Crossover: Walk in Shadow, Move in Silence [Part 1/3] (Supernatural X Men in Black)
PART ONE
"I'll have another." Dean holds his empty glass out over the counter as he tries to get the bartender's attention.
The woman serving drinks, a reasonably hot older lady with dark red hair, raises a hand to let him know she's got it. Dean had tried hitting on her, back when he was two drinks in and still collected enough to remember that's a thing he should do, but she'd basically laughed in his face. Normally that would have bothered Dean or made him more insistent, but today Sam was walking his happy ass around campus with some preppy douchebag in an honest-to-god cardigan, and all Dean really wants is enough alcohol to black out and maybe forget his whole life tomorrow.
"You sure you need another?"
Dean looks over to his left, huffing under his breath and rolling his eyes. "You sure it's any of your goddamn business, buddy?"
The man who just filled the empty stool next to Dean gives a quiet laugh, as if he and Dean are old buddies exchanging a familiar joke. It bothers Dean more than it should, really, because there's only one person in the world who knows him well enough to laugh at him like that, and that person doesn't seem to care much if Dean's alive or dead right now.
"This one's on me," the stranger says, sliding a twenty across the bar.
Dean laughs back, dismissing the guy and his concerned tone. "You really think that's gonna work for you?"
"I'm pretty sure, yeah."
Dean finally turns to face the guy, mouth already open in preparation for the rejection he's planning to deliver, but then he gets a look and his lips shut instinctively, urging Dean to take another few seconds to think about it.
The man is hot. Sure, he's pushing 40, gray hair beginning to mix with black, but he's still really, really hot. Under the bland black suit he's wearing, Dean can tell he's built. He's got dark skin and a cocky smile on his face like he knows exactly what's making Dean pause. Dean's a confident guy himself-he can appreciate that smile.
A hot older man who looks nothing like Sam might be just what Dean needs tonight. It doesn't hurt that his suit gives away that he can damn well afford to load Dean with as many drinks as it takes.
"You were saying?" he says after Dean's spent a few long seconds staring at him blankly.
"What was I saying?" Dean replies with a flirtatious smile. "It must not have been very important."
By now, the bartender has had enough time to make their drinks and return. She sets one glass down in front of each of them, and Dean reaches out, immediately gulping down half. He slides his hands up the man's thigh and grins. "I bet we could think of more interesting things to talk about."
For a beat or two, the guy lets Dean's hand linger, looking down like he's tempted, and Dean think he's in for a pretty good night. Then he picks up Dean's hand and puts it back on the counter, shaking his head. "I've got someone. But thanks."
"Then why are you wasting my time?" Dean asks, looking back to the free drink in front of him.
"It was the only way I was sure I could get you to talk to me, for one." Then he tsks and shakes his head. "You really shouldn't drink so much," the guy says, and Dean is rolling his eyes, about to tell him to fuck off because, regardless of how hot he is, Dean doesn't need life advice from a stranger. But then the man adds, "Your dad wouldn't like it, Dean."
Dean nearly spits his drink out. He reaches for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans instinctively, but the guy holds it up. "It slows down your instincts, son, and it's just not good for you."
"I'm not your son," Dean snaps. "Who the fuck are you? How do you know my name? How do you know my-?"
"Slow down, kid, one question at a time."
"Okay, seriously, call me 'kid' or any version of it one more time and I'm going to punch you in the face."
The guy laughs. "It beats the hell out of being called Slick by the same cranky old white dude for twenty years, let me tell you."
Dean blinks at him a few times, so completely thrown by the randomness of that reply that he doesn't even know where to begin. Dad-this guy said something about his Dad. That's as good a place to start as any. "What do you know about my dad?"
"I met your father a few times before he passed," the man replies, more solemn now. "He was a great hunter. Stubborn sonofabitch, but a talented hunter."
"You're a hunter?" Dean asks, voice bordering on incredulous because he's never seen a hunter look so at home in a suit before.
"No, I'm no hunter, but I do hunt."
"Man, you better quit with this cryptic shit and start giving me some real answers-I'm not feeling all that patient tonight." Dean pauses for emphasis. "Who are you and how do you know who I am?"
"My name is Agent J," he says.
Dean freezes up, eyes dodging to the gun hidden in the man's lap, the very illegal one he pulled off Dean. "You're a fed?"
"Yes…and no."
Dean huffs, so J holds his hands up. "Let me explain. There's a diner not far from here. I'd feel safer talking there."
"Why's that?" Dean asks.
J angles his head toward the pool table. "See Baldy and his girlfriend with the purple hair?"
Dean nods.
"Aliens."
Dean gives the couple a closer look and nods. "Yeah, that wasn't even hard."
"Pretty blonde hanging by the jukebox," J says, pointing in the opposite direction.
Dean turns to look at her.
"You been here before?"
"Every time-" He stops himself. Whatever this is, he doesn't need to tell the guy what he's doing in Palo Alto. "I've passed through."
"Ever seen her move?"
"Huh," Dean says. "Alien."
"Yup." J finishes his drink and catches the bartender's attention, smiling and nodding at her. Then he gives Dean a meaningful look, and Dean does a double take.
"No way," he says. "Her? I would have been able to tell."
J shakes his head. "It's the ones who can disguise themselves that you really gotta watch out for."
That's good, sound logic. A soldier's logic. Dad would've liked it. So Dean nods once and gets to his feet. "You've made your point."
J drops a few bills on the counter to cover their drinks, and they both head out, walking in silence until they reach the diner J had mentioned. They take a seat and look around, and Dean laughs under his breath. "I hate to break it to you, man, but if you think there are any fewer aliens in here than there were in the bar, you're not nearly as good as you think you are."
"Nah, everyone in here's from outer space. Ain't no way a human could stomach Grok's cooking." J smiles and gives a friendly wave to the massive man behind the counter, greeting him in a language Dean doesn't recognize. "Difference is, I know these crazy bastards and there's no need to worry about what they'll overhear."
Dean takes a seat at a corner booth. "So what I'm getting from this is that the government really does know about aliens and has been hiding the truth from everyone after all?" Dean laughs. "Spooky Mulder was right."
"You watch too much TV," J replies. "But yes. I'm from a secret government organization that polices and monitors alien activity both on and off the planet Earth."
"That sounds like it came straight out of a pamphlet," Dean says with a laugh.
"It did," J admits. "We're called the Men in Black."
"Alright, that's great, but what does any of this have to do with me?"
"Your father-"
"My father was a hunter," Dean says. "He wasn't some fed."
"No, he wasn't. But I made him a promise that I'd look out for his sons. He said both of his boys would still be hunting, and if I'm gonna keep you safe, I'm not gonna do it by trying to take you out of the fight. I'm gonna train you-"
"I'm trained." Dean shakes his head. "Look, maybe you've got a guilty conscience, but my dad's been dead for nearly five years now. If you wanted to help us, you should have done it when I was 20 and I woke up one day with a 16-year-old little brother to raise. He taught us how to fight. He taught me how to hunt. If I needed you looking out for me, I'd be dead by now."
"We've got a lot of resources," J replies firmly. "Resources your father didn't have. He was one hell of a hunter, and we offered to bring him in, but he was a lone wolf. That's what got him killed, Dean. Don't make his mistakes."
"How do you know what got him killed?" Dean snaps.
J looks down at his hands. "I got there just in time to watch him finish that Yellow Eyed Demon off, but by then it was too late. He'd already been poisoned."
"He killed one?" Dean asks, because he'd never heard of a hunter doing that. He didn't think it was possible. "Was it the one that-?"
J shakes his head. "He's the only human not a member of the MiB to do it, at least in recorded history. But I don't think it was the one that killed your mother."
"You know about my mother, too?"
"They're called azazels, from a planet called Quphraim in the Alactago galaxy. More commonly known as Yellow Eyed Demons because of the pale color their eyes flash just before they attack, the only known sign by which to tell them from humans. They feed on infants-the species doesn't matter to them. In November 1982 one tried to take your brother, Sam, but your mother, Mary Winchester, neé Campbell, died to save him. Your father started hunting aliens as soon as he figured out enough of what happened, raised you boys on the road, sometimes taking you on hunts as well. In December 1999, he thought he found the YED responsible for your mother's death and he went after it alone despite receiving a clear directive to stand back and wait for the Men in Black to arrive."
"Alright," Dean says. "So you did your homework."
"I was still a new agent back then, but I'd heard about John Winchester quite a lot. I was the last person to speak to him, and this is what he wanted for you. Your father was a hero, Dean. I have nothing but respect and admiration for the man, and that's why I've kept my promise. You think you survived the last five years on your own? I told you we have resources-we've been keeping you and your brother alive."
"You've been watching me?"
"Taking care of you," J says. "From a distance, which is where I'd been planning to stay, but your ass needs an intervention."
"I can take care of myself."
"You certainly haven't been doing a very good job of it."
Dean glares, and J shakes his head. "Ever since your brother went to college you've been spending more time drunk than sober. Going on hunts like that. You'll never live long enough to get revenge on that demon if you get yourself killed being reckless."
He shifts in his seat, not liking the idea that this guy he's never seen before knows all about his life, his dad, his brother, and just how much his brother doesn't need him.
"Is that one still alive?" Dean asks. Then he stops and really thinks over everything J just said. "You said he's the only hunter not a member of the Men in Black to do it. Are you saying you guys can kill YEDs?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time, Dean," J replies. "We're government-backed. We've got all kinds of fun weapons. If you want to fight aliens and help some innocent civilians in the process, this is the way to do it."
"And Sam?" Dean asks, swallowing hard because just saying the name out loud these days makes him choke. "What about him?"
"He's doing fine," J says easily, maybe not realizing what a slap in Dean's face it is. "We keep tabs on him, but there's nothing to worry about. No need to make contact."
"'Make contact,'" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. "He's not an alien."
J laughs under his breath. "Fair enough. I've been in the job a long time. The language starts to become second nature after a while."
Dean's foot is shaking under the table, but he can't deny that it's sounding pretty tempting. A real chance to kill YEDs, maybe even the one that ruined his life. A way to watch out for his little brother without having to see Sam and his preppy friends laughing it up all over campus. One great big fuck you to Sam, proof that Dean can make something of himself, too.
"Do I have to wear the stupid suit?"
J looks down at his suit, playing with the loose ends of his jacket for a moment before looking back up. "Man, don't hate on the threads."
Dean's expression doesn't change. "Do I have to wear a suit or not?"
Sighing, J nods. "Yeah, unfortunately we all gotta. Wasn't my idea. I've been telling management for years that we need to get with the times."
"Are you offering me this just because you promised my dad?" Dean's not doing great, sure, but he's not ready to be a charity case, either.
"I told you we've been watching you for years," J says. "What makes you think I don't know what you're capable of? You and Sam. Hell, you may have gotten rogue training, but at 17 you both could have solidly kicked most of our agents' asses. I wouldn't be offering you this if I thought it was going to get you killed. I think you can bring as much to the Men in Black as we can offer you."
Dean licks his lips. "So why now? If I've been ready for so long, why are you just now offering me this?"
"I need a new partner. Someone I can really work with, not one of the idiots they assign me down at headquarters." J drums his fingers on the table. "My old partner K-he's the one that brought me in. I was a cop, just a regular ass cop, and I always thought he picked me at random, 'cause I could run fast and I chased the right bad guy. But I guess it really wasn't all that different from why I'm sitting here talking to you. He came for me because he knew what I lost and he knew I would want a chance to spare some kid growing up the way I did. I don't think you're any different than I was."
"K, is he…? I'm sorry, did he, uh-?"
"Hell no," J replies, laughing. "That grumpy bastard is probably sitting at home in his pajamas watching golf right now. Or whatever retired old white guys do for fun. He's never gonna die."
Something about the way he says it, all those uncomfortable laughs and smiles, like that's a fear he's had to face and fight to master more times than he wants to remember, hits Dean hard in the chest. He can see right through J's joviality because he's been there too many times to count himself. He spent his whole life hunting with Sam; four and a half years raising his little brother on his own when everything Dean had ever trusted to be unstoppable had failed to come home to them. Whoever K is, it's pretty clear he means a lot to J, and that's the kind of working relationship Dean knows you need to be able to depend on if you're going to put your ass on the line on a daily basis.
"So what do I need to do?" Dean asks. "I mean, if I were interested. I'm sure you guys don't just hand me a gun and wish me luck."
"Kid, you'll be working for the government," J says. "You're gonna learn all about the wonderful world of paperwork."
Dean laughs. "Tell me what I need to do," he insists. "I'll do it."
J licks his lips, then looks down. "It's not easy."
"I'm not used to easy."
"You have to give up a lot."
"I don't have much to lose," Dean replies.
J is quiet for a while, then finally he looks up at Dean. "Men in Black don't have identities. We don't have names. We don't have families. We don't have friends-not outside of work, at least."
"What you're saying is-?"
"What I'm saying is that if you want to do this, Dean Winchester gets left behind when you walk out of this bar. You become Agent D and Agent D-"
"Doesn't have a brother," Dean guesses.
J nods. "It's not something most people can do. And I know how close you are to your brother. You wouldn't even be able to visit Sam. As far as Sam would know, you'll have disappeared."
Dean swallows hard. Isn't that what Sam wanted? Isn't that what Dean's been failing to give him? Wouldn't he be doing them both a favor? "I'm in."
"You can have some time to think about it."
"I'm in," Dean says again. His voice doesn't waver this time.
_______________________________________________________________
"Dean?" Sam answers the door with no shirt on, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He's still too skinny, but he's filling out, and Dean doesn't even bother pretending not to look. This might be the last chance he ever gets to really look at Sam. "What are you doing here?"
Sam's hair is mussed up in every direction, and Dean knows from his slow blinking and the slur in his words that he was asleep. But he's waking up by the second, and Dean is the one who isn't ready when Sam's face breaks into a big, dimpled smile as he laughs. "And what the hell are you wearing?"
"Don't hate on the threads," Dean replies. God, listen to him. It's been two months since he was officially initiated into the Men in Black and already he sounds like a broken record.
"You doing a job or something?" Sam says, holding the door open a few seconds longer so Dean knows he's welcome and then turning and walking off toward the kitchen. "That why you're dressed like that?"
"Kind of," Dean answers. He watches Sam flip on the lights in the kitchen and slides into one of the stools set up at the counter between Sam's living room and the half-wall that divides the rooms.
"Jesus," Sam says, scrubbing his hand over his face. "It's four in the morning."
But he's already pulling bread, turkey, and cheese out and setting up two plates.
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Yeah, it is."
"So," says Sam, spreading mayo generously over one slice of bread and much more thinly over another. "You gonna tell me why you're here, in a suit, at four in the morning?"
"A man can't visit his little brother?" Dean asks, looking up at Sam with a grin.
Sam's not playing along. He slides one sandwich, dripping with mayo just the way Dean likes it, across the counter and gives Dean an even look. "My door is always open. You’re the one who never knocks on it."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
Sam hmms and turns back to the refrigerator, putting away the supplies he used to make their sandwiches, half because he's anal retentive like that and half, Dean knows, because he doesn't want Dean to get too close a look at his face.
"What do you want from me, Sam? You want me to drop by every day, pack your lunch for you?"
The fridge door slams shut and Sam turns to face him too quickly. "A little support would be nice, Dean."
Dean swallows the bite he's got in his mouth. "I send you money when I-"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Sam answers, bracing his arms on the counter in front of him. "I haven't seen you in over a year, man. You didn't come here at 4 a.m. to say hi and eat sandwiches."
"I missed you," Dean says quietly. "Just missed you, that's all." He looks up and gives Sam a faint smile. "If you wanna fight, we can fight. But if you missed me, too, you can sit and eat and we can pretend for five minutes that nothing's changed."
Sam sighs, his expression breaking as he starts shaking his head, but he picks up his plate and he walks around the counter to sit down next to Dean.
They eat quietly; Dean looks over every few seconds just to confirm it's Sam sitting there, chewing the way Sam always chews. He's been here on his own for a year of his life, but he still chews his sandwiches six times per bite before swallowing, just like Dean's dumb genius of a little brother always did. He's still Dean's Sam. It would be easier if he wasn't. But then, he won't be by the time Dean leaves, and that thought doesn't make him feel any better, either. The Neuralyzer in the pocket of his suit jacket has never felt this heavy.
"So, tell me," Dean says, grabbing Sam's plate and carrying it to the sink, setting it next to his own. He starts the water, letting it run for a few seconds while it gets hot, and turns to look at Sam over his shoulder in the meantime.
"Tell you what?" Sam asks with a laugh.
"Everything," Dean answers. He looks back down at the plates and starts scrubbing too hard with the sponge as he lies, "I want to hear all about college life."
"You don't, really," Sam replies, his voice sad but close, like he's right behind Dean. Dean stacks the two plates on the drying rack and turns, and, sure enough, there's Sam half a step away, looming above him.
"Sure I do," he says, swallowing hard.
Sam laughs dismissively, looking to the side and then back at Dean. "You go first. Tell me how life's been the last year."
"You know how life's been," Dean answers coolly. "You don't need to hear it."
"You're a fucking hypocrite," Sam says, pushing Dean back until he's all the way up against the sink. "You know that?"
Dean doesn't reply, and Sam doesn't wait for him to. Apparently they're done pretending to have a conversation. Instead, Sam crowds down closer, his mouth meeting Dean's, and Dean reaches into his hair, pulling him in harder.
Fuck, he wasn't supposed to do this. He swore before he knocked on the door he wouldn't do this. It was supposed to be one quick visit, a last look at Sam, maybe a short exchange of small talk just to make sure Sam's still happy here-just so Dean knows what Sam wants before he gives it to him.
But his brother is so damn forceful, so damn strong, so damn magnetic, and Dean can't fight him. What's the harm? One more time. Just one more-it's not like Sam will remember in the morning.
Sam breaks the kiss and Dean leans forward, trying to chase his brother's lips. He laughs at Dean, a cold, bitter laugh. He didn't used to know how to laugh like that. Dean wonders who taught him since he left, if it was some cheating ex-boyfriend or a nasty professor or all the phone calls Dean never had the heart to return. "Done talking so soon?" Sam asks.
"Sammy," Dean whispers. "Sammy, please."
Sam shakes his head, his eyes welling up like he's about to cry, but Dean likes it because he doesn't look so angry anymore. Dean's used to Sam sad, he knows how to comfort. Sam mad, mad at him, is what he can't handle. "Dean," he says in a needy voice. "Why didn't you come see me sooner?"
Dean almost laughs at that, but he's not admitting that he's driven through Palo Alto at least eight times in the last year, not even if Sam won't remember in a few hours. Instead he reaches out, pushing a hair out of Sam's face and smiling.
An hour and a half later, Sam's drawing his finger through the sweat beaded on Dean's back. Dean licks his brother's chest, then presses a kiss against it and smiles when Sam makes a grossed out noise.
Sam huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, and Dean slides his hands down his brother's naked body, slipping his fingers into Sam just to watch Sam pull his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You gonna fuck me again?" Sam asks as Dean feels around inside of him.
And, really, Dean just wanted this, wanted to get a measure of how Sam feels when Dean's stretched him out and left his come dripping between his brother's legs, but it's not a bad idea. "You want me to?"
Dean grins and climbs on top of Sam, and Sam smiles, pushing his hands into Dean's hair and dragging him down for a kiss. "Want you to ride my dick," he whispers in a low, hot tone between kisses.
"Yeah?" Dean asks, beginning to roll his body on top of Sam.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And…" Sam looks over Dean's face and then slowly, deliberately drawing Dean's eyes down, he licks his swollen, pink lips. "Want to suck you."
"Mmm," Dean replies, sliding his hand onto Sam's cock, starting to stroke it so Sam can get hard again. "And?"
"And," Sam says. He stops and takes his eyes off Dean, but one of his hands moves down from Dean's hair to his neck, to the amulet dangling just over Dean's heart. He tangles his fingers in the leather cord and yanks Dean forward for a hard kiss. "I want you to stay."
Dean freezes. This isn't what he came here for. This is just cruel. Sam wants it both ways-wants to abandon Dean and the fight Dad left them and still make him look like the bad guy. He came here to give Sam the life he fucking ditched Dean for, not to get sucked into it. He takes Sam's hands in his own and pushes them away, rolling off Sam. "I should leave."
Sam reaches out, hand on Dean's shoulder to pull him back. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"C'mon, Sam. You were never all that funny, but you at least used to know a joke when you-"
"Don't be cute with me," Sam snaps, giving Dean a light shove. "Don't you dare sit there and tell me you woke me up at 4 in the morning, fucked me, and now you're gonna leave and try to be cute about it."
"I never said I was gonna stay." Dean sits at the edge of Sam's bed, looking around at all the scattered guts of his suit strewn across the room. "You knew I wouldn't. You know why I can't. Don't pretend I lied to you."
"Why not, because you're too busy going on some wild goose chase after aliens?"
Dean looks back at Sam over his shoulder. "If that's all it means to you, Sam. Sure. That's why."
"You don't have to stay," Sam says in a gentler voice. "I'm not asking you to give up hunting. I wouldn't ever ask you for that. Just stay tonight. The sun'll be up in a few hours, that's not too much to ask for, right?"
Dean turns to look at his brother, at that sweet, pleading expression. It's a trap, Dean knows, but he still wants to fall into it. "I can't. I've got work."
"You'll come back, though," Sam asks, drawing his knees up to his chin as he watches Dean pull on his pants and start to collect the rest of his clothes from the floor. "Every now and then, you'll still come visit me?"
"Sure, Sam," Dean says. He doesn't look at Sam because it's a lie and Sam will know and Dean doesn't want to see that he knows.
Sam stays quiet as Dean gets dressed, but he pulls on his sweatpants and follows Dean out to the living room when Dean's leaving. He holds the door open, letting Dean kiss him one last time as he passes. "Are you at least gonna tell me what the suit is all about?"
Dean stops and looks at Sam, realizing that he'd nearly forgotten the whole point of this visit. He reaches into his jacket and grabs his Neuralyzer and puts on his sunglasses.
Sam laughs. "It's six in the morning, Dean. The sun's not even out yet. You look like an even bigger douchebag than usual."
"Look here," Dean instructs, "and I'll tell you about the suit."
Sam does as he's told, and Dean feels a sharp pang of regret as the light flashes out. But he reminds himself why he's doing this. It's what Sam wanted. He can't be normal while he's waiting for Dean to drop in, and, besides, there's a reason Men in Black don't have families. He can get Sam killed with visits like this, and he won’t be able to stay away from his brother as long as his brother lets him through the door.
"Your parents died in a car crash while you were on your way to school." Dean watches concern mix with the dazed look on his brother's face and continues, "You don't remember the accident or anything before it because you hit your head during the crash, but you had a very happy childhood."
Dean is about to take off his glasses when Sam reaches out, putting a hand on his wrist. "What about my brother?"
The question catches Dean off guard. Sure, he's only been doing this a couple of months, but he's never seen anybody ask a question or seem to remember something despite a Neuralyzing. "You don't have a brother."
"No, I have a brother," Sam insists. He blinks a few times, looking confused, but then he nods seriously. "I'm pretty sure."
Dean wants to lose his nerve, but it's too late. He can't half-ass this. Maybe he just needs to make it stronger. He adjusts the settings and it flashes out again and he starts fresh, looking right into Sam's eyes as he speaks. "Your parents died in a car crash when you were moving to Stanford. You don't remember because you hit your head. You never-you're an only child."
Dean slams the door then, not waiting for Sam to come out of it and see some random asshole in a suit standing on his doorstep. He leaves quickly, trying not to let himself look back.
That's it. That's the last time he'll ever see Sam, or at least the last time they'll talk.
Sam won't even miss him.
_______________________________________________________________
"This coffee tastes like dirt," J says. He looks over at Dean expectantly, just like he does every morning, and just like every morning, Dean isn't sure what he's waiting for.
So he shrugs and grins. "But the pie's good." He sticks his tongue out so J can see the mush of crust and cherry on his tongue. "See, pie?"
"Man, that is disgusting," J replies, shaking his head. He wipes his mouth and drops the napkin on his plate. "One day, I'm gonna have a partner who isn't weirdly obsessed with pie."
"There's nothing weird about it," Dean tells him, picking up his plate and drawing it close to his chest. He pretends to pet the top of his slice. "It's okay, Cherry, sweetheart. He didn't mean it."
The pie doesn't respond. Dean has always been partial to the strong, silent type.
"I couldn't help noticing you took a trip to Palo Alto last week."
"It was my weekend off," Dean says, finishing his pie and pulling out his wallet to leave a tip. "What do you care what I did with it?"
"Let's cut the bullshit," J tells him as he gets up and holds the diner door open for Dean. "You went to see Sam. You know why this is an issue. So my question is: is this going to be something I'm going to have to worry about? Because I think I made it abundantly clear when I recruited your ass that-"
"Calm your tits, J." Dean reaches in his pocket to fish out the Impala's keys. "It won't happen again."
J points a finger at Dean, smiling wide, which Dean has already learned is a sign that he might have a gun in his face in a few seconds. "See, that's what you told me when I explained about being an MiB, and yet here we are a few months later having this conversation. You see my problem with this?"
"I Neuralyzed him," Dean says under his breath. By now they're standing on opposite sides of the car, Dean looking at J over the roof. "I went to see Sam to Neuralyze him and I did, so it won't happen again. Can we get on with the job?"
He gets in and shuts the door, leaning over the seat to unlock J's side as well. J is surprisingly silent as he takes his seat, but after a few minutes he finally says, "Shit, D. You know we don't require that."
Dean doesn't even like to hear himself called by his new name, as stupid as that is. He knows he's supposed to internalize it, really become D, but it feels dull and sterilized, like his suit and the black sunglasses. That's the point. He just wishes someone out there knew the Dean Winchester he had to kill, just one person to remember him. He killed that person, though, didn't he, when he wiped Sam's memory? He's trying so hard not to regret it.
"Well, I did it," Dean snaps, starting the engine. "Can we drop this?"
"Yeah, man, that's cool," J says, nodding his head a few times. Then he starts to shake it. "Naw, hell no we can't drop it. What did you go and do that for?"
"It's not any of your fucking business," Dean replies, gripping the steering wheel too tight.
J raises a hand to protest, then drops it. "Guess it isn't," he finally says.
They drive for a little while longer, Zep blasting between them, until J reaches out and turns off the radio. If he brings up Sam again, Dean swears he's gonna fucking lose it.
"My partner, K-"
"Oh, here we go," Dean mutters. J tells his K stories pretty much every time he wants to make a point. Dean actually finds them pretty interesting, usually. K's an MiB legend and J's not far behind in that, so working with a guy who spent 20 years with a man who made history is a pretty cool deal. But whatever the point he's about to try to make is, it's going to be about Sam, and he doesn't know jack shit about Dean's brother. Dean doesn't want to hear it.
"This is the second time he up and retired on me. Did you know that?"
"Huh." Dean watches the road and shrugs. "I guess I didn't."
"Yeah, back when I was newer at this than you are, we did one big job and he said, 'you know what, Slick'-slick, that shit drove me crazy, still does-he says, 'you know what, Slick, I think I'm gonna go sort mail or whatever so you just grab this hot morgue broad and hunt aliens with her."
"Nothing you're saying makes any sense."
"Didn't make no damn sense at the time, either." J waves his hand in the air dismissively. "Anyway, where was I? I Neuralyzed more partners than I can keep track of until I went and got K back. They started calling me the Neuralyzer around headquarters, which got pretty confusing because people didn't know if they were talking about real Neuralyzers or about me-"
"Dude, J, the point."
"Oh, right." J licks his lips. "Anyway, after awhile I was so tired of Neuralyzing people that I completely neglected to do it to a witness on purpose. Which turned out being a really good move, actually, but damn did I get chewed out by the higher-ups."
"Man, I am really failing to see what this has to do with-"
"What I'm trying to say, you impatient little bastard, is that I know this shit is hard. And that it gets to you." J sighs, shifting in his seat. "And you can talk to me if you need to talk to someone. But you shouldn't take the fact that you can Neuralyze away your problems to mean that you should Neural-"
"He's safer this way, isn't he?" Dean asks, looking over at J. "No one can torture him for information. He can't come looking for me and tip my enemies off to who he is in the process. He's just some damn college kid like he wanted to be. What I did I did for the same reason I've ever done anything. To protect him. Which is supposedly what you've been trying to do for five years, too, so you should be glad."
"It doesn't bother you that he doesn't remember you?"
Dean gives J a glare and J shrugs. "Alright, D. Whatever you think is best. He's your brother. Or, you know, he was before you went all Windex on his brain."
Dean lets go of the wheel, blood rushing to his white knuckles as he reaches out to turn the music back on.
_______________________________________________________________
"He's dead, you know. Sam. I went to go get him before I came for you."
In the time it takes Dean to tilt his head in confusion, the alien gets a punch in, three fists hitting Dean's ribs on the right and three more on the left.
"Dammit, D, focus!" J yells.
Dean pretends to double over, grabbing the gun tucked into the back of his sock instead and shooting off half the monster's limbs. He'll never admit it out loud, but these little pistols J makes him carry actually do come in handy.
He backs away from the alien while it's still preoccupied with its newly missing limbs, which gives J a clear shot. He takes it.
The alien makes an angry sound when the bullet pierces its skin, but he looks at D as he starts to slide to the ground. "I ate your little brother," it says in a slithering voice. "I chewed off his long legs first and then I took my time with the rest of him. He didn't stop crying out for you to help him."
D picks up the gun he'd dropped and turns quickly, shooting the alien in the face three times before J stops him. "Save the ammo, kid. He's not gonna get any deader."
"Was he telling the truth?" Dean asks, looking up at J. "Could he have been telling the truth? How could he have known-?"
"Calm down, D," J tells him, giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder. "I told you before we got here that the Milatri could read minds. He saw that you were worried about your brother and used it against you. Wasn't the first time one of them has tried it, won't be the last. You need to learn how to keep your cool during that shit, man, or you'll be the one who ends up dead."
Dean nods, looking back at the corpse. "So he…definitely didn't…"
"Definitely not," J says, taking out his cell phone. "Look, I'm gonna get a cleanup crew in here. I'll handle the paperwork. I'll even make up a good reason for why you shot him in the face so O doesn't send you to five weeks of anger management classes. Why don't you just head home, okay? Get some sleep."
Dean nods, feeling a bit like a pouting child as J pushes him toward the door. He drives home and takes a long, hot bath, and then he drinks his way through what's left in the bottle of whiskey he's got in his cabinet.
He tries to sleep after that, but it doesn't work. All he can dream of is Sam-Sam in pieces, Sam in some alien's four mouths, Sam begging for Dean as he dies alone.
The fourth time he wakes up in a cold sweat, Dean decides to accept he's not gonna be okay until he sees Sam in one piece. Not on the computer screen he usually watches Sam on, the one all the lonely men and women he works with use to keep track of their loved ones. That's not gonna be enough this time. He needs to hear Sam's voice. He needs it, and it's not like he can just pick up the phone and call. Sam wouldn't know him.
It won't be a problem, Dean figures. He went to visit Sam how many times before J tapped him for the MiB, and Sam was never the wiser. He doesn't have to know this time, either.
He calls J the next morning, tells him he needs to take a few days off to get his shit together. J knows he was spooked pretty bad, so he gives Dean a bunch of encouraging words-happens to everyone at first, you handled it fine, blah blah blah-Dean's only half listening, if he's being honest. The rest of his attention is torn between throwing clothes into a duffel (Sam and Dad both would be distressed seeing the messy packing job he does, but neither of them is here to lecture him) and trying to keep his excitement in check.
It won't be so great, he tells himself. Probably it'll be like the last time he snuck a visit to Stanford: Sam will be goofing off with some preppy asshole and Dean will leave more furious than comforted. Maybe worse this time. He won't even be able to pretend Sam's thinking of him this time.
But he'll still be Sam.
"Hey, J, I have to go, okay?"
On the other line, J finally shuts up. Maybe he's realized just how much, how fast, and how loud he's been talking in the effort to fill Dean's silence. "Right, yeah, of course. You just remember you can come to me with anything you need to talk about."
"Sure will," Dean says, rolling his eyes because he knows his partner won't see it.
He's about to hang up when he hears, "Oh, and Dean? Don't do anything stupid."
Dean hangs up then, before J gets a chance to elaborate what some stupid things he could do might be. 'Go visit Sam' was probably at the top of the list, but since Dean never really heard J say it, it totally doesn't count.
He drives to California, which takes days, but if he's gonna be nostalgic, he's gonna do it all the way. Nine months ago, Dean didn't have a government salary and frequent flier miles. When he was Sam's brother, he drove everywhere, and he'll be that again just this once even if Sam never knows about it.
He arrives at night, so instead of going straight to sniff Sam out, his first stop is the bar he used to frequent when these visits were a regular thing. The hot (apparently alien) bartender is still behind the counter. Dean smiles and nods when she waves to him.
His sits with his drink, looking at the glass and thinking to himself, for a long time before a familiar voice breaks his concentration. "You need a refill?"
Dean's head snaps up before can think it through, and, sure enough, he finds himself staring up at his little brother. The name almost falls right out of his mouth, and Dean has to stop himself, close it and just offer Sam a bare nod.
Sam's eyes narrow as he fills Dean's cup. "Have we met before? You look really familiar."
"You'll have to think of something more original than that if you want a good tip out of me."
Laughing, Sam closes the bottle and puts it back on the bar. Dean expects him to move along, but it's a weeknight and there aren't many people in the bar, and Sam seems to decide to linger a few moments.
If he had more faith in himself, Dean would have thought he planned it like this.
"It's not a line," Sam says. He gives Dean a dark smile, eyes sweeping over Dean in a very obvious way. Dean never thought about the fact that Sam would still want him, even though he's no longer his brother, or that it might even make this easier for Sam. He never really thought he'd get a chance to talk to him at all. "It could be, if you want it to. But I really am asking, because I swear I've seen you somewhere."
"Where?" Dean asks, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"You're not a student," says Sam. "And not a professor."
Dean frowns, putting the glass down and staring at the rings of perspiration it leaves on the glazed counter surface. "Don't think I'm smart enough for Stanford?"
"That's not it," Sam says. "You just don't have the look." He leans forward, crossing his arms on the bar, almost as if he was going to kiss Dean. Instead he takes a longer, closer look and shakes his head. "It wasn't here. I've never served you. You sure we haven't met?"
"Nah," Dean says. "We never have. I'd remember you."
Sam laughs. "Now who's using bad lines?"
"It's only bad if it doesn't work." Dean finishes his drink and gives Sam a grin. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad fucking idea. But, well. Sam already saw him. It's not like he'll know or care who Dean is. What's a one night stand? How is Dean supposed to turn him down when he's so Sam? "Is it working?"
"You don't really have to try very hard, do you?" Sam sighs and looks over at the other bartender. "It's working. But so am I. I'm supposed to be here until close."
Dean shrugs. "I wasn't planning to leave until last call, anyway."
Sam smiles. "I'm Sam," he says. "Sam Winchester."
"D," Dean replies.
"D?" Sam fills his glass again. "Is that short for something?"
"Does it need to be short for something?"
"No," Sam replies. "It just…I don't know. It doesn’t fit you. Like that suit."
"Hey, this suit fits me perfectly," Dean says, looking down. "I've got a great tailor. You insult my name, no problem. You insult Ezra, things get personal and then we have to brawl."
"I can brawl," Sam replies, waggling his eyebrows.
"Jesus," Dean mutters. It's weird, considering how many times he's fucked Sam, that this is making his cheeks burn. But somehow Sam being forward with a stranger makes him feel like a horrified parent.
Because it was all so much more innocent when Sam was saying these things to his brother? Right, well, Dean is fucked in the head and what else is new?
"I didn't mean the suit doesn't fit you well," Sam clarifies. "Just that it doesn't fit you."
"How do you know that?" Dean asks. "We've been talking for like ten minutes. Tops."
"I know," Sam replies, his words coming slowly. "It's the weirdest sensation." He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it and gives Dean an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm not usually-weird. I'm just-" He stops, stares at Dean again, and laughs it off. "So what are you, some kind of investment banker? Alumni, maybe?"
Dean shakes his head. "I work for the government."
"Oh, mysterious," Sam jokes.
"How about you? You're a student. What are you majoring in?"
Sam bites his lip and grabs the bottle he's been serving Dean from. "Guess. Next drink is on me if you guess right."
"Pre-law," Dean says.
There's a fresh drink in front of him in moments. "How'd you know that?"
He grins as he brings the drink to his lips and says nothing. The taste of the whiskey is sharp and unforgiving, but the burn still beats the hell out of answering that question.
"Okay, you got lucky," Sam says.
"Nah," Dean replies. "You look the part."
"Do I?" Sam asks, like he's genuinely surprised.
Dean laughs. "You tell me, I don't know a lawyer from a fire hydrant."
Sam leans in close like he's gonna tell Dean a secret, but then someone at the end of the bar calls out and Sam curses under his breath. "I should probably do my job, huh?"
"Just a few hours longer, Sammy," Dean answers without thinking.
Sam pauses, stares at Dean with his mouth open, and just…blinks.
"You okay?" Dean asks. "I think that kid still needs a drink."
"You're sure we haven't met before?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head and watches Sam walk off, giving the stranger he's serving the same kind smile he'd given Dean.
He waits another hour or so until Sam finally tells him to meet him outside in fifteen minutes, and Dean finds the back exit where Sam directed him. He thinks about leaving during those fifteen minutes, but then the door opens and Sam walks out, looking tired from a long shift, but smiling all the way to his dimples when he sees Dean.
"You waited."
"I'm a patient guy when I want to be."
Sam grins. "That's good for me, I guess."
"Hmm." Dean starts walking, then realizes that he isn't supposed to know where Sam lives. He stops so Sam can lead instead. "So, college boy, what're you doing working a bar on a Tuesday night?"
"My first class on Wednesday is at noon." He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "I need the money."
Dean looks away so Sam won't see the frown that gives him. "You like working there?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "My boss is cool. A little…eccentric, but she's understanding when I need time off to study or something, so that's good."
"Your family doesn't mind you working at a bar?" Dean gives Sam a conspiratorial smile. "And don't even try to tell me you're 21."
Sam licks his lips. "Don't tell the government on me. I really needed a job."
"Our little secret."
"How'd you know?"
Dean swallows too hard. "The smile. You've got a 20-year-old smile."
"I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," Sam jokes. "So, D. What brings you to Palo Alto?"
Dean doesn't miss the mocking way Sam stresses his name. It half makes him want to laugh and half makes him want to punch Sam in the face. "Just passing through."
"On your way to what?" Sam asks, laughing.
"I'm visiting an old friend."
"Then why were you drinking alone?"
Man, Dean's always hated how smart this kid is. When he wasn't loving it, at least. "I came in later than I was expecting. I didn't want to bother him."
"So you went straight to a bar?" Sam tsks. "That's not healthy behavior, you know."
Dean looks up at Sam. "Well, I was hoping I might find some company there. I was right."
Sam stops walking and scrubs a hand over his mouth, raising it in the air and then dropping it like he's not sure what to do with it. "Look, I should tell you, I don't usually do this."
"What, pick people up while you're working?" Dean laughs. "It's not really my place to judge."
"No," Sam says. "This whole-one-night stand thing. I mean, I've never done this before."
"Then why are you doing it now?"
Sam looks away from Dean and starts walking again, leaving Dean to catch up. "I don't know," he finally admits. "You-there's something about you."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Look, I really don't need to be buttered up."
"I'm not buttering you up," Sam says. He turns and makes Dean look at him, like he really needs Dean to understand. "I know how crazy this sounds. But there's something about you. I swear I know you."
"I remind you of someone," Dean tries, giving Sam an out if he'll just take it. "Whatever. I don't care who you're thinking about when we-"
"You don't remind me of someone, you remind me of you. It's like-it's like I know you. Well. It feels important. You don't…is it just me? I feel crazy here, man."
"You talk too much," Dean tells him, rising to his toes and pulling Sam down to meet his lips.
Sam follows the lead easily enough, but when they pull away, he looks a little disappointed. Dean worries for half a second that Sam will change his mind, but instead Sam angles his head toward his building. "That's my place. Third floor."
Within minutes, Sam and Dean have climbed the three stories he's only ever climbed one time before: seven months ago, when he washed his brother away. Who would have thought his resolve would waver so quickly?
Probably anyone who knows Dean, actually.
The clothes come off quickly. As soon as Dean is out of his suit and standing in front of a half-naked Sam in his underwear, Sam takes a step back and smiles. "There you are," he says. "That's much better."
Dean laughs to dismiss it and charges forward, pushing Sam down onto the mattress and getting into bed on top of him. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, unbuckling Sam's belt and pulling it out in one quick, clean tug.
Sam grins, leaning up and cupping Dean's face as if he's gonna kiss him, and then he flips Dean onto his back. "I'm gonna fuck you until the goddamn sun rises."
"I'm holding you to that," Dean answers before Sam shuts him up with another rough kiss.
When the sun finally does begin to peek through the window, Sam collapses off of Dean and onto his back next to him, his breath heavy from exertion. "Holy crap."
"Yeah," Dean replies, sitting up. He crawls halfway onto Sam's chest and kisses him. "That was pretty good."
"I've never-"
"If you try to pretend you were a virgin, kid, I'm gonna laugh in your face."
"No, god no," Sam answers with a laugh. "But nobody's ever known how to touch me like that."
It's goddamn true. He'd worried in the moment before Sam had slipped into him that it would be different this time, that Sam wouldn't know how to drive him crazy anymore, and that would spoil the whole wonderful illusion. But Sam did know, and that was almost worse. It's an awful thing to think-that he fucked his brother up so many times that making Dean come is just an instinct now. Sam doesn't even have to know what he's doing to do it.
Dean can't decide between laughing and crying, so he just kisses Sam again while he still has the option. Sam pushes him away. "Did you feel it, too?" he asks. "Like we were, I don't know, meant to-"
"I'm not into that new age-y shit," Dean says evasively. "I think we had some great sex."
"Yeah," Sam says in a distracted tone. "I guess."
"I should let you get some sleep," Dean tells him, attempting to get out of bed.
Sam seizes him and pins him down. "Stay. Just a little while longer, please?"
"I know you said the one-night-stand thing isn't really your scene, but for future reference, never make that offer to some creep you just pulled out of a bar."
"You're not the only thing I don't remember."
Dean stops trying to get up and looks at Sam, curious to hear where he's going with this.
"Before I came here I was in an accident. I lost my parents and I lost all memory of everything that happened to me before."
"I'm sorry," Dean replies.
Sam shakes his head. "My whole life before. It's a scary thing. I know something must have happened to me, right? But I don't-I don't even miss my parents. I can't remember a goddamn thing about them."
"It's not your-"
"That's not the point. The point is that you-you are the first thing that's made me feel like there's something to recover. I know how weird it sounds. Frankly, if someone was acting the way I've been all night, I don't think I would have gone home with them. But how is it possible that I've dreamt your face every night I could remember, and now you're here, and you're real, and we have this connection-I swear I feel it. How can all of this be happening and you don't know who I am?"
Dean looks down at his hands, the guilt almost strong enough to kill him. "I don't know. I think you're projecting on me. You're confused and you want answers, but I can't give you any."
Sam's lips thin, but he nods. "Yeah, I'm sorry. You can go if you want to."
Dean sits up again; he moves to the edge of the bed and stands up, starting to get dressed.
"Can I have your number, at least? Maybe we can do this again, if you're ever passing through."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Dean replies, giving Sam an apologetic smile over his shoulder.
"Right," Sam answers, punching the sheet next to him. "I guess I can't blame you for that."
Dean finishes buttoning his shirt and gets on the bed with one knee as he begins to work on his tie. He seizes forward, grabbing Sam's face and kissing it because, just for now, that face is his again, and it doesn't belong to anyone else. Not to the preppy guy Dean saw Sam with last fall, not to anyone Sam might date, not even to Sam himself. He's Dean's little brother, and for a few more minutes, that's his face to kiss if he feels like it. "It's not you, okay? You were great, Sammy."
"I hate when people call me that," Sam replies, grabbing Dean's tie and finishing it off for him before patting it down. "But I like it when you do."
"I'm just that likeable," Dean replies.
Sam laughs, pushing Dean away lightly. "I had a really great night, D. So, thanks."
"Dean," Dean says, looking right into Sam's eyes. He wants to hear it from his brother's lips so bad it hurts, and it won't do any harm. Dean is no one to Sam. Sam won't remember this night in a few years. Dean is just as easy to forget as D is. "My name is Dean."
"Dean," Sam says, the smile on his face much brighter than the weak sunlight coming in through the window trying to compete with him. "That's more like it."
Dean knows what he has to do now that he's told Sam his name. He puts on his jacket, feeling the metal of the Neuralyzer as it jostles in the front pocket. He has to wash Sam. He has to make Sam forget this ever happened.
"Bye, Sammy," Dean says, hurrying to the bedroom door before Sam gets a chance to respond.
He can't bring himself to do it. He wants Dean-just those four little letters-stuck in Sam's brain, no matter how much easier it would be for Sam to live without them.
ON TO PART TWO
or
BACK TO MASTERPOST
"I'll have another." Dean holds his empty glass out over the counter as he tries to get the bartender's attention.
The woman serving drinks, a reasonably hot older lady with dark red hair, raises a hand to let him know she's got it. Dean had tried hitting on her, back when he was two drinks in and still collected enough to remember that's a thing he should do, but she'd basically laughed in his face. Normally that would have bothered Dean or made him more insistent, but today Sam was walking his happy ass around campus with some preppy douchebag in an honest-to-god cardigan, and all Dean really wants is enough alcohol to black out and maybe forget his whole life tomorrow.
"You sure you need another?"
Dean looks over to his left, huffing under his breath and rolling his eyes. "You sure it's any of your goddamn business, buddy?"
The man who just filled the empty stool next to Dean gives a quiet laugh, as if he and Dean are old buddies exchanging a familiar joke. It bothers Dean more than it should, really, because there's only one person in the world who knows him well enough to laugh at him like that, and that person doesn't seem to care much if Dean's alive or dead right now.
"This one's on me," the stranger says, sliding a twenty across the bar.
Dean laughs back, dismissing the guy and his concerned tone. "You really think that's gonna work for you?"
"I'm pretty sure, yeah."
Dean finally turns to face the guy, mouth already open in preparation for the rejection he's planning to deliver, but then he gets a look and his lips shut instinctively, urging Dean to take another few seconds to think about it.
The man is hot. Sure, he's pushing 40, gray hair beginning to mix with black, but he's still really, really hot. Under the bland black suit he's wearing, Dean can tell he's built. He's got dark skin and a cocky smile on his face like he knows exactly what's making Dean pause. Dean's a confident guy himself-he can appreciate that smile.
A hot older man who looks nothing like Sam might be just what Dean needs tonight. It doesn't hurt that his suit gives away that he can damn well afford to load Dean with as many drinks as it takes.
"You were saying?" he says after Dean's spent a few long seconds staring at him blankly.
"What was I saying?" Dean replies with a flirtatious smile. "It must not have been very important."
By now, the bartender has had enough time to make their drinks and return. She sets one glass down in front of each of them, and Dean reaches out, immediately gulping down half. He slides his hands up the man's thigh and grins. "I bet we could think of more interesting things to talk about."
For a beat or two, the guy lets Dean's hand linger, looking down like he's tempted, and Dean think he's in for a pretty good night. Then he picks up Dean's hand and puts it back on the counter, shaking his head. "I've got someone. But thanks."
"Then why are you wasting my time?" Dean asks, looking back to the free drink in front of him.
"It was the only way I was sure I could get you to talk to me, for one." Then he tsks and shakes his head. "You really shouldn't drink so much," the guy says, and Dean is rolling his eyes, about to tell him to fuck off because, regardless of how hot he is, Dean doesn't need life advice from a stranger. But then the man adds, "Your dad wouldn't like it, Dean."
Dean nearly spits his drink out. He reaches for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans instinctively, but the guy holds it up. "It slows down your instincts, son, and it's just not good for you."
"I'm not your son," Dean snaps. "Who the fuck are you? How do you know my name? How do you know my-?"
"Slow down, kid, one question at a time."
"Okay, seriously, call me 'kid' or any version of it one more time and I'm going to punch you in the face."
The guy laughs. "It beats the hell out of being called Slick by the same cranky old white dude for twenty years, let me tell you."
Dean blinks at him a few times, so completely thrown by the randomness of that reply that he doesn't even know where to begin. Dad-this guy said something about his Dad. That's as good a place to start as any. "What do you know about my dad?"
"I met your father a few times before he passed," the man replies, more solemn now. "He was a great hunter. Stubborn sonofabitch, but a talented hunter."
"You're a hunter?" Dean asks, voice bordering on incredulous because he's never seen a hunter look so at home in a suit before.
"No, I'm no hunter, but I do hunt."
"Man, you better quit with this cryptic shit and start giving me some real answers-I'm not feeling all that patient tonight." Dean pauses for emphasis. "Who are you and how do you know who I am?"
"My name is Agent J," he says.
Dean freezes up, eyes dodging to the gun hidden in the man's lap, the very illegal one he pulled off Dean. "You're a fed?"
"Yes…and no."
Dean huffs, so J holds his hands up. "Let me explain. There's a diner not far from here. I'd feel safer talking there."
"Why's that?" Dean asks.
J angles his head toward the pool table. "See Baldy and his girlfriend with the purple hair?"
Dean nods.
"Aliens."
Dean gives the couple a closer look and nods. "Yeah, that wasn't even hard."
"Pretty blonde hanging by the jukebox," J says, pointing in the opposite direction.
Dean turns to look at her.
"You been here before?"
"Every time-" He stops himself. Whatever this is, he doesn't need to tell the guy what he's doing in Palo Alto. "I've passed through."
"Ever seen her move?"
"Huh," Dean says. "Alien."
"Yup." J finishes his drink and catches the bartender's attention, smiling and nodding at her. Then he gives Dean a meaningful look, and Dean does a double take.
"No way," he says. "Her? I would have been able to tell."
J shakes his head. "It's the ones who can disguise themselves that you really gotta watch out for."
That's good, sound logic. A soldier's logic. Dad would've liked it. So Dean nods once and gets to his feet. "You've made your point."
J drops a few bills on the counter to cover their drinks, and they both head out, walking in silence until they reach the diner J had mentioned. They take a seat and look around, and Dean laughs under his breath. "I hate to break it to you, man, but if you think there are any fewer aliens in here than there were in the bar, you're not nearly as good as you think you are."
"Nah, everyone in here's from outer space. Ain't no way a human could stomach Grok's cooking." J smiles and gives a friendly wave to the massive man behind the counter, greeting him in a language Dean doesn't recognize. "Difference is, I know these crazy bastards and there's no need to worry about what they'll overhear."
Dean takes a seat at a corner booth. "So what I'm getting from this is that the government really does know about aliens and has been hiding the truth from everyone after all?" Dean laughs. "Spooky Mulder was right."
"You watch too much TV," J replies. "But yes. I'm from a secret government organization that polices and monitors alien activity both on and off the planet Earth."
"That sounds like it came straight out of a pamphlet," Dean says with a laugh.
"It did," J admits. "We're called the Men in Black."
"Alright, that's great, but what does any of this have to do with me?"
"Your father-"
"My father was a hunter," Dean says. "He wasn't some fed."
"No, he wasn't. But I made him a promise that I'd look out for his sons. He said both of his boys would still be hunting, and if I'm gonna keep you safe, I'm not gonna do it by trying to take you out of the fight. I'm gonna train you-"
"I'm trained." Dean shakes his head. "Look, maybe you've got a guilty conscience, but my dad's been dead for nearly five years now. If you wanted to help us, you should have done it when I was 20 and I woke up one day with a 16-year-old little brother to raise. He taught us how to fight. He taught me how to hunt. If I needed you looking out for me, I'd be dead by now."
"We've got a lot of resources," J replies firmly. "Resources your father didn't have. He was one hell of a hunter, and we offered to bring him in, but he was a lone wolf. That's what got him killed, Dean. Don't make his mistakes."
"How do you know what got him killed?" Dean snaps.
J looks down at his hands. "I got there just in time to watch him finish that Yellow Eyed Demon off, but by then it was too late. He'd already been poisoned."
"He killed one?" Dean asks, because he'd never heard of a hunter doing that. He didn't think it was possible. "Was it the one that-?"
J shakes his head. "He's the only human not a member of the MiB to do it, at least in recorded history. But I don't think it was the one that killed your mother."
"You know about my mother, too?"
"They're called azazels, from a planet called Quphraim in the Alactago galaxy. More commonly known as Yellow Eyed Demons because of the pale color their eyes flash just before they attack, the only known sign by which to tell them from humans. They feed on infants-the species doesn't matter to them. In November 1982 one tried to take your brother, Sam, but your mother, Mary Winchester, neé Campbell, died to save him. Your father started hunting aliens as soon as he figured out enough of what happened, raised you boys on the road, sometimes taking you on hunts as well. In December 1999, he thought he found the YED responsible for your mother's death and he went after it alone despite receiving a clear directive to stand back and wait for the Men in Black to arrive."
"Alright," Dean says. "So you did your homework."
"I was still a new agent back then, but I'd heard about John Winchester quite a lot. I was the last person to speak to him, and this is what he wanted for you. Your father was a hero, Dean. I have nothing but respect and admiration for the man, and that's why I've kept my promise. You think you survived the last five years on your own? I told you we have resources-we've been keeping you and your brother alive."
"You've been watching me?"
"Taking care of you," J says. "From a distance, which is where I'd been planning to stay, but your ass needs an intervention."
"I can take care of myself."
"You certainly haven't been doing a very good job of it."
Dean glares, and J shakes his head. "Ever since your brother went to college you've been spending more time drunk than sober. Going on hunts like that. You'll never live long enough to get revenge on that demon if you get yourself killed being reckless."
He shifts in his seat, not liking the idea that this guy he's never seen before knows all about his life, his dad, his brother, and just how much his brother doesn't need him.
"Is that one still alive?" Dean asks. Then he stops and really thinks over everything J just said. "You said he's the only hunter not a member of the Men in Black to do it. Are you saying you guys can kill YEDs?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time, Dean," J replies. "We're government-backed. We've got all kinds of fun weapons. If you want to fight aliens and help some innocent civilians in the process, this is the way to do it."
"And Sam?" Dean asks, swallowing hard because just saying the name out loud these days makes him choke. "What about him?"
"He's doing fine," J says easily, maybe not realizing what a slap in Dean's face it is. "We keep tabs on him, but there's nothing to worry about. No need to make contact."
"'Make contact,'" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. "He's not an alien."
J laughs under his breath. "Fair enough. I've been in the job a long time. The language starts to become second nature after a while."
Dean's foot is shaking under the table, but he can't deny that it's sounding pretty tempting. A real chance to kill YEDs, maybe even the one that ruined his life. A way to watch out for his little brother without having to see Sam and his preppy friends laughing it up all over campus. One great big fuck you to Sam, proof that Dean can make something of himself, too.
"Do I have to wear the stupid suit?"
J looks down at his suit, playing with the loose ends of his jacket for a moment before looking back up. "Man, don't hate on the threads."
Dean's expression doesn't change. "Do I have to wear a suit or not?"
Sighing, J nods. "Yeah, unfortunately we all gotta. Wasn't my idea. I've been telling management for years that we need to get with the times."
"Are you offering me this just because you promised my dad?" Dean's not doing great, sure, but he's not ready to be a charity case, either.
"I told you we've been watching you for years," J says. "What makes you think I don't know what you're capable of? You and Sam. Hell, you may have gotten rogue training, but at 17 you both could have solidly kicked most of our agents' asses. I wouldn't be offering you this if I thought it was going to get you killed. I think you can bring as much to the Men in Black as we can offer you."
Dean licks his lips. "So why now? If I've been ready for so long, why are you just now offering me this?"
"I need a new partner. Someone I can really work with, not one of the idiots they assign me down at headquarters." J drums his fingers on the table. "My old partner K-he's the one that brought me in. I was a cop, just a regular ass cop, and I always thought he picked me at random, 'cause I could run fast and I chased the right bad guy. But I guess it really wasn't all that different from why I'm sitting here talking to you. He came for me because he knew what I lost and he knew I would want a chance to spare some kid growing up the way I did. I don't think you're any different than I was."
"K, is he…? I'm sorry, did he, uh-?"
"Hell no," J replies, laughing. "That grumpy bastard is probably sitting at home in his pajamas watching golf right now. Or whatever retired old white guys do for fun. He's never gonna die."
Something about the way he says it, all those uncomfortable laughs and smiles, like that's a fear he's had to face and fight to master more times than he wants to remember, hits Dean hard in the chest. He can see right through J's joviality because he's been there too many times to count himself. He spent his whole life hunting with Sam; four and a half years raising his little brother on his own when everything Dean had ever trusted to be unstoppable had failed to come home to them. Whoever K is, it's pretty clear he means a lot to J, and that's the kind of working relationship Dean knows you need to be able to depend on if you're going to put your ass on the line on a daily basis.
"So what do I need to do?" Dean asks. "I mean, if I were interested. I'm sure you guys don't just hand me a gun and wish me luck."
"Kid, you'll be working for the government," J says. "You're gonna learn all about the wonderful world of paperwork."
Dean laughs. "Tell me what I need to do," he insists. "I'll do it."
J licks his lips, then looks down. "It's not easy."
"I'm not used to easy."
"You have to give up a lot."
"I don't have much to lose," Dean replies.
J is quiet for a while, then finally he looks up at Dean. "Men in Black don't have identities. We don't have names. We don't have families. We don't have friends-not outside of work, at least."
"What you're saying is-?"
"What I'm saying is that if you want to do this, Dean Winchester gets left behind when you walk out of this bar. You become Agent D and Agent D-"
"Doesn't have a brother," Dean guesses.
J nods. "It's not something most people can do. And I know how close you are to your brother. You wouldn't even be able to visit Sam. As far as Sam would know, you'll have disappeared."
Dean swallows hard. Isn't that what Sam wanted? Isn't that what Dean's been failing to give him? Wouldn't he be doing them both a favor? "I'm in."
"You can have some time to think about it."
"I'm in," Dean says again. His voice doesn't waver this time.
_______________________________________________________________
"Dean?" Sam answers the door with no shirt on, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He's still too skinny, but he's filling out, and Dean doesn't even bother pretending not to look. This might be the last chance he ever gets to really look at Sam. "What are you doing here?"
Sam's hair is mussed up in every direction, and Dean knows from his slow blinking and the slur in his words that he was asleep. But he's waking up by the second, and Dean is the one who isn't ready when Sam's face breaks into a big, dimpled smile as he laughs. "And what the hell are you wearing?"
"Don't hate on the threads," Dean replies. God, listen to him. It's been two months since he was officially initiated into the Men in Black and already he sounds like a broken record.
"You doing a job or something?" Sam says, holding the door open a few seconds longer so Dean knows he's welcome and then turning and walking off toward the kitchen. "That why you're dressed like that?"
"Kind of," Dean answers. He watches Sam flip on the lights in the kitchen and slides into one of the stools set up at the counter between Sam's living room and the half-wall that divides the rooms.
"Jesus," Sam says, scrubbing his hand over his face. "It's four in the morning."
But he's already pulling bread, turkey, and cheese out and setting up two plates.
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Yeah, it is."
"So," says Sam, spreading mayo generously over one slice of bread and much more thinly over another. "You gonna tell me why you're here, in a suit, at four in the morning?"
"A man can't visit his little brother?" Dean asks, looking up at Sam with a grin.
Sam's not playing along. He slides one sandwich, dripping with mayo just the way Dean likes it, across the counter and gives Dean an even look. "My door is always open. You’re the one who never knocks on it."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
Sam hmms and turns back to the refrigerator, putting away the supplies he used to make their sandwiches, half because he's anal retentive like that and half, Dean knows, because he doesn't want Dean to get too close a look at his face.
"What do you want from me, Sam? You want me to drop by every day, pack your lunch for you?"
The fridge door slams shut and Sam turns to face him too quickly. "A little support would be nice, Dean."
Dean swallows the bite he's got in his mouth. "I send you money when I-"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Sam answers, bracing his arms on the counter in front of him. "I haven't seen you in over a year, man. You didn't come here at 4 a.m. to say hi and eat sandwiches."
"I missed you," Dean says quietly. "Just missed you, that's all." He looks up and gives Sam a faint smile. "If you wanna fight, we can fight. But if you missed me, too, you can sit and eat and we can pretend for five minutes that nothing's changed."
Sam sighs, his expression breaking as he starts shaking his head, but he picks up his plate and he walks around the counter to sit down next to Dean.
They eat quietly; Dean looks over every few seconds just to confirm it's Sam sitting there, chewing the way Sam always chews. He's been here on his own for a year of his life, but he still chews his sandwiches six times per bite before swallowing, just like Dean's dumb genius of a little brother always did. He's still Dean's Sam. It would be easier if he wasn't. But then, he won't be by the time Dean leaves, and that thought doesn't make him feel any better, either. The Neuralyzer in the pocket of his suit jacket has never felt this heavy.
"So, tell me," Dean says, grabbing Sam's plate and carrying it to the sink, setting it next to his own. He starts the water, letting it run for a few seconds while it gets hot, and turns to look at Sam over his shoulder in the meantime.
"Tell you what?" Sam asks with a laugh.
"Everything," Dean answers. He looks back down at the plates and starts scrubbing too hard with the sponge as he lies, "I want to hear all about college life."
"You don't, really," Sam replies, his voice sad but close, like he's right behind Dean. Dean stacks the two plates on the drying rack and turns, and, sure enough, there's Sam half a step away, looming above him.
"Sure I do," he says, swallowing hard.
Sam laughs dismissively, looking to the side and then back at Dean. "You go first. Tell me how life's been the last year."
"You know how life's been," Dean answers coolly. "You don't need to hear it."
"You're a fucking hypocrite," Sam says, pushing Dean back until he's all the way up against the sink. "You know that?"
Dean doesn't reply, and Sam doesn't wait for him to. Apparently they're done pretending to have a conversation. Instead, Sam crowds down closer, his mouth meeting Dean's, and Dean reaches into his hair, pulling him in harder.
Fuck, he wasn't supposed to do this. He swore before he knocked on the door he wouldn't do this. It was supposed to be one quick visit, a last look at Sam, maybe a short exchange of small talk just to make sure Sam's still happy here-just so Dean knows what Sam wants before he gives it to him.
But his brother is so damn forceful, so damn strong, so damn magnetic, and Dean can't fight him. What's the harm? One more time. Just one more-it's not like Sam will remember in the morning.
Sam breaks the kiss and Dean leans forward, trying to chase his brother's lips. He laughs at Dean, a cold, bitter laugh. He didn't used to know how to laugh like that. Dean wonders who taught him since he left, if it was some cheating ex-boyfriend or a nasty professor or all the phone calls Dean never had the heart to return. "Done talking so soon?" Sam asks.
"Sammy," Dean whispers. "Sammy, please."
Sam shakes his head, his eyes welling up like he's about to cry, but Dean likes it because he doesn't look so angry anymore. Dean's used to Sam sad, he knows how to comfort. Sam mad, mad at him, is what he can't handle. "Dean," he says in a needy voice. "Why didn't you come see me sooner?"
Dean almost laughs at that, but he's not admitting that he's driven through Palo Alto at least eight times in the last year, not even if Sam won't remember in a few hours. Instead he reaches out, pushing a hair out of Sam's face and smiling.
An hour and a half later, Sam's drawing his finger through the sweat beaded on Dean's back. Dean licks his brother's chest, then presses a kiss against it and smiles when Sam makes a grossed out noise.
Sam huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, and Dean slides his hands down his brother's naked body, slipping his fingers into Sam just to watch Sam pull his bottom lip between his teeth.
"You gonna fuck me again?" Sam asks as Dean feels around inside of him.
And, really, Dean just wanted this, wanted to get a measure of how Sam feels when Dean's stretched him out and left his come dripping between his brother's legs, but it's not a bad idea. "You want me to?"
Dean grins and climbs on top of Sam, and Sam smiles, pushing his hands into Dean's hair and dragging him down for a kiss. "Want you to ride my dick," he whispers in a low, hot tone between kisses.
"Yeah?" Dean asks, beginning to roll his body on top of Sam.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And…" Sam looks over Dean's face and then slowly, deliberately drawing Dean's eyes down, he licks his swollen, pink lips. "Want to suck you."
"Mmm," Dean replies, sliding his hand onto Sam's cock, starting to stroke it so Sam can get hard again. "And?"
"And," Sam says. He stops and takes his eyes off Dean, but one of his hands moves down from Dean's hair to his neck, to the amulet dangling just over Dean's heart. He tangles his fingers in the leather cord and yanks Dean forward for a hard kiss. "I want you to stay."
Dean freezes. This isn't what he came here for. This is just cruel. Sam wants it both ways-wants to abandon Dean and the fight Dad left them and still make him look like the bad guy. He came here to give Sam the life he fucking ditched Dean for, not to get sucked into it. He takes Sam's hands in his own and pushes them away, rolling off Sam. "I should leave."
Sam reaches out, hand on Dean's shoulder to pull him back. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"C'mon, Sam. You were never all that funny, but you at least used to know a joke when you-"
"Don't be cute with me," Sam snaps, giving Dean a light shove. "Don't you dare sit there and tell me you woke me up at 4 in the morning, fucked me, and now you're gonna leave and try to be cute about it."
"I never said I was gonna stay." Dean sits at the edge of Sam's bed, looking around at all the scattered guts of his suit strewn across the room. "You knew I wouldn't. You know why I can't. Don't pretend I lied to you."
"Why not, because you're too busy going on some wild goose chase after aliens?"
Dean looks back at Sam over his shoulder. "If that's all it means to you, Sam. Sure. That's why."
"You don't have to stay," Sam says in a gentler voice. "I'm not asking you to give up hunting. I wouldn't ever ask you for that. Just stay tonight. The sun'll be up in a few hours, that's not too much to ask for, right?"
Dean turns to look at his brother, at that sweet, pleading expression. It's a trap, Dean knows, but he still wants to fall into it. "I can't. I've got work."
"You'll come back, though," Sam asks, drawing his knees up to his chin as he watches Dean pull on his pants and start to collect the rest of his clothes from the floor. "Every now and then, you'll still come visit me?"
"Sure, Sam," Dean says. He doesn't look at Sam because it's a lie and Sam will know and Dean doesn't want to see that he knows.
Sam stays quiet as Dean gets dressed, but he pulls on his sweatpants and follows Dean out to the living room when Dean's leaving. He holds the door open, letting Dean kiss him one last time as he passes. "Are you at least gonna tell me what the suit is all about?"
Dean stops and looks at Sam, realizing that he'd nearly forgotten the whole point of this visit. He reaches into his jacket and grabs his Neuralyzer and puts on his sunglasses.
Sam laughs. "It's six in the morning, Dean. The sun's not even out yet. You look like an even bigger douchebag than usual."
"Look here," Dean instructs, "and I'll tell you about the suit."
Sam does as he's told, and Dean feels a sharp pang of regret as the light flashes out. But he reminds himself why he's doing this. It's what Sam wanted. He can't be normal while he's waiting for Dean to drop in, and, besides, there's a reason Men in Black don't have families. He can get Sam killed with visits like this, and he won’t be able to stay away from his brother as long as his brother lets him through the door.
"Your parents died in a car crash while you were on your way to school." Dean watches concern mix with the dazed look on his brother's face and continues, "You don't remember the accident or anything before it because you hit your head during the crash, but you had a very happy childhood."
Dean is about to take off his glasses when Sam reaches out, putting a hand on his wrist. "What about my brother?"
The question catches Dean off guard. Sure, he's only been doing this a couple of months, but he's never seen anybody ask a question or seem to remember something despite a Neuralyzing. "You don't have a brother."
"No, I have a brother," Sam insists. He blinks a few times, looking confused, but then he nods seriously. "I'm pretty sure."
Dean wants to lose his nerve, but it's too late. He can't half-ass this. Maybe he just needs to make it stronger. He adjusts the settings and it flashes out again and he starts fresh, looking right into Sam's eyes as he speaks. "Your parents died in a car crash when you were moving to Stanford. You don't remember because you hit your head. You never-you're an only child."
Dean slams the door then, not waiting for Sam to come out of it and see some random asshole in a suit standing on his doorstep. He leaves quickly, trying not to let himself look back.
That's it. That's the last time he'll ever see Sam, or at least the last time they'll talk.
Sam won't even miss him.
_______________________________________________________________
"This coffee tastes like dirt," J says. He looks over at Dean expectantly, just like he does every morning, and just like every morning, Dean isn't sure what he's waiting for.
So he shrugs and grins. "But the pie's good." He sticks his tongue out so J can see the mush of crust and cherry on his tongue. "See, pie?"
"Man, that is disgusting," J replies, shaking his head. He wipes his mouth and drops the napkin on his plate. "One day, I'm gonna have a partner who isn't weirdly obsessed with pie."
"There's nothing weird about it," Dean tells him, picking up his plate and drawing it close to his chest. He pretends to pet the top of his slice. "It's okay, Cherry, sweetheart. He didn't mean it."
The pie doesn't respond. Dean has always been partial to the strong, silent type.
"I couldn't help noticing you took a trip to Palo Alto last week."
"It was my weekend off," Dean says, finishing his pie and pulling out his wallet to leave a tip. "What do you care what I did with it?"
"Let's cut the bullshit," J tells him as he gets up and holds the diner door open for Dean. "You went to see Sam. You know why this is an issue. So my question is: is this going to be something I'm going to have to worry about? Because I think I made it abundantly clear when I recruited your ass that-"
"Calm your tits, J." Dean reaches in his pocket to fish out the Impala's keys. "It won't happen again."
J points a finger at Dean, smiling wide, which Dean has already learned is a sign that he might have a gun in his face in a few seconds. "See, that's what you told me when I explained about being an MiB, and yet here we are a few months later having this conversation. You see my problem with this?"
"I Neuralyzed him," Dean says under his breath. By now they're standing on opposite sides of the car, Dean looking at J over the roof. "I went to see Sam to Neuralyze him and I did, so it won't happen again. Can we get on with the job?"
He gets in and shuts the door, leaning over the seat to unlock J's side as well. J is surprisingly silent as he takes his seat, but after a few minutes he finally says, "Shit, D. You know we don't require that."
Dean doesn't even like to hear himself called by his new name, as stupid as that is. He knows he's supposed to internalize it, really become D, but it feels dull and sterilized, like his suit and the black sunglasses. That's the point. He just wishes someone out there knew the Dean Winchester he had to kill, just one person to remember him. He killed that person, though, didn't he, when he wiped Sam's memory? He's trying so hard not to regret it.
"Well, I did it," Dean snaps, starting the engine. "Can we drop this?"
"Yeah, man, that's cool," J says, nodding his head a few times. Then he starts to shake it. "Naw, hell no we can't drop it. What did you go and do that for?"
"It's not any of your fucking business," Dean replies, gripping the steering wheel too tight.
J raises a hand to protest, then drops it. "Guess it isn't," he finally says.
They drive for a little while longer, Zep blasting between them, until J reaches out and turns off the radio. If he brings up Sam again, Dean swears he's gonna fucking lose it.
"My partner, K-"
"Oh, here we go," Dean mutters. J tells his K stories pretty much every time he wants to make a point. Dean actually finds them pretty interesting, usually. K's an MiB legend and J's not far behind in that, so working with a guy who spent 20 years with a man who made history is a pretty cool deal. But whatever the point he's about to try to make is, it's going to be about Sam, and he doesn't know jack shit about Dean's brother. Dean doesn't want to hear it.
"This is the second time he up and retired on me. Did you know that?"
"Huh." Dean watches the road and shrugs. "I guess I didn't."
"Yeah, back when I was newer at this than you are, we did one big job and he said, 'you know what, Slick'-slick, that shit drove me crazy, still does-he says, 'you know what, Slick, I think I'm gonna go sort mail or whatever so you just grab this hot morgue broad and hunt aliens with her."
"Nothing you're saying makes any sense."
"Didn't make no damn sense at the time, either." J waves his hand in the air dismissively. "Anyway, where was I? I Neuralyzed more partners than I can keep track of until I went and got K back. They started calling me the Neuralyzer around headquarters, which got pretty confusing because people didn't know if they were talking about real Neuralyzers or about me-"
"Dude, J, the point."
"Oh, right." J licks his lips. "Anyway, after awhile I was so tired of Neuralyzing people that I completely neglected to do it to a witness on purpose. Which turned out being a really good move, actually, but damn did I get chewed out by the higher-ups."
"Man, I am really failing to see what this has to do with-"
"What I'm trying to say, you impatient little bastard, is that I know this shit is hard. And that it gets to you." J sighs, shifting in his seat. "And you can talk to me if you need to talk to someone. But you shouldn't take the fact that you can Neuralyze away your problems to mean that you should Neural-"
"He's safer this way, isn't he?" Dean asks, looking over at J. "No one can torture him for information. He can't come looking for me and tip my enemies off to who he is in the process. He's just some damn college kid like he wanted to be. What I did I did for the same reason I've ever done anything. To protect him. Which is supposedly what you've been trying to do for five years, too, so you should be glad."
"It doesn't bother you that he doesn't remember you?"
Dean gives J a glare and J shrugs. "Alright, D. Whatever you think is best. He's your brother. Or, you know, he was before you went all Windex on his brain."
Dean lets go of the wheel, blood rushing to his white knuckles as he reaches out to turn the music back on.
_______________________________________________________________
"He's dead, you know. Sam. I went to go get him before I came for you."
In the time it takes Dean to tilt his head in confusion, the alien gets a punch in, three fists hitting Dean's ribs on the right and three more on the left.
"Dammit, D, focus!" J yells.
Dean pretends to double over, grabbing the gun tucked into the back of his sock instead and shooting off half the monster's limbs. He'll never admit it out loud, but these little pistols J makes him carry actually do come in handy.
He backs away from the alien while it's still preoccupied with its newly missing limbs, which gives J a clear shot. He takes it.
The alien makes an angry sound when the bullet pierces its skin, but he looks at D as he starts to slide to the ground. "I ate your little brother," it says in a slithering voice. "I chewed off his long legs first and then I took my time with the rest of him. He didn't stop crying out for you to help him."
D picks up the gun he'd dropped and turns quickly, shooting the alien in the face three times before J stops him. "Save the ammo, kid. He's not gonna get any deader."
"Was he telling the truth?" Dean asks, looking up at J. "Could he have been telling the truth? How could he have known-?"
"Calm down, D," J tells him, giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder. "I told you before we got here that the Milatri could read minds. He saw that you were worried about your brother and used it against you. Wasn't the first time one of them has tried it, won't be the last. You need to learn how to keep your cool during that shit, man, or you'll be the one who ends up dead."
Dean nods, looking back at the corpse. "So he…definitely didn't…"
"Definitely not," J says, taking out his cell phone. "Look, I'm gonna get a cleanup crew in here. I'll handle the paperwork. I'll even make up a good reason for why you shot him in the face so O doesn't send you to five weeks of anger management classes. Why don't you just head home, okay? Get some sleep."
Dean nods, feeling a bit like a pouting child as J pushes him toward the door. He drives home and takes a long, hot bath, and then he drinks his way through what's left in the bottle of whiskey he's got in his cabinet.
He tries to sleep after that, but it doesn't work. All he can dream of is Sam-Sam in pieces, Sam in some alien's four mouths, Sam begging for Dean as he dies alone.
The fourth time he wakes up in a cold sweat, Dean decides to accept he's not gonna be okay until he sees Sam in one piece. Not on the computer screen he usually watches Sam on, the one all the lonely men and women he works with use to keep track of their loved ones. That's not gonna be enough this time. He needs to hear Sam's voice. He needs it, and it's not like he can just pick up the phone and call. Sam wouldn't know him.
It won't be a problem, Dean figures. He went to visit Sam how many times before J tapped him for the MiB, and Sam was never the wiser. He doesn't have to know this time, either.
He calls J the next morning, tells him he needs to take a few days off to get his shit together. J knows he was spooked pretty bad, so he gives Dean a bunch of encouraging words-happens to everyone at first, you handled it fine, blah blah blah-Dean's only half listening, if he's being honest. The rest of his attention is torn between throwing clothes into a duffel (Sam and Dad both would be distressed seeing the messy packing job he does, but neither of them is here to lecture him) and trying to keep his excitement in check.
It won't be so great, he tells himself. Probably it'll be like the last time he snuck a visit to Stanford: Sam will be goofing off with some preppy asshole and Dean will leave more furious than comforted. Maybe worse this time. He won't even be able to pretend Sam's thinking of him this time.
But he'll still be Sam.
"Hey, J, I have to go, okay?"
On the other line, J finally shuts up. Maybe he's realized just how much, how fast, and how loud he's been talking in the effort to fill Dean's silence. "Right, yeah, of course. You just remember you can come to me with anything you need to talk about."
"Sure will," Dean says, rolling his eyes because he knows his partner won't see it.
He's about to hang up when he hears, "Oh, and Dean? Don't do anything stupid."
Dean hangs up then, before J gets a chance to elaborate what some stupid things he could do might be. 'Go visit Sam' was probably at the top of the list, but since Dean never really heard J say it, it totally doesn't count.
He drives to California, which takes days, but if he's gonna be nostalgic, he's gonna do it all the way. Nine months ago, Dean didn't have a government salary and frequent flier miles. When he was Sam's brother, he drove everywhere, and he'll be that again just this once even if Sam never knows about it.
He arrives at night, so instead of going straight to sniff Sam out, his first stop is the bar he used to frequent when these visits were a regular thing. The hot (apparently alien) bartender is still behind the counter. Dean smiles and nods when she waves to him.
His sits with his drink, looking at the glass and thinking to himself, for a long time before a familiar voice breaks his concentration. "You need a refill?"
Dean's head snaps up before can think it through, and, sure enough, he finds himself staring up at his little brother. The name almost falls right out of his mouth, and Dean has to stop himself, close it and just offer Sam a bare nod.
Sam's eyes narrow as he fills Dean's cup. "Have we met before? You look really familiar."
"You'll have to think of something more original than that if you want a good tip out of me."
Laughing, Sam closes the bottle and puts it back on the bar. Dean expects him to move along, but it's a weeknight and there aren't many people in the bar, and Sam seems to decide to linger a few moments.
If he had more faith in himself, Dean would have thought he planned it like this.
"It's not a line," Sam says. He gives Dean a dark smile, eyes sweeping over Dean in a very obvious way. Dean never thought about the fact that Sam would still want him, even though he's no longer his brother, or that it might even make this easier for Sam. He never really thought he'd get a chance to talk to him at all. "It could be, if you want it to. But I really am asking, because I swear I've seen you somewhere."
"Where?" Dean asks, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"You're not a student," says Sam. "And not a professor."
Dean frowns, putting the glass down and staring at the rings of perspiration it leaves on the glazed counter surface. "Don't think I'm smart enough for Stanford?"
"That's not it," Sam says. "You just don't have the look." He leans forward, crossing his arms on the bar, almost as if he was going to kiss Dean. Instead he takes a longer, closer look and shakes his head. "It wasn't here. I've never served you. You sure we haven't met?"
"Nah," Dean says. "We never have. I'd remember you."
Sam laughs. "Now who's using bad lines?"
"It's only bad if it doesn't work." Dean finishes his drink and gives Sam a grin. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad fucking idea. But, well. Sam already saw him. It's not like he'll know or care who Dean is. What's a one night stand? How is Dean supposed to turn him down when he's so Sam? "Is it working?"
"You don't really have to try very hard, do you?" Sam sighs and looks over at the other bartender. "It's working. But so am I. I'm supposed to be here until close."
Dean shrugs. "I wasn't planning to leave until last call, anyway."
Sam smiles. "I'm Sam," he says. "Sam Winchester."
"D," Dean replies.
"D?" Sam fills his glass again. "Is that short for something?"
"Does it need to be short for something?"
"No," Sam replies. "It just…I don't know. It doesn’t fit you. Like that suit."
"Hey, this suit fits me perfectly," Dean says, looking down. "I've got a great tailor. You insult my name, no problem. You insult Ezra, things get personal and then we have to brawl."
"I can brawl," Sam replies, waggling his eyebrows.
"Jesus," Dean mutters. It's weird, considering how many times he's fucked Sam, that this is making his cheeks burn. But somehow Sam being forward with a stranger makes him feel like a horrified parent.
Because it was all so much more innocent when Sam was saying these things to his brother? Right, well, Dean is fucked in the head and what else is new?
"I didn't mean the suit doesn't fit you well," Sam clarifies. "Just that it doesn't fit you."
"How do you know that?" Dean asks. "We've been talking for like ten minutes. Tops."
"I know," Sam replies, his words coming slowly. "It's the weirdest sensation." He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it and gives Dean an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm not usually-weird. I'm just-" He stops, stares at Dean again, and laughs it off. "So what are you, some kind of investment banker? Alumni, maybe?"
Dean shakes his head. "I work for the government."
"Oh, mysterious," Sam jokes.
"How about you? You're a student. What are you majoring in?"
Sam bites his lip and grabs the bottle he's been serving Dean from. "Guess. Next drink is on me if you guess right."
"Pre-law," Dean says.
There's a fresh drink in front of him in moments. "How'd you know that?"
He grins as he brings the drink to his lips and says nothing. The taste of the whiskey is sharp and unforgiving, but the burn still beats the hell out of answering that question.
"Okay, you got lucky," Sam says.
"Nah," Dean replies. "You look the part."
"Do I?" Sam asks, like he's genuinely surprised.
Dean laughs. "You tell me, I don't know a lawyer from a fire hydrant."
Sam leans in close like he's gonna tell Dean a secret, but then someone at the end of the bar calls out and Sam curses under his breath. "I should probably do my job, huh?"
"Just a few hours longer, Sammy," Dean answers without thinking.
Sam pauses, stares at Dean with his mouth open, and just…blinks.
"You okay?" Dean asks. "I think that kid still needs a drink."
"You're sure we haven't met before?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head and watches Sam walk off, giving the stranger he's serving the same kind smile he'd given Dean.
He waits another hour or so until Sam finally tells him to meet him outside in fifteen minutes, and Dean finds the back exit where Sam directed him. He thinks about leaving during those fifteen minutes, but then the door opens and Sam walks out, looking tired from a long shift, but smiling all the way to his dimples when he sees Dean.
"You waited."
"I'm a patient guy when I want to be."
Sam grins. "That's good for me, I guess."
"Hmm." Dean starts walking, then realizes that he isn't supposed to know where Sam lives. He stops so Sam can lead instead. "So, college boy, what're you doing working a bar on a Tuesday night?"
"My first class on Wednesday is at noon." He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "I need the money."
Dean looks away so Sam won't see the frown that gives him. "You like working there?"
"Yeah," Sam says. "My boss is cool. A little…eccentric, but she's understanding when I need time off to study or something, so that's good."
"Your family doesn't mind you working at a bar?" Dean gives Sam a conspiratorial smile. "And don't even try to tell me you're 21."
Sam licks his lips. "Don't tell the government on me. I really needed a job."
"Our little secret."
"How'd you know?"
Dean swallows too hard. "The smile. You've got a 20-year-old smile."
"I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," Sam jokes. "So, D. What brings you to Palo Alto?"
Dean doesn't miss the mocking way Sam stresses his name. It half makes him want to laugh and half makes him want to punch Sam in the face. "Just passing through."
"On your way to what?" Sam asks, laughing.
"I'm visiting an old friend."
"Then why were you drinking alone?"
Man, Dean's always hated how smart this kid is. When he wasn't loving it, at least. "I came in later than I was expecting. I didn't want to bother him."
"So you went straight to a bar?" Sam tsks. "That's not healthy behavior, you know."
Dean looks up at Sam. "Well, I was hoping I might find some company there. I was right."
Sam stops walking and scrubs a hand over his mouth, raising it in the air and then dropping it like he's not sure what to do with it. "Look, I should tell you, I don't usually do this."
"What, pick people up while you're working?" Dean laughs. "It's not really my place to judge."
"No," Sam says. "This whole-one-night stand thing. I mean, I've never done this before."
"Then why are you doing it now?"
Sam looks away from Dean and starts walking again, leaving Dean to catch up. "I don't know," he finally admits. "You-there's something about you."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Look, I really don't need to be buttered up."
"I'm not buttering you up," Sam says. He turns and makes Dean look at him, like he really needs Dean to understand. "I know how crazy this sounds. But there's something about you. I swear I know you."
"I remind you of someone," Dean tries, giving Sam an out if he'll just take it. "Whatever. I don't care who you're thinking about when we-"
"You don't remind me of someone, you remind me of you. It's like-it's like I know you. Well. It feels important. You don't…is it just me? I feel crazy here, man."
"You talk too much," Dean tells him, rising to his toes and pulling Sam down to meet his lips.
Sam follows the lead easily enough, but when they pull away, he looks a little disappointed. Dean worries for half a second that Sam will change his mind, but instead Sam angles his head toward his building. "That's my place. Third floor."
Within minutes, Sam and Dean have climbed the three stories he's only ever climbed one time before: seven months ago, when he washed his brother away. Who would have thought his resolve would waver so quickly?
Probably anyone who knows Dean, actually.
The clothes come off quickly. As soon as Dean is out of his suit and standing in front of a half-naked Sam in his underwear, Sam takes a step back and smiles. "There you are," he says. "That's much better."
Dean laughs to dismiss it and charges forward, pushing Sam down onto the mattress and getting into bed on top of him. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, unbuckling Sam's belt and pulling it out in one quick, clean tug.
Sam grins, leaning up and cupping Dean's face as if he's gonna kiss him, and then he flips Dean onto his back. "I'm gonna fuck you until the goddamn sun rises."
"I'm holding you to that," Dean answers before Sam shuts him up with another rough kiss.
When the sun finally does begin to peek through the window, Sam collapses off of Dean and onto his back next to him, his breath heavy from exertion. "Holy crap."
"Yeah," Dean replies, sitting up. He crawls halfway onto Sam's chest and kisses him. "That was pretty good."
"I've never-"
"If you try to pretend you were a virgin, kid, I'm gonna laugh in your face."
"No, god no," Sam answers with a laugh. "But nobody's ever known how to touch me like that."
It's goddamn true. He'd worried in the moment before Sam had slipped into him that it would be different this time, that Sam wouldn't know how to drive him crazy anymore, and that would spoil the whole wonderful illusion. But Sam did know, and that was almost worse. It's an awful thing to think-that he fucked his brother up so many times that making Dean come is just an instinct now. Sam doesn't even have to know what he's doing to do it.
Dean can't decide between laughing and crying, so he just kisses Sam again while he still has the option. Sam pushes him away. "Did you feel it, too?" he asks. "Like we were, I don't know, meant to-"
"I'm not into that new age-y shit," Dean says evasively. "I think we had some great sex."
"Yeah," Sam says in a distracted tone. "I guess."
"I should let you get some sleep," Dean tells him, attempting to get out of bed.
Sam seizes him and pins him down. "Stay. Just a little while longer, please?"
"I know you said the one-night-stand thing isn't really your scene, but for future reference, never make that offer to some creep you just pulled out of a bar."
"You're not the only thing I don't remember."
Dean stops trying to get up and looks at Sam, curious to hear where he's going with this.
"Before I came here I was in an accident. I lost my parents and I lost all memory of everything that happened to me before."
"I'm sorry," Dean replies.
Sam shakes his head. "My whole life before. It's a scary thing. I know something must have happened to me, right? But I don't-I don't even miss my parents. I can't remember a goddamn thing about them."
"It's not your-"
"That's not the point. The point is that you-you are the first thing that's made me feel like there's something to recover. I know how weird it sounds. Frankly, if someone was acting the way I've been all night, I don't think I would have gone home with them. But how is it possible that I've dreamt your face every night I could remember, and now you're here, and you're real, and we have this connection-I swear I feel it. How can all of this be happening and you don't know who I am?"
Dean looks down at his hands, the guilt almost strong enough to kill him. "I don't know. I think you're projecting on me. You're confused and you want answers, but I can't give you any."
Sam's lips thin, but he nods. "Yeah, I'm sorry. You can go if you want to."
Dean sits up again; he moves to the edge of the bed and stands up, starting to get dressed.
"Can I have your number, at least? Maybe we can do this again, if you're ever passing through."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Dean replies, giving Sam an apologetic smile over his shoulder.
"Right," Sam answers, punching the sheet next to him. "I guess I can't blame you for that."
Dean finishes buttoning his shirt and gets on the bed with one knee as he begins to work on his tie. He seizes forward, grabbing Sam's face and kissing it because, just for now, that face is his again, and it doesn't belong to anyone else. Not to the preppy guy Dean saw Sam with last fall, not to anyone Sam might date, not even to Sam himself. He's Dean's little brother, and for a few more minutes, that's his face to kiss if he feels like it. "It's not you, okay? You were great, Sammy."
"I hate when people call me that," Sam replies, grabbing Dean's tie and finishing it off for him before patting it down. "But I like it when you do."
"I'm just that likeable," Dean replies.
Sam laughs, pushing Dean away lightly. "I had a really great night, D. So, thanks."
"Dean," Dean says, looking right into Sam's eyes. He wants to hear it from his brother's lips so bad it hurts, and it won't do any harm. Dean is no one to Sam. Sam won't remember this night in a few years. Dean is just as easy to forget as D is. "My name is Dean."
"Dean," Sam says, the smile on his face much brighter than the weak sunlight coming in through the window trying to compete with him. "That's more like it."
Dean knows what he has to do now that he's told Sam his name. He puts on his jacket, feeling the metal of the Neuralyzer as it jostles in the front pocket. He has to wash Sam. He has to make Sam forget this ever happened.
"Bye, Sammy," Dean says, hurrying to the bedroom door before Sam gets a chance to respond.
He can't bring himself to do it. He wants Dean-just those four little letters-stuck in Sam's brain, no matter how much easier it would be for Sam to live without them.
ON TO PART TWO
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