FIC: The Wandering Kind (SPN, Sam/Dean) (6/7)
ONE/ TWO/ THREE/ FOUR/ FIVE/
PART SIX: All the Tiny Shattered Parts
With the Impala still out of commission, they had to jack a shitty Nissan from a nearby rental lot. Only hours later, they pulled up at the motel that Bobby had directed them to. Sam had been quiet on the drive, only speaking to ask questions that Dean couldn't answer. Dean hoped that Bobby would have something more to tell Sam-and he hoped that Sam's sister wasn't dead, or worse.
Bobby was waiting for them on a bench outside the motel's office. He had a grim set to his jaw and a battered baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Bobby spared Dean a cursory nod, but when Sam followed Dean out of the car, something eased in Bobby's expression.
"Sam," he said quietly. "Hell, boy, it's good to see you standing."
Dean glanced over just in time to see Sam's mouth waver, like he was trying not to cry. He suddenly felt guilty. It couldn't be easy for Sam to know something was wrong with his family and not know what it was.
But Sam said only, "Hey, Uncle Bobby."
Bobby just sighed and tugged Sam into a tight embrace. Then he drew back and stared into Sam's face for a long moment. "I'm staying in room eighteen," he said. "Sam, I think you'd better come with me. I have a lot to tell you."
"Wait a second," Dean interrupted, knowing he sounded like an asshole but not really caring. "What's going on? What's happened to Sam's sister?" And: "We can talk about it just fine out here."
"It's okay, Dean," Sam cut in. "I trust him, okay? I've known Bobby all my life."
Dean looked over at Sam. And oh, but this was a different Sam than he knew. Dean's Sam was smart and sexy and a little scary, a little bit dangerous. But this Sam, the Sam that Bobby knew, seemed a lot younger, and Dean was reminded that Sam was only nineteen. He was a scared kid, and Bobby was probably the closest thing he had to a father, and Dean- Dean didn't belong here.
He didn't realize he was taking a step back until he did, and Sam's expression changed in a way Dean wasn't sure he liked. It didn't matter, though, because if something had happened to Jo, then Sam would probably be going home. Then it wouldn't matter what he thought of Dean.
"Come on, Sam," Bobby said gently. He turned to Dean. "Join us when you're ready. We all three have a lot to talk about." And then he handed Dean a thick manila envelope. It was wrapped in a plastic bag, and Dean spotted a note taped to the side of the package: the United States Postal Service apologized for the delay in delivery.
"I got this in the mail just a few weeks ago. I tried to call you straight away, but your phone was out of service. It's from your father." He glanced at Sam, whose brow was creased in confusion. "Son, you'd better let Dean read this on his own."
Dean barely noticed when the two of them left for Bobby's room, he just sank down on the vacated bench, his sweaty hands sticking to the paper of the envelope.
The envelope had already been carefully opened, but Dean ripped into the paper anyway and pulled out a thick stack of documents. Most of it seemed to be a random assemblage of notes and photocopied maps, but on the very top was a letter written in John Winchester's thick, blocky capital letters.
In the event of my death, I request that the following letter be delivered to Bobby Singer for safe-keeping until such time as it can be given to my son Dean.
Dean:
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Because I probably didn't get the chance for last words, just know that I'm proud of you and always will be. You're a good man and a good soldier.
There's another reason I'm writing this letter. It might be kinder to let you go on not knowing, but you deserve the truth. I can't write it here, but I want you to ask Bobby to tell you. He'll know what you need to hear. This is important, Dean. You can never visit. You can never even call. It's too dangerous, and any unwanted attention could lead to someone getting hurt. Bobby will explain the rest. I'm sorry.
Nothing much else to say. Be smart. Be safe. Take good care of the car. I love you.
Dad
P.S. If you ever get tired of hunting there's $25,000 in a bank account in Milwaukee. You can make a real life for yourself or you can buy ammo. Up to you.
Dean stared at the letter for a long moment. He didn't need to read the rest of the papers. He already knew. But he would read them anyway.
He tossed the letter aside-it was useless anyway, just a bunch of unanswered questions-and and turned to the next page, which said:
(Bobby, please give this to Ellen and to her ONLY.)
Ellen,
If you're reading this, it means some evil SOB finally got the better of me. I just want to thank you one last time for everything you've done. I couldn't be prouder. I wish there was some way to tell him that. Just know that for all my regrets, I have never regretted my decision to come to you for help. My boy couldn't have asked for a better family.
I've never been good with words, you know that, but I was real sorry to hear about Bill's passing. Maybe I'll get a chance to tell you that in person someday and you won't have to hear it in this letter.
John W.
The paper creased between Dean's fingers. He flipped the page over. Scrawled in blue ink on the back of that sheet was a note dated the day his dad died.
Bobby --- Ellen called. My son is dead. It's my fault. Everything I did, I did it so Sam would be safe, but he wasn't safe. If you were here right now you'd be trying to talk me out of this, but you're not, and I've failed my son too many times. I won't let it happen again.
If all goes according to plan, Sam's going to need to know what happened. Dean, too. I'm including some of my notes so they know what they're up against. Maybe this still isn't the right choice, but it's the only one I can live with.
Dean + Sam-please know that I had only the best intentions in keeping the two of you apart.
Sam, there is so much I want to say to you and tell you. I hope you understand why I had to do it. I never wanted to give you up, but there was no choice. Maybe it's best to let things lie, but I'm a selfish old man. I'd rather die knowing that you're going to be a target than live knowing you died and I couldn't do anything about it. You can hate me if you want, I'll understand.
Dean, take care of your brother. He needs you.
I love you both.
Dad
Dean dropped it, all of it, the whole pile of papers. They scattered on ground, the pristine white pages getting scuffed up with dust. He wanted a wind to pick them up, scatter them, but there wasn't even a breeze.
He stared at the pages for a moment, but discovered he suddenly couldn't stand the sight of his own father's handwriting. He turned and walked.
"Dean?" Sam called from behind him. "Dean!" Dean didn't need to look back to know that Sam was going to pick up the letter and read it. He was going to know. He was going to know everything.
Take care of your brother. His brother.
Dean didn't know if he wanted to throw up or cry like a little girl.
*
He didn't get a chance to do either: Bobby followed him. They walked along the side of the road for a while, Bobby following at a good arm's length, before Dean's legs gave out and he sank to his knees. Bobby sat beside Dean on the gravel and was silent for a long minute while Dean tried to breathe.
Then Bobby said, quietly: "Ellen and I - and Ellen's Bill, God rest him - we were the only ones that knew about it. John wouldn't even tell us the whole reason, just said that he could protect one of you better than both from whatever was out there. And Sam was just a baby. We didn't think much of it at the time. Told him he didn't have to do it, but he insisted, and Ellen and Bill had already been trying for years. Course, after they got Sam, Ellen had Jo. Ain't that the way it works." Bobby cleared his throat and stared at the road. There were no cars. "And then a couple years ago, John starts talking about this demon. He was convinced that it had some sort of plan, and that it - that it wants Sam."
Dean lifted his head from his hands, startled from his self-recriminations. "Wants him?"
Bobby didn't look him in the eye. "I didn't know any details at the time. It was John's hunt. Personal. And I've got enough uppity demons on my own watch." He shook his head. "'Course, by the time I figured out that John's demon was a bit more than uppity, it was too late. After Sam died, John called the thing. The way he probably figured, there ain't no other demon that would've wanted Sam back in the running more. He had a bargaining chip."
"And it worked."
"So it seems." Bobby sighed. "It was a damn fool thing to do, but Sam's alive. John would have thought it was worth it. Still, I can't even begin to wrap my head around the mess you two boys are in now."
Dean hung his head and stared at the worn, cracked leather of his boots. "Do you know more about this demon? Where we can find it?"
"I reckon. John's notes are extensive; he spent years after this thing, remember. And I'm not too shabby at tracking demons, myself."
Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. "And this plan? That it has for Sam?"
Bobby's mouth was tight. "John was just guessing at first, back when he first gave Sam up. I thought he was crazy when he first mentioned it to me. But Sam's not the only baby to have his mother die in a burning nursery."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed hard. "Uh. Can you give me a minute?"
"No," said Bobby. "I can't give you a minute. Your brother's sister has been captured by a satanic cult in Gary, Indiana. I've called in some other hunters, but we're closer to her location than anyone, so you two have to work with me on this." He paused, his voice gentling.
"I know it's a lot to take in, but Jo's life is at stake. And I'm not going to let that girl get killed because you can't deal with the fact that you've suddenly got family again."
Dean nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay."
*
Dean waited on the hood of the dinged Nissan. He knew that he should go into the motel room and help make plans for getting Jo Harvelle out of the cult's grasp, but his head was buzzing. Bobby must have told Sam the whole story before he came after Dean, Dean suddenly realized. Sam already knew what they were, what they had done.
It was almost an hour later when Sam came out to find him. Dean's head ached and his eyes itched, but Sam just stood there, watching him. He looked almost as wrecked as Dean felt.
"He told me you died, you know," said Dean. "I didn't know you weren't dead." He smiled grimly. "I coulda taken care of you. We both could've. But instead, he gave you to the Harvelles to raise, so they'd keep you safe. He thought it would be… better." Dean chuckled slightly and then fell quiet. "Why did he think it would be better?"
A long pause. Sam squatted down and his hand closed on Dean's elbow. "Dean."
"What good is it gonna do now, Sam?" Dean shook him off. "For almost twenty years, I think that I don't have a brother - and all along, you were right here, Sam. You were right in front of me, and -"
"You couldn't have known. Shit, Dean."
"I fucked up, Sam. I shoulda been taking care of you." Dean let out a weak laugh. "I'm so angry at him, Sam. I keep thinking, how could he keep this from me? Keep you from me? And then I think maybe you wouldn't even be here now, if not for him. What he did. Would I never have known you?" He closed his eyes. "I'm not angry. I don't know what I am."
Another long pause. Dean couldn't look Sam in the face.
Sam's hand found its way back to Dean's wrist. "I - Dean. Man, I just. I'm sorry. I just can't do this. Not right now."
Dean stopped, opened his mouth. Closed it. Right. "Okay." He swallowed. "It's okay, I get it."
Sam closed his eyes, bowed his head. His hair fell thick over his eyes. "Can you help me? Jo-"
"Of course, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "Of course."
Sam gave him a grateful nod and went back inside the room. Dean could hear Sam and Bobby exchanging a couple of words.
Dean looked out at the road. It would be so easy just to get in the cramped Nissan and go. If he stayed, he'd still have to face losing Sam. It would happen, one way or another. It would just be a longer process, probably more painful.
But Sam needed him. And Jo Harvelle, who liked REO Speedwagon and had a big brother who loved her, needed him too.
He was still sitting there when Sam and Bobby came out of the motel room, ready to leave.
*
On the way to Gary, they stopped to refill at a gas station. Bobby went inside to pay and Sam, who had been riding in Bobby's pick-up, walked over and got in the Nissan with Dean. The silence stretched.
"You want to say something, just say it," Dean said finally, full of dread. Better to get it over with.
Sam bit his lip. "There's, uh. There's an explanation for what happened to us," he said. "It's called genetic sexual attraction. It's rare, but they've noticed it happening in, uh, cases where children are adopted, or -"
"Jesus, Sam!" Dean exploded. He stopped and took a breath before continuing: "Shut up, I don't need the textbook, okay? I was there."
"What do you need, then?" Sam's lips quirked slightly, a mockery of a smile. "I guess... at least now I know why I feel like I've known you all my life, huh."
Dean stared straight ahead.
"Look, Dean -"
"I remember when Mom brought you home from the hospital," Dean interrupted. He hadn't thought about it in years. It used to hurt too much. "You were this tiny little red thing, all wrinkled, and." Dean took a breath. Looked over at Sam's face, reminding himself why he needed to do this. Sam stared back at him.
"You didn't cry much, not at first, and Mom and Dad were just - just crazy about you." Dean huffed a laugh. "They thought you were the best thing ever. I guess I should have been jealous. That's how you're supposed to react when a new baby comes into the family, right? But I wasn't. Not jealous at all. I was crazy about you, too."
Sam's voice was quiet. "Dean."
Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy?"
"What happens if I don't regret it?" Dean could hear Sam's throat click as he swallowed, the moment was that silent. "What if I - not any of it."
Dean had no response.
"Doritos and Slim Jims," Bobby announced from outside the passenger window, and Sam jumped in his seat. "You boys hungry?"
"Starved," said Dean. He swung open his door and reached to take the bags from Bobby.
It was only another hour to Gary; it would all be over soon.
*
Bobby had done his own research in addition to Jo's, and had verified that the cultists were big on the knives and ritual sacrifices, but not so great on the critical thinking or the guarding of prisoners. It was just sheer dumb luck that they'd managed to get the jump on Jo to begin with. Bobby and Sam had come up with a simple plan: one of them would stage a diversion, and the other two would run in, guns blazing, to get Jo out.
"Sorry, Sam," said Bobby, "but I think Dean and I should be the ones to go in. If her dead brother comes to rescue her, Jo's going to be asking a few more questions than we really want to deal with while we're in the middle of the enemy's camp."
"Yeah, I know," said Sam, although he looked like he'd just swallowed a mouthful of piss. "Just call me Diversion Guy."
The camp was just that: a small settlement on a campground in the outskirts of Gary. Bobby had managed to find a hiding place in a wooded area that rose on a small hill over the campsite, and they'd parked the truck there and started scouting out the place using binoculars. There were several regular camping tents, then a couple larger canvas tents that served as places for meetings and meals. Bobby thought that Jo was probably being kept in the smaller of these tents, guarded by three of the cult members. There were a couple of faded pink flamingos stuck in the grass in front of where the guards sat.
"Ready?" Bobby asked.
Sam looked at Dean. Dean nodded, not meeting his gaze. "Ready."
*
Dean could hear the clanging of metal, part of whatever contraption Sam had rigged up to attract attention. He hoped Sam had sense enough to run like hell once he was spotted. God, if the idiot got himself killed again, Dean wasn't gonna feel sorry.
Bobby knocked shoulders with Dean and nodded toward the tent. They went. Sam's diversion had worked: there was only one guard left, an aging bald man wearing long black robes. Dean cracked him over the head with his gun and the man crumpled. Easy-peasy.
"In here," Bobby whispered, and together they dragged the man's unconscious body into the tent. Dean busied himself with tying the man's wrists as Bobby headed straight for the tent's occupant, a blonde girl who was gagged and handcuffed to a chair. The table next to her held the remains of someone's fried egg dinner, flies buzzing noisily around it.
"Bobby!" the girl-Jo-exclaimed once Bobby had the gag off her. "Jesus Christ, I was starting to think I was actually a goner." She was young and skinny, probably in her late teens, and her face and hair were smeared with mud, but there was something about her that was striking. Dean knew the look. This girl was always in over her head but had decided she liked it there.
"Not on my watch," Bobby grinned. "What the hell were you thinking, hunting on your own? Your momma's been worried sick."
Jo produced a paperclip from her mouth, spit it into her palm, then set to work on the handcuffs. "I can take care of myself. I was just outnumbered, that's all." Flippant, like a camp full of devil worshipers trying to get their rocks off was no big deal. She nodded her head at Dean. "Who's the cutie?"
"Dean Winchester," said Dean. "You must be Jo Harvelle. It's a pleasure."
A handcuff clicked free and Jo started on the other. Bobby watched, looking rather amused. "That'd be me," Jo said. "So, should we be getting out of here or something? Mom's gonna kill me."
Bobby nodded toward the tent flap. "We've got a couple of minutes, but Sam-uh, the distraction probably won't last much longer. Time to run for it."
"Oh, goodie," said Jo, and then before Dean had a chance to flinch, she grabbed a frying pan from the table and swung it at Bobby's head. Bobby went down with a grunt and Jo immediately dropped the pan, her palm blistering an angry red. "Fucking iron," she muttered.
Then Jo turned to Dean, her eyes flaring a sickly yellow. "Now, Dean Winchester, how about we introduce ourselves properly?"
/ SEVEN
PART SIX: All the Tiny Shattered Parts
With the Impala still out of commission, they had to jack a shitty Nissan from a nearby rental lot. Only hours later, they pulled up at the motel that Bobby had directed them to. Sam had been quiet on the drive, only speaking to ask questions that Dean couldn't answer. Dean hoped that Bobby would have something more to tell Sam-and he hoped that Sam's sister wasn't dead, or worse.
Bobby was waiting for them on a bench outside the motel's office. He had a grim set to his jaw and a battered baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Bobby spared Dean a cursory nod, but when Sam followed Dean out of the car, something eased in Bobby's expression.
"Sam," he said quietly. "Hell, boy, it's good to see you standing."
Dean glanced over just in time to see Sam's mouth waver, like he was trying not to cry. He suddenly felt guilty. It couldn't be easy for Sam to know something was wrong with his family and not know what it was.
But Sam said only, "Hey, Uncle Bobby."
Bobby just sighed and tugged Sam into a tight embrace. Then he drew back and stared into Sam's face for a long moment. "I'm staying in room eighteen," he said. "Sam, I think you'd better come with me. I have a lot to tell you."
"Wait a second," Dean interrupted, knowing he sounded like an asshole but not really caring. "What's going on? What's happened to Sam's sister?" And: "We can talk about it just fine out here."
"It's okay, Dean," Sam cut in. "I trust him, okay? I've known Bobby all my life."
Dean looked over at Sam. And oh, but this was a different Sam than he knew. Dean's Sam was smart and sexy and a little scary, a little bit dangerous. But this Sam, the Sam that Bobby knew, seemed a lot younger, and Dean was reminded that Sam was only nineteen. He was a scared kid, and Bobby was probably the closest thing he had to a father, and Dean- Dean didn't belong here.
He didn't realize he was taking a step back until he did, and Sam's expression changed in a way Dean wasn't sure he liked. It didn't matter, though, because if something had happened to Jo, then Sam would probably be going home. Then it wouldn't matter what he thought of Dean.
"Come on, Sam," Bobby said gently. He turned to Dean. "Join us when you're ready. We all three have a lot to talk about." And then he handed Dean a thick manila envelope. It was wrapped in a plastic bag, and Dean spotted a note taped to the side of the package: the United States Postal Service apologized for the delay in delivery.
"I got this in the mail just a few weeks ago. I tried to call you straight away, but your phone was out of service. It's from your father." He glanced at Sam, whose brow was creased in confusion. "Son, you'd better let Dean read this on his own."
Dean barely noticed when the two of them left for Bobby's room, he just sank down on the vacated bench, his sweaty hands sticking to the paper of the envelope.
The envelope had already been carefully opened, but Dean ripped into the paper anyway and pulled out a thick stack of documents. Most of it seemed to be a random assemblage of notes and photocopied maps, but on the very top was a letter written in John Winchester's thick, blocky capital letters.
In the event of my death, I request that the following letter be delivered to Bobby Singer for safe-keeping until such time as it can be given to my son Dean.
Dean:
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Because I probably didn't get the chance for last words, just know that I'm proud of you and always will be. You're a good man and a good soldier.
There's another reason I'm writing this letter. It might be kinder to let you go on not knowing, but you deserve the truth. I can't write it here, but I want you to ask Bobby to tell you. He'll know what you need to hear. This is important, Dean. You can never visit. You can never even call. It's too dangerous, and any unwanted attention could lead to someone getting hurt. Bobby will explain the rest. I'm sorry.
Nothing much else to say. Be smart. Be safe. Take good care of the car. I love you.
Dad
P.S. If you ever get tired of hunting there's $25,000 in a bank account in Milwaukee. You can make a real life for yourself or you can buy ammo. Up to you.
Dean stared at the letter for a long moment. He didn't need to read the rest of the papers. He already knew. But he would read them anyway.
He tossed the letter aside-it was useless anyway, just a bunch of unanswered questions-and and turned to the next page, which said:
(Bobby, please give this to Ellen and to her ONLY.)
Ellen,
If you're reading this, it means some evil SOB finally got the better of me. I just want to thank you one last time for everything you've done. I couldn't be prouder. I wish there was some way to tell him that. Just know that for all my regrets, I have never regretted my decision to come to you for help. My boy couldn't have asked for a better family.
I've never been good with words, you know that, but I was real sorry to hear about Bill's passing. Maybe I'll get a chance to tell you that in person someday and you won't have to hear it in this letter.
John W.
The paper creased between Dean's fingers. He flipped the page over. Scrawled in blue ink on the back of that sheet was a note dated the day his dad died.
Bobby --- Ellen called. My son is dead. It's my fault. Everything I did, I did it so Sam would be safe, but he wasn't safe. If you were here right now you'd be trying to talk me out of this, but you're not, and I've failed my son too many times. I won't let it happen again.
If all goes according to plan, Sam's going to need to know what happened. Dean, too. I'm including some of my notes so they know what they're up against. Maybe this still isn't the right choice, but it's the only one I can live with.
Dean + Sam-please know that I had only the best intentions in keeping the two of you apart.
Sam, there is so much I want to say to you and tell you. I hope you understand why I had to do it. I never wanted to give you up, but there was no choice. Maybe it's best to let things lie, but I'm a selfish old man. I'd rather die knowing that you're going to be a target than live knowing you died and I couldn't do anything about it. You can hate me if you want, I'll understand.
Dean, take care of your brother. He needs you.
I love you both.
Dad
Dean dropped it, all of it, the whole pile of papers. They scattered on ground, the pristine white pages getting scuffed up with dust. He wanted a wind to pick them up, scatter them, but there wasn't even a breeze.
He stared at the pages for a moment, but discovered he suddenly couldn't stand the sight of his own father's handwriting. He turned and walked.
"Dean?" Sam called from behind him. "Dean!" Dean didn't need to look back to know that Sam was going to pick up the letter and read it. He was going to know. He was going to know everything.
Take care of your brother. His brother.
Dean didn't know if he wanted to throw up or cry like a little girl.
*
He didn't get a chance to do either: Bobby followed him. They walked along the side of the road for a while, Bobby following at a good arm's length, before Dean's legs gave out and he sank to his knees. Bobby sat beside Dean on the gravel and was silent for a long minute while Dean tried to breathe.
Then Bobby said, quietly: "Ellen and I - and Ellen's Bill, God rest him - we were the only ones that knew about it. John wouldn't even tell us the whole reason, just said that he could protect one of you better than both from whatever was out there. And Sam was just a baby. We didn't think much of it at the time. Told him he didn't have to do it, but he insisted, and Ellen and Bill had already been trying for years. Course, after they got Sam, Ellen had Jo. Ain't that the way it works." Bobby cleared his throat and stared at the road. There were no cars. "And then a couple years ago, John starts talking about this demon. He was convinced that it had some sort of plan, and that it - that it wants Sam."
Dean lifted his head from his hands, startled from his self-recriminations. "Wants him?"
Bobby didn't look him in the eye. "I didn't know any details at the time. It was John's hunt. Personal. And I've got enough uppity demons on my own watch." He shook his head. "'Course, by the time I figured out that John's demon was a bit more than uppity, it was too late. After Sam died, John called the thing. The way he probably figured, there ain't no other demon that would've wanted Sam back in the running more. He had a bargaining chip."
"And it worked."
"So it seems." Bobby sighed. "It was a damn fool thing to do, but Sam's alive. John would have thought it was worth it. Still, I can't even begin to wrap my head around the mess you two boys are in now."
Dean hung his head and stared at the worn, cracked leather of his boots. "Do you know more about this demon? Where we can find it?"
"I reckon. John's notes are extensive; he spent years after this thing, remember. And I'm not too shabby at tracking demons, myself."
Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. "And this plan? That it has for Sam?"
Bobby's mouth was tight. "John was just guessing at first, back when he first gave Sam up. I thought he was crazy when he first mentioned it to me. But Sam's not the only baby to have his mother die in a burning nursery."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed hard. "Uh. Can you give me a minute?"
"No," said Bobby. "I can't give you a minute. Your brother's sister has been captured by a satanic cult in Gary, Indiana. I've called in some other hunters, but we're closer to her location than anyone, so you two have to work with me on this." He paused, his voice gentling.
"I know it's a lot to take in, but Jo's life is at stake. And I'm not going to let that girl get killed because you can't deal with the fact that you've suddenly got family again."
Dean nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. "Okay."
*
Dean waited on the hood of the dinged Nissan. He knew that he should go into the motel room and help make plans for getting Jo Harvelle out of the cult's grasp, but his head was buzzing. Bobby must have told Sam the whole story before he came after Dean, Dean suddenly realized. Sam already knew what they were, what they had done.
It was almost an hour later when Sam came out to find him. Dean's head ached and his eyes itched, but Sam just stood there, watching him. He looked almost as wrecked as Dean felt.
"He told me you died, you know," said Dean. "I didn't know you weren't dead." He smiled grimly. "I coulda taken care of you. We both could've. But instead, he gave you to the Harvelles to raise, so they'd keep you safe. He thought it would be… better." Dean chuckled slightly and then fell quiet. "Why did he think it would be better?"
A long pause. Sam squatted down and his hand closed on Dean's elbow. "Dean."
"What good is it gonna do now, Sam?" Dean shook him off. "For almost twenty years, I think that I don't have a brother - and all along, you were right here, Sam. You were right in front of me, and -"
"You couldn't have known. Shit, Dean."
"I fucked up, Sam. I shoulda been taking care of you." Dean let out a weak laugh. "I'm so angry at him, Sam. I keep thinking, how could he keep this from me? Keep you from me? And then I think maybe you wouldn't even be here now, if not for him. What he did. Would I never have known you?" He closed his eyes. "I'm not angry. I don't know what I am."
Another long pause. Dean couldn't look Sam in the face.
Sam's hand found its way back to Dean's wrist. "I - Dean. Man, I just. I'm sorry. I just can't do this. Not right now."
Dean stopped, opened his mouth. Closed it. Right. "Okay." He swallowed. "It's okay, I get it."
Sam closed his eyes, bowed his head. His hair fell thick over his eyes. "Can you help me? Jo-"
"Of course, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "Of course."
Sam gave him a grateful nod and went back inside the room. Dean could hear Sam and Bobby exchanging a couple of words.
Dean looked out at the road. It would be so easy just to get in the cramped Nissan and go. If he stayed, he'd still have to face losing Sam. It would happen, one way or another. It would just be a longer process, probably more painful.
But Sam needed him. And Jo Harvelle, who liked REO Speedwagon and had a big brother who loved her, needed him too.
He was still sitting there when Sam and Bobby came out of the motel room, ready to leave.
*
On the way to Gary, they stopped to refill at a gas station. Bobby went inside to pay and Sam, who had been riding in Bobby's pick-up, walked over and got in the Nissan with Dean. The silence stretched.
"You want to say something, just say it," Dean said finally, full of dread. Better to get it over with.
Sam bit his lip. "There's, uh. There's an explanation for what happened to us," he said. "It's called genetic sexual attraction. It's rare, but they've noticed it happening in, uh, cases where children are adopted, or -"
"Jesus, Sam!" Dean exploded. He stopped and took a breath before continuing: "Shut up, I don't need the textbook, okay? I was there."
"What do you need, then?" Sam's lips quirked slightly, a mockery of a smile. "I guess... at least now I know why I feel like I've known you all my life, huh."
Dean stared straight ahead.
"Look, Dean -"
"I remember when Mom brought you home from the hospital," Dean interrupted. He hadn't thought about it in years. It used to hurt too much. "You were this tiny little red thing, all wrinkled, and." Dean took a breath. Looked over at Sam's face, reminding himself why he needed to do this. Sam stared back at him.
"You didn't cry much, not at first, and Mom and Dad were just - just crazy about you." Dean huffed a laugh. "They thought you were the best thing ever. I guess I should have been jealous. That's how you're supposed to react when a new baby comes into the family, right? But I wasn't. Not jealous at all. I was crazy about you, too."
Sam's voice was quiet. "Dean."
Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy?"
"What happens if I don't regret it?" Dean could hear Sam's throat click as he swallowed, the moment was that silent. "What if I - not any of it."
Dean had no response.
"Doritos and Slim Jims," Bobby announced from outside the passenger window, and Sam jumped in his seat. "You boys hungry?"
"Starved," said Dean. He swung open his door and reached to take the bags from Bobby.
It was only another hour to Gary; it would all be over soon.
*
Bobby had done his own research in addition to Jo's, and had verified that the cultists were big on the knives and ritual sacrifices, but not so great on the critical thinking or the guarding of prisoners. It was just sheer dumb luck that they'd managed to get the jump on Jo to begin with. Bobby and Sam had come up with a simple plan: one of them would stage a diversion, and the other two would run in, guns blazing, to get Jo out.
"Sorry, Sam," said Bobby, "but I think Dean and I should be the ones to go in. If her dead brother comes to rescue her, Jo's going to be asking a few more questions than we really want to deal with while we're in the middle of the enemy's camp."
"Yeah, I know," said Sam, although he looked like he'd just swallowed a mouthful of piss. "Just call me Diversion Guy."
The camp was just that: a small settlement on a campground in the outskirts of Gary. Bobby had managed to find a hiding place in a wooded area that rose on a small hill over the campsite, and they'd parked the truck there and started scouting out the place using binoculars. There were several regular camping tents, then a couple larger canvas tents that served as places for meetings and meals. Bobby thought that Jo was probably being kept in the smaller of these tents, guarded by three of the cult members. There were a couple of faded pink flamingos stuck in the grass in front of where the guards sat.
"Ready?" Bobby asked.
Sam looked at Dean. Dean nodded, not meeting his gaze. "Ready."
*
Dean could hear the clanging of metal, part of whatever contraption Sam had rigged up to attract attention. He hoped Sam had sense enough to run like hell once he was spotted. God, if the idiot got himself killed again, Dean wasn't gonna feel sorry.
Bobby knocked shoulders with Dean and nodded toward the tent. They went. Sam's diversion had worked: there was only one guard left, an aging bald man wearing long black robes. Dean cracked him over the head with his gun and the man crumpled. Easy-peasy.
"In here," Bobby whispered, and together they dragged the man's unconscious body into the tent. Dean busied himself with tying the man's wrists as Bobby headed straight for the tent's occupant, a blonde girl who was gagged and handcuffed to a chair. The table next to her held the remains of someone's fried egg dinner, flies buzzing noisily around it.
"Bobby!" the girl-Jo-exclaimed once Bobby had the gag off her. "Jesus Christ, I was starting to think I was actually a goner." She was young and skinny, probably in her late teens, and her face and hair were smeared with mud, but there was something about her that was striking. Dean knew the look. This girl was always in over her head but had decided she liked it there.
"Not on my watch," Bobby grinned. "What the hell were you thinking, hunting on your own? Your momma's been worried sick."
Jo produced a paperclip from her mouth, spit it into her palm, then set to work on the handcuffs. "I can take care of myself. I was just outnumbered, that's all." Flippant, like a camp full of devil worshipers trying to get their rocks off was no big deal. She nodded her head at Dean. "Who's the cutie?"
"Dean Winchester," said Dean. "You must be Jo Harvelle. It's a pleasure."
A handcuff clicked free and Jo started on the other. Bobby watched, looking rather amused. "That'd be me," Jo said. "So, should we be getting out of here or something? Mom's gonna kill me."
Bobby nodded toward the tent flap. "We've got a couple of minutes, but Sam-uh, the distraction probably won't last much longer. Time to run for it."
"Oh, goodie," said Jo, and then before Dean had a chance to flinch, she grabbed a frying pan from the table and swung it at Bobby's head. Bobby went down with a grunt and Jo immediately dropped the pan, her palm blistering an angry red. "Fucking iron," she muttered.
Then Jo turned to Dean, her eyes flaring a sickly yellow. "Now, Dean Winchester, how about we introduce ourselves properly?"
/ SEVEN