Supernatural: Only a Full House Gonna Make a Home

[cherie_morte]

Title: Only a Full House Gonna Make a Home
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean/Lisa
Rating: R for Mild Sexual Content, Off-Screen Disturbing Subject Matter (Violence, Emotional Trauma, Noncon, all that fun stuff that happens in Hell), and Language
Word Count: 10,124
Author’s Note: I don’t know where this came from. I have so much to write, and I am not writing anything, and somehow this pops out. Don’t even ask me, yo. Thanks to Josh Ritter for always letting me steal titles from his music and never giving me annoyed looks about it. Unbeta'd!
Summary: Dean shows up on her doorstep one night, looking more dead than alive. It isn’t so out-of-the-ordinary, except that he has a screaming brother in tow. “The wall broke,” Dean explains, as if that makes any sense, and Lisa is starting to forget why she keeps letting him back in.

She knows. She knows who’s knocking. She knows what she’s going to find if she opens the door. She doesn’t know how she knows, but she knows.

It’s going to be Dean. He’s going to be a mess.

Or it’s going to be Sam, knocking to tell her, with that terrifying dead expression she only witnessed for a few minutes but will never forget, that Dean is dead, and he will never be the one knocking again.

God dammit, she thinks. And what this time? And I’ll kill him if he’s dead.

He’s not dead. She throws the door open and looks up and meets his eyes. He looks awful, about as bad as he did the night Sam jumped into Hell for him, but he’s alive. And Sam’s behind him, clinging to him, looking like…alive would be a generous way to describe it.

“Dean?” she asks, though she wastes no time in moving aside so he can rush into the house, half carrying his brother to the couch.

“The wall broke,” he explains as he passes her, as if that makes any sense.

He helps Sam onto the sofa and immediately begins attempting to soothe him. Sam isn’t bleeding, doesn’t seem to actually be injured at all. But he’s screaming and crying and his giant limbs are trying to fly in every direction, even as Dean struggles to control them and hush him.

“Mom?” Ben’s voice asks from the hallway, and then a more excited, “Dean?” as he rounds the corner.

“Go to your room,” Lisa says immediately.

Ben is hardly in the room before he’s fleeing, doesn’t stay long enough to figure out what’s happening. Lisa figures she’s going to be giving him dessert for dinner for a month to thank him for the out of character bout of obedience.

“Dean, what the hell?” she yells over the chaos.

She knows Dean is too tied up to answer, but she has to say something. She can’t just stand there and let them tear her living room down, though that’s exactly what she ends up doing once the question is out and Dean and Sam don’t even acknowledge it.

Sam fights against Dean’s hold until Dean gives up trying to control him and just backs away. Lisa expects Sam to lash out in the sudden freedom and is looking around for something to duck behind, but to her (and apparently Dean’s) surprise, he stays on the couch. Doesn’t quite calm, not by a long shot, but the yelling stops.

He starts taking huge, gasping breaths, grabbing at the couch like he thinks he’s going to fall. He mumbles something out after about a minute of fighting for breath, but nothing he says is better than gibberish.

She turns to Dean. “Seriously,” she says. “What is this?”

“Please tell me you have an ocean of whiskey in that liquor cabinet,” he replies.

_______________________________________________________________

“Start talking,” Lisa says shortly once she’s poured him a glass. He reaches out for the bottle instead, and, as much as she worked to drive his drinking down, she lets him have it.

“I know I have no right to bring this here,” Dean says. From the dining room table he’s looking into the living room, where his brother is shaking and making weak sounds. A flash of pain moves over his face, forcing him to turn away. “I didn’t know where else to take him.”

“A hospital from the looks of it,” Lisa replies.

Dean shakes his head. “Not for this,” he says, downing a generous sip from the bottle. “No one gonna treat this.”

“But I’m supposed to?”

“No, Lisa.” Dean reaches out and tries to take her hand. She pulls it away. “It happened in Ohio. No motel is gonna let him in. No hospital is gonna let him out or let me near him again. We’ve got family in South Dakota, but I couldn’t keep him in the car that long, not like this.”

“What happened in Ohio, Dean?” Lisa is beginning to see where this is going. Not liking it one bit.

Dean doesn’t seem to hear the question. “I know Ben is here and that this is a lot to ask. But I swear he’s not…not dangerous-please, let us stay for one night, Lise, I’m begging you.”

Dean’s eyes lock on hers. Red rimmed and so close to crying. Even when things were worst, Dean always waited until he was alone to cry. But the tears spill over.

“He’s going to die if I can’t settle him down tonight.” Dean shakes his head, his voice breaks twice before he manages, “He might anyway.”

_______________________________________________________________

There’s no getting anything out of Dean that night, but Sam lets her approach him, even makes an effort to act calm as she gets closer. Lisa speaks as softly as she can manage when she’s fucking terrified, and Sam lets her lead him to the guest room. He stands by the bed idly, biting his lip and looking like a little boy who is ten feet tall and trying not to cry.

All the while, Dean hovers behind her, talking to Sam like a mother hen. Every time he tries to approach Sam, Sam gets nervous again, and Dean must have realized this, because he’s almost cowering behind Lisa, letting her do all the work. She’d be pissed if she hadn’t seen how wild he was when Dean tried to do it.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says softly. “You can get in, okay? It’s your bed tonight.”

Sam looks at Lisa with wide, questioning eyes, and she nods. Tentatively, he sits at the edge, waiting for reproach. When it doesn’t come, he pulls his body into a ball and begins shaking on top of the covers. He stares straight ahead and doesn’t blink for so long, Lisa decides he must have fallen asleep with his eyes open.

“You have a world of explaining to do in the morning,” she snaps at Dean as she passes him, leaning in the doorframe, staring at his brother like he’s watching his house go up in flames. “And if you try to leave before I wake up, so help me God, Dean, you better lose my number and forget my name.”

Dean swallows hard and nods, turning just a enough to grab her arm and hold her before she can leave. “Thank you,” he says.

Lisa shakes her head at him sadly, stands on her toes to press a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll put the sheets on the couch before I go to bed,” she tells him.

“Don’t bother,” Dean responds, squeezing her arm in appreciation and letting her go. “I’m not sleeping tonight.”

_______________________________________________________________

He’s asleep on the floor when she checks on them the next morning, curled at the foot of his brother’s bed like a lap dog. Sam is leaning over the edge of the bed, looking down at him. When he senses her in the doorway, his head snaps in her direction. He’s still crying, just as sloppy as last night, and twitching like he’s in pain no matter how he sits. But he’s quiet, at least.

“Good morning, Sam,” she tries.

He shakes his head.

She makes breakfast. There is probably something else she should be doing. Calling the cops or looking into what it means if someone’s wall breaks-even if she knows it won’t be on WebMD, she’s found a few websites that Dean has sanctioned as more-or-less correct about how to deal with supernatural problems-or at least sitting and figuring out how this became her life so she can be sure not to make that mistake again.

But breakfast is what she would do on any other day, so eggs and toast it is.

She hears shuffling upstairs and goes to check on it, finds Dean trying to coax Sam out of bed. And Sam? He looks like he’s trying. But every tiny movement makes him cry out in pain, and Dean seems just as hurt with each sound his brother makes.

“Dean, what are you-?”

“I know we have to go, Lisa. I’m trying.”

“Stop it,” she says. “Come have breakfast.”

Dean freezes and looks to Sam.

“He’s not going anywhere anytime soon,” Lisa says.

“I didn’t bring him here to dump him on you,” says Dean.

“You didn’t mean to,” Lisa shrugs, “but you did. I’ve accepted it.”

“Just like that?”

Lisa looks at the man trembling on the bed. She’d be lying if she tried to tell herself she liked it. “Just like that.”

_______________________________________________________________

She never does find out what it means that Sam's wall is broken. Dean can't seem to explain it, because every time he tries to, the conversation begins with 'my fault' and doesn’t last more than a few minutes before Dean is dead-ass-drunk, mumbling about as coherently as his brother. After a week, Lisa just gives up asking.

Sam Winchester is a cloud of pained noises and gibberish for the first few weeks. He doesn't know how to chew or how to talk or walk or distinguish Dean from Lisa-and she's pretty sure he has no idea how to sleep, goes days without doing it until his body gives up and shuts down. He's not wild like he was the first night, and, maybe Lisa's been a mother too long, but she stops being bitter about the situation and starts genuinely worrying about the guy the first time he looks at her like he almost knows who she is and appreciates her help.

But, gentle giant or not, Lisa isn’t in love with the idea of keeping Sam in a house with her kid. She sends Ben away at first, tells the parents of his friend that she has a sick relative staying with her and she doesn’t want Ben there until she knows just how sick. It’s not completely a lie, at least.

Of course, Ben won’t stop asking once she finally acknowledges Sam couldn't hurt her son if he wanted to and lets Ben come home. Dean won’t talk about it, and Lisa’s not about to pull a Jane Eyre and try to hide Sam indefinitely.

She explains the situation in basic terms, and Ben nods like he gets it, stays out of Sam’s hair as instructed.

Or so she thinks. Until she passes the room one day to hear muffled voices, and she walks back to find Sam eating a sandwich and drinking a box of apple juice, Ben watching him from the seat by the bed.

“Ben!”

Ben turns away from Sam, who stays focused on his sandwich, looking oddly content. Ben has that look of someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he gets up without being told and leaves the room.

“What did I tell you about going in there?” she asks.

Ben shrugs, glancing back. “He was hungry,” he defends. “Anyway, he seems harmless.”

“Seems.” Lisa gives him a look that is supposed to put an end to any further field trips.

She shouldn’t be surprised that this only makes Ben suddenly curious about what he’d quietly accepted and moved on from. It’s not even a week later that she realizes Ben’s TV is no longer in his room, and she finds Sam staring blankly at Cartoon Network when she checks on him that night.

_______________________________________________________________

Dean sits by his side.

She knew, in theory, that Dean has always been a little too devoted to Sam, and she definitely gets why someone would feel the need to watch over someone they loved in Sam's condition.

But Dean isn't a grieving relative, a comforting presence, a nurse trying to help a patient. He's a piece of furniture. Dean sits by Sam's side. Dean doesn't do anything else.

One night she passes Sam's room and sees Dean in his usual place by the bed, the lamplight soft. She realizes he’s holding Sam’s hand, and Sam is almost conscious, is looking at his brother with warm eyes, even as his lips move in soundless cries.

“You’re gonna make it,” Dean tells him. His fingers squeeze Sam’s, but Sam doesn’t change at all. “You’re not dying, okay?”

Sam frowns at that and closes his eyes.

“You’re not, Sam.”

Nothing happens for a little while, and then Dean reaches out with his other hand, brushes the back of his fingers on Sam’s face. Sam actually seems to relax, moves up into the touch.

“If you do, it’ll be my fault,” he whispers. “You can’t let it be my fault.”

Sam opens his eyes and looks up at Dean. Dean makes a face like Sam is saying something he hates, and he’s about to stand up, but Sam’s thin fingers reach for him.

“I can’t, Sammy,” he says, even though Sam didn’t say anything. “I can’t do that to you, you know that.”

Sam nods like Dean can.

“I’m not doing it, even if it’s better. But if you…if it happens on its own. You didn’t make me promise anything. I’m coming with you if you go.”

Sam whines, but Dean actually smiles.

“It’ll be kind of nice this time, right? You and me. You’ll be okay up there, maybe. And we’ll be,” he laughs softly, “remember what Ash said? We’ll be together, Sammy.”

Sam nods, takes Dean’s hand and stares, again begging for something.

“I’m not doing it,” Dean snaps, then his face goes soft. “I’m sorry, Sam. But I’m not.”

He stops talking, goes speculative for a few minutes as he looks over his brother’s body. Tears start running down Sam’s face, and Dean waits for them to pass before he wipes the sweat and salt water away. He makes sure Sam is paying attention before he starts talking again.

“It’s better, right? Being here instead of down there? We got a few months. And at least they’re not making it worse. They’re not hurting you more.”

Sam laughs coolly; Dean winces. “You’re not mad I got it back?”

Sam shakes his head.

“It’s worse for me, you know, now that I have to see. And worry that you’ll…” Dean leans over the bed and presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “But I’m still glad I did it, Sam. I’ll take care of you forever.”

Dean sounds like a child, and Lisa finds herself wondering if they're both going to get stuck like this, if she'll wake up one day with three kids to raise instead of one. But when Dean talks again, he sounds weathered, older and wearier than Lisa wants to think about.

"I'll die first," he promises. "It should have been me down there to begin with."

It's all Lisa can take, so she leaves for bed and does everything to shut out the rest of Dean's words.

_______________________________________________________________

"It's been a month," he says, first thing when she gets home.

She doesn't bother wondering why he's sitting in the dark, flicks on the living room light to see Dean on the couch, the ever-present bottle cradled under his arm.

"He's alive," Lisa points out. "At least he's alive, Dean."

"You call that alive?" he asks.

Lisa doesn't have much to compare it to. That wasn't Sam she met almost a year ago, Dean has told her a hundred times. But this Sam is much closer to human and therefore as alive as he gets in her experience.

"It's not dead," is all she says. "Or damned."

Dean makes a noncommittal noise, pulls a drink.

"I'm going to make dinner," she says, relishing anything that will get her out of the room, away from the sight of Dean's sorry attempt at coping.

"I'm going to get a job," he says.

"What?" Lisa asks, turning back in the doorway.

"A job," Dean repeats. "We've been here for a month. Eating your food, taking up space," Dean swirls the liquid in the bottle and laughs bitterly, "Drinking your entire town."

"Dean, I know you need to-"

"He doesn't need me," Dean says, like he's learning the words. "I'm not doing him any good. He can stare at the wall just as well without me as with me. I at least owe you this much. We're enough of a burden without the mone-"

"You know me better than to think I'm begrudging you the costs, so save that."

"If I could take away the rest of it and just hit your wallet, Lise, believe me, I would. This is the best I can do."

She shrugs. "You'll have to cut back on the drinking if you want to be employable."

Dean hesitates, then shrugs. "Not doing me much good anyway."

Well, duh, she thinks, but she says nothing.

"So, a job?" Dean asks.

Lisa's insides tie up. It's permanent. Settling. Saddling her with this mess, which he did a month ago, but this is making it official. And as much as she loves him, as much as she used to love that he was staying and they were a family, the idea makes her sick.

Still, controlled chaos is better than not knowing what she'll come home to, and it's true enough that she's been scratching her head trying to figure out how to budget two full-grown men and a kid on her salary without going hungry herself. She sighs and nods, and Dean goes job hunting the next day.

_______________________________________________________________

She's heartbroken on Dean's behalf when Sam doesn't notice. He doesn't get antsy or freak out when a few days pass and his brother spends as much time away as he does by the bedside.

In fact, he begins to improve. She doesn't think it's because Dean leaves, just a natural progression of time. Either he was going to die or he was going to get better, and after a month of fighting through it, Lisa is pretty sure he won't die.

Dean obviously doesn't see it this way. He observes his brother's progress and assumes that the secret ingredient to Sam's recovery is his absence. He stays away as much as he can, which really isn't much. He gets home from work and every waking hour is Sam's, but he starts sleeping on the couch.

Lisa, who teaches classes in the morning and in the early evening, finds herself spending the majority of her days looking after Sam. He doesn't actually require very much attention, and she doesn't mind doing what she can for him.

_______________________________________________________________

She's in the middle of laundry the first time she realizes just how much Sam is coming back.

“Please,” Sam whispers, his voice straining to be heard.

Lisa jumps, nearly drops the sheets she’s carrying. She turns to look at him, double check and make sure he actually said it. It occurs to her then that he's been trying to speak up for the entire time she's been in the room, and she was so used to not thinking he could that she'd only registered his pleas subliminally.

“Please,” he repeats, reaching an arm out to her. “It hurts.”

She shakes her head, terrified he’ll ask her to do what Dean can’t bring himself to. Instead he points to the water on the nightstand.

“It’s too hot. Please, I’m thirsty. Please.”

Lisa pours a cup and hands it to him, watches him drink. He swallows it all in a few moments and blinks at her a few times. “Thank you,” he finally replies, as easy as that.

“You’re welcome,” Lisa answers, and the conversation dies out.

_______________________________________________________________

He doesn't say anything again for another week and a half. She's in his room to pick up his breakfast tray and decides to straighten up a little before leaving. She's debating whether or not to open the curtains and let in some sun when he speaks up.

"I'll marry you for the remote," he says.

Lisa turns and looks at him, and he cocks his head at the cabinet standing at the foot of his bed, where Ben propped the TV. The remote is right next to it.

"What?" she asks, even though she knows what he said. It's more the fact that he's saying anything, making a joke, that she's questioning.

"Not for nothing," he says. "I really appreciate the gesture. He's a great kid. But if I see one more re-run of Courage the Cowardly Dog, I am going to roll off this bed, plunging to my death."

Lisa laughs and takes the remote, automatically setting it to The History Channel.

Sam smiles, and even on the pale, worn face, it's a nice smile. "History Channel," he says. "How'd you know?"

Lisa shrugs, giving him the remote. "Figured you and Dean might have similar viewing habits."

Sam laughs. "Dean hates The History Channel."

"He didn't last year," she replies.

Sam winces. "On second thought." He turns the TV off, and Lisa realizes now that it was the wrong thing to say, can't blame Sam for shutting down.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she says, grabbing up the breakfast tray and beating a fast retreat.

Sam doesn't say anything else to her for days.

_______________________________________________________________

Ben keeps visiting Sam; when he starts talking to Lisa, he starts talking to Ben, too. He's still withdrawn with Lisa, but he almost seems normal when he's talking to Ben. At least he does from the conversations she manages to spy on (and Lisa’s not apologizing for sneaking-no way is she leaving Ben alone with Sam).

Ben takes his video games into Sam’s room and spends the time after he finishes homework playing with him rather than enjoying himself. Lisa can’t imagine Sam is really much of an opponent, definitely can’t keep up with Ben after years of practice. But Ben is endlessly patient, and Lisa can’t help being a little proud of it.

She scolds him half to hell the first time she realizes he’s got Sam playing some war game, because violence and shooting seem like the last thing in the world he needs right now. But oddly enough, Sam actually looks at peace, and, messed up as it is, that’s how he was raised. Lisa’s not getting in the way if it’s making Sam feel at home.

“So, are you, like, my crazy uncle now?” Lisa hears Ben ask one day. She moves up the hall to listen, because it’s too good to pass up.

Sam drops his controller into his lap and looks at Ben askance, then laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess I’m your Crazy Uncle Sam.”

Ben nods and presses a button. “Cool.”

_______________________________________________________________

"What’s the weather like?"

Lisa laughs and casts a look towards the bed. "The weather?"

"That's what people talk about, right? When they don't know what else to say?"

Lisa shrugs and nods.

"I haven't been outside. I don't know what to say about it," he says, playing with the quilt draped over his lap. "I want to talk to you."

On a whim, she pulls the chair by the bed close-Dean's chair-and hesitates before sitting down, making sure Sam won't mind her trespassing on his brother's spot.

He must know what she's up to, because he shakes his head a little, and the long hairs are getting too long, she wonders if he'd let her give him a haircut. "You remember the part where this is your house, right?" he asks.

Lisa knows that he understands better than he's letting on, but she's been speaking Winchester for a year and a half now, and she gets that he's only being a smartass because he appreciates it.

"That's true, it is," she replies, making an effort to look comfortable as she plops down. "So, Sam, tell me about yourself."

_______________________________________________________________

Sam Winchester likes chess, prefers his salads without tomatoes, and knows ten of Shakespeare's sonnets by heart ("if you tell Dean, I'll learn how to walk again and break your china"). His favorite holiday is the Fourth of July, his favorite color is green. There's a cut on the back of his calf that he got when he was nine-his favorite scar. He didn't get it hunting, he got it playing tag on a playground in Nebraska.

Sam Winchester rarely smiles, but, when he does, he usually ducks his head a little, looking up as if it's not something he's supposed to be good at. He laughs easier than would be expected, and it's fuller than Dean's laughter. He can finish a long book in one day, but he forgets sometimes, reads the same one four times in one week and is always just as excited to talk to Lisa about it as he was the day before.

When he's alone, he stares blankly. Lisa never figures out what objects attract his attention, but he can go hours zoned in on one spot without moving. His silence is different now, not the mousy terror-broken by whimpers-that had characterized him for over a month. He reminds her of lions and tigers at zoos: the animals that should be dangerous and bursting with life, the ones who have been tranquilized until they can't do anything but stare out at visitors with a put-down look.

Lisa does what she can to keep him busy, ward away the glazed expression. It starts to work after a while.

_______________________________________________________________

Dean presses her against the wall of the kitchen, kisses her long and hard the first time he finds a stack of books by Sam's bed and figures she put them there. Dean had always talked about Sam's love of reading, even that first weekend they'd met when Dean had hardly said anything about himself, there'd been at least one mention of a geek little brother he left in some other state with his nose in a book. Maybe Dean assumes she remembered that, and she can't bring herself to correct him, tell him Sam asked for them himself. It's the first time Dean's kissed her since they got back.

He sleeps in her bed that night, though he can't bring himself to have sex, and she gets that, doesn't let herself feel too disappointed.

"You should read them, too," she says into the air as they're drifting off. "So we can all talk about them."

Dean turns over and kisses her softly, she can see how soft his smile is from the moon shining in. "You really think he'll start talking again soon?" he asks.

Lisa's heart speeds up, but she tries to keep herself neutral. "He's not talking to you?"

"No, why?"

Lisa bites her lip, decides not to do anything stupid before she can talk to Sam about it, and makes a note to pull Ben aside and make sure he knows not to tell Dean they've been talking for weeks now. "No reason," she says. "Just thought maybe he would have by now."

"I'm learning patience," says Dean.

_______________________________________________________________

She catches them on chapter three of The Road. Dean is sitting in lamplight, still in his work clothes. He looks exhausted, but he's fighting through it. Reading to Sam. Sam is lying on his side facing him, head resting on his arm. He doesn’t look like he's listening to a word Dean is saying. Instead of fixing blankly the way he usually does, his eyes are moving quickly, observing every shift in his brother's face or body language.

He blinks five times when Dean starts winding down, focusing back on the words. By the time Dean looks up from the book, he looks as dull as he hasn't been in weeks.

"I'm tired," he says. "You ready to stop?"

Sam shakes his head.

Dean smiles and laughs like it's a great joke. "Just like old times, eh, Sammy?"

They make it to the end of chapter five that night.

_______________________________________________________________

"Where do you stand on Spongebob and Patrick?" Sam asks, tilting his head to one side.

"Definitely boyfriends," Lisa replies.

Sam nods. "I should be worried, right? When I've gotten stuck watching so many cartoons I'm speculating on the sexuality of sea creatures?"

She picks up a book from the nightstand and taps Sam gently on the head. "I brought you books and the remote," she points out. "If you're still watching the cartoons, I can only conclude that it's your fault."

"Stockholm syndrome," Sam says. "I stared at it for so long I get nervous when I go more than three days without a few hours." He pauses. "Except for Courage the Cowardly Dog. Never will be too soon."

Lisa laughs, then grabs for the remote and turns it off.

"Hey! I've only seen this episode five times!"

"Why aren't you talking to Dean?" she asks.

Sam's expression freezes, then turns hurt. "Don't ask me that."

"Do you know how happy he would be? Or how much you would hurt him if he found out you're talking to me and Ben?"

The silence is unbearably long and heavy, and Sam has aged a century when he replies. "Worse if I did talk to him."

“What did they do to you?” she asks. "What could they have done to scare you into thinking Dean doesn't want to hear what you have to say?"

“You really don’t want to have this conversation.”

“If either of you really cared what I wanted, you wouldn’t be here right now.” Sam flinches, and Lisa regrets it but isn’t quite sure she’d mean it if she apologized. She tries a different angle. “You need to get it out, and you’re not talking to Dean, so.”

“Fair enough,” Sam admits.

“So tell me. What did they do to you?”

“Oh, you know. Fire. Skin torn off, the usual fun, I’m sure Dean’s told you all about it.” Sam licks his lips quickly and looks away, and it’s about the most obvious attempt at hiding something Lisa’s ever seen.

“That wasn’t the worst of it, though,” she says.

Sam shakes his head. “Those things you get used to.”

Lisa closes her eyes, wishing she could stop herself from asking the next question. “What can’t you get used to?”

Sam looks over at her, his eyes wide and moist and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to go back to shouting like he did the first night he arrived. “Dean,” he says gently. “Dean.”

“Did they make you hurt him?”

Sam nods.

“How?”

“Made me make him,” Sam says. He sobs loudly and Lisa doesn’t realize what he’s telling her at first. “I didn’t want it like that.”

“Want-?”

“Dean,” Sam murmurs. “Couldn’t stop it. I wanted him so bad, but not like that.”

Lisa’s eyes go round and her mouth drops, and Sam tries to get himself under control, giving Lisa a pleading look.

“Jesus,” Lisa says, pushing her chair out and standing up.

Sam seizes forward and takes her hand, though he immediately lets go. It's the most he's moved in months, but Lisa can't really be happy for him. “I won’t hurt you, and I won’t hurt Ben,” he promises.

“I know.” She tries to get herself back under control, show Sam she's not about to run away, even if she wants to. She sits back down.

“But I’ll hurt Dean. I always do, and he never admits…” Sam shakes his head and looks down. “That’s what I am. I’m the one monster he isn’t strong enough to kill.”

“No, Sam. It doesn’t count. You were in Hell.”

“I told someone that once. I see where he was coming from when he said it doesn't work like that.”

“Well, that’s just stupid. Why would it be true for him and not you?”

“Because I did want it. I never would have forced him if I had a choice. But I’ve been in love with him since…always.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “God, a little part of me enjoyed it.”

“It doesn’t count,” she insists. “It wasn’t really Dean, and it wasn’t really you.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to make the memories any less vivid.”

They hear the door opening downstairs and Dean calls out a greeting.

"You'll kill us both if you tell him," Sam says, imploring.

Lisa stands to go meet Dean at the door, find some semblance of normal. She pauses before leaving and half turns back to Sam. "I think I'd die a little, too."

_______________________________________________________________

Ben's been begging to go to sleep-away camp with his buddies for months. Lisa had been firm, insisted they couldn't afford it. After Sam's confession, she tells him to pack. It's weeks since the other kids headed out, but she dips into their savings account to get Ben a late registration and they find the room. She sends an e-mail canceling her morning class so she can drive him out the next day, and Ben gets so excited he can't finish his dinner before bouncing back to his room.

Dean smiles, says it was a nice thing to do, and maybe it was, but that's not why Lisa did it. She just figures that when something inevitable breaks between Sam and Dean, Ben shouldn't be around to see it. And if it all ends in Dean leaving, again…well, Lisa doesn't need her son around to watch her mourn him any more than he already has.

Unexpectedly, Sam is smirking when she comes home from dropping Ben off.

"Your son is a smartass," he says.

"Tell me something I don't know," Lisa replies.

Sam inclines his head towards the wall to his right, and a poster of Uncle Sam points at her, "I WANT YOU" slogan in its usual red, white, and blue. She laughs.

"That's the Dean in him," Sam says. He catches her slightly awkward expression and tries to back-peddle. "You know, from last year. He's a bad influence, I can attest to that."

"That he is," she replies, smiling. "Ben won't bug you for a few weeks. He's gone to summer camp."

Sam's lips thin. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't want him in the house with me, either."

"It wasn't like that at all, Sam. I just thought it would be better if-"

"Stop, please just stop." Sam looks at her and swallows. "You don't have to be okay with me."

"I am, though," she promises. He doesn't look convinced, so she sits on his bed and pushes a hair behind his ear. "What they did to you was terrible, Sam. But it was something they did to you. Not something you ever have to apologize for."

"I don't get you," Sam says. "Taking Dean in I get. But you have no reason to put up with any of this from me."

"You saved the world." Sam laughs bitterly; Lisa takes a deep breath. "You saved my son."

Sam shrugs. "It was just a job to me. I was hardly even a part of it." He bites his lip. "And if you knew what I'd been doing on the side…"

"I don't care," Lisa snaps. "I don't care or want to know what you were doing."

He laughs darkly. "Yeah, that's more what I was expecting to hear."

She rolls her eyes. "Even if you want to blame yourself for whatever happened in Hell, it doesn't change why you were there in the first place."

Sam scoffs, and Lisa gets pissed. "You know, your brother suffered a whole fucking lot that year because of what you did. And he had nothing to hold on to but the fact that you did it for the right reason. You owe it to him not to try and cheapen that."

"I don't feel sorry for him," Sam snaps. "I've lost just as much." He pauses, then adds, "More."

“Your girlfriend,” Lisa says. “Dean told me about her. I’m sorry.”

“Jess.” Sam looks down sadly. “She was one of the loves of my life. A guy doesn’t get very many of those.” He looks up at Lisa and shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking of her.”

“Dean?” she asks, weirded out by how normal it seems to talk about this.

“Dean’s the deeper cut.” He tightens his hand into a fist in his lap. "After losing Dean, I can't feel anything else."

"When-how did you lose Dean?" Lisa asks, not quite believing he would have ever left his brother, no matter how bad things had gotten between them (and Lisa's not stupid, she can pick up on subtext, read the guilt Dean struggled with for fighting with his brother in many the off-hand comments he'd made after Sam had gone to Hell).

"Typical Dean," Sam says. "He didn't tell you about that."

"About what?"

"Worst four months of my life," Sam says. "Unless we're counting Hell as part of my life, which I am not."

"Worse than the month after your wall broke?" she asks, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

"He was in Hell," Sam replies. "Trust me, it was worse."

"You're just saying that because you feel better now. You don't remember just how bad-"

"I was down there for 200 years, Lisa. I am never going to stop feeling what they did to me. But at least I couldn't think for that month. All that physical pain, mind mercifully blank." He smiles vacantly. "I could go for that now, in fact."

"God, don’t say that."

Sam shrugs.

"Then you should know," Lisa says. "You should know better than to dismiss whatever Dean had to comfort himself."

"At least I was cleaning up my own mess for once in my life," Sam says. "I had to live knowing he'd gone for me. To fix my fuck-up. As usual. Man, a part of me is never going to stop hating him for that."

Lisa reaches out and squeezes his hand. "He fucks up a lot, huh?" she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "But we love him anyway."

Sam huffs a laugh. "Some of us kind of have to."

Lisa smiles sadly, knowing that she'll never completely understand what Sam's saying. "What do you say to spaghetti and meatballs tonight?"

"Yeah," Sam answers, watching her get up to leave. He waits until she's at the door and then softly says, "Thank you, Lisa."

She knows he's not talking about dinner, doesn't waste the breath telling him he's welcome.

_______________________________________________________________

She's honest-to-God not even trying to spy this time. She's on her way to the bathroom from the study, and Dean's in Sam's room, watching football with a beer on his lap.

"You remember that game we saw the year after Stanford?" Dean asks. He's got Sam's hand between his fingers and he starts shaking it to get Sam's attention. "Remember the killing we gave that other team? Man, I wish I could remember the score."

Sam keeps his eyes on the television, Lisa is about to bypass the moment entirely, but then she sees the corner of Sam's mouth tug up. "41-10," Sam says casually.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Dean replies, and Lisa has to cover her mouth in order to keep herself from laughing at the way Dean's eyes pop when it hits him.

He turns to look at Sam, and Sam's barely-there smile nearly explodes into a grin. "Hey, Dean."

Dean jumps out of his chair and grabs Sam into his arms, pulling him in so tight Lisa's ribs ache in sympathy. Probably, Sam shouldn't experience that kind of pressure, not if he's still in pain like he'd told her, but instead of complaining, he wraps his arms around Dean.

At first he's stiff, not leaning in (though not letting go, either), like he's not sure he's allowed to touch Dean. Then his eyes dodge to the door and he sees Lisa watching, and she nods encouragingly.

Sam closes his eyes, smiles, and buries his face in Dean's neck.

_______________________________________________________________

Dean stays in Sam's room well past midnight, and Lisa can't help sitting up, waiting for him to come in, smiling with his eyes for the first time in an eternity, and tell him that his brother is talking again.

Dean keeps it to himself. He doesn't tell her what happened, but for the first time since he came back, he's not only capable of sex, he's hungry for it. He fucks her three times that night, and it's good, rougher than Dean usually is, but not angry. Exhilarated, maybe.

They were quiet, though. They've got a year of practice keeping it down, so Lisa's pretty sure the noise didn't carry down the hall. Sam's room is even further away than Ben's is. But Sam looks at her very closely the next day, and she has the uneasy feeling that he knows just by looking at her.

She shouldn't feel guilty for having sex with her boyfriend in her own house, much less because his brother's jealous. But somehow she feels like she took something from him anyway. She gets through the chores in his room as quickly as she can, her skin burning every moment his eyes are on her.

"You're both very lucky," Sam says when she's leaving. He doesn't say why, Lisa could very easily be imagining how dark his eyes are. "You're very, very lucky."

"Lucky for what," Dean asks, appearing in the doorway. He smiles brightly. "Because she's got the hottest boyfriend ever?"

He walks into the room, putting an arm around Lisa's middle and kissing her neck. She squirms out of it just a little bit and doesn't miss the way Sam averts his eyes. "I see you've discovered that Sammy's found his voice."

Lisa gives Sam a sharp glare, and Sam has the decency to look guilty. "Yes, I did," she says. Weeks ago, she thinks, but she doesn't sell Sam out.

"Problem's gonna be getting him to shut up now," Dean adds. "I do not envy being home all day with Samantha once she gets chatty."

"Fuck you," Sam says.

Dean laughs. "Next step'll be to get you walking, huh?"

Sam actually looks scared of the prospect, and Dean obviously sees it, walks to the bed and ruffles his brother's hair. "Hey, if you're good for it by the end of the week, we can go out and find you a girl on Friday. What do you say, Lise? We haven't been to a happy hour in ages."

Lisa shrugs. There's no way Sam will be walking by the end of the week, and it breaks her heart to hear Dean deluding himself. Maybe it just makes it worse that she knows how off he is about how to reward Sam.

He ruffles his brother's hair again and laughs. "Trust me," he says, looking at Lisa. "You don't want to deal with this bitch when he hasn't gotten laid. You think he was crabby last month…"

Sam swats at him. "Jerk," he mutters.

Dean looks happy enough to cry. "I'm going to go make sandwiches," he declares, like he's telling them he won the lottery.

Sam waits until he's out of the room, Lisa following close on his heels, before he lets his expression fall. Lisa only sees it because she throws a look back on a whim.

_______________________________________________________________

Dean is practically a little kid with candy that night. He jumps-no, literally, jumps-into bed, talking a mile a minute.

"You're gonna love him," he promises, sliding next to her, giving her a quick, distracted kiss. "I'm so glad you're finally gonna get to know him, Lise. Really him, though, not that thing from before, or…" He shudders rather than naming the state Sam has been in since they came, and Lisa presses a hand on his shoulder to derail the train of thought. Dean smiles at her and leans in for another kiss. "It's gonna be great," he murmurs.

And the thing is: Lisa knows all that. There was a time, a long time, even, when Lisa was sure Dean was delusional. That he was so grief-stricken over Sam's death that he'd put his brother up on some pedestal. Meeting him hadn't changed anything, not the first time she met Sam. She'd been so stricken by how cold he was, heartbroken to see Dean leaving her and Ben and what they offered for a brother who didn't deserve the kind of love Dean reserved for him.

But she knows Sam now. She knows that he's every bit as brilliant as Dean always insisted he was; she knows the way his eyes shine when he's talking about something he cares about; she knows that he's struggled just as hard as Dean has to be the best person he can, and that he, like Dean, doesn't realize how much better he's doing at it than he should be.

Lisa knows that Sam is beautiful, and, in an almost comical moment of epiphany, she realizes Dean is right-she already does love Sam, though not in the way he wants her to.

She's pulled out of her thoughts when Dean's hands slips into her pajama shorts, and she jumps in bed, pushing him away.

"What?" he asks. "What'd I do?"

"No, nothing," she says, shaking her head and trying to smile. "I'm just kinda out of it from today. Think we can go to bed?"

Dean kisses her again and then smiles. "Yeah, okay," he says. He chivalrously waits twenty minutes, until he thinks she's asleep, before he slips out of bed, and she can hear him working himself from the bathroom.

_______________________________________________________________

"Come on, Sammy," Dean pleads. "Just try it for me."

Sam looks at the short distance from the bed to the floor and pushes the covers aside, sitting up at the edge. "Dean," he shakes his head, "I can't."

"You can, man, just try."

He only has a few seconds to look disappointed before Sam is taking the leap, stepping onto his feet and standing at his full, Lisa-had-forgotten-just-how-intimidating height.

And then he's crashing to the floor, knees bending like he just can't hold it, and crying out in pain.

"Sam?" Dean immediately runs to his side, but Sam holds a hand out trying to push him away. "Shit, what'd I do? I thought you were ready."

"Stop, it's okay," Sam gasps. "Ahh, fuck. No, it's really not."

Dean pulls Sam in, tries to calm his brother down by touching him everywhere-which Lisa can just imagine is not working.

"Dean, why don't you give him a little breathing room?" she tries. He doesn't even look back.

"Sam, talk to me, man. How bad is it?"

Sam is quiet for a long time, then breathes deep. "I…I just wasn't expecting it," he says. "God, my feet felt like daggers."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"No, I can get used to it. Just help me up."

Dean does, keeps his brother up with all the strength he's got. "Back to bed, Sammy. We won't try it again."

But Sam's shaking his head, motioning for Dean to step back. "Where you were before," he says. "I'm walking across this room if it kills me."

"No, you're not. You’re getting back in bed."

"I'm used to pain, Dean," he says. Dean flinches, and Sam puts a finger under his chin, forcing Dean to make eye contact. "I really want this."

It takes five hours a day for three days. Dean almost loses his job, gets to keep it because his boss loves the Impala too much to stay mad at Dean, but Dean doesn't even sweat it. He buys Sam a cane in town when he finally goes back to work and spends an entire night alternating between wizard staff and pimp cane jokes. Sam and Lisa exchange looks, raise the volume on the living room TV Sam can finally sit and watch.

"At least I know a good joke when I hear it," Dean mumbles to himself after about an hour without being acknowledged. Sam pats him on the thigh, and Lisa thinks Dean shivers next to her.

_______________________________________________________________

As soon as they split up for bed, Dean is on Lisa, hot and eager. He presses her into the mattress, looking up at the headboard and as he works into her. When he comes, he bites his lip hard, Lisa thinks it might be bleeding, and the realization is incredibly late in coming. Whatever he was about to say was going to be much closer to Sam than Lisa.

She probably should be upset about that, but she's come close to making the same mistake more than once in the last week, and Dean moves down her body, licking into her to apologize for coming too fast. At that point, she loses whatever ability she might have had to be bitter.

Later that night she's walking down the hall, planning to get a drink of water in the kitchen, but she realizes Sam's light is still on. She decides to say goodnight if he's still up or turn it off for him if not and reminds herself to talk to Dean about letting him keep the door closed now that he's mostly recovered. But what she sees when she looks in is Sam with his hand shoved down his pants, his eyes closed tight and the other hand over his mouth, stopping the sounds he might be making. She watches until he comes, forgets to hold back and whispers his brothers name.

She heads back to her room wondering what kind of fucked-up mess they'd all gotten themselves into.

_______________________________________________________________

Whatever History Channel show they're watching is just not distracting her enough, and she doesn't stop to think before she talks.

"He went down on me," she says. Sam makes a surprised sound, somewhere between a gasp and a gargle. "He does a lot, since you two showed up. I think it's his way of saying 'thank you.'"

"Jesus, Lisa," Sam says. "You can't…you can't do that to me."

"And why not?" she asks.

He looks at her, clearly stung. "You know why."

"Yes, I know that. But why not?"

Sam shifts uncomfortably, and Lisa slides her hand onto his thigh, leaning over the bed to kiss him.

Sam pulls her in, long, slow, and deep kiss before he finally turns his head away. "No," he says. "Fuck. What are we-? You're his girl, I can't-"

"I'm not anyone's girl," she says. "We broke up when he left, never talked about being exclusive when he came back."

Sam lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah, but the principle," he tries.

"I know," she says, standing up and pulling her shirt off over her head. "But you know he would never begrudge us this."

Sam looks like he's about to say something, but Lisa touches him, and his head falls back. She straddles him, rides him…when Dean gets home, she doesn't bother trying to stop screaming.

_______________________________________________________________

"You're in love with your brother."

"Jesus!" Dean jumps and turns slowly. "I didn't even know you were in the room. Could've burnt the whole damn house down."

"You're in love with Sam," she repeats.

Dean laughs. "You're one to talk, after what I came home to."

"You're mad, then?"

Dean shakes his head. "I just want you to do what makes you happy."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And you don't blame us. Not either of us."

"You both deserve-"

"Yeah, that's not it."

"What do you want me to say, Lise? That I'm a sick puppy, and I wanna fuck my little brother? Fine, I don't blame you. I would have done the same thing months ago. Happy?"

"Eh," she replies.

"You're not doing this because you're mad at me for that, right? You can't do that to him. You can hate me, maybe you should, but don't fuck him just to punish me. He really likes you."

Lisa bites her lip and Dean smiles sadly, stepping towards her, cupping her face tenderly. "I've seen this coming for weeks," he says. "Can't even be mad, because you're both moving up. And I do want you happy. More than anything. More than I want to keep you."

"Oh, cut the martyr bullshit."

"Lisa, I am dead serious. I know I'm fucked up about him, I don't blame you for thinking I didn't care about you, but I did. And I wouldn't ever touch Sam-I know I'm a pervert, okay?"

"That's not what I'm upset about."

Dean lifts an eyebrow.

"How long did you plan to go through life keeping that a secret, Dean?"

"What's the expiration date on common decency?"

"You have to tell Sam." Dean scoffs. "You owe it to him."

"He's suffered enough. Something like that'll send him right back into hysterics."

"No," she says. "I think that's exactly what he needs."

Dean laughs and turns back to preparing dinner. "You're fucking crazy."

"Yeah, I'm fucking crazy twice, that's not the point."

She can feel him smirking at the joke, knows why he waits half a minute before responding. "Lisa, he's the best thing I've ever had, and I'm not ruining it."

She puts her hands on his shoulder and spins him, looking up into his eyes. "Dean, please, please, believe me when I say he needs to know this. He needs to know you want him. He's not going to recover until-"

"I don't know what your agenda is," he responds. "But that's a pretty sick angle to play."

She gets onto her tip toes and kisses him, even though Dean doesn't kiss her back. "Dean, when have I ever lied to you? When have I done anything to make you not trust me?"

"Never," he answers, putting his arm around her. "But I know my brother and-"

"He's changed, Dean. Hell changed him. I know it changed you."

Dean freezes. "How do you know about-?"

"Sam and I talk, Dean. I know him, too, now."

"Lisa-"

"You were down there how long?"

"Forty years," he says.

"Almost two hundred for him."

Dean looks down.

"And they were worse for him," she adds. "Much, much worse. You know that."

"Why are you brining this up?"

"Because I know more about those years than I want to, okay? I was here, alone with him, for a long time. Dean, please take my advice. Because he might never be okay, and you can't afford to turn down possible cures."

"How is telling him I want to fuck him going to fix anything?"

Lisa pauses to think over how to respond. She can't tell him Sam loves him, it's not hers to tell. But she can give him her honest assessment. "Because if he feels that same way, it's the one thing that can heal him."

Dean shakes his head, but Lisa takes his hand and drags him upstairs to Sam's room.

_______________________________________________________________

She watches from outside the door. Okay, sue her, she spies regularly and doesn't feel guilt over it.

Sam looks up from his book and greets Dean with a sleepy smile. Something warm pools in Lisa's stomach; she can just imagine the effect it has on Dean.

"Hey," he says.

"Heya, Sammy." He moves into the room, looking back once in Lisa's direction before sitting by the bed.

"All right, so I've given Vonnegut a second chance," says Sam. "Just for your sake. And I guess I don't completely hate Cat's Cradle."

"I'm in love with you," Dean says.

Sam takes his hand and smiles again. "What was that?"

"I'm in love with you, Sam. Not, like, brother in love with you. Actually in love with you. I always have been, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I am. So you should-"

Sam flings his arms around Dean's neck, catches his mouth open and holds on to him, pulling Dean back when the other man tries to break for air. Lisa thinks, that's it, problem solved, but as soon as Dean finally pulls away, Sam leaps out of bed on the other side, taking as many steps away from his brother as he can before his back hits the wall.

"Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry." He looks (and sounds) like he is about to burst into tears. "Dean, I don't know how I could-shouldn't have touched you."

Dean is still in shock, doesn't register that Sam is inching towards the door, trying to make an escape. He looks devastated when he realizes Sam is going to make a run for it, starts making apologies Sam doesn't hear. Sam is staring at Lisa, who is blocking his path.

"You did this," he says. "You put him up to this."

"Sam, listen to what Dean has to say. Please?"

"You think that's what I need? Forcing him wasn't enough, you want me to let him force himself?"

"No, Sam, look, I thought-"

"You thought wrong. Really, really wrong."

"Sam, look at me." Dean reaches out, Lisa can only imagine he's running his fingers down his brother's back, soothing in the way he's helped Lisa relax from a hundred bad days at work. "Sammy."

Sam freezes. Lisa nods, so he turns slowly.

"Dean," he says, almost a question.

"Sam, I never thought you-"

"You want, I mean, you don't have to."

"I do," Dean says, moving up to kiss him quickly. "I have to. I want to."

Sam sobs into his kiss, and Lisa presses against his back, sliding her hand down his stomach, into his boxer shorts. Dean pulls Sam's shirt over his head, and Lisa touches him, and together they begin to work it out.

_______________________________________________________________

Upon domestication, Dean got lazy. Lisa remembers when a pin drop could rouse him, will never forget how many nights she woke up because the slightest sound made him shoot awake in bed, ready to face monsters or robbers or anything except the memories in his dreams. Now Dean sleeps like death.

Lisa's the one who wakes up, Sam shifting between her and Dean. He moves his hand over Dean's chest for about ten minutes-at some point Dean makes a content sound, but, aside from that, everything is quiet. He kisses Lisa's neck, thinking she's asleep, and quietly creeps away.

She waits until she hears the door to his room close before she moves downstairs, taking up a spot on the couch, and waits. Sam doesn't let her down in disappointing her. Twenty minutes later, she hears the latch on the door start to turn and she leans over the couch to turn on the lights.

"Going somewhere?"

Sam stops cold. "Lisa, let me go."

"You're an idiot," she informs him.

"I get that you feel obligated-"

"You two are going to drive me to padded walls."

"But it's better if I leave and we both know it." He turns and looks at her, looking resolute and more than a little destroyed. "You two have Ben and you can be a family. You've been happy."

"You're not leaving."

"This doesn't have to be goodbye," he reasons. "I can stop by for barbecues and maybe get a job nearby-somewhere close enough to come on holidays, but not close enough to…" He makes a guilty face. "I'm taking the Impala, okay? I know he's going to be mad at first, but he won't be tempted to come after me if I take it. We can make him let go."

"I don't want that." Lisa throws her hands up. "After everything, you still think this is best?"

"Obviously." Sam laughs. "What we did tonight was a mess."

"We can work on refining our tech-"

"You know what I meant."

"What we did tonight was exactly what we needed to."

"Maybe. Once. What do you think is going to happen? Ben is going to come home soon, you want him to find out about this?"

"He won't, not all of it. But you're part of us now. Part of our family. Ben's, too. You can't leave him without a Crazy Uncle Sam."

Sam laughs but shakes his head, still unconvinced.

"And Dean needs a brother."

Sam looks down, kicks at the floor. "Not one like me, he doesn't."

Lisa grabs Sam's hand and squeezes it. "And I need two boyfriends."

Sam snorts. Lisa tugs at his duffel. "Sam, put it down, okay? We'll talk about it in the morning. If you still don't believe me when you see Dean wake up tomorrow, leave and never look back."

"I am still tired," he admits, clearly wavering. Lisa smiles. "You promise we'll talk about it in the morning?"

"Pinky promise." Lisa crosses her fingers with Sam's and uses the link to pull him back towards the stairs.

They never do get around to talking about it. Lisa likes that just fine.