Fic: That Was The Year (Sam/Dean, R) Part 4 of 5

[smalltrolven]

Part 3
*****

He tries for a while, and gives up, throws his headphones off to the foot of the bed and gets up wrapping a robe around himself, finding his slippers. He heads to the kitchen to clean up after the dinner they’d left out.

The kitchen is spotless, all the food’s been put away, the pots and pans are in the drying rack, the dishwasher is humming. He gets the pie out of the fridge that he’d bought for their dessert. Cuts himself a big slice, pours himself a tumbler of the whisky he keeps in the kitchen for “cooking” purposes and sits at the table. Alone at night this place has a certain low tone, a hum of all the systems working that he’s always loved. It’s soothing, like being on a big ship, cutting through the darkness smooth and sure. The store-bought pie is tasteless and bland so he mostly sticks with the whisky.

He hears soft footsteps and a surprised noise at the doorway. Sam hovers there, uncertain which just kills him. This is how it’s going to be for a while. Until they sort themselves back out again. They’ve done it before after drastic things, but never after something they did to themselves. We chose this. To stay apart for the being who is basically our son. It’s going to be okay, because it has to be.

“Hey,” Dean says, not saying Sam or Sammy, leaving it ambiguous for now. Until he sees what his brother has decided (or not). He stares into the amber liquid in his glass and wishes he could dive into it and not come up for a while.

“Hey,” Sam answers, crossing to the electric kettle, he starts it going and riffles through the box of assorted tea bags Rowena had left with them last time. Something about needing to have a ‘proper cuppa’ available from the heathens.

“We sure that tea is only tea?” Dean asks.

“Pretty sure,” Sam says, not turning around. His shoulders are his brooding shoulders, just like Chuck had written all those years ago. He’s suddenly so exhausted with all of this strife.

“Those are your brooding and pensive shoulders, you okay?” Dean asks.

Sam’s shoulders shake just the slightest amount of movement, and Dean swears he hears a faint chuckle which gives him the teeniest bit of hope. Hey, at least he’s not crying this time, right?

“Yeah, they are, I’ve been thinking,” Sam says, still fiddling with the tea stuff.

“Of course you were, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dean jokes, swigging down another third of his whisky.

Sam turns around and leans against the counter. “I didn’t like how we left things.”

“Me either, that’s probably why we’re both in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”

“We need to…” Sam trails off, seeming to run out of words.

“We need to what, talk about it? What’s the point, you feel the way you feel about the Jack thing. I’m not going to try and talk you out of it, because you’re probably right. We’ll just carry on like nothing happened,” Dean says, leaving out the part about having to stuff his broken heart back in, hide all of it again.

“That’s not what I want to do though,” Sam says, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

It’s been a whole damn day of Sam’s tears, Dean can’t bear it. “Then tell me what you want to do. We gotta get clear on this,” Dean says with a sigh, gesturing at the seat across from him.

Sam brings his tea mug and sits down, arranges himself and eventually looks up at Dean, a determined look on his face. “I want to ask him. When he comes back. But only if that’s okay with you,” Sam says.

“You’re going to ask Jack what exactly?” Dean asks, slow and deliberate, trying to imagine how that conversation would go.

Sam takes a deep breath and then spills what he’s been holding inside. “I’m going to tell him our whole story, all the stuff we haven’t shared with him. I’m going to tell him about all the times we’ve chosen each other, and the soulmate stuff too, because he doesn’t know all of that. And I think he’d need to know all of that to even begin to understand why we’d break this big human taboo. After that, I’ll ask him if he’d understand if we wanted to be together.”

“Like asking him permission?” Dean asks.

“No, not permission, it’d be more like a blessing I guess,” Sam says with a shrug of his shoulders that is anything but casual.

“I…okay, sure, go ahead and try it, why the hell not,” Dean says, sadder then he’d been before, his brother is such a goddamn hero, sacrificing the possibility of being happy just to do the proverbial “right thing”.

“Why does that make you sad?” Sam asks.

“You having to ask anyone besides yourself for the permission to have the thing that’d make you happiest. Because you have to be Mr. Perfect and always do the right thing, be a good example or whatever. And I’d be just fine saying screw it, because I’m a selfish s.o.b. and a shit parent.”

“Dean, c’mon, you’re not a shit parent, cut it out with the self pity b.s.,” Sam says.

“You know what, Sam, on second thought, as his other parent, I’m gonna say no, don’t tell him a damn thing about all this. It’ll mess him up knowing he’s going to be the one standing in the way of us having a chance at maybe being happy together. Why would you want to put that all on him?”

Sam’s sharp intake of breath surprises both of them. “Oh…oh god, you’re right,” Sam says. “I can’t do that to him.”

“Well, there you go, good talk,” Dean says. He stands up from the table, stalks to the sink leaving his pie plate and whisky glass. He walks out of the room, not waiting around for more words or tears or whatever else Sam is going to come up with, he’s done for tonight.

“Dean?” Sam asks, as he’s almost through the doorway.

Dean stops on the top step, pausing to hear what’s next even though it’s the last thing he wants to do right now. He can’t bear to turn around and face his brother.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam says, sounding broken and lost.

“Me too, Sam, me too,” Dean says, one hundred percent unsure that they’re sorry about the same things. He walks away down the hall slow and deliberate, quietly closing his door, then locking it behind him. He needs to be alone with this, at least for the rest of the night. Needs to have time to reassemble himself into a working facsimile of the Dean Winchester everyone is used to. Can it be possible that Sam will let them carry on normally tomorrow?

****

The next morning, Dean wakes up later than usual. He’s muzzy from all the hoo-hah in the middle of the night and tries to not get out of the muffled state of mind. He doesn’t want to deal with any of it or think about where things stand until he’s absolutely forced to. Sam’s not around, probably out running or something, but at least he left a half a pot of coffee on the warmer. He finishes that off with some eggs and toast and heads to the garage to finish up the work he was doing on Baby’s trunk. It seems like weeks and weeks ago he’d been yanking out carpet. So much has changed and so much is still the same.

There’s a pile of the carpet scraps behind her, he drags an empty garbage can over, enjoying the racket of the metal scraping on the cement floor of the garage. He sighs and gets a ‘working in the garage’ playlist going on his phone to fill up the silence. He gets his gloves on, and slowly loads up all the carpet pieces until the can is most of the way filled up. He unlocks Baby’s trunk and pulls up the lid until it stops and holds. He turns the stand light on to have the extra light as he’s working with an X-Acto knife to cut away the carpet that’s still stubbornly clinging to the painted metal of Baby’s trunk.

The playlist ends and automatically restarts, and he’s almost done, one last section towards the far back on the passenger side. His gloved fingers slide into and through an almost invisible X that someone else had made in the very last piece of carpet. They end up resting inside a small hollow behind the carpet. There’s something in there (of course there is, Baby is chock full o’ surprises) and he grips it with two fingers, slowly pulling it back out through the X in the carpet. Is it going to be Dad or Sam related—he has no idea, and no preference really at this point. Either is going to rip up what’s left of the hamburger that is his heart this morning.

The thing in his fingers looks like a hex bag, it’s a small piece of some type of animal hide, softened and treated into flexibility. It’s gathered up at the top into a small pouch, stitched through several times with what looks like the thick black thread used in gris gris bags. He holds it in the palm of his gloved hand and can feel the power of the thing thrumming into his skin. It doesn’t feel like a bad thing, just very powerful, and why the hell was it in his car? How long has it been in there?

He knows he should wait until Sam comes back to open the thing up. But he’s curious, and honestly, he’s still prickly as hell and doesn’t want to seek him out quite yet. He sets it on Baby’s hood and watches as the vibrations travel into the car and stop. It’s almost like it’s  tuned to her, maybe even made for her, is that even a thing?

When did they first encounter these spell bags? It had been Missouri Mosley, when she showed them how to make the bags to get rid of the poltergeist in their old home. There’d been a few other types of bags over the years they’d learned about too, used either for luck or hexes. Could this be something Missouri had made for their dad to keep their car safe since it was practically their home back then? He picks the thing back up and looks at it more closely. There are markings on the hide, that look like they’d bled through from the other side. Now he knows he has to open it up. He’s about to pull on one end of dangling black string when he stops—interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling into the garage.

He looks up and confirms that Cas and Jack are back. Jack grins at him through the truck’s windshield and waves. Dean puts the bag back down on Baby’s hood and waves back. He schools his face into something he hopes looks close to normal and tries his best not to think or feel anything about what happened yesterday.

“Hi, Dean, we’re back!” Jack yells as he gets out of the truck.

“How’d it go with the vampires?” Dean asks, smiling because Jack’s enthusiasm for the hunt and going places as well as coming home is something he knows he has managed to pass on to him.

“There weren’t any,” Jack says, sounding disappointed.

“It was instead a very confused high schooler, in what he called ‘vampire-training’. We got him to the proper authorities,” Cas says.

“Well, I’m glad you guys went and checked it out,” Dean says, pausing the music playback on his phone.

“What are you doing to Baby?” Jack asks.

Dean grins at Jack’s use of his pet name for the car. “I’m fixing up the carpet in her trunk. It got wet when we had that leak a few months ago. Remember when Garth was stuck in there for so long? He messed up some of the weather stripping seals that keep water out. Sam was complaining about it making our duffle bags smell musty.”

“Another thing off the honey-do list,” Jack says.

“What did you say?” Dean asks, whipping around to see if Jack is joking.

Jack looks surprised at his response. “Honey-do list, like in that Foghat song we were listening to last week in the car.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, he’d forgotten about Jack’s near-perfect recall because it’s seriously a little bit scary.

Jack sings the chorus, perfectly on key of course, “Honey do list, honey do that, honey do this and do it just like that, do it just like that.”

Dean’s not sure what to say or how to react, because Jack’s right, that’s the chorus of the song. And whether he’s admitted it to himself or not, that’s definitely what fixing the carpet was, a honey-do list thing. But the rest of that song’s lyrics are all about what else is on that couple’s honey-do list. As in doing each other, wait—is that how Jack thinks of Sam and him?

“Is that…uh, how you think of Sam and me, like the people in that song?” Dean asks, dreading the answer, this is going to be as bad as having to give Sam the birds and bees talk.

“Well, yeah, of course. Because you guys are, aren’t you?” Jack asks, that guileless smile that lights up his face makes Dean’s heart pulse with relief. Their kid already knows, in that way that kids figure things out on their own, not always getting the details right. The best part is that he’s okay with it.

“Not exactly,” Dean says, knowing he’s stalling, “But in some ways we are, sure.”

“Just not the kissing and sex part, yeah I know, I know. Cas told me you’re constipated about all that.”

Dean glares over at Cas who is attempting to look innocent and not like he’s about to laugh until he keels over.

“Constipated…Cas, exactly what in the fuck did you tell him?” Dean asks, keeping up the glare even though Cas is now laughing.

Cas sobers up when he sees the intensity of Dean’s glare. “The truth of course, that you and your brother, even though you are chosen by God to be soulmates have not let yourselves break the laws of human society. In a word—constipated.”

“Even though those laws are totally stupid, and don’t really apply in your case,” Jack adds with a one-sided grin.

“Oh really,” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at that answer and that grin. “Do go on.”

“Yeah, if you love each other like you guys do, then what is the problem?” Jack asks.

“Indeed, I have always wondered this myself,” Cas says.

“Well, it would have been nice if you could have said something at some point over the last what—eleven years,” Dean says.

“I am quite certain that you would not have reacted well if I had brought the subject up at any point in the past. In fact I am very surprised that we are having this discussion at all,” Cas says, looking at Dean with an annoying level of sympathy.

“Me too,” Dean manages to say.

“I’m not, I’ve been wanting to talk about it for a while now. Ever since I came back,” Jack says.

Dean knows there’s been some changes in Jack after being dead and in the Empty for all that time, and they haven’t figured them all out quite yet. Subject for another day. The topic of him and Sam is a little more immediate, even though he’d rather not talk about it with anyone, except maybe Sam.

“Go talk to Sam about it then, I’m sure he’ll have lots to say,” Dean suggests.

Cas raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, I’ll go look for him,” Jack says and lopes off into the hall.

“That was about a million kinds of weird,” Dean says.

“Yes, it was indeed, but that is our Jack. Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks.

“No, I’m not—long story, and I really don’t want to get into it right now,” Dean says, massaging the back of his neck and avoiding Cas’ eyes.

“Like I said, constipated,” Cas says, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

Dean scowls and chooses to ignore the poke. “Hey, can you tell me what this thing is, good or bad-wise? I found it in a hidey-hole when I was ripping out the old carpet.” Dean points at the gris gris bag sitting on the Impala’s hood.

Cas walks over and peers down at it, he puts a hand out towards it and the faint light that Dean has always called his scanner goes over the surface of the bag. Cas picks it up and holds it between his two hands and closes his eyes.

“This has a lot of power, it seems to be on the protective spectrum, but it is quite unusual,” Cas says, setting the bag back down on the car. He watches it settle down as soon as it’s back in contact with the car’s hood. “It seems to be tuned to protecting this car and only this car.”

“Protecting how exactly?” Dean asks. “Like keeping it safe?”

“No, not like a shield that repels harm, something more akin to protecting it from human tracking, or observation.”

“That explains a lot. Can you tell how old it is?” Dean asks.

“I cannot pinpoint it exactly, but I would say it is likely to be as old as your brother,” Cas says. “I would recommend leaving it in the car."

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean says.

“Speaking of your brother, are you and Sam okay?” Cas asks.

“Why, are you detecting a disturbance in the Force?” Dean jokes.

“Actually yes, there is a pall over this place, I’m sensing more sadness,” Cas says. “More than usual, I mean.”

“Well, there’s been a lot to be sad about lately,” Dean says.

“True, I am here if you need someone to talk to,” Cas offers.

“Yeah, I know, thanks. Hey, can you go check on Jack and Sam? I want to finish this up,” Dean says.

Cas nods and heads down the hall in the same direction Jack left. Dean leaves the bag where it is, Sam should see it before he buries it back in the trunk again. Dean cuts away the rest of the carpet and switches off the light, imagining his dad asking Missouri to make him something to keep his car un-trackable. Or maybe she’d put it in there without him even knowing about it, since he’d been so against anything magic. That’s a definite possibility.

Dean heads straight to the showers then, he feels grimy from working with the old carpet. He’s enjoying a long, hot, think-nothing, feel-nothing shower when he realizes he’s being watched. He rinses his face off and opens his eyes. Sam tracks the length of his body, lingering wherever he wants. Dean feels even warmer under his brother’s scrutiny. Dean shuts the water off, suddenly angry. They aren’t this, they can’t have this or do this, so what the hell does Sam think he’s doing?

He turns away from Sam and wraps a towel around his lower half.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sam says, finally breaking the silence.

Dean doesn’t say anything, Sam had looked anything but sorry. He gets his shaving kit and starts shaving at the sink furthest from the door where Sam is still hovering.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Sam asks, sounding hesitant and yes, sorry.

Dean looks at him in the mirror, sees his down-turned eyes and slumped shoulders. “Sure, just let me finish.” He concentrates on the last few strokes of the razor, knowing that Sam is tracking it with his eyes, which is making his hand almost shake. He’s not going to be able to ignore this stuff and just deal, this is going to be worse than he’d thought, both of them knowing and being stuck in never-ever land. He rinses off the razor and slaps on the after-shave he’s used for years, gasping at the shock of the alcohol and breathing in the scent that he still enjoys. He sees Sam’s nostrils flare, and then Sam is smiling, even with his eyes.

“What the heck are you smiling about?” Dean asks, packing up his shaving kit and setting it on the shelf.

“It’s…well it just hit me, I’ve been watching you shave almost my whole life. And you’ve always used that same aftershave, the smell of it is a constant I never noticed.”

“Go write it in your journal or something,” Dean grumps. “I’m gonna go get some clothes on, then we can talk.”

Sam follows him, even through his door that he nearly closes in Sam’s face. Sam sits down in the desk chair.

“I won’t look,” Sam says, blushing and turning away to give him privacy. It’s fucking ridiculous.

“Whatever, I don’t really care if you do,” Dean says.

“Yeah, you do though,” Sam says, staying turned away. Dean pulls his clothes on extra-slow just because Sam deserves it for being right. Dean hates being called out on stuff like this. He finishes and sits down on his bed facing the desk and Sam’s back.

“I’m all decent and covered-up now for your virgin eyes,” Dean says, watching as Sam picks the frame up and sets it under the desk lamp. His fingers linger over their younger faces.

*****
Part 5