New SPN fic
Jan. 27th, 2006 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
castalieI've spend a sorta hellish night as my back is acting up again - will have to go to my exam but I don't think I'll make it to work tonight as I'm more or less immobilised, which okay, less money but more sleep, I guess? - but when I finally decided to try and move from bed to Clark I had a nice surprise waiting for me in my inbox, ie my betaed SPN fic, yay!
So let's talk business:
Title: Yes, Sir
Category: Gen [Yes, g.e.n]
Characters: John, Dean
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3722
Summary: "Sam isn't here right now. Sam is not the one sleeping on the bed next to Dean's. Sam is a world away from them."
Notes: Huge thank you to my beta extraordinaire![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starwatcher307 as usual. And thanks to both moimoietmoi and goldatamera for reading the story and telling me what I could improve. And strippedhalo who was kind enough to help me when I needed some help on a quote and all.
Dean doesn't need to check his watch on the bedside table to know it's getting ridiculously late - or early, if you want to look at it that way. He knows he should be sleeping, but it seems Morpheus doesn't want him tonight. And damn if Morpheus' arms aren't exactly what Dean is craving at the moment. Not just because he's losing precious sleep and it'll be a bitch getting up in a couple of hours, or because he can't allow himself to be tired or distracted when he's on the job - though, of course, that certainly weighs in the equation. But what he really wants right now is the opportunity to shut off his mind, just for a while.
It's not true what they say, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. When things change, everything is different. And you can't ever get back what you lost. He knows this sorry truth first hand; it has happened too many times in his life. And pretty recently, too, with a blow that he feels will hurt for a long time to come.
Truthfully, he knows he didn't lose Sam. Not really; not the way he lost his mother, not the way he lost his innocence - though that one always makes him roll his eyes because it sounds so incredibly corny and clichéd - but when it comes down to it, that's exactly how he feels... that out of the three most important persons in his life, he now only has one left.
Because Sam isn't here right now. Sam is not the one sleeping on the bed next to Dean's. Sam is a world away from them, from him, living a life Dean doesn't really understand - or maybe he just doesn't want to. And things are fucking different now, and no fancy speech can change that.
Dean shifts in bed and stretches a little. He's careful not to make any noise. He doesn't want to wake his father; one of them might as well have a good night's sleep. Too bad it's not Dean, but he's happy Dad has relaxed enough to enjoy a few hours of blissful oblivion. He knows this first job without Sam is weighing on his dad's shoulders too, even if he tries not to show it.
He’d love to say it’s not a problem for either of them. That they know their job inside out and nothing else matters. Yes, he would love to say nothing is different now.
Apart from the obvious. Apart from the fact that the body he can distinguish in the dark in the other bed is much heavier than the one he's used to. The sounds coming from his right are different too. Not alien; it's Dad after all. So no, not alien. But... unfamiliar. Dean is used to Sam sleeping there; used to his brother's sleeping habits, too, how he tosses and turns in bed until he finds the right position to sleep in. He's used to Sam and him trading a few insults before settling for good for the night. Then, when they've both relaxed each other, they sometimes whisper things in the dark, things they wouldn't want seeing the light of day; things about the child who died and who they couldn't save, about the scare they had, for themselves or the other, about the plan that didn't work out exactly as it was supposed to, about Dad's new job - whatever is important for them at the time.
Or that's what they used to do. Admittedly, Sam and he have skipped that part of their nightly ritual a lot in the past year. But though he missed it, Dean never let it show and never asked what it was that Sam didn't want to talk about. Now that his brother has left for his fancy college life, Dean knows. And it hurts a little that Sam hid that from Dean.
But though he didn't have the whispers any longer, Dean still had everything else. And he misses the deep, steady breathing of his brother next to him. The snores, even. He simply misses Sam's presence. And... he can admit it to himself, at least... he misses the comfort of it all. How familiar it was. How, whenever he would wake up from a nightmare, he would just concentrate on Sam's breathing and it would help calm him down. Because, in a way, Sam was home.
Dean isn't used to sleeping alone in a room; he hasn't done that in such a long time that he doesn't remember the last time he was on his own for a whole night. And now that he has a new 'roommate', he has to accept the fact that - more than not being used to sleeping alone anymore - he's not used to sleeping without Sam anymore. And really, that's so fucking ridiculous it would be laughable... if it weren't a bit too pathetic for Dean's taste. But he can't help thinking of his brother now. In Stanford. With a roommate of his own. Does he have the same problem finding sleep? Does he toss and turn in his bed unable to find the right position to settle in? Or does he sleep the sleep of the just, having finally found the road he dreamed of all those years?
Does he miss Dean?
Now that is even more pathetic than everything else tonight. Dean shakes his head, mocking himself.
A car pulls into in the parking lot of the motel they'd picked that afternoon and the lights wash over the room for a moment, distracting Dean from his thoughts. Then as the occupants - from the sound of the doors slamming he can tell there're two - leave the vehicle, the room is dark again. Dean has never really been afraid of the dark. But not because his dad proved to him that no monsters lived in his closet or under his bed. Quite the opposite. Dean never exactly feared the dark because his dad had taught him, very early on, how to react in case those monsters did hide in the room. Maybe all a kid needs to vanquish his fears is the knowledge that he's stronger that whatever lurks in the shadow.
Or maybe not. Maybe what kids need is their father - or mother for that matter - lying to them and pretending that they're safe and that nothing can hurt them, that the noise they hear coming from under the bed is just the floor creaking, and that the monster in the closet is just a pile of clothes. But that's not what Dean and his brother had been taught. At least Dean can thank Dad for having been honest with both of them throughout their lives. John Winchester doesn't believe in lies. He can be painfully honest sometimes, but you can hardly blame the man for that. You always know where you stand with him.
Except Dean thinks that it wouldn't be true if something big happened, if Dad wanted to protect Sam and him both - then maybe he would lie to them. The question in that case is, would Dean see through the lie? And if that were the case, would he go through the motions? Maybe. Maybe not. But he's a good soldier; that's what he's been told repeatedly since he was four. If Dad says or does something, even if Dean doesn't understand, it has to be for a good reason.
Damn, Dean sighs to himself, he's trying to go to sleep, not work himself into a state. Dad is here right now; no need to imagine a worst case scenario where his last anchor takes off too. They have a job to do in Poteet, Texas. They'll do what they always do, work their magic, kick some evil asses and then they'll leave for yet another job. The End. Just because things are different doesn't necessarily mean they're wrong, he tries to rationalize. Even though everything does feel wrong right now. Dean thinks they just need to adapt. And hey, it's nothing new, right? They've done that pretty much all their lives, so seriously what is so different now? They’ll adapt and, after a while, he might even forget they were always three and not two.
He can’t say he believes in this bullshit, but he decides he has officially done enough thinking about all this crap. He closes his eyes and starts humming a bit. It's so quiet he knows it won't disturb Dad, but it's enough for Dean.
The loud sound of a door slamming in a room nearby wakes Dean, and he realizes that he did go to sleep after all. Still groggy from his late-night ruminations, he doesn't come to alert and ready to go as he usually does. He eases himself into the new day. He blinks first and stretches lazily, the covers falling off his chest, but he doesn't care. It's warm enough in the room that he doesn't risk freezing anything important, anyway. He runs a hand through his tousled hair and squints; the light coming from the window is a bit too bright for him first thing in the morning.
Or he thinks it's morning, anyway. Dad wouldn't have let him sleep in, would he?
Dean turns his head and frowns at the empty bed. But then his brain connects with the world again and he's able to pay attention to the environment around him. He notices the noise coming from the bathroom and deduces his dad is taking a shower; the man never sleeps in anyway, no matter what, so Dean knows he must have dozed off for two or maybe three hours. No more than that, though. Well, it'll have to do.
He’ll do okay; it's not as if going with just a couple hours of sleep is a rare occurrence. They sometimes need to stay up all night since, well, evil usually prefers to operate at night. Dean has been taught the importance of taking advantage of any free time he has. Sleep tight whenever you're given the chance, because you never know when you'll have to put an all-nighter. Or two. Same thing with food. Eat whenever you can because you don't know when you'll have to skip a meal. That particular rule was always obeyed promptly, as it allowed two growing teenagers to indulge as much as they wanted in one of their favorite pastimes: eating.
So no, Dean isn't a stranger to limited sleep, but usually it's because he's on the job, not because he's missing his brother. Fucker.
He sits on the side of the bed and tries to concentrate on the Now. They have a job to do, they'll be busy today. That's what he needs to think about. The rest is superfluous. A hindrance.
"Hey Dean, you’re up."
His dad is already dressed, hair still damp from the shower. He sits on his own bed, facing Dean. He's not saying anything, just looking at his son in that intense way of his. Dean doesn't need to hear the words to know his father is trying to decide whether or not to mention Dean's evident lack of sleep visible on his face. But he doesn't. He stands and simply cups a hand on the nape of Dean's neck, squeezes tight for a second, before going to sit at the little table in the room. The touch didn't last, but it said enough.
Dean stands as well and goes to the shower. He chooses cold water since he needs to clear his mind and wake up for good. This always works, though it's far from being his favorite method. He's dreaming of a steaming shower, but this is neither the time nor the place. Maybe next time.
When he joins his father again, the man is writing in his journal. He raises his head at the sight of his son. "Ready to face the day, hotshot?"
"I was born ready," Dean drawls, smiling.
"That's my boy." Dad returns to his journal, reading back a few pages, then writing again where he left off.
Dean peeks at the pile of old and new newspapers discarded on the table and at his own notes, then goes to take a seat when he realizes he's famished and maybe a little breakfast would be in order. "Want something to eat, Dad?"
"I thought you'd never ask," comes the immediate answer.
Dean would roll his eyes as his father waiting for him to move his ass, but he's not really in the mood. Truth is, it was usually Sam who brought them breakfast and, as small a detail as it is, it suddenly makes Dean angry all over again. But he shrugs it off and turns to the door.
"You want the usual?"
"Yes, thanks," his dad replies distractedly. He's frowning at something he found in an old issue of the local newspaper. No doubt they'll have a lot to discuss between the coffee and the donuts.
When Dean returns, he hands his dad his cup of java and deposits the bag of pastries on the table, in the middle of the mess. "So, Dad, found anything?" he asks, taking a seat and sipping at his coffee.
"A lot of erroneous theories, mostly. It's quite ironic, when you think of it." He swallows a mouthful of his own coffee and waves a hand over the most recent articles that treated the death of three college students in - as yet - unknown circumstances. "Some folks are already blaming the San Antonio ghost children."
Dean raises an eyebrow at that, then chuckles. "Too bad they have the location wrong. Maybe someone should tell them it actually happened in Midvale, like Midvale in Utah?"
The trace of a smile appears on Dad's face. "Maybe someone should, yes."
Dean takes a bite in his donut and chews for a moment, thinking of their case. "Seriously, what's wrong with those guys? Now people think of blaming ghosts before anything else? It's not supposed to work that way. They're supposed to be skeptic and/or ignorant and make our job hell." He leans back in the chair and stares at his dad. "Next time you get me a new ID card? I want to be Peter Venkman."
Dad chuckles. "I'll try to remember that." Then his attention is back on the papers in front of him. He's reading through the many recaps of the accidents, complete with a lot of interviews from the locals. "There's something definitely odd in the whole mess. We just need to find the right angle."
No argument on Dean's part. He plays with his ring for a moment, lost in thoughts. Dad doesn't interrupt; he's always trusted both his sons' theories and ideas.
"Okay," Dean ventures, "for starters, we know that the San Antonio dead kids can't be blamed here. Apart from the fact that there's no sign of an accident involving children or young adults killed at a railway in San Antonio or the whole county in the last eighty years, it just doesn't follow the pattern we know. I mean, those dead kids... they're supposed to help people whose cars have stalled, push them away. They don't stop the cars. They don't kill, they protect."
Dad nods, apparently pleased with the analysis so far. That's exactly what is wrong with the story they've been told. People keep giving them the wrong information. The originality comes from the fact that this time, people aren't trying to purposely lead them away from the truth, not trying to lie to them, they're just misguided themselves.
"So what? Demonic copycats? Damn,” he complains mockingly, “ghosts aren't what they used to be back in the day!"
That comment brings the reaction he wanted as his father laughs, low and deep. "It's certainly a challenge. But we Winchester boys live for those, right?"
It's too smooth an overture; Dean understands that Dad wants them to talk about Sam. Dean isn't sure he wants to right now but if Dad needs to...
"What's on your mind?"
"I'm not angry at your brother's decision, Dean."
Direct and to the point, that's John Winchester for you. But it doesn't stop Dean from letting a skeptical chuckle escape. "From your last 'conversation' with him, you could have fooled me."
John raises his hands in the air. "We both said things we shouldn't have. We were both angry. Definitely not in our right minds."
"So you didn’t toss him out of the house?"
"He was already leaving."
Deans shakes his head at that. "Semantics."
"Like I said, we weren’t in our right minds. It got out of hand."
There’s no denying that, so Dean keeps silent.
"And technically, this is between Sam and me," Dad adds. The tone is final. That part of the discussion is closed.
Dean nods. He suddenly remembers that parents, too, can screw up. In major ways. But he can’t let it go completely.
"But you are angry. And you have every right to be. He left us, Dad!"
"I said 'was' angry. And, Dean, everyone leaves."
"You're still here!" Dean almost screams. And because he's close to revealing feelings that he's not ready to face yet, he adds, "I'm still here, too. Is it so hard?"
"You want me to say that I wish he hadn't gone to Stanford? Well yes, I would have loved nothing more than keeping my boys with me. Both of them. And maybe I would have just been a selfish prick. I raised you to-" But he doesn't finish his sentence. "Sam isn't part of the team anymore, but he's still part of this family," he finishes instead.
"Maybe you should be telling him."
"Sam made his choice. There's nothing left to be said. We don't have to like it, but we have to accept it."
Easier said than done, Dean thinks to himself.
"Should I make it an order?" The voice is soft, and meant to show Dean it's teasing more than anything, but the meaning is clear. Dad might be hurting but he has no intention of letting the whole thing interfere with what is left of their family.
"It'll take time."
"Time is something we always think we have plenty of, but it's an illusion, Dean."
"Shit," Dean curses. "I can't believe you're taking it so well!"
"I'm not taking it well," Dad hisses. Then he adds, more quietly, "Not at all, no. But what is done is done. Like I said, Sam made his choice. It went against everything I've taught you both, and yes it does hurt, but I'm not your captor. I don't want any unwilling fighter with me. Do you understand me?"
"Loud and clear," he replies, because he knows this is what Dad wants to hear. In truth, he thinks he’ll need more time, period.
"And Dean, I need you sharp. You need to get your mind on the here and now; it can't be cluttered with resentment and 'What If's, is that clear?"
"Yes sir," Dean says, with a little more conviction. This, he knows. They're back in his comfort zone now.
Dad clasps him on the shoulder and, taking his journal from the table, stands up.
"Let's go. We have a lot to do today. No rest for the wicked."
Dean follows his father's lead and watches him, silently.
Dad might not be that much taller than Dean but he's heavier, broader. To Dean he's larger than life. Not overwhelming, exactly, but very intense. If he has to be honest with himself, he's also impressed with Sam, who was able to go against everything their father ever wanted from them. Everything he expected of them. Dad is so... big. Always has been. And Dean sometimes wonders whether every parent seems that way to their kids, even once they've left childhood. But then, he's pretty conscious of the fact that most parents have not literally saved their kids from the clutch of evil, saved them from death not once, but several times in their lifetime.
The man is flawed; Dean isn't so far gone not to recognize - and accept - that about him, but Dad has always been there for them. He's been Dean and Sam's whole family. Him and only him. And this is why Dean can’t leave. Because you stick with your family, no matter what.
Being the soldier he was trained to be since childhood is what he does; being John Winchester’s son is what he is. And sometimes the line between those two aspects is so blurred that Dean doesn’t really know where one ends and the other begins, but he’s okay with that. There’s no other place he’d rather be. More than that, though, there’s no other place where he should be. Dad needs him. Dean never loses sight of that.
When he was still with them, Sam always argued with Dean about the fact that this wasn't the life their mother would have chosen for them, that it couldn't have been what she'd planned for her children. But then, Mary hadn't planned on dying and leaving her little boys behind, had she? So maybe it balances things out a little. What did that stupid song say again? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" - well, maybe it's not such a stupid song after all, because it sounds right to Dean.
"Ready to go, hotshot?"
Dean's attention comes back to the present. He smiles at his father and opens his arms. "I keep telling you, I was born ready. After you, old man."
His dad smiles in return and, when he opens the door, he looks over his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Dean. Just stay focused. I'll watch your back and you'll watch mine. And everything will be just fine."
Dad's confidence is comforting. As it always is.
There's nothing to say, so Dean says nothing. Except for the one reply that will comfort Dad in return, the one thing that will tell him that Dean does believe that everything will be fine. So he gives a mock salute and whispers, "Yes, sir."
Fin
So let's talk business:
Title: Yes, Sir
Category: Gen [Yes, g.e.n]
Characters: John, Dean
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3722
Summary: "Sam isn't here right now. Sam is not the one sleeping on the bed next to Dean's. Sam is a world away from them."
Notes: Huge thank you to my beta extraordinaire
starwatcher307 as usual. And thanks to both moimoietmoi and goldatamera for reading the story and telling me what I could improve. And strippedhalo who was kind enough to help me when I needed some help on a quote and all.Dean doesn't need to check his watch on the bedside table to know it's getting ridiculously late - or early, if you want to look at it that way. He knows he should be sleeping, but it seems Morpheus doesn't want him tonight. And damn if Morpheus' arms aren't exactly what Dean is craving at the moment. Not just because he's losing precious sleep and it'll be a bitch getting up in a couple of hours, or because he can't allow himself to be tired or distracted when he's on the job - though, of course, that certainly weighs in the equation. But what he really wants right now is the opportunity to shut off his mind, just for a while.
It's not true what they say, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. When things change, everything is different. And you can't ever get back what you lost. He knows this sorry truth first hand; it has happened too many times in his life. And pretty recently, too, with a blow that he feels will hurt for a long time to come.
Truthfully, he knows he didn't lose Sam. Not really; not the way he lost his mother, not the way he lost his innocence - though that one always makes him roll his eyes because it sounds so incredibly corny and clichéd - but when it comes down to it, that's exactly how he feels... that out of the three most important persons in his life, he now only has one left.
Because Sam isn't here right now. Sam is not the one sleeping on the bed next to Dean's. Sam is a world away from them, from him, living a life Dean doesn't really understand - or maybe he just doesn't want to. And things are fucking different now, and no fancy speech can change that.
Dean shifts in bed and stretches a little. He's careful not to make any noise. He doesn't want to wake his father; one of them might as well have a good night's sleep. Too bad it's not Dean, but he's happy Dad has relaxed enough to enjoy a few hours of blissful oblivion. He knows this first job without Sam is weighing on his dad's shoulders too, even if he tries not to show it.
He’d love to say it’s not a problem for either of them. That they know their job inside out and nothing else matters. Yes, he would love to say nothing is different now.
Apart from the obvious. Apart from the fact that the body he can distinguish in the dark in the other bed is much heavier than the one he's used to. The sounds coming from his right are different too. Not alien; it's Dad after all. So no, not alien. But... unfamiliar. Dean is used to Sam sleeping there; used to his brother's sleeping habits, too, how he tosses and turns in bed until he finds the right position to sleep in. He's used to Sam and him trading a few insults before settling for good for the night. Then, when they've both relaxed each other, they sometimes whisper things in the dark, things they wouldn't want seeing the light of day; things about the child who died and who they couldn't save, about the scare they had, for themselves or the other, about the plan that didn't work out exactly as it was supposed to, about Dad's new job - whatever is important for them at the time.
Or that's what they used to do. Admittedly, Sam and he have skipped that part of their nightly ritual a lot in the past year. But though he missed it, Dean never let it show and never asked what it was that Sam didn't want to talk about. Now that his brother has left for his fancy college life, Dean knows. And it hurts a little that Sam hid that from Dean.
But though he didn't have the whispers any longer, Dean still had everything else. And he misses the deep, steady breathing of his brother next to him. The snores, even. He simply misses Sam's presence. And... he can admit it to himself, at least... he misses the comfort of it all. How familiar it was. How, whenever he would wake up from a nightmare, he would just concentrate on Sam's breathing and it would help calm him down. Because, in a way, Sam was home.
Dean isn't used to sleeping alone in a room; he hasn't done that in such a long time that he doesn't remember the last time he was on his own for a whole night. And now that he has a new 'roommate', he has to accept the fact that - more than not being used to sleeping alone anymore - he's not used to sleeping without Sam anymore. And really, that's so fucking ridiculous it would be laughable... if it weren't a bit too pathetic for Dean's taste. But he can't help thinking of his brother now. In Stanford. With a roommate of his own. Does he have the same problem finding sleep? Does he toss and turn in his bed unable to find the right position to settle in? Or does he sleep the sleep of the just, having finally found the road he dreamed of all those years?
Does he miss Dean?
Now that is even more pathetic than everything else tonight. Dean shakes his head, mocking himself.
A car pulls into in the parking lot of the motel they'd picked that afternoon and the lights wash over the room for a moment, distracting Dean from his thoughts. Then as the occupants - from the sound of the doors slamming he can tell there're two - leave the vehicle, the room is dark again. Dean has never really been afraid of the dark. But not because his dad proved to him that no monsters lived in his closet or under his bed. Quite the opposite. Dean never exactly feared the dark because his dad had taught him, very early on, how to react in case those monsters did hide in the room. Maybe all a kid needs to vanquish his fears is the knowledge that he's stronger that whatever lurks in the shadow.
Or maybe not. Maybe what kids need is their father - or mother for that matter - lying to them and pretending that they're safe and that nothing can hurt them, that the noise they hear coming from under the bed is just the floor creaking, and that the monster in the closet is just a pile of clothes. But that's not what Dean and his brother had been taught. At least Dean can thank Dad for having been honest with both of them throughout their lives. John Winchester doesn't believe in lies. He can be painfully honest sometimes, but you can hardly blame the man for that. You always know where you stand with him.
Except Dean thinks that it wouldn't be true if something big happened, if Dad wanted to protect Sam and him both - then maybe he would lie to them. The question in that case is, would Dean see through the lie? And if that were the case, would he go through the motions? Maybe. Maybe not. But he's a good soldier; that's what he's been told repeatedly since he was four. If Dad says or does something, even if Dean doesn't understand, it has to be for a good reason.
Damn, Dean sighs to himself, he's trying to go to sleep, not work himself into a state. Dad is here right now; no need to imagine a worst case scenario where his last anchor takes off too. They have a job to do in Poteet, Texas. They'll do what they always do, work their magic, kick some evil asses and then they'll leave for yet another job. The End. Just because things are different doesn't necessarily mean they're wrong, he tries to rationalize. Even though everything does feel wrong right now. Dean thinks they just need to adapt. And hey, it's nothing new, right? They've done that pretty much all their lives, so seriously what is so different now? They’ll adapt and, after a while, he might even forget they were always three and not two.
He can’t say he believes in this bullshit, but he decides he has officially done enough thinking about all this crap. He closes his eyes and starts humming a bit. It's so quiet he knows it won't disturb Dad, but it's enough for Dean.
The loud sound of a door slamming in a room nearby wakes Dean, and he realizes that he did go to sleep after all. Still groggy from his late-night ruminations, he doesn't come to alert and ready to go as he usually does. He eases himself into the new day. He blinks first and stretches lazily, the covers falling off his chest, but he doesn't care. It's warm enough in the room that he doesn't risk freezing anything important, anyway. He runs a hand through his tousled hair and squints; the light coming from the window is a bit too bright for him first thing in the morning.
Or he thinks it's morning, anyway. Dad wouldn't have let him sleep in, would he?
Dean turns his head and frowns at the empty bed. But then his brain connects with the world again and he's able to pay attention to the environment around him. He notices the noise coming from the bathroom and deduces his dad is taking a shower; the man never sleeps in anyway, no matter what, so Dean knows he must have dozed off for two or maybe three hours. No more than that, though. Well, it'll have to do.
He’ll do okay; it's not as if going with just a couple hours of sleep is a rare occurrence. They sometimes need to stay up all night since, well, evil usually prefers to operate at night. Dean has been taught the importance of taking advantage of any free time he has. Sleep tight whenever you're given the chance, because you never know when you'll have to put an all-nighter. Or two. Same thing with food. Eat whenever you can because you don't know when you'll have to skip a meal. That particular rule was always obeyed promptly, as it allowed two growing teenagers to indulge as much as they wanted in one of their favorite pastimes: eating.
So no, Dean isn't a stranger to limited sleep, but usually it's because he's on the job, not because he's missing his brother. Fucker.
He sits on the side of the bed and tries to concentrate on the Now. They have a job to do, they'll be busy today. That's what he needs to think about. The rest is superfluous. A hindrance.
"Hey Dean, you’re up."
His dad is already dressed, hair still damp from the shower. He sits on his own bed, facing Dean. He's not saying anything, just looking at his son in that intense way of his. Dean doesn't need to hear the words to know his father is trying to decide whether or not to mention Dean's evident lack of sleep visible on his face. But he doesn't. He stands and simply cups a hand on the nape of Dean's neck, squeezes tight for a second, before going to sit at the little table in the room. The touch didn't last, but it said enough.
Dean stands as well and goes to the shower. He chooses cold water since he needs to clear his mind and wake up for good. This always works, though it's far from being his favorite method. He's dreaming of a steaming shower, but this is neither the time nor the place. Maybe next time.
When he joins his father again, the man is writing in his journal. He raises his head at the sight of his son. "Ready to face the day, hotshot?"
"I was born ready," Dean drawls, smiling.
"That's my boy." Dad returns to his journal, reading back a few pages, then writing again where he left off.
Dean peeks at the pile of old and new newspapers discarded on the table and at his own notes, then goes to take a seat when he realizes he's famished and maybe a little breakfast would be in order. "Want something to eat, Dad?"
"I thought you'd never ask," comes the immediate answer.
Dean would roll his eyes as his father waiting for him to move his ass, but he's not really in the mood. Truth is, it was usually Sam who brought them breakfast and, as small a detail as it is, it suddenly makes Dean angry all over again. But he shrugs it off and turns to the door.
"You want the usual?"
"Yes, thanks," his dad replies distractedly. He's frowning at something he found in an old issue of the local newspaper. No doubt they'll have a lot to discuss between the coffee and the donuts.
When Dean returns, he hands his dad his cup of java and deposits the bag of pastries on the table, in the middle of the mess. "So, Dad, found anything?" he asks, taking a seat and sipping at his coffee.
"A lot of erroneous theories, mostly. It's quite ironic, when you think of it." He swallows a mouthful of his own coffee and waves a hand over the most recent articles that treated the death of three college students in - as yet - unknown circumstances. "Some folks are already blaming the San Antonio ghost children."
Dean raises an eyebrow at that, then chuckles. "Too bad they have the location wrong. Maybe someone should tell them it actually happened in Midvale, like Midvale in Utah?"
The trace of a smile appears on Dad's face. "Maybe someone should, yes."
Dean takes a bite in his donut and chews for a moment, thinking of their case. "Seriously, what's wrong with those guys? Now people think of blaming ghosts before anything else? It's not supposed to work that way. They're supposed to be skeptic and/or ignorant and make our job hell." He leans back in the chair and stares at his dad. "Next time you get me a new ID card? I want to be Peter Venkman."
Dad chuckles. "I'll try to remember that." Then his attention is back on the papers in front of him. He's reading through the many recaps of the accidents, complete with a lot of interviews from the locals. "There's something definitely odd in the whole mess. We just need to find the right angle."
No argument on Dean's part. He plays with his ring for a moment, lost in thoughts. Dad doesn't interrupt; he's always trusted both his sons' theories and ideas.
"Okay," Dean ventures, "for starters, we know that the San Antonio dead kids can't be blamed here. Apart from the fact that there's no sign of an accident involving children or young adults killed at a railway in San Antonio or the whole county in the last eighty years, it just doesn't follow the pattern we know. I mean, those dead kids... they're supposed to help people whose cars have stalled, push them away. They don't stop the cars. They don't kill, they protect."
Dad nods, apparently pleased with the analysis so far. That's exactly what is wrong with the story they've been told. People keep giving them the wrong information. The originality comes from the fact that this time, people aren't trying to purposely lead them away from the truth, not trying to lie to them, they're just misguided themselves.
"So what? Demonic copycats? Damn,” he complains mockingly, “ghosts aren't what they used to be back in the day!"
That comment brings the reaction he wanted as his father laughs, low and deep. "It's certainly a challenge. But we Winchester boys live for those, right?"
It's too smooth an overture; Dean understands that Dad wants them to talk about Sam. Dean isn't sure he wants to right now but if Dad needs to...
"What's on your mind?"
"I'm not angry at your brother's decision, Dean."
Direct and to the point, that's John Winchester for you. But it doesn't stop Dean from letting a skeptical chuckle escape. "From your last 'conversation' with him, you could have fooled me."
John raises his hands in the air. "We both said things we shouldn't have. We were both angry. Definitely not in our right minds."
"So you didn’t toss him out of the house?"
"He was already leaving."
Deans shakes his head at that. "Semantics."
"Like I said, we weren’t in our right minds. It got out of hand."
There’s no denying that, so Dean keeps silent.
"And technically, this is between Sam and me," Dad adds. The tone is final. That part of the discussion is closed.
Dean nods. He suddenly remembers that parents, too, can screw up. In major ways. But he can’t let it go completely.
"But you are angry. And you have every right to be. He left us, Dad!"
"I said 'was' angry. And, Dean, everyone leaves."
"You're still here!" Dean almost screams. And because he's close to revealing feelings that he's not ready to face yet, he adds, "I'm still here, too. Is it so hard?"
"You want me to say that I wish he hadn't gone to Stanford? Well yes, I would have loved nothing more than keeping my boys with me. Both of them. And maybe I would have just been a selfish prick. I raised you to-" But he doesn't finish his sentence. "Sam isn't part of the team anymore, but he's still part of this family," he finishes instead.
"Maybe you should be telling him."
"Sam made his choice. There's nothing left to be said. We don't have to like it, but we have to accept it."
Easier said than done, Dean thinks to himself.
"Should I make it an order?" The voice is soft, and meant to show Dean it's teasing more than anything, but the meaning is clear. Dad might be hurting but he has no intention of letting the whole thing interfere with what is left of their family.
"It'll take time."
"Time is something we always think we have plenty of, but it's an illusion, Dean."
"Shit," Dean curses. "I can't believe you're taking it so well!"
"I'm not taking it well," Dad hisses. Then he adds, more quietly, "Not at all, no. But what is done is done. Like I said, Sam made his choice. It went against everything I've taught you both, and yes it does hurt, but I'm not your captor. I don't want any unwilling fighter with me. Do you understand me?"
"Loud and clear," he replies, because he knows this is what Dad wants to hear. In truth, he thinks he’ll need more time, period.
"And Dean, I need you sharp. You need to get your mind on the here and now; it can't be cluttered with resentment and 'What If's, is that clear?"
"Yes sir," Dean says, with a little more conviction. This, he knows. They're back in his comfort zone now.
Dad clasps him on the shoulder and, taking his journal from the table, stands up.
"Let's go. We have a lot to do today. No rest for the wicked."
Dean follows his father's lead and watches him, silently.
Dad might not be that much taller than Dean but he's heavier, broader. To Dean he's larger than life. Not overwhelming, exactly, but very intense. If he has to be honest with himself, he's also impressed with Sam, who was able to go against everything their father ever wanted from them. Everything he expected of them. Dad is so... big. Always has been. And Dean sometimes wonders whether every parent seems that way to their kids, even once they've left childhood. But then, he's pretty conscious of the fact that most parents have not literally saved their kids from the clutch of evil, saved them from death not once, but several times in their lifetime.
The man is flawed; Dean isn't so far gone not to recognize - and accept - that about him, but Dad has always been there for them. He's been Dean and Sam's whole family. Him and only him. And this is why Dean can’t leave. Because you stick with your family, no matter what.
Being the soldier he was trained to be since childhood is what he does; being John Winchester’s son is what he is. And sometimes the line between those two aspects is so blurred that Dean doesn’t really know where one ends and the other begins, but he’s okay with that. There’s no other place he’d rather be. More than that, though, there’s no other place where he should be. Dad needs him. Dean never loses sight of that.
When he was still with them, Sam always argued with Dean about the fact that this wasn't the life their mother would have chosen for them, that it couldn't have been what she'd planned for her children. But then, Mary hadn't planned on dying and leaving her little boys behind, had she? So maybe it balances things out a little. What did that stupid song say again? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans" - well, maybe it's not such a stupid song after all, because it sounds right to Dean.
"Ready to go, hotshot?"
Dean's attention comes back to the present. He smiles at his father and opens his arms. "I keep telling you, I was born ready. After you, old man."
His dad smiles in return and, when he opens the door, he looks over his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Dean. Just stay focused. I'll watch your back and you'll watch mine. And everything will be just fine."
Dad's confidence is comforting. As it always is.
There's nothing to say, so Dean says nothing. Except for the one reply that will comfort Dad in return, the one thing that will tell him that Dean does believe that everything will be fine. So he gives a mock salute and whispers, "Yes, sir."
Fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2006-01-27 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 10:31 am (UTC)I'm with you; I'm fascinated by the relationship between the two of them. I'm desperate for more little hints on it from the show.
What I love most about this is that you nailed Dean's admiring Sam for standing up to John, but you did it without making Dean resent his father or really wish that he could leave too. Dean admitting that to Sam left me a little unhappy because I LIKE the idea of Dean being the dedicated, devoted little soldier, and I don't want him to resent John the way Sam does, or wish he'd followed Sam instead. You fixed that brilliantly.
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Date: 2006-01-29 09:48 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you enjoyed it, too. I really wanted it to work because, well, when you love two characters and their dynamic, you certainly don't want to mess it, so reading your comment really made me happy, thank you *g*
Also I'm with you, I don't like the idea of Dean being resentful that way... which is why I had fun writing that fic, I'll admit lol
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Date: 2006-01-27 12:32 pm (UTC)I'll go read it now *g*
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Date: 2006-01-29 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-27 12:55 pm (UTC)I loved the way you explored Dean and his dad's relationship, and the way that in turn related to Sam.
It was easy to feel how much Dean missed his brother.
that out of the three most important persons in his life, he now only has one left. and Because, in a way, Sam was home.
:( I want to wrap him in blanket and say it'll be okay. Of course he'd kick the blanket off and make a crack about mushy stuff, but still....
That was a cool case they were discussing, and I like how they went from talking/cracking jokes about the ghosts over donuts, into John bringing up Sam.
"But you are angry. And you have every right to be. He left us, Dad!"
Ouch.
The talk really was intense, with hurt feelings on all sides, something you showed nicely.
Killer last line too.
You did great, sis!
I hope your back's better soon too, and yes, sleep is good. Going to work is pointless when you're sick like this. You need to heal, which means you staying in. I hope the exam went well too :)
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Date: 2006-01-29 10:13 pm (UTC)I had fun surfing Urban Legends sites to decide what case to use in my fic lol Definitely glad that, too, worked for you *g*
Thank you for the wonderful feedback, sis :-)
My back was better on Saturday already so it was all good, thanks *g*
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Date: 2006-01-27 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-28 02:03 am (UTC)It occurs to me that I want your flist to know that your beta also enjoys your stories. So I'll repeat what I said last night.
This story really is quite lovely - a very poignant look at the inner conflicts of a complex man. I think you've brought him to life marvelously well; I salute you. I really like your stories - you have a real flair for getting to the heart of the characters. Even the title is so poignant -"Yes, Sir" - two words that encapsulate Dean's life so far. Well done!
.
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Date: 2006-01-29 10:16 pm (UTC)Your compliments are always music to my ears, so thanks a lot, that means a lot to me :-)
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Date: 2006-01-28 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 10:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-30 02:48 pm (UTC)This is me, btw *waves*
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Date: 2006-01-28 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-28 06:23 pm (UTC)Now, on to the more happy things, the story. I would write a long, raving review, but I can't really do those so this will have to do: It is gen. I read it. I loved it. It is gen and I read and loved it. Obviously, you are some kind of a genius! *nods*
Seriously, beautiful story. *loves*
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Date: 2006-01-29 10:19 pm (UTC)Ohhh that's one hell of a compliment, Kaja! Not just that you were willing to try gen for me but that you actually enjoyed *feels proud* Thank you so much for a) giving the fic a chance and b) letting me know you liked it *bounces*
Seriously, I'm so glad you liked it *g*
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Date: 2006-01-29 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-29 10:22 pm (UTC)I was quite anxious at first because I really wanted to get it right, from Dean's reaction to Sam's departure to his interaction with John and finally to John's own reaction to the whole thing, so I'm so happy to hear you thought I did good *bounces* I'm thrilled you liked it :-)
I rewrote the ending line like three times because I knew exactly what I wanted and I just needed to think of the way to achieve that. So I'm quite enjoying reading how much you liked it as well *g*
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Date: 2006-03-19 05:01 pm (UTC)So. This fic is *really* good.
It's perfect gen, it shows a part of Dean's and John's past we don't get to see on screen, and it's sounds true to me, so much I could see it happen like that. Sam is like a ghost in this story, it's almost as if he was there, except not... which make it more heartbreaking. And Dean. Trying to deal with all this family stuff, trying to be a good son, a good "soldier"...
I mean, you got the character right (John too, by the way). I love all the things he doesn't dare to say or think.
The subtility is lovely... You did a good job ^^
Thank you for this !
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Date: 2006-03-21 02:20 pm (UTC)And thanks for the wonderful feedback! It pleased me even more that it was actually the very first gen piece I'd ever written, so I'm delighted you thought I did good *g* In particular since I love Dean and John so much, I didn't want to mess it up. So thanks for the compliment :-)