Directions for getting lost
Title: Directions for getting lost
Author: missyjack
Characters: All the Winchester men
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, AWP (angst without plot)
Words: 1,892
Disclaimer: Me own Supernatural? Not so much.
Summary: At the end of Asylum, Dean has just survived Sam trying to kill him. In a few hours John kill talk to his sons for the first time in ages, and then Sam will leave Dean. In between these events the Winchester men reflect on where they are, what they need and who they miss.
“…tired of taking your orders…for once in your life just shut your mouth…”
With Sam’s words still running through his head, Dean lowered himself tentatively into the hot water. Leaning back in the tub, he took a sip from his beer and felt his muscles start to relax. Dean’s chest was pockmarked with dozens of tiny bruises but he wasn’t injured, not much. He was weary though, and it was a weariness that went deeper than sore muscles.
It was all meant to be so much simpler. Get Sam from Stanford and find Dad. Sam would realize what he’d been missing and come back to the family. They would drive across the country, hunt evil, go to bars and pick up hot chicks together. Sam and Dad wouldn’t fight. Sure, and in their spare time they’d start a psychobilly rock band.
He’d known things wouldn’t be exactly like he’d imagined, but not even in his darkest moments did Dean’s “bitchin’ rockin’ road trip” daydreams include Sam trying to kill him. The difference was Sam wasn’t here out of choice. It was obvious after Jericho that Sam was not about to leave his life in Stanford. He’d be there now if his girlfriend hadn’t… Yeah you gotta be careful what you wish for.
Dean took another swig of his beer. He heard the outside door slam, and from the smell of salt and grease figured Sam was back with food. He should really get out of the bath, go inventory the ammo, see whether he needed to make up some more rocksalt shot. Just in case his little brother felt the need to shoot him some more.
&&&&&&
Onion rings.
Sorry I tried to kill you Dean but hey I bought you onion rings. Actually, now he thought about it, curly fries were Dean’s favourites or at least they used to be. And that was the problem - everything with Dean was the same but different. The road-map of their relationship, the one he used to know so well, had changed.
Being back with Dean was like returning to a once familiar neighbourhood. Mostly it looked the same. Then you started to drive around, and there was a Starbucks where the drugstore used to be, and apartments built on the park. A through road was now a dead-end, and roundabouts had sprung up in weird places. And because you thought you knew the place you don’t read the signs - you just go the way you used to until you find you’ve taken a wrong turn or you’re hopelessly lost.
Sam tossed the remains of his chicken burger aside. He gave up. Sam was not only lost in the old suburb of Winchester, today had been the equivalent of running the Impala into a light pole. If he was honest with himself, this head-on collision was bound to happen. He was just lucky that when it coincided with him having a murderous rage induced by some spirit, Dean had his head in the game. God, Sam struggled to just get himself through intact most days. His mind was continually assaulted with fragments of images, flashes of colour, half remembered smells, notes from a song or the tone of a voice. Not warnings or premonitions but memories. Of Jess. And sometimes he wanted curl up and cry, and sometimes he wanted to tell Dean what Jess-memory a song reminded him of, and sometimes he wanted to not get out of bed and sometimes the rage was so intense he thought he might explode from it.
Worst of all was doing nothing. He knew Dean was convinced they would meet up with Dad eventually. But when? Fucking when? Dad was the only link to Jess’s killer, Sam’s only route to get some sort of justice for Jess. Dean was happy to continue with business as usual, and seemed to expect Sam to do the same. Of course he didn’t expect Dean to understand; he’d never had a relationship that lasted longer beyond the morning-after sunrise. The problem was that Sam actually didn’t have any alternative plans. So until he had some clue as to where Dad might be, this was it. Hunting evil, the family business, and hoping onion rings would make up for trying to kill your brother.
&&&&&&
“…sick of doing what you tell me…no closer to finding Dad…pathetic”
Dean settled deep into the tub. It wasn’t Sam’s words that hurt, well not most of them. He’d heard them before, too many times, particularly in the months before Sam left for college. Sam had always questioned everything, wanted anything other than what the Winchesters had. Not unusual for a kid to rebel against his family - Sam was like the kid who ran away from the circus to become an accountant. Dean could accept that; accept that Sam was different from him. What he never understood was why Sam was so angry. It wasn’t just that he wanted something different; he hated them, hated him.
And here he was, four years later, fucking things up with Sam again. Dean felt with a sick inevitability that Sam would leave him again and he had no idea how to stop it. He knew Sam was grieving for his girlfriend; wanted revenge with a burning rage. A few times Dean had prodded, asked about her and about their life. But Sam would just look away as if he hadn’t heard or change the topic. Dean didn’t know what to do. Should he push more for Sam to talk? Or leave it alone altogether? What do you say to a guy who’s girlfriend’s been brutally murdered by the same supernatural sonofabitch that killed his mother?
Dean picked up his phone from the floor next to the bath. Damn. He missed Dad in ways he’d never expected. Dad was like a compass guiding him through the rough terrain of life. And while he might point him in the right direction without explaining why Dean should go that way, Dad was always reliable and always right. Dean held the phone in one hand and thumbed in a text message. He sent it through to the number he had for Dad. Didn’t know if he was still checking it; the coordinates for Rockford had come through with the number blocked. Whatever, Dean felt it was important to let Dad know they’d got the job finished. Maybe Dad would send them on another job. It wasn’t the same as being with him, but it made Dean less alone and more sure of that what they were doing was right.
&&&&&&
JOB DONE
The message from Dean was good news; he should send them another job. John shuffled amongst his papers, looking for a list of names. The bedspread was covered with layers of notes and newspapers, books, and maps and weather charts. Nowhere was really safe, but keeping the boys busy over in east seemed as good a plan as any. He knew he was getting closer to the demon, the sad irony being that it was the death of Sam’s girlfriend that had confirmed some of his key theories. John had been a fool to think that Sam would be protected at Stanford, but forcing him away had seemed better than dragging him round like a bit of bait to all the supernatural things they hunted.
John wondered how Sam was coping with the visions. Missouri hadn’t been able to tell him much about them, not whether they could help track the demon, or whether they could draw the demon to Sam. At least by sending the boys on jobs he could keep track of them more easily, and if any of the signs relating to the demon’s appearance appeared near them John would know.
He hoped the boys were faring well together. Repairing a relationship neglected for four years was always going to be tough, especially when Winchesters were involved. He’d been worried when Dean had called him from Lawrence, really worried because Dean sounded on the edge. But that had turned out ok, and then when Sam had called him after Dean’s accident he knew they were still together, still looking out for each other. He had some idea of what Sam must be going through, and was glad he had Dean to look after him.
They’d worked well together, him and Dean. But John knew he’d failed with his oldest son. For a while he had hope, but it had become obvious that Dean was driven not by the desire to hunt but by the need to protect. To keep people from harm, whether those he loved or those he’d never met. But while he knew Dean would protect Sam with his life, John was less sure whether he could control him and keep him from going off on some half-assed quest for the demon? Maybe tomorrow he’d call Dean, speak to him and try and get a sense for how the troops were going.
&&&&&&
“…like a good little soldier…desperate for his approval…”
Dean was sure Dad would know what to do with Sam. Sure his handling of the whole college thing had not been great, but this was different, hell Dad had been through the same shit Sammy was going through now.
It had been just the two of them for so long and things were very different than when Sam left. They were a team, a unit - two men living and fighting alongside each other. Sure Dad was indisputably the leader, but someone had to be in charge didn’t they? This wasn’t some lesbian collective they were running. (Dean’s mind wandered for a moment as he pondered the possibilities of working with a lesbian collective).
And there was so much more. The things Dad had taught him, the things they’d learnt together and things he’d picked up himself. Dean had never liked school much, too many things that just seemed irrelevant to his life like the names of all the Presidents or the major exports of Sweden. However Dean didn’t consider himself uneducated. He knew a lot about mechanics and electronics; folklore and mythology; tracking and map-reading; physics as it related to the game of pool; enough chemistry to blow shit up. He was self-taught in many things, how to use your opponent’s momentum against him (or her or it) in a fight, ways to spend the night with a woman you’ll never see again and make sure you’re both left happy and wanting more, and when to lose at pool before a group of bikers take out their childhood traumas on you. And maybe more important than all the things he’d learnt, was that Dad taught him the importance of admitting what you didn’t know.
&&&&&&
Sam ran a hand through his hair and stared at the bathroom door. He didn’t know whether to go to bed, or wait to talk to Dean. He wondered if Dean would forgive him.
Wondered if Jess would too.
From amongst the mess on the bed, John removed a photo of a family. He’d known them once but now they were just part of the patterns, part of the trail he was following. And then…John didn’t think beyond that because he’d known for years that his life would end when the hunt did.
Dean lay in the bath while the water went cold around him.