Contact 12/36
I figured since I said in my Sweet Charity description that you could find examples of my stories here, that I oughta actually, you know, put some of those stories here. So I'm making good on my threat of months back to move the rest of my stories over from ff.net. This isn't new. (And I have not abandoned An Ancient Pitch.)
Title: Contact 12/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,700 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 12
Sam was smiling when Dean walked into the bar, and Dean cringed a little, wondering how long that would last.
Sure enough, when he raised his eyes to the door, the smile fell away. At first his mouth fell open a little, and Dean thought he could make out his name on the lips. Then they pursed back together, and Sam’s eyes slid away. Dean saw him gulp.
Dean’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t exactly been expecting a hug. But still.
It’d been five weeks since St. Louis, and though he’d called a million times, Dean had only been able to get Sam on the phone twice. Both conversations had been terse and truncated.
The relationship was undeniably strained. And though Dean would have expected to be used to it by now - after all, at least they were talking this time - it left him feeling brittle. He had too much time to think, traveling from job to job alone. The scene in the sewer played on repeat in his head. His skin was continuously crawling.
‘I don’t want you to be happy without me,’ it had said. In his voice, with his mouth.
Expressing his thoughts.
Dean started to turn around. He didn’t want to cause a scene at Sammy’s bachelor’s party. But the view of the door and the knowledge that Sam was at his back and getting further and further away before he even took a step, stopped him.
He squared his shoulders and turned back around. Started off in Sam’s direction.
The man talking to Sam finally seemed to realize that he had lost his audience and turned around to see what had distracted him. His expression turned wary on seeing Dean. Like he was expecting trouble. Dean suddenly felt out of place amid all the Abercrombie.
“Sorry, man,” Sam’s friend said as Dean arrived at the bar. “We’ve booked the place for the night. Private party.”
Dean tried his most winning smile - though it felt a little stiff.
“Yeah, I know,” he drawled, he hoped in an easy tone. “I’m the best man. Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.
The kid’s face cleared immediately.
“Oh - Sam’s brother. Of course. Should have known, huh?”
“Yeah?” Dean asked doubtfully. He and Sam weren’t exactly twins.
The guy laughed. “Yeah, man. It’s … I don’t know. The walk, maybe. You both walk like you’re ready for someone to jump you from behind.”
Dean smiled tightly and looked at Sam. He was staring hard at his half-empty glass of beer.
“Yeah … well,” Dean gave a fake chuckle. “So. This is the party?”
It was a lot lower key than Dean had expected. Of course, Dean built his expectations off of movies and TV shows - he’d never known anyone actually getting married before.
At Sam’s version of a bachelor’s party, things were decidedly tamer. Groups of college guys with artfully mussed hair were gathered around pool tables and poker games. Some sort of sport was playing on a big screen in the background, and occasionally cries of ‘Yes! Yes! … No!’ rang through the bar. There were a dozen short-skirted waitresses in evidence, but no strippers. And Dean didn’t see a cake big enough for anything to jump out of, either.
It all looked right up Sammy’s alley.
“Nice,” he finally concluded.
“Hey. Here’s my present,” he said, holding up a pristinely wrapped white box. Or formerly pristinely wrapped. Dean tried to surreptitiously cover the gunk he suspected might have come from the banshee he’d killed yesterday. The present had been in the trunk with the weapons.
Sam finally looked up. “More underwear?” he asked dryly. His friend seemed a little confused and evidently decided to let them continue the conversation on their own.
“Naw, man,” Dean said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I went to that Barrel place you said.”
Sam cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Dean.
“Really?” he said. “You went to Crate and Barrel?”
Dean couldn’t blame him for the reaction. It had been quite an experience.
“Yeah and,” he checked to make sure Sam’s friend really was no longer listening, then leaned forward. “Dude - I gotta go back. There was this sales clerk that I’m pretty sure was possessed. I told her I couldn’t tell the difference between these two crystal glasses and, man, I swear her eyes turned black.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed even more.
“Dean, Jess and I didn’t register for crystal glasses.”
Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother.
“What? You think couples are the only ones with culinary needs? A guy’s gotta have something to sip his Chardonnay out of.”
Sam snorted a little, though Dean could tell it was against his will. Dean’s answering smile was not.
“You think Crate and Barrel’s bad,” Sam said, “you should try Pottery Barn. That’s Jess’s favorite.” He shivered theatrically. “I tried to tell her she could pick it all out without me, I didn’t care. But …” He just shook his head. “At least there wasn’t a Tiffany near enough for it to be practical to go.”
Now Dean was narrowing his eyes.
“Dude. Who do you know who’s going to buy you something from Tiffany?”
Sam shrugged ruefully.
“Jess’s got a lot of family with a lot of money. You should see their reunions.”
That brought what had been an increasingly comfortable conversation to a halt. Dean couldn’t tell what about the statement bothered Sam, but all he could think was that his brother had been going to other families’ reunions, but wouldn’t talk to his own.
Dean looked away and cleared his throat. Tried to think of a safe change of subject.
“So … Jess ever hear from the medical school?”
“Yeah,” Sam said a little too quickly. “Yeah, she’s in.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
OK. That didn’t get them anywhere. Screw safe.
“How,” throat clear. “How’s the chest?”
Sam shot him a quick look that he couldn’t read. Then shrugged.
“Pretty good,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt anymore, but the hair’s still growing back.”
Dean nodded. “Arms?”
Sam’s nose wrinkled. He had obviously hoped Dean wouldn’t ask.
“Still twinge a little sometimes.”
Dean wasn’t surprised. The shapeshifter had hit some muscle there.
“But it’s not bad,” Sam hastened to add.
Dean just nodded again. Then started, “Sam - ”
Only to be interrupted by a group of Sam’s friends coming over to propose toasts. Sam looked relieved, so Dean backed off to listen.
It was obvious there were a few English majors and future lawyers in the group. But Dean thought their dirty limericks were lacking. He could have done better. Still, he liked them. Unexpectedly. They seemed to genuinely like his brother and wish him well - which was apparently more than Dean could do.
Dean despised that thought.
Once, after a particularly bad fight in the months before Sam had left, Sam had stormed out of the hotel room where they were staying. Dean had considered going after him, but decided he probably could use the time alone. One hotel room was not really enough space for three grown men - and certainly not enough for two grown men and an overgrown teenager.
That left him alone with John, who seemed to take Dean’s presence as a declaration of his allegiance. It wasn’t, but Dean didn’t know how to tell him that. So he wasn’t surprised when Dad began bitching to him. Unloading his frustration and anger with someone he thought would understand.
“That brother of yours can be a hard person to love,” he’d said.
At the time, Dean had been confused by the statement - and not a little appalled. He loved his father and brother without thought. Love was never hard. Painful, maybe, but never hard.
But then Sam left. And loving became hard.
Dean had meant it when he told Sam he didn’t agree with Dad about the whole ‘if you’re leaving don’t come back’ thing. He would never have said never come back. But he had been so angry at Sam for leaving. When the door slammed shut with his brother on the other side, Dean had been stunned. And then he’d been mad.
Probably madder than he’d ever been at anything.
Dean had been taught hate from the age of four. But that had always been abstract. He was instructed to hate evil the same way other children were told to love their neighbors as themselves. And where most kids learn sometime before junior high that it’s friends, not enemies, who have the real power to hurt you, Dean had never had friends close enough to do damage. There had been thousands of slights from outsiders, but why should he care what they thought? Give it a few weeks and he’d be in a whole new town with a whole new group of people to piss or please as circumstances dictated.
But then Sam left. And Dean learned that it was possible to hate someone who, not only wasn’t evil, but who was also someone you loved. And he began to understand what his dad had meant - how you had to remind yourself about the love part and work to make sure the anger didn’t overshadow it.
By the time Sam called a couple of months ago, Dean had thought he’d had it down. Thought he’d reached a point where Sam couldn’t hurt him any more. A point where Sam was one of the people he wasn’t close enough to to hate. It was stupid, but Dean had had four years to convince himself it was true.
But then Sam said he was getting married. And Dean hated the idea. It was irrational and unfair, but it was gut instinct. He hated it. He hated it because it meant an end to all the hopes he hadn’t realized he’d had that Sam was coming back. He hated that it meant Sam had found someone to love more than Dean or John. And he hated that it meant there was someone out there with a more legitimate claim to Sam’s time and loyalty than Dean or John’s.
Dean wasn’t stupid, however. For all that he avoided talking about emotions, he recognized his for what they were. He knew he was being possessive and jealous, and he knew those weren’t constructive motivations. And he had to acknowledge that whether he liked it or not, this was Sam’s choice. If he wanted to have a brother at all, he was going to have to accept it.
He had been doing just that, though the shapeshifter had failed to mention it in his revelation of Dean’s true feelings. Still, it did require some effort, which was probably why it also hurt just a little to see all these strangers so effortlessly having fun with Sam. It reminded him that, really, Sam wasn’t a hard person to love. If Dean was having a hard time with it, it was his own fault.
The party went on, with the shots flowing freely, the poker games becoming more heated, the pool games becoming more clumsy and the sporting event exchanged for a really amusing porno. (The cries of ‘Yes! Yes! … No!’ did not go away.) Dean hung back from it all. He was glad he had come, but not sure what to do now that he was there. He could tell Sam was having a good time, and he didn’t want to mess that up. But he also thought it might help patch things up for Sam to see him supporting the wedding in this way, so he stayed.
A little after 3 a.m., things started winding down, and Sam’s friend - whose name turned out to be James - announced that a few limos were available to make sure everyone got safely home. As everyone filed out, Dean broke off from the group and headed toward his car. He was surprised to hear his name.
“Dean, wait up.”
He turned around to see Sam loping toward him. He looked a little buzzed, but not really drunk.
He waited.
“Where you goin’?” Sam asked.
Dean shrugged.
“I saw a Super 8 down the highway a little,” he said.
Sam frowned at that.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “You can stay at my place. Jess is out, anyway - her bachelorette party involves some sort of sleep over. So … you know. It won’t be any … problem.”
Dean looked Sam in the face and tried to figure out if that were true or not, if it really wasn’t a problem. Regardless, he didn’t think it would help mend things if he refused. So he shrugged again.
“If you’re sure.”
Sam seemed relieved. Maybe he had been telling the truth.
“Good.”
He started to turn back to the group, but then stopped and looked torn. Instead, he said, “Uh, give me a second. I’ll tell them to go on.”
Now Dean was the one frowning.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“I’ll ride with you.” Sam said it as though stating the obvious.
“Sam. What? No. Go ride in your limo. I can meet you at your apartment.”
“Nah, it’s OK. They’re all drunk. They won’t even notice I’m not there.”
Dean snorted in disbelief.
“It’s your bachelor’s party, man. I think they’ll notice. Just go. I’ll follow you home.”
Now Sam snorted.
“And you don’t think that would be weird? Some man no one knows following the bachelor’s party around in a big black car? People will think Jessica hired a someone to keep an eye on me or something.”
“Yeah, but Sam. Come on. It’s a limo.”
Sam shrugged. “Eh. The Impala beats a limo any day, right?”
And Dean couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t really want to, anyway.
A few minutes later they were at Sam’s apartment, taking turns in the bathroom and getting ready for bed. Sam brought out a pile of sheets and blankets and helped Dean make up the couch.
“All right then,” he said, turning toward the bedroom. “You know where everything is, so … you know. Help yourself.”
Dean watched him walk away, but decided now was as good a time as any. Hard talks were always easier late a night, right?
“Sam …” he said.
Sam stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Yeah?” he said, cautiously. Something in Dean’s voice must have given his intentions away.
“I … um. I think we should talk.”
Sam turned around, looking tired.
“Dean - ” he began wearily. But Dean interrupted.
“Sam, just … just give me a chance. To apologize. Explain.”
Sam sighed, but didn’t say anything, so Dean took it as permission to go on.
But having won the chance, Dean realized he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He swallowed hard and then started.
“What … what that thing said. About you and Jess and me not thinking it will work? It’s not … it’s not like that.”
Sam stayed silent.
“I mean. I think you should tell her the truth. You know that. And I don’t think it will be easy for her to understand, even if you do. But … I know you, Sam. You can make it work. You can make anything work. And he was wrong about me being glad if it didn’t work. I’m … I’m still getting used to the idea of a sister-in-law … you know … someone else in the family. It’s … hard. After it being just the three of us for so long. But … I want you to be happy. Period. And I’m going to get used to it. I promise.”
Dean had been looking at spot on the wall behind Sam for most of that speech, but as he finished, he shifted his gaze back to his brother. Sam was looking down, chewing absently on his bottom lip. Dean waited a moment for him to look back up. When he did, he saw something that looked like relief. He felt it wash over him.
“So … are we … OK?” he asked.
Sam held his eyes for a minute, then began to nod. “Yeah,” he said. Then took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah.”
Chapter 13
Title: Contact 12/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 2,700 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 12
Sam was smiling when Dean walked into the bar, and Dean cringed a little, wondering how long that would last.
Sure enough, when he raised his eyes to the door, the smile fell away. At first his mouth fell open a little, and Dean thought he could make out his name on the lips. Then they pursed back together, and Sam’s eyes slid away. Dean saw him gulp.
Dean’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t exactly been expecting a hug. But still.
It’d been five weeks since St. Louis, and though he’d called a million times, Dean had only been able to get Sam on the phone twice. Both conversations had been terse and truncated.
The relationship was undeniably strained. And though Dean would have expected to be used to it by now - after all, at least they were talking this time - it left him feeling brittle. He had too much time to think, traveling from job to job alone. The scene in the sewer played on repeat in his head. His skin was continuously crawling.
‘I don’t want you to be happy without me,’ it had said. In his voice, with his mouth.
Expressing his thoughts.
Dean started to turn around. He didn’t want to cause a scene at Sammy’s bachelor’s party. But the view of the door and the knowledge that Sam was at his back and getting further and further away before he even took a step, stopped him.
He squared his shoulders and turned back around. Started off in Sam’s direction.
The man talking to Sam finally seemed to realize that he had lost his audience and turned around to see what had distracted him. His expression turned wary on seeing Dean. Like he was expecting trouble. Dean suddenly felt out of place amid all the Abercrombie.
“Sorry, man,” Sam’s friend said as Dean arrived at the bar. “We’ve booked the place for the night. Private party.”
Dean tried his most winning smile - though it felt a little stiff.
“Yeah, I know,” he drawled, he hoped in an easy tone. “I’m the best man. Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.
The kid’s face cleared immediately.
“Oh - Sam’s brother. Of course. Should have known, huh?”
“Yeah?” Dean asked doubtfully. He and Sam weren’t exactly twins.
The guy laughed. “Yeah, man. It’s … I don’t know. The walk, maybe. You both walk like you’re ready for someone to jump you from behind.”
Dean smiled tightly and looked at Sam. He was staring hard at his half-empty glass of beer.
“Yeah … well,” Dean gave a fake chuckle. “So. This is the party?”
It was a lot lower key than Dean had expected. Of course, Dean built his expectations off of movies and TV shows - he’d never known anyone actually getting married before.
At Sam’s version of a bachelor’s party, things were decidedly tamer. Groups of college guys with artfully mussed hair were gathered around pool tables and poker games. Some sort of sport was playing on a big screen in the background, and occasionally cries of ‘Yes! Yes! … No!’ rang through the bar. There were a dozen short-skirted waitresses in evidence, but no strippers. And Dean didn’t see a cake big enough for anything to jump out of, either.
It all looked right up Sammy’s alley.
“Nice,” he finally concluded.
“Hey. Here’s my present,” he said, holding up a pristinely wrapped white box. Or formerly pristinely wrapped. Dean tried to surreptitiously cover the gunk he suspected might have come from the banshee he’d killed yesterday. The present had been in the trunk with the weapons.
Sam finally looked up. “More underwear?” he asked dryly. His friend seemed a little confused and evidently decided to let them continue the conversation on their own.
“Naw, man,” Dean said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I went to that Barrel place you said.”
Sam cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Dean.
“Really?” he said. “You went to Crate and Barrel?”
Dean couldn’t blame him for the reaction. It had been quite an experience.
“Yeah and,” he checked to make sure Sam’s friend really was no longer listening, then leaned forward. “Dude - I gotta go back. There was this sales clerk that I’m pretty sure was possessed. I told her I couldn’t tell the difference between these two crystal glasses and, man, I swear her eyes turned black.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed even more.
“Dean, Jess and I didn’t register for crystal glasses.”
Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother.
“What? You think couples are the only ones with culinary needs? A guy’s gotta have something to sip his Chardonnay out of.”
Sam snorted a little, though Dean could tell it was against his will. Dean’s answering smile was not.
“You think Crate and Barrel’s bad,” Sam said, “you should try Pottery Barn. That’s Jess’s favorite.” He shivered theatrically. “I tried to tell her she could pick it all out without me, I didn’t care. But …” He just shook his head. “At least there wasn’t a Tiffany near enough for it to be practical to go.”
Now Dean was narrowing his eyes.
“Dude. Who do you know who’s going to buy you something from Tiffany?”
Sam shrugged ruefully.
“Jess’s got a lot of family with a lot of money. You should see their reunions.”
That brought what had been an increasingly comfortable conversation to a halt. Dean couldn’t tell what about the statement bothered Sam, but all he could think was that his brother had been going to other families’ reunions, but wouldn’t talk to his own.
Dean looked away and cleared his throat. Tried to think of a safe change of subject.
“So … Jess ever hear from the medical school?”
“Yeah,” Sam said a little too quickly. “Yeah, she’s in.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
OK. That didn’t get them anywhere. Screw safe.
“How,” throat clear. “How’s the chest?”
Sam shot him a quick look that he couldn’t read. Then shrugged.
“Pretty good,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt anymore, but the hair’s still growing back.”
Dean nodded. “Arms?”
Sam’s nose wrinkled. He had obviously hoped Dean wouldn’t ask.
“Still twinge a little sometimes.”
Dean wasn’t surprised. The shapeshifter had hit some muscle there.
“But it’s not bad,” Sam hastened to add.
Dean just nodded again. Then started, “Sam - ”
Only to be interrupted by a group of Sam’s friends coming over to propose toasts. Sam looked relieved, so Dean backed off to listen.
It was obvious there were a few English majors and future lawyers in the group. But Dean thought their dirty limericks were lacking. He could have done better. Still, he liked them. Unexpectedly. They seemed to genuinely like his brother and wish him well - which was apparently more than Dean could do.
Dean despised that thought.
Once, after a particularly bad fight in the months before Sam had left, Sam had stormed out of the hotel room where they were staying. Dean had considered going after him, but decided he probably could use the time alone. One hotel room was not really enough space for three grown men - and certainly not enough for two grown men and an overgrown teenager.
That left him alone with John, who seemed to take Dean’s presence as a declaration of his allegiance. It wasn’t, but Dean didn’t know how to tell him that. So he wasn’t surprised when Dad began bitching to him. Unloading his frustration and anger with someone he thought would understand.
“That brother of yours can be a hard person to love,” he’d said.
At the time, Dean had been confused by the statement - and not a little appalled. He loved his father and brother without thought. Love was never hard. Painful, maybe, but never hard.
But then Sam left. And loving became hard.
Dean had meant it when he told Sam he didn’t agree with Dad about the whole ‘if you’re leaving don’t come back’ thing. He would never have said never come back. But he had been so angry at Sam for leaving. When the door slammed shut with his brother on the other side, Dean had been stunned. And then he’d been mad.
Probably madder than he’d ever been at anything.
Dean had been taught hate from the age of four. But that had always been abstract. He was instructed to hate evil the same way other children were told to love their neighbors as themselves. And where most kids learn sometime before junior high that it’s friends, not enemies, who have the real power to hurt you, Dean had never had friends close enough to do damage. There had been thousands of slights from outsiders, but why should he care what they thought? Give it a few weeks and he’d be in a whole new town with a whole new group of people to piss or please as circumstances dictated.
But then Sam left. And Dean learned that it was possible to hate someone who, not only wasn’t evil, but who was also someone you loved. And he began to understand what his dad had meant - how you had to remind yourself about the love part and work to make sure the anger didn’t overshadow it.
By the time Sam called a couple of months ago, Dean had thought he’d had it down. Thought he’d reached a point where Sam couldn’t hurt him any more. A point where Sam was one of the people he wasn’t close enough to to hate. It was stupid, but Dean had had four years to convince himself it was true.
But then Sam said he was getting married. And Dean hated the idea. It was irrational and unfair, but it was gut instinct. He hated it. He hated it because it meant an end to all the hopes he hadn’t realized he’d had that Sam was coming back. He hated that it meant Sam had found someone to love more than Dean or John. And he hated that it meant there was someone out there with a more legitimate claim to Sam’s time and loyalty than Dean or John’s.
Dean wasn’t stupid, however. For all that he avoided talking about emotions, he recognized his for what they were. He knew he was being possessive and jealous, and he knew those weren’t constructive motivations. And he had to acknowledge that whether he liked it or not, this was Sam’s choice. If he wanted to have a brother at all, he was going to have to accept it.
He had been doing just that, though the shapeshifter had failed to mention it in his revelation of Dean’s true feelings. Still, it did require some effort, which was probably why it also hurt just a little to see all these strangers so effortlessly having fun with Sam. It reminded him that, really, Sam wasn’t a hard person to love. If Dean was having a hard time with it, it was his own fault.
The party went on, with the shots flowing freely, the poker games becoming more heated, the pool games becoming more clumsy and the sporting event exchanged for a really amusing porno. (The cries of ‘Yes! Yes! … No!’ did not go away.) Dean hung back from it all. He was glad he had come, but not sure what to do now that he was there. He could tell Sam was having a good time, and he didn’t want to mess that up. But he also thought it might help patch things up for Sam to see him supporting the wedding in this way, so he stayed.
A little after 3 a.m., things started winding down, and Sam’s friend - whose name turned out to be James - announced that a few limos were available to make sure everyone got safely home. As everyone filed out, Dean broke off from the group and headed toward his car. He was surprised to hear his name.
“Dean, wait up.”
He turned around to see Sam loping toward him. He looked a little buzzed, but not really drunk.
He waited.
“Where you goin’?” Sam asked.
Dean shrugged.
“I saw a Super 8 down the highway a little,” he said.
Sam frowned at that.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “You can stay at my place. Jess is out, anyway - her bachelorette party involves some sort of sleep over. So … you know. It won’t be any … problem.”
Dean looked Sam in the face and tried to figure out if that were true or not, if it really wasn’t a problem. Regardless, he didn’t think it would help mend things if he refused. So he shrugged again.
“If you’re sure.”
Sam seemed relieved. Maybe he had been telling the truth.
“Good.”
He started to turn back to the group, but then stopped and looked torn. Instead, he said, “Uh, give me a second. I’ll tell them to go on.”
Now Dean was the one frowning.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“I’ll ride with you.” Sam said it as though stating the obvious.
“Sam. What? No. Go ride in your limo. I can meet you at your apartment.”
“Nah, it’s OK. They’re all drunk. They won’t even notice I’m not there.”
Dean snorted in disbelief.
“It’s your bachelor’s party, man. I think they’ll notice. Just go. I’ll follow you home.”
Now Sam snorted.
“And you don’t think that would be weird? Some man no one knows following the bachelor’s party around in a big black car? People will think Jessica hired a someone to keep an eye on me or something.”
“Yeah, but Sam. Come on. It’s a limo.”
Sam shrugged. “Eh. The Impala beats a limo any day, right?”
And Dean couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t really want to, anyway.
A few minutes later they were at Sam’s apartment, taking turns in the bathroom and getting ready for bed. Sam brought out a pile of sheets and blankets and helped Dean make up the couch.
“All right then,” he said, turning toward the bedroom. “You know where everything is, so … you know. Help yourself.”
Dean watched him walk away, but decided now was as good a time as any. Hard talks were always easier late a night, right?
“Sam …” he said.
Sam stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Yeah?” he said, cautiously. Something in Dean’s voice must have given his intentions away.
“I … um. I think we should talk.”
Sam turned around, looking tired.
“Dean - ” he began wearily. But Dean interrupted.
“Sam, just … just give me a chance. To apologize. Explain.”
Sam sighed, but didn’t say anything, so Dean took it as permission to go on.
But having won the chance, Dean realized he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He swallowed hard and then started.
“What … what that thing said. About you and Jess and me not thinking it will work? It’s not … it’s not like that.”
Sam stayed silent.
“I mean. I think you should tell her the truth. You know that. And I don’t think it will be easy for her to understand, even if you do. But … I know you, Sam. You can make it work. You can make anything work. And he was wrong about me being glad if it didn’t work. I’m … I’m still getting used to the idea of a sister-in-law … you know … someone else in the family. It’s … hard. After it being just the three of us for so long. But … I want you to be happy. Period. And I’m going to get used to it. I promise.”
Dean had been looking at spot on the wall behind Sam for most of that speech, but as he finished, he shifted his gaze back to his brother. Sam was looking down, chewing absently on his bottom lip. Dean waited a moment for him to look back up. When he did, he saw something that looked like relief. He felt it wash over him.
“So … are we … OK?” he asked.
Sam held his eyes for a minute, then began to nod. “Yeah,” he said. Then took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah.”
Chapter 13