Instinct (6/8)
By the time that Dean and Sam had gotten back to the rectory, it had been past dark and Dean didn’t think he’d ever been more confused in his life. His lips were still tingling with the memory of the kiss, the phantom sensation of Sam’s lips against his own, and his mind was working a mile a minute.
Part of him had expected Sam to push him away, and he almost wished that the younger boy had; instead, Sam had leant into the hand cupping his face, lips curving into a small smile. It had been far too easy to cross that distance between them, and it wasn’t until Dean had pulled away that the awkwardness had hit.
The two of them had sat in silence for a long while, cheeks stained in embarrassment, before Jim had stumbled across them. The Pastor had a bible clutched in one hand, humming softly as he let himself into the church; he looked almost embarrassed when he saw the two of them sitting quietly in the pew, running a hand through his dark hair, the dim light catching on the silver streaks there.
“I didn’t know you were in here,” He apologized, brandishing the bible as he spoke. “I was just preparing for tomorrow morning’s sermon, but it can wait until later-”
Dean shook his head, rising easily to his feet. Sam followed suit, stretching his back a little with a grin of satisfaction, and Dean did his best not to remember the ballerina-esque stretching that he’d done in his canine form. “It’s alright, Jim. We were just chilling out - we’ll head back inside and leave you to it.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sure?”
“Of course,” Dean grinned, inclining his head towards the book in the Pastor’s hands. “I’ll leave you and your one true love to it.”
Jim rolled his eyes affectionately. “Stop teasing me and get gone already. Get some sleep before tomorrow… I have the feeling that we’ll all need to be well-rested.”
**
After a brief moment of awkwardness on Sam’s part, clearly unsure whether he was supposed to share Dean’s bed again or sleep somewhere else, the rest of the night was uneventful. Once Dean made it clear that there was more than room for two, the shifter had climbed in and settled into a loose ball on his side; Dean had done the same, ignoring the feeling of contentment that curled in his stomach when he felt the long line of warmth where Sam’s back pressed against his own.
He’d drifted off to sleep almost immediately, and had awoken what felt like moments later. The room was still dark, the first rays of sunlight just starting peek through the small gap in the curtains; Sam was a warm weight, curled against him, head resting on the hunter’s chest. It was ridiculous that this felt familiar, that even though it was warm skin and soft hair pressed against him, it felt just as normal as sharing a bed with Sam the dog.
Dean didn’t cuddle. He never had - not in the few, brief relationships he’d involved himself in, and definitely not with the beautiful women that he’d taken back to motel rooms all across the country. He’d been raised to see everyone and everything as a threat, and he’d never let himself get that close to anyone before.
With Sam, it was different. The kid had wormed his way past Dean’s every defence wriggled his way into the hunter’s life under the guise of a defenceless dog, and despite his father’s suspicions, Dean had never seen him as a threat. Even now, when he should have been beyond pissed that Sam had lied to him for so long, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry.
Sam was a shapeshifter. He was one of the things that they hunted - that Dean had been raised to hate with every fiber of his being - but for past month or so, he had also been the one thing that Dean could rely on, regardless of everything around him. As a dog, Sam had been his best friend. As a human, Dean was starting to think that he might be more.
He’d never seen himself as the kind of person that would fall in love… hell, he’d always figured that the life of a hunter meant he’d likely die before he had the chance. He’d watched his father fall apart after Mary had died, and he’d told himself that he never wanted to go through that - in a life like theirs, chances were that you were going to get hurt, and Dean knew that he could never bring himself to introduce somebody else to that kind of life.
Until Sam, who was already a part of this world - who already knew what it was to be hunted, who had been through so much and had proven himself to be a survivor. Who had been so willing to live the rest of his life as a dog, because that was the only way he’d get to be with Dean… who had been so willing to die for him.
His stomach was tangled in knots, confusion warring with instinct and the desperate desire to never be in a position where he could understand the pain that his father had felt.
Sam stirred, making a sleepy noise as his eyelashes fluttered gently, and Dean soothed a gentle hand down his back.
There was no denying that the kid was gorgeous. Fox-slanted hazel eyes, tanned skin and dark hair that curled gently around his ears, tickled down the nape of his neck; his body was lithe and sleek, skinnier than Dean would like, but toned and firm. Strong shoulders and delicate wrists, the high cheekbones of a model and soft dimples that made Dean’s knees feel a little weak. And underneath all of that, he was still only seventeen - still just a kid that had gone through far too much, had born witness to the darkest parts of the world, things that Dean wished he could have protected him from.
Sam made a quiet, sleepy noise, shifting in Dean’s hold onto his side, and Dean moved to curl himself around the younger man without thought. Sam settled into his hold, pressing his back more firmly against the hunter’s chest, and Dean felt his eyes close of his their own violation.
Soon, his father would pull his truck into Jim’s driveway and confront him. In just a few hours, Dean could be forced to choose between the young man curled into his arms and the man who had raised him.
For now, he was warm and comfortable, Sam curled peacefully into his arms, and that was enough.
**
It was hours later that the two of them finally emerged from their room. The sun had well and truly risen, warming the oak floorboards beneath their feet, making the dark red of the hallway walls appear bright and vibrant. Dean couldn’t help but smile a little as he made his way towards the kitchen, following the smell of bacon.
Jim and Bobby were already there, bacon and sausages sizzling lightly as they cooked. Bobby was reading a newspaper, and Dean knew that he would have already instinctively scoured for hunts - barely a month after he’d starting hunting alone, Dean had surprised himself by realizing that he was no longer capable of reading a paper without looking for hints of monsters and ghouls between the lines.
He gratefully crossed the room, sinking into a seat, and was surprised when Sam didn’t follow him immediately. Despite both Jim and Bobby doing their best to ensure that the shifter knew that they would never hurt him, and that they would do anything in their power to keep his safe, the kid had still been nervous and skittish around them. If he was honest, Dean wasn’t exactly upset that the kid seemed happier to stick with him.
Now, however, Sam hesitated between the kitchen and Jim, and sucked in a deep breath before turning to the hunter.
“Do you… would you like any help?”He asked quietly. His voice trembled a little, but he looked as sincere as Dean had ever seen him, and Jim smiled slowly at the offer.
“That would be wonderful, Sam,” He replied gently. “Thank you. Would you like to serve up those sausages onto that plate over there? I’ll do the bacon.”
Sam nodded, carefully moving the plate a little closer and taking the spatula that Jim handed him. He served the sausages up with a speedy efficiency, and the three hunters pretended not to notice the way he flinched every time Jim got too close. Dean had never felt so proud of anyone before, and he couldn’t help but grin widely as he watched the two of them navigate the kitchen, eventually serving up a beautiful cooked breakfast for the four of them to enjoy.
When Sam settled into his seat next to Dean, he was smiling slightly, and Dean wondered if he was feeling just as proud of himself as Dean was.
“Find anything interesting?” Dean asked after a long moment, swallowing a mouthful of food as he tipped his head towards the newspaper.
Bobby shook his head. “Nothing, looks clean for the moment.”
“Damn,” Dean grinned. “Was kind of looking for an excuse to get out of the house there.”
Bobby chuckled. “Sorry, kid. I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, and Dean knocked their knees together under the table, trying to reassure the younger man that he wasn’t just going to leave him there to face up to John Winchester by himself.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that at this point I’d rather get this whole thing done sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t blame you, kid.” Bobby acknowledged. “I ain’t one for anticipation myself.”
“I’m sure that everything will be alright once we manage to make him see sense.” Jim said softly, rising to his feet and carrying his plate to the sink, slipping it inside the bucket of soapy water there. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve agreed to meet some of my flock in the church. Feel free to phone me when your father arrives, I’ll keep my cell phone in my pocket.”
Dean nodded his head in acknowledgment, nudging Sam’s knee again. “Wanna see if we can find a movie on the TV? Kill some time?”
“Sounds good.” Sam smiled and then, hesitantly. “Thank you for breakfast, Pastor.”
Jim grinned. “You’re welcome, Sam.”
Resisting the urge to smile ear-to-ear, Dean collected their plates and headed for the sink, washing them quickly but thoroughly before placing them on the draining board. Sam waited patiently for him to finish, and Dean offered him a small smile as the two of them headed towards the small living area at the front of the house.
The TV was small and slightly fuzzy, but it was a far cry better than the ones that Dean had endured in motel rooms across the country, and after a few seconds of channel hopping, he stumbled across the Ghostbusters. Grinning to himself, he tossed the remote onto the armchair and settled into his spot on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Next to him, Sam wriggled himself into a more comfortable position, curling his legs up towards his chest and resting his head against the back of the sofa as he watched.
He reminded Dean of a little kid in his sweatpants and wooly socks, curling in on himself and lazily blinking hazel eyes. There was a barely noticeable hint of red leather at the neck of his shirt, the glint of the silver buckle when the light flashed off it.
“You like Ghostbusters, right?” The hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sam shrugged his shoulders, blushing a little. “I’ve never seen it.”
“You’ve never seen it?” Dean mimed a heart attack. “Dude. You’ve been missing out.”
“I hope you know that I now expect this experience to be completely life-changing,” Sam teased quietly, nodding towards the screen. “Better not disappoint.”
“Baby,” Dean drawled with an exaggerated wink. “I never disappoint.”
He didn’t think he’d ever heard Sam laugh so much before.
**
It was almost four by the time that Dean heard the distinctive sound of his father’s truck pulling into the space next to the Impala. He and Sam had watched all of the Ghostbusters, and were halfway through Dancing with Wolves, and they were so engrossed that Dean honestly almost missed the noise at first.
His head whipped around to the door, and he could feel the anticipation begin to churn in the pit of his stomach.
“Dean?” Sam asked quietly, eyes wide and his whole body trembling. “Is that…”
The young hunter couldn’t bring himself to talk, and settled for nodding his head, rising slowly to his feet. Bobby had retreated into the study for a few hours before, and Dean briefly considered going to get him, but the last thing that they needed was for John to feel ambushed.
They’d have at least a few moments before Dean had to start explaining anything, and by then Bobby would surely have registered John’s voice and come to offer his support.
Steeling himself, Dean made his way through the house and towards the kitchen, hearing the sounds of his father’s heavy tread as he made his way across the porch and they both entered the kitchen at the same time. In a move that surprised even him, Dean crossed the room in a few quick strides and tugged his father into a hug.
Despite the tension between the two of them of late, the unfamiliar silences that stretched throughout their phone conversations, John hugged back just as hard as he always had, and Dean felt a little of his worry dissipate. As bad as things sometimes were between the two of them, there was no denying that his father loved him, and if everything went to shit at least he had one last hug to remember that by.
“It’s good to see you, son,” The older Winchester muttered, pulling back with his hands on the younger man’s arms, drinking in the sight of him. “You’re looking good. Healthy.”
There was a glint of something like sorrow in his eyes, gone almost as soon as Dean caught it, and the younger hunter felt something soften a little at the sight of it.
“You look good too, Dad,” He grinned, stepping back and leading his father inside the small kitchen, eyes flitting to where Sam was standing just inside of the doorway, shifting awkwardly and tangling his fingers together in nervousness. “It’s good to see you… I have someone for you to meet. This is a friend of mine, Sam.”
He turned to the teenager as he introduced him, taking in the look on his face as he glanced up and caught sight of John Winchester for the first time. He expected him to smile in that same nervous, polite way that he had done with Jim and Bobby, but instead the blood drained from his face and fell back half a step as if he’d been hit.
Behind him, Dean heard the familiar sound of the safety clicking off a handgun, and he whirled on his father. John Winchester was stood with his feet a shoulder-width apart, safety flicked off and gun trained directly in the centre of Sam’s forehead. Dean felt sick, shifting his body deliberately into the line of fire, hands shaking by his side.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” He cried, backing up a little, glancing over his shoulder at Sam. The shifter was standing stock-still, eyes trained not on the gun but on John’s face, and something horrific registered in the pit of Dean’s stomach. “What… you two know each other?”
His father turned to face him for the first time, eyes radiating with fury, and for a brief and hysterical moment, Dean wondered if his father would shoot straight through him to get to Sam.
“Tell me that you didn’t know that he wasn’t human, Dean.” The older hunter growled. “Please, for the love of God, tell me that this was naivety and not complete and utter idiocy.”
Dean felt his spine stiffen, felt every protective instinct inside him swell with irritation, and his hands clenched by his sides. “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s different, dad - he’s saved my life more than once, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve a gun being trained on him. He’s done nothing wrong.”
John raised his eyebrow cynically. “Done nothing wrong? He’s a shifter, Dean, and I’ll bet that he’s just as much of a cold-blooded killer as his father was.”
Dean felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath him. “Dad? What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t tell you, then?” John asked, and there was something smug in his expression. “His father was a killer. Murdered three pregnant women and four children, plus countless others, before I finally tracked him down and put a bullet through his head.”
Something clicked in his head. Sam talking about the accusations made about his father, saying that he’d been accused of killing people. He hadn’t mentioned that three of them had been pregnant when they’d been killed, or that some of them had been children, and the revelation made him feel sick to his stomach.
“I…” Dean turned slightly, eyes flying to Sam in disbelief. “Sam? What?”
Sam’s face darkened. “He’s lying. My father never hurt anyone, not up until the day that your father broke into our house and murdered him right in front of me and my mom. He was a good man.”
“He was a killer.”
“No he wasn’t!” Sam yelled, and Dean could see the tears in his eyes, could remember the pain in his voice just days ago when he’d first told Dean the reason that he’d ended up in the demon’s cages. “He was innocent and you killed him!”
Dean floundered, hesitating between his brother and the boy who’d grown to be his best friend, unsure of whose side to take.
John made the decision for him in the instant that his finger tightened on the gun’s trigger, and Dean found himself whirling forwards, snatching the gun from his father’s hand in a practised movement. The gun fired between them, and Sam yelped, jumping forward and tugging Dean away, frantically looking him over for some kind of wound.
All of Dean’s previous hesitation disappeared, and his hand slipped up to rest against the younger man’s cheekbone, forcing him to meet the hunter’s eyes. His cheeks were tear-stained and his eyes filled with panic, and Dean couldn’t resist the urge to pull him in close and wrap his arms around him, feeling the younger boy trembling in his grasp.
“I’m okay,” He reassured, tangling one hand in the younger man’s hair and rubbing the other up and down his back soothingly. “It hit the floor. I’m fine.”
Sam nodded against his shoulder, dragging in deep, shuddering breaths as he desperately tried to compose himself.
“You promised,” he muttered quietly, hand clenching and relaxing around the material of Dean’s shirt. “You promised you wouldn’t get hurt because of me.”
On the other side of the room, John was watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. He’d retrieved his gun from the floor, clutching it at his side so tightly that his knuckles were white.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He snarled, looking nothing like the man that had - once upon a time - tucked Dean in at night with a kiss to his forehead. “I could have shot you!”
Dean narrowed his own eyes. “And if I hadn’t have done it, you definitely would have shot Sam! I don’t care what you think, or what you say. He’s here to stay, dad, whether you like it or not.”
It was in that moment that Bobby appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, face flushed with exertion and glistening with sweat. He surveyed the room with a practised eye, taking in the way that Sam was huddled tightly against Dean, and the gun that John had white-knuckled in his grip, before he located the brand new bullet hole in Pastor Jim’s kitchen floor.
“You stupid sonofabitch,” He growled, turning on John with fury clear on his face. Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so angry. “You tried to shoot him?”
“He’s a monster.”
“He’s a kid.” Bobby snarled. “I don’t care what you say - we’re not in the business of hurting kids. Now either you put the gun down, and talk about this like a grown man, or you get the hell out and you don’t come back.”
John shook his head.
“Then you can’t stay.” Dean’s head jerked up and took in the sight of Pastor Jim stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed across his chest and face firm. “I promised Sam that no harm would come to him here. I intend to keep that promise.”
John growled. “Are you serious? How the hell as he got three of you wrapped around his finger?”
“John.” Bobby warned. “I’m serious. Sit down and shut up or get the hell out.”
For a long moment, there was what looked like some kind of stand-off All five of them stood still and silent, and Dean tightened his grip on Sam reflexively, waiting with baited breath for John to make his decision. After a long moment, John reluctantly held up his hands, placing his gun on the kitchen counter with exaggerated movements.
“Sit down.” Bobby said firmly. John scowled but complied, and it was a long moment before Dean reluctantly released Sam and moved forwards, sinking into the seat opposite him. Sam was still wide-eyed and trembling, but he followed the hunter almost instinctively, tugging his chair closer to Dean’s as he lowered himself onto it.
“I can’t believe this.” John snarled. “Since when do we invite the things we hunt into our houses? Since when do we sit down at a table and fucking discuss whether or not we’re going to kill them? I thought we were goddamn hunters.”
Jim slammed his hand on the table. “You’re forgetting your place, Winchester. This is my house, and you are here as my guest, and I won’t tolerate you treating anybody like they’re less than human. Do you understand me?”
John muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘he is less than human’, but he didn’t protest.
“Now,” Jim said, taking a deep breath and visibly calming himself down. “Why don’t we talk this through rationally? And don’t be a smartass, Winchester.”
John scowled, but didn’t say anything more.
Dean felt his stomach sink just that little bit further, because no matter how long they discussed this for, he knew that John already had his mind set against Sam. There was nothing that either of them could say that would make this better; John hated the very idea of the shifter, hated the idea of including him as part of their lives, and Dean refused to live without him.
“Why don’t you tell your dad how you met Sam?” Bobby prompted, nudging Dean’s knee with his own. “Get him up to date on the past few weeks?”
Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. It was… The demon we were hunting hadn’t just kidnapped humans - there was allsorts in that place. Werewolves, vampires, a couple of djinns and Sam. He was in his… dog form, curled up in a ball in the back of a cage - the demon had kept him in there for months, with this heavy metal collar on him. He barely had the energy to move, so Bobby and I decided to take him home.”
John scowled. “I told you to test him, Dean. Since when do you disobey an order?”
“I’m not a kid anymore!” Dean snapped. “I’m twenty-one years old, dad! I’m capable of making my own goddamn decisions every once in a while!”
His father rolled his eyes petulantly. “Yeah? Well, look how well that worked out for you.”
“It worked out great, dad. Sam’s great, he’s saved my life more than once since the day that we pulled him from that cage, and you know what? He’s done a hell of a lot more for me over the past few weeks than you have in years. He’s my friend, dad, and if you can’t accept that then…”
John raised an eyebrow in apparent disbelief. “Is that what’s happening here? You’re choosing some mongrel of a shapeshifter over your own father?”
“I don’t want to,” Dean said carefully. “I want you both in my life, but if you force me to choose then you’re not going to like my decision.”
“Dean…” Sam said quietly, reaching for the hunter’s hand under the table and squeezing it lightly. “He’s your dad. I… I’ll be okay on my own. I could stick around Blue Earth, find a job somewhere-”
“No. If you want to stick around, then we’re both sticking around. I’m not just going to skip out on you. We’re in this together now, okay?”
The emotion that flashed across Sam’s face in that moment was pure, unaltered relief, and Dean felt his heart swell a little at the sight of it - well and truly sure, for the first time, that he was making the right decision.
“Well don’t come crying to me when he tries to rip your throat out in your sleep.” John snarled, slamming his hands down on the table as he pushed up from his chair, snatching his gun from the counter. He shoved past Jim as he got to the door, knocking the Pastor into the doorframe with a dull thud.
The distinctive sound of the truck’s door slamming shut rang through the house seconds later, followed by the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires as John shot away from the house.
“Well,” Bobby said around a chuckle, crossing the room to sink into John’s vacated chair. “That went well.”
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