. Adrenaline was still coursing through his system, his fight or flight response was making his heart bounce like a jackrabbit in his ribcage, and all he could do was laugh. Better stress relief than sobbing uncontrollably, but still.
It was only when he finally began to settle that he realized he'd wound up on the floor anyways. “Dean?” Sam asked, eyes wider now than they had been before. “Are you okay?”
“I'm not the one getting attacked by a towel rack,” Dean retorted, still snickering. Sam stuck his tongue out and Dean snorted in amusement. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he felt even more tired than before. Still, his mind was a little more clear than it had been yesterday. Today. No, yesterday. What time was it?
He made to stand up and find out when a dash of red caught his eye. He frowned and peered at the color on the otherwise white towel. Bright red, a few splotches here and there. Like a spill.
Immediately Dean whipped his head towards Sam, any trace of amusement long gone. “You're hurt?” Dean asked, crawling across the small space between them to get a closer look.
Sam blinked, as if confused by the question. “I am?” he said. His gaze went inward as he self-assessed, forcing Dean to wait patiently. That turned to impatience, and Dean finally started lifting limbs and checking Sam over for himself.
Sam hissed when he lifted the left arm, and Dean quickly turned it over to find a cut down his palm. It was still bleeding, though parts of it looked like they were trying to clot. “Let me get the kit,” Dean said, hurrying to stand. It was only when Sam grabbed at him that he stopped and turned back around. “What's the matter?”
“Dad has it,” Sam said quietly. “He took it out to restock, remember?”
Because it had been damn near empty. Any medical supplies Dean needed were going to cost money, which at the moment they didn't have. Which meant Dean was going to have to find a bar, somewhere, and stock up on cash before he hit any stores. Which meant any medical treatment for a simple cut - which had been cut by a dirty piece of metal, thank god they'd had tetanus shots the previous year - was going to take time.
“Just...let me wash it out,” Sam told him, as if reading Dean's mind. “I'll be fine.”
It wasn't acceptable in the slightest, but it was going to have to do. Unable to do anything else except this, Dean carefully hauled Sam to his feet, then turned the faucet on to a decent temperature. The kid was fifteen, could easily wash his hand himself. He'd been arguing with Dad three days ago about being able to hunt without Dad looking over his shoulder all the time.
Yet he was letting Dean wash out the cut like he was all of five again, dependent on his big brother for everything and unwilling to go anywhere without Dean.
The bloodied towel, which was on top of all the others, was already ruined. Dean grabbed it, sniffed it to make sure it was actually clean, then pressed the clean side against Sam's cut. “I'll get you bandages,” he promised. “We'll get a new kit.”
“We need to talk, Dean,” Sam reminded him. Yeah, they did. About what was going on from there.
“Let's get something to eat first,” Dean said after a minute. “We'll think better if we've got food.” He had a twenty left, he'd be fine.
Of course, if he was going to go hustling, Dean would need money to start with. A quick look back into the room and at the clock told him that it was almost six in the afternoon. Bars wouldn't be open for a little while longer, and they needed food now.
“I've got some cash,” Sam said, tearing him from his thoughts. He was still diligently putting the towel on the cut, but he was leaning against the doorway. He still looked way too tired. Kid needed to eat something besides greens. Something with meat on it.
Then Sam's words clicked in. “You do?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Since when?”
“Since I cut Mr. McCall's lawn the other day,” Sam said. “It's only a fifty, though.”
A fifty was better to hustle with than a twenty, though. Meant he was more willing to get his ass kicked, or so it would look. “It's perfect for pool bait,” he said, smiling. “You'll have it back before sunrise.”
Sam gave a quick grin back, a touch of pride in his face, and Dean wondered again how and why their dad couldn't just give Sam anything. A kind word, a hint of praise, anything. The kid was always eager to please, happy to help. He'd earned fifty bucks to his own name for mowing that godforsaken huge plot of land of McCall's, and here he was, offering it up like it was theirs instead of his.
Then again, with the two of them, it had always been a 'we' instead of a 'me'. Dad had said it was dangerous. Dean could only see it as a strength.
“Pizza?” Dean asked. “We'll plan out where we're going from here.”
Sam nodded. “Bet the front desk would know of a good, cheap place.”
And probably have a first aid kit for random hurts and accidents.
Perfect.
Part 5
~Nebula