SPN/DA Fic: The Wellspring (22/?)
Title: The Wellspring
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Rating: R (gen)
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn. What are they to do?
Warnings: Language, cuddles
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I'm pretty confident about it, but the chapter count is actually tentative.
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
_______________________________________________________________________
The sun’s a cruel and beautiful bastard. Alec decides this when he opens his eyes and there’s light just flooding through the car windows, assaulting his head with its ferocity, and he turns as much as he can to look at his brother, who is slumped against him, who hasn’t moved since they got in this car hours and hours ago when it was dark out. Dean’s asleep in the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger, and their breathing is deep and synchronized. The sunlight is hitting their hair and their skin and they’re so bright, everything is so bright. Alec doesn’t think the world has ever been this bright before.
He looks out the fingerprint-smeared window to see trees and gravel and dirt. It’s a logging road and there’s no cars, or even trucks, and Alec knows he probably shouldn’t, but he feels safe right now, right here. He shouldn’t. They could track them down at any time and Dean...Dean said he didn’t think he killed anyone. Any time, they could be tracked down and dragged back, but Alec’s not feeling that. He’s too tired and fucked-up to feel that. That doesn’t mean that logic’s not telling him they should get moving soon, though.
Ben’s eyes flutter open when Alec attempts to untangle himself.
“Where’re you going?” his brother whispers.
Alec pats his knee with a reassuring hand. “Nowhere,” he replies. “Were you awake when we stopped? D’ya know when?”
Ben looks out the window, judges the position of the sun with squinting eyes. “Maybe five hours ago.”
Alec nods to himself and starts for the front of the car only to be dragged back by his grey sweatshirt.
“Dude, Ben…”
“They’re tired, Alec.” Ben’s eyes are wide and earnest and maybe just a bit fearful and he’s biting his lip like he does when he’s dazed and sad. Alec knows his twin. He knows these signs. Ben doesn’t know what’s what right now. It’s kind of irritating, actually. Like last night, Ben was being all stiff and tentative even though he was trying really hard not to show it, and he kept looking at Sam and Dean like they were going to yell at him just for being there. Alec wanted to tell his brother to cut it out. Sam and Dean want them. Alec knows they do because they keep calling Ben and Alec stupid girly pet names and don’t acknowledge it afterwards because they’re stupid and girly, but they call them those things, anyway. Alec doesn’t really care. In fact, he kind of likes it. “Sweetheart,” while at times cringe-inducing, might very well be one step closer to light-up sneakers and complete Winchester domination.
And maybe such names kind of make him feel warm and safe in an unexplainable way. Kind of like this logging road, but logic still wins.
“We need to keep going,” he replies. “They’ll be okay. We’ll be able to stop eventually.”
He hopes that isn’t a lie. He’s all graceful limbs as he wedges his way into the front, climbs into Dean’s lap. Dean grunts and his eyes flutter open and he squints because the sun is bright and then Alec isn’t so graceful anymore because there’s a steering wheel in his way and he’s too big to fit, damnit, and he keeps trying until Dean yawns and maneuvers him so that his back is against the door and his legs are trailing over to rest on a slowly-waking Sam.
Dean scrubs a hand over his face, rubs at his sleep-encrusted eyes with two fingers until Alec grabs his arm and blankets it over himself. That’s when Dean starts peering at him like he’s not sure whether he’s Alec or Ben and Alec gets that because the entire climbing-into-the-lap, situating-arms-around-himself is totally a Ben thing to do, but fuck it, he’s Alec and he can do these things, too.
“Where in the fuck are we?”
Dean snorts and tucks him in closer. Alec fidgets and nudges his nose into the man’s neck as Sam’s eyes flutter open.
“Language, Alec.”
Alec smirks and circles a ring of blood on Dean’s sweatshirt with the tip of a finger. “Uncle Sam’s vigilant this morning.”
Sam responds with a sleepy smile and a shaking of one of the small feet invading his lap.
“S’a logging road, kitten,” Dean finally murmurs. “We should be good here.”
“I can drive if you’re too tired.”
“Yeah? Think your feet can reach the pedals?”
“Uh huh.”
“Think you’ll be able to see over the steering wheel?”
“’Course.”
“Well, I think we’re all set then, little dude. I see absolutely no problem with this course of action…“ Dean trails off. They both wait for it, for Sam’s pseudo-outraged, “Dean,” but it never comes. Sam just raises an eyebrow in their general direction and twists around to look back at Ben.
“He awake?” Dean’s chest rumbles with the words. Alec presses closer, tries to feel it more while Sam nods and reaches an arm back to touch Ben. Dean moves a little under Alec, tries to get a glimpse of the kid in the backseat, but Alec refuses to move in order to make things easier. He hates himself a little for it, but it’s one of those feelings he can also kind of shrug off. Ben will get over this.
Dean asks, “Why so serious, Benny?”
“M’fine.”
“You can’t be fine. You’re not giggling.”
Sam huffs and reaches over Alec’s legs in order to flick Dean on the forehead.
“Ow. You little-“
“How in the hell is he going to get that reference, Dean? And even if he could, why would he giggle? Can we say over-used much?”
Dean sniffs indignantly. “S’a Batman reference. He’ll get it one day. And it’ll never get old.”
Alec squirms on Dean’s lap, makes a face, because this is going to be one of those useless little arguments they have and they really don’t have the time for this. He likes the arguments, he does, and he always wants to be able to hear them, always wants everyone together so they can happen with as much frequency as possible.
“It’s already old.”
“It is not-“
“I miss my underwear,” Alec announces. “My underwear was awesome.” That shuts them up. Sam is, in fact, beginning to smile and Alec can kind of feel Dean’s cheek plump against his face so he’s pretty sure this was a win on his part. “Ben, don’t you miss our underwear?”
It takes his brother a while to respond and Alec’s almost afraid that he won’t when a quiet, but honest “’course I do” comes from backseat.
“Of course you do,” Dean agrees. “I bought you that underwear.”
“With my stealings,” Alec reminds him. “But I’m still grateful. It’s some pretty sweet underwear.” Pretty sweet underwear that he wants to get back to. “I think we should start moving now. Can we start moving now?”
“Soon, Alec.”
“But-“
“It’s gonna be okay.” The playfulness in Dean’s voice is gone - the tone is low and gruff despite the reassurance of the words and Alec tenses a little until he feels Dean pat his hip. “You gotta trust me.”
“I do.”
“Good, ‘cause before we go anywhere, I gotta take a leak. So does Sam. He’s got a bladder the size of a pea, this kid.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“You shut up. Benny, you gotta pee?”
“Uh huh.”
“Awesome.” Alec feels a hand worm its way behind him, feels it brace him as the door he’s been leaning against is shoved open and cool air assaults the back of his neck. “Looks like you’re coming, too, then, kitten. We’ve reached that territory where no man gets left behind.”
Dean’s careful about getting Alec to the ground. His head doesn’t bump the roof of the car or anything and Dean smirks at him as he swings his legs out, gets to his feet, and stretches. Alec hears the bones pop. He shifts a little, from one foot to the other, begins to realize that he, too, has to urinate. Dean notices this and his smirk widens into a shit-eating grin before he turns around to open the door for Ben.
“C’mere, kid.”
Ben edges out and steps onto the gravel with hesitant feet. Alec watches his twin sway for a moment, watches him peer up at Dean real quick before lowering his eyes to the ground. Alec wants to tell him to cut it out, because Dean’s biting his lip and looking sad like Ben does sometimes and Alec doesn’t like that look, even if it is genetic. Even if there is reason. Even if bad shit happened. Even if Ben didn’t keep his wits about him. Even if Dean couldn’t kill the guy like he said he would. Even if Sam can move ridiculously big shit with his mind. Even if inherently decent human beings are dead. Even if it’s Alec’s fault. Even if Alec’s fucked up and Ben’s fucked up and they’re all freaks in ways only they can understand, Alec doesn’t like that look.
Alec bites his lip and swallows some sadness down. Dean places a hand on Ben’s shoulder and squeezes.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, and the question is so quiet, Alec can barely hear it. Sam probably can’t hear it at all.
Ben looks up at Dean and blinks. He can’t remember. Alec can tell. He doesn’t know which time Dean’s talking about. He can’t remember if it’s the time when Dean wasn’t Dean, if it’s the time that Not Dean said to stop crying and that his name wasn’t Dad, and Alec knows better. Or Ben knows better. Alec’s not sure what the difference is and he’s not entirely sure they saw the same things, but he’s chancing a guess. Dean gets this, though.
“When you had the knife and it was just you and me and Sam and Alec,” Dean clarifies, his voice still so quiet. “What did I tell you that was important? The most important thing I said. Recite it back.”
“You…” That lip’s gonna bleed. Alec’s pretty sure of it. Dean taps Ben’s mouth with his finger until the teeth relinquish their victim and Ben blinks and ducks his head until Dean clears his throat and then he makes eye contact, because that’s what’s supposed to happen when they have these uncomfortably necessary conversations. “You’ll always want me.”
Dean beams. “Gold star, kiddo.”
“What’s a gold star?”
“Something that means you’re amazing and one hundred percent correct. Don’t worry, I’m sure your Uncle Sam will buy you some stickers one of these days. Maybe some unicorn stickers, even. Sparkly ones.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“What? Stickers are awesome.”
They keep on like that. Alec’s fine with it this time because as soon as they pee, they’ll be on their way again, they’ll be closer to the purchase of these mystical gold stars and that wondrous underwear that Alec misses so much. They’ll be closer to the Impala, wherever she is, because she’s out there and she’s home. She’s a shiny home that’s even shinier today, so shiny that they’ll find her. Alec’s sure of this. Today is an extremely bright day.
___________________________
The motel shower stays surprisingly and fantastically hot. Dean wants to stay in it forever, but he can’t because Sam’s pounding on the door. Sam wants in, and who can blame the little bitch, honestly? This is freaking heaven.
He throws back his head and lets the water pound onto his face, pour down his cheeks, onto his shoulders and he’s so tired he almost falls asleep like this, almost falls asleep standing up on a wet and slippery surface and wouldn’t that be ironic if that was the way Dean Winchester bit it? Cheating death a thousand times over and then catching it while enjoying something normal. Dean snorts to himself, absently rubs his wet belly with a wet hand. He’s so tired that dying this way seems almost fitting.
Sam’s fist pounds the door again. “You’re such a jerkface.”
The word ‘jerkface’ leaves Dean giggling helplessly under the showerhead because he’s a bad brother, just like he’s a bad parental figure. There was twenty bucks in the glove compartment of that car, that car which they inevitably ditched, and twenty bucks, while an awesome discovery, wasn’t getting them anywhere. And Dean’s sweatshirt was covered in dry blood that so obviously wasn’t his own, so he couldn’t very well attempt to con anyone out of their money, and Sam, while admittedly good at some things, isn’t the best conman. Sam isn’t a Dean.
Alec and Ben are Deans, though, and earlier this afternoon, they hit the strip of sidewalk within Dean’s range of sight and picked the pockets of people who looked like they could spare a few bills, just enough to put them up for a couple of nights and get them a set of clothes apiece. Alec, of course, made sure to pick a few more than necessary. “There’s a bar on the edge of town,” he explained, his little face awash with glee. “We can triple it.”
Sam raps on the door again.
“Untwist your panties, gigantor,” Dean calls cheerfully. “M’coming.”
He wraps a towel around his waist, spends just enough time in front of the fogged-up mirror spiking his wet hair for Sam to start pounding and snarking again.
Dean smirks when he opens the door and skirts by his angered little brother into the main room, which is small as fuck, but actually has two whole beds. Alec and Ben are huddled together on the one farthest from the door, hair still damp, skin still freshly-washed and glowing, wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans that are just a bit too big for them.
“Showers are amazing,” he informs them, tugging a loose T-shirt over his head. “They’re right up there with Marcia Brady and pie.”
“Who’s Marcia Brady?” Ben asks.
Dean pauses and tries to figure out how to respond to this while Sam, obviously eavesdropping from the bathroom, calls out, “A fictional character with very little cultural relevance!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean tells them. “He was glued to TV Land as soon as he hit puberty…” he trails off, cocks his head to the side and reconsiders that statement. “Of course with your Uncle Sam, it was probably for Jan.”
“Who’s Jan?” Alec pipes up.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean replies as he tugs on a pair of jeans, because it really doesn’t matter at all. He shrugs an eyebrow and dives onto the bed amidst his clones, pokes his mischievous fingers into their tiny sides. They giggle and pile on top of him just like he knew they would because they’re awesome like that.
Sam’s still in the shower when Ben and Alec collapse at his sides, breathing heavier than they probably have to. Dean could totally just pass out now. His eyelids are heavy and dropping by the second and he can’t help but think, despite his recent hot shower, how he’s been cold for days, how there’s still that lasting chill in his bones that’s quickly disappearing because there are furnaces digging into his sides right now, furnaces with limbs and faces that are soft and burrowing into his chest, furnaces that are gripping the thin fabric of his Goodwill T-shirt in their small fists because Dean’s here and they’re here and Sam’s in the shower, Dean can hear the water, and they can’t let go or leave sight because then they might disappear. Dean’s certain of this. Winchester familial foundations are always crumbling with loss and without each other they have no one. Well, no one except-
“Oh, crap.”
“D-Dean?” Ben stumbles over his name, but it still manages to come out all innocent and adoring. Dean feels a pang between his heart and his throat and he tries to crush it because it has no right to be there. Ben used to call Dean something else, before all this stupid shit went down.
“S’okay, Benny. I just remembered I forgot to call Bobby.”
He reaches over the boy for the phone, sets the bulk of it on his belly and begins to lazily dial when Alec starts tugging at the receiver in his hand.
“Can I talk to him first? He’ll be delighted.”
Dean breathes a laugh and gives in without an argument. He wraps an arm around Ben and watches as Alec eagerly waits for Bobby to pick up, watches the green eyes twinkle merrily when he finally does. Dean just barely hears the crackle of the gruff greeting.
“Bobby! S’Alec…uh huh, we’re fine. Yeah I know, it’s been a long time, but we have an excuse…”
Sam comes out of the bathroom, then, with one towel around his waist and another going at his hair because he’s a gigantic girl. It’s when Alec chirps, “No, seriously, we do” and Sam looks at Dean and mouths “Bobby?” that Dean starts to reconsider this decision. He reaches for the phone only to have Alec jerk away.
“Nah, it wasn’t anything supernatural. It was the government…yeah, that’s right. They kidnapped and tortured us and almost killed Sam and Dean but we got away because Sam can move jeeps and shit with his mind because he’s scary like that.”
Sam’s face falls and Dean shifts uncomfortably because he doesn’t know how to alleviate this situation and Bobby’s voice is starting to get louder on the other end of the line. Alec seems pretty oblivious to this. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and grins at Sam. “I don’t think you’re scary, though, Sam. I think you’re badass like all good uncles should be.”
Sam raises his eyebrows, but his face is noticeably brighter as he continues to towel his hair. “Uh, well, thanks, buddy.”
“No problem - yeah, no. We’re fine, Bobby. I mean, we’re all pretty emotionally fragile and most likely damaged for all of eternity, but there’re no limbs lost or anything.” Dean reaches for the phone again and once again, Alec expertly eludes him, crosses one casual leg over the other and settles his back into a pillow. “Bobby, we’re pals, right? D’ya think you could try to convince Sam and Dean that Ben and I are entitled to some weaponry? I mean, it’s not our fault we’re small. It’s ageism, pure and simple. I’m sure you agree that-“ The crackle is loud enough now to indicate that Bobby’s speaking in a restrained holler, and Alec cringes and hands the phone over to Dean. “Speak carefully. I think he’s about to start making woodshed threats again.”
Dean snorts, and takes the phone, explains the situation in some more detail before holding the receiver away from his ear as a spew of “idgits” are released over the line. “Seriously, though, Bobby we’re okay,” he says when it’s all said and done and he has the phone back up to his ear. “We’re just tired and I don’t know where my car is.” Another pang. He doesn’t try to crush this one. He’s entitled to his car. “I miss m’car.”
He hears Bobby heave a sigh. “I have your car, boy.”
Dean’s throat goes dry. He couldn’t have heard that right. That…things like that don’t…but it’s Bobby. Bobby always… “You have my car? Are you-“
“I have your car, Dean.”
“Bobby, I…how? Jesus motherfucking Christ, dude. I love you like the Beav loves Ward Cleaver.”
“Dean.”
“I mean, if Ward Cleaver wasn’t some 1950’s suburban tool. You gotta admit, though, he wears his slippers like you wear your trucker hat. You’ll admit to that, right? That’s pretty badass…dude, you have my car.”
“’Course I do, you little dumbass. You didn’t answer your phone for days. I tracked your daddy’s old one in the glove compartment and when the car was just abandoned and you and Sam weren’t anywhere and the boys weren’t…” Bobby trails off. Guy sounds like he has a lump in his throat, the affectionate old bastard.
Dean brings the phone in close enough that his lips brush the mouthpiece, mumbles, “M’sorry, Bobby.”
A grizzled throat clears. “I brought ‘er home. Figured you’d show up sometime.”
“Thanks, man. We’ll be there tomorrow night.”
“You sure as hell better be.”
“We will be.”
“I repeat, you sure as hell better be.”
Dean grins and says a quick, “Bye, Bobby” before hanging up the phone and pumping his fist into the air. The boys topple onto him. Sam grins as he pulls on his clothes. Alec asks, “D’ya think Alec II’s still in there? And Ben’s bear? I mean I don’t care or anything, not really…just wondering.”
The kid cares. Dean can tell, and he’s kind of sorry he didn’t think to ask about their things, but really he’s still caught up in the fact that his baby’s okay.
Dean ghosts a hand over the prickly head. “Where’d we leave ‘em?”
“In your bag. We put our bags in the trunk before we left for the store.”
“They’re probably still in there, kitten.”
Alec nods, though he looks like he doesn’t really believe it. Dean suggests they get some shut eye and Alec climbs over him and Ben to sleep with Sam, grumbling derogatory things about this “two separate beds” business under his breath.
Dean reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room falls dark. Ben curls into him, whispers “Goodnight, Dean” in the softest of voices and Dean rumbles a “Goodnight, Benny” back at him. He stays awake for some time, blinking until he can make out the grey ceiling, counting what cracks he can see, feeling Ben’s hand grip and release his shirt. He’s well aware that the kid is still awake, but neither of them acknowledges it. Things are falling into place, like they so often do, but there’s still a distance here, one that’s been sliced into them by seven days of Manticore prep, rules and lies that have been stamped into the heads of the young and impressionable and damaged.
Rules. Dean can make up rules.
“Benny, s’bedtime. Go to sleep.”
Ben ducks a guilty head into his pillow, mumbles, “I don’t want to dream.”
Dean can make up lies, too. “You won’t. M’here. If you do dream, I’ll make sure it’s nothing bad. I’m super powerful that way.”
“I know.”
Dean’s surprised by that, but he doesn’t show it. “You should. Now I want you to close your eyes and think about things that are awesome. Are your eyes closed, sweetheart?”
“They’re closed.”
“Good. Now I want you to think about ice cream and pie and double bacon cheeseburgers. Oh, and oatmeal. You like oatmeal. Think about the car, too. She’s our baby.”
“She’s incredible,” Ben agrees, but his voice is sad.
Dean curls an arm around him, tucks him in so that his back is against Dean’s chest, with his head under Dean’s chin. “She is. She’s your sister and your mother and your grandmother and your father’s mistress. She’s blood in every way that’s not red and liquid and tomorrow you’ll see her again.”
The boy goes still. Dean moves his chin across the shorn head, lowers his face just enough to brush his lips across it. “She’s one of the most awesome things in the entire world. Just like you and Alec and Sam. And Angus Young.”
“Hells Bells,” Ben murmurs.
“Fuckin’ A,” Dean says.
They fall asleep.
Next
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Rating: R (gen)
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn. What are they to do?
Warnings: Language, cuddles
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I'm pretty confident about it, but the chapter count is actually tentative.
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
_______________________________________________________________________
The sun’s a cruel and beautiful bastard. Alec decides this when he opens his eyes and there’s light just flooding through the car windows, assaulting his head with its ferocity, and he turns as much as he can to look at his brother, who is slumped against him, who hasn’t moved since they got in this car hours and hours ago when it was dark out. Dean’s asleep in the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger, and their breathing is deep and synchronized. The sunlight is hitting their hair and their skin and they’re so bright, everything is so bright. Alec doesn’t think the world has ever been this bright before.
He looks out the fingerprint-smeared window to see trees and gravel and dirt. It’s a logging road and there’s no cars, or even trucks, and Alec knows he probably shouldn’t, but he feels safe right now, right here. He shouldn’t. They could track them down at any time and Dean...Dean said he didn’t think he killed anyone. Any time, they could be tracked down and dragged back, but Alec’s not feeling that. He’s too tired and fucked-up to feel that. That doesn’t mean that logic’s not telling him they should get moving soon, though.
Ben’s eyes flutter open when Alec attempts to untangle himself.
“Where’re you going?” his brother whispers.
Alec pats his knee with a reassuring hand. “Nowhere,” he replies. “Were you awake when we stopped? D’ya know when?”
Ben looks out the window, judges the position of the sun with squinting eyes. “Maybe five hours ago.”
Alec nods to himself and starts for the front of the car only to be dragged back by his grey sweatshirt.
“Dude, Ben…”
“They’re tired, Alec.” Ben’s eyes are wide and earnest and maybe just a bit fearful and he’s biting his lip like he does when he’s dazed and sad. Alec knows his twin. He knows these signs. Ben doesn’t know what’s what right now. It’s kind of irritating, actually. Like last night, Ben was being all stiff and tentative even though he was trying really hard not to show it, and he kept looking at Sam and Dean like they were going to yell at him just for being there. Alec wanted to tell his brother to cut it out. Sam and Dean want them. Alec knows they do because they keep calling Ben and Alec stupid girly pet names and don’t acknowledge it afterwards because they’re stupid and girly, but they call them those things, anyway. Alec doesn’t really care. In fact, he kind of likes it. “Sweetheart,” while at times cringe-inducing, might very well be one step closer to light-up sneakers and complete Winchester domination.
And maybe such names kind of make him feel warm and safe in an unexplainable way. Kind of like this logging road, but logic still wins.
“We need to keep going,” he replies. “They’ll be okay. We’ll be able to stop eventually.”
He hopes that isn’t a lie. He’s all graceful limbs as he wedges his way into the front, climbs into Dean’s lap. Dean grunts and his eyes flutter open and he squints because the sun is bright and then Alec isn’t so graceful anymore because there’s a steering wheel in his way and he’s too big to fit, damnit, and he keeps trying until Dean yawns and maneuvers him so that his back is against the door and his legs are trailing over to rest on a slowly-waking Sam.
Dean scrubs a hand over his face, rubs at his sleep-encrusted eyes with two fingers until Alec grabs his arm and blankets it over himself. That’s when Dean starts peering at him like he’s not sure whether he’s Alec or Ben and Alec gets that because the entire climbing-into-the-lap, situating-arms-around-himself is totally a Ben thing to do, but fuck it, he’s Alec and he can do these things, too.
“Where in the fuck are we?”
Dean snorts and tucks him in closer. Alec fidgets and nudges his nose into the man’s neck as Sam’s eyes flutter open.
“Language, Alec.”
Alec smirks and circles a ring of blood on Dean’s sweatshirt with the tip of a finger. “Uncle Sam’s vigilant this morning.”
Sam responds with a sleepy smile and a shaking of one of the small feet invading his lap.
“S’a logging road, kitten,” Dean finally murmurs. “We should be good here.”
“I can drive if you’re too tired.”
“Yeah? Think your feet can reach the pedals?”
“Uh huh.”
“Think you’ll be able to see over the steering wheel?”
“’Course.”
“Well, I think we’re all set then, little dude. I see absolutely no problem with this course of action…“ Dean trails off. They both wait for it, for Sam’s pseudo-outraged, “Dean,” but it never comes. Sam just raises an eyebrow in their general direction and twists around to look back at Ben.
“He awake?” Dean’s chest rumbles with the words. Alec presses closer, tries to feel it more while Sam nods and reaches an arm back to touch Ben. Dean moves a little under Alec, tries to get a glimpse of the kid in the backseat, but Alec refuses to move in order to make things easier. He hates himself a little for it, but it’s one of those feelings he can also kind of shrug off. Ben will get over this.
Dean asks, “Why so serious, Benny?”
“M’fine.”
“You can’t be fine. You’re not giggling.”
Sam huffs and reaches over Alec’s legs in order to flick Dean on the forehead.
“Ow. You little-“
“How in the hell is he going to get that reference, Dean? And even if he could, why would he giggle? Can we say over-used much?”
Dean sniffs indignantly. “S’a Batman reference. He’ll get it one day. And it’ll never get old.”
Alec squirms on Dean’s lap, makes a face, because this is going to be one of those useless little arguments they have and they really don’t have the time for this. He likes the arguments, he does, and he always wants to be able to hear them, always wants everyone together so they can happen with as much frequency as possible.
“It’s already old.”
“It is not-“
“I miss my underwear,” Alec announces. “My underwear was awesome.” That shuts them up. Sam is, in fact, beginning to smile and Alec can kind of feel Dean’s cheek plump against his face so he’s pretty sure this was a win on his part. “Ben, don’t you miss our underwear?”
It takes his brother a while to respond and Alec’s almost afraid that he won’t when a quiet, but honest “’course I do” comes from backseat.
“Of course you do,” Dean agrees. “I bought you that underwear.”
“With my stealings,” Alec reminds him. “But I’m still grateful. It’s some pretty sweet underwear.” Pretty sweet underwear that he wants to get back to. “I think we should start moving now. Can we start moving now?”
“Soon, Alec.”
“But-“
“It’s gonna be okay.” The playfulness in Dean’s voice is gone - the tone is low and gruff despite the reassurance of the words and Alec tenses a little until he feels Dean pat his hip. “You gotta trust me.”
“I do.”
“Good, ‘cause before we go anywhere, I gotta take a leak. So does Sam. He’s got a bladder the size of a pea, this kid.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“You shut up. Benny, you gotta pee?”
“Uh huh.”
“Awesome.” Alec feels a hand worm its way behind him, feels it brace him as the door he’s been leaning against is shoved open and cool air assaults the back of his neck. “Looks like you’re coming, too, then, kitten. We’ve reached that territory where no man gets left behind.”
Dean’s careful about getting Alec to the ground. His head doesn’t bump the roof of the car or anything and Dean smirks at him as he swings his legs out, gets to his feet, and stretches. Alec hears the bones pop. He shifts a little, from one foot to the other, begins to realize that he, too, has to urinate. Dean notices this and his smirk widens into a shit-eating grin before he turns around to open the door for Ben.
“C’mere, kid.”
Ben edges out and steps onto the gravel with hesitant feet. Alec watches his twin sway for a moment, watches him peer up at Dean real quick before lowering his eyes to the ground. Alec wants to tell him to cut it out, because Dean’s biting his lip and looking sad like Ben does sometimes and Alec doesn’t like that look, even if it is genetic. Even if there is reason. Even if bad shit happened. Even if Ben didn’t keep his wits about him. Even if Dean couldn’t kill the guy like he said he would. Even if Sam can move ridiculously big shit with his mind. Even if inherently decent human beings are dead. Even if it’s Alec’s fault. Even if Alec’s fucked up and Ben’s fucked up and they’re all freaks in ways only they can understand, Alec doesn’t like that look.
Alec bites his lip and swallows some sadness down. Dean places a hand on Ben’s shoulder and squeezes.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, and the question is so quiet, Alec can barely hear it. Sam probably can’t hear it at all.
Ben looks up at Dean and blinks. He can’t remember. Alec can tell. He doesn’t know which time Dean’s talking about. He can’t remember if it’s the time when Dean wasn’t Dean, if it’s the time that Not Dean said to stop crying and that his name wasn’t Dad, and Alec knows better. Or Ben knows better. Alec’s not sure what the difference is and he’s not entirely sure they saw the same things, but he’s chancing a guess. Dean gets this, though.
“When you had the knife and it was just you and me and Sam and Alec,” Dean clarifies, his voice still so quiet. “What did I tell you that was important? The most important thing I said. Recite it back.”
“You…” That lip’s gonna bleed. Alec’s pretty sure of it. Dean taps Ben’s mouth with his finger until the teeth relinquish their victim and Ben blinks and ducks his head until Dean clears his throat and then he makes eye contact, because that’s what’s supposed to happen when they have these uncomfortably necessary conversations. “You’ll always want me.”
Dean beams. “Gold star, kiddo.”
“What’s a gold star?”
“Something that means you’re amazing and one hundred percent correct. Don’t worry, I’m sure your Uncle Sam will buy you some stickers one of these days. Maybe some unicorn stickers, even. Sparkly ones.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“What? Stickers are awesome.”
They keep on like that. Alec’s fine with it this time because as soon as they pee, they’ll be on their way again, they’ll be closer to the purchase of these mystical gold stars and that wondrous underwear that Alec misses so much. They’ll be closer to the Impala, wherever she is, because she’s out there and she’s home. She’s a shiny home that’s even shinier today, so shiny that they’ll find her. Alec’s sure of this. Today is an extremely bright day.
___________________________
The motel shower stays surprisingly and fantastically hot. Dean wants to stay in it forever, but he can’t because Sam’s pounding on the door. Sam wants in, and who can blame the little bitch, honestly? This is freaking heaven.
He throws back his head and lets the water pound onto his face, pour down his cheeks, onto his shoulders and he’s so tired he almost falls asleep like this, almost falls asleep standing up on a wet and slippery surface and wouldn’t that be ironic if that was the way Dean Winchester bit it? Cheating death a thousand times over and then catching it while enjoying something normal. Dean snorts to himself, absently rubs his wet belly with a wet hand. He’s so tired that dying this way seems almost fitting.
Sam’s fist pounds the door again. “You’re such a jerkface.”
The word ‘jerkface’ leaves Dean giggling helplessly under the showerhead because he’s a bad brother, just like he’s a bad parental figure. There was twenty bucks in the glove compartment of that car, that car which they inevitably ditched, and twenty bucks, while an awesome discovery, wasn’t getting them anywhere. And Dean’s sweatshirt was covered in dry blood that so obviously wasn’t his own, so he couldn’t very well attempt to con anyone out of their money, and Sam, while admittedly good at some things, isn’t the best conman. Sam isn’t a Dean.
Alec and Ben are Deans, though, and earlier this afternoon, they hit the strip of sidewalk within Dean’s range of sight and picked the pockets of people who looked like they could spare a few bills, just enough to put them up for a couple of nights and get them a set of clothes apiece. Alec, of course, made sure to pick a few more than necessary. “There’s a bar on the edge of town,” he explained, his little face awash with glee. “We can triple it.”
Sam raps on the door again.
“Untwist your panties, gigantor,” Dean calls cheerfully. “M’coming.”
He wraps a towel around his waist, spends just enough time in front of the fogged-up mirror spiking his wet hair for Sam to start pounding and snarking again.
Dean smirks when he opens the door and skirts by his angered little brother into the main room, which is small as fuck, but actually has two whole beds. Alec and Ben are huddled together on the one farthest from the door, hair still damp, skin still freshly-washed and glowing, wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans that are just a bit too big for them.
“Showers are amazing,” he informs them, tugging a loose T-shirt over his head. “They’re right up there with Marcia Brady and pie.”
“Who’s Marcia Brady?” Ben asks.
Dean pauses and tries to figure out how to respond to this while Sam, obviously eavesdropping from the bathroom, calls out, “A fictional character with very little cultural relevance!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean tells them. “He was glued to TV Land as soon as he hit puberty…” he trails off, cocks his head to the side and reconsiders that statement. “Of course with your Uncle Sam, it was probably for Jan.”
“Who’s Jan?” Alec pipes up.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean replies as he tugs on a pair of jeans, because it really doesn’t matter at all. He shrugs an eyebrow and dives onto the bed amidst his clones, pokes his mischievous fingers into their tiny sides. They giggle and pile on top of him just like he knew they would because they’re awesome like that.
Sam’s still in the shower when Ben and Alec collapse at his sides, breathing heavier than they probably have to. Dean could totally just pass out now. His eyelids are heavy and dropping by the second and he can’t help but think, despite his recent hot shower, how he’s been cold for days, how there’s still that lasting chill in his bones that’s quickly disappearing because there are furnaces digging into his sides right now, furnaces with limbs and faces that are soft and burrowing into his chest, furnaces that are gripping the thin fabric of his Goodwill T-shirt in their small fists because Dean’s here and they’re here and Sam’s in the shower, Dean can hear the water, and they can’t let go or leave sight because then they might disappear. Dean’s certain of this. Winchester familial foundations are always crumbling with loss and without each other they have no one. Well, no one except-
“Oh, crap.”
“D-Dean?” Ben stumbles over his name, but it still manages to come out all innocent and adoring. Dean feels a pang between his heart and his throat and he tries to crush it because it has no right to be there. Ben used to call Dean something else, before all this stupid shit went down.
“S’okay, Benny. I just remembered I forgot to call Bobby.”
He reaches over the boy for the phone, sets the bulk of it on his belly and begins to lazily dial when Alec starts tugging at the receiver in his hand.
“Can I talk to him first? He’ll be delighted.”
Dean breathes a laugh and gives in without an argument. He wraps an arm around Ben and watches as Alec eagerly waits for Bobby to pick up, watches the green eyes twinkle merrily when he finally does. Dean just barely hears the crackle of the gruff greeting.
“Bobby! S’Alec…uh huh, we’re fine. Yeah I know, it’s been a long time, but we have an excuse…”
Sam comes out of the bathroom, then, with one towel around his waist and another going at his hair because he’s a gigantic girl. It’s when Alec chirps, “No, seriously, we do” and Sam looks at Dean and mouths “Bobby?” that Dean starts to reconsider this decision. He reaches for the phone only to have Alec jerk away.
“Nah, it wasn’t anything supernatural. It was the government…yeah, that’s right. They kidnapped and tortured us and almost killed Sam and Dean but we got away because Sam can move jeeps and shit with his mind because he’s scary like that.”
Sam’s face falls and Dean shifts uncomfortably because he doesn’t know how to alleviate this situation and Bobby’s voice is starting to get louder on the other end of the line. Alec seems pretty oblivious to this. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and grins at Sam. “I don’t think you’re scary, though, Sam. I think you’re badass like all good uncles should be.”
Sam raises his eyebrows, but his face is noticeably brighter as he continues to towel his hair. “Uh, well, thanks, buddy.”
“No problem - yeah, no. We’re fine, Bobby. I mean, we’re all pretty emotionally fragile and most likely damaged for all of eternity, but there’re no limbs lost or anything.” Dean reaches for the phone again and once again, Alec expertly eludes him, crosses one casual leg over the other and settles his back into a pillow. “Bobby, we’re pals, right? D’ya think you could try to convince Sam and Dean that Ben and I are entitled to some weaponry? I mean, it’s not our fault we’re small. It’s ageism, pure and simple. I’m sure you agree that-“ The crackle is loud enough now to indicate that Bobby’s speaking in a restrained holler, and Alec cringes and hands the phone over to Dean. “Speak carefully. I think he’s about to start making woodshed threats again.”
Dean snorts, and takes the phone, explains the situation in some more detail before holding the receiver away from his ear as a spew of “idgits” are released over the line. “Seriously, though, Bobby we’re okay,” he says when it’s all said and done and he has the phone back up to his ear. “We’re just tired and I don’t know where my car is.” Another pang. He doesn’t try to crush this one. He’s entitled to his car. “I miss m’car.”
He hears Bobby heave a sigh. “I have your car, boy.”
Dean’s throat goes dry. He couldn’t have heard that right. That…things like that don’t…but it’s Bobby. Bobby always… “You have my car? Are you-“
“I have your car, Dean.”
“Bobby, I…how? Jesus motherfucking Christ, dude. I love you like the Beav loves Ward Cleaver.”
“Dean.”
“I mean, if Ward Cleaver wasn’t some 1950’s suburban tool. You gotta admit, though, he wears his slippers like you wear your trucker hat. You’ll admit to that, right? That’s pretty badass…dude, you have my car.”
“’Course I do, you little dumbass. You didn’t answer your phone for days. I tracked your daddy’s old one in the glove compartment and when the car was just abandoned and you and Sam weren’t anywhere and the boys weren’t…” Bobby trails off. Guy sounds like he has a lump in his throat, the affectionate old bastard.
Dean brings the phone in close enough that his lips brush the mouthpiece, mumbles, “M’sorry, Bobby.”
A grizzled throat clears. “I brought ‘er home. Figured you’d show up sometime.”
“Thanks, man. We’ll be there tomorrow night.”
“You sure as hell better be.”
“We will be.”
“I repeat, you sure as hell better be.”
Dean grins and says a quick, “Bye, Bobby” before hanging up the phone and pumping his fist into the air. The boys topple onto him. Sam grins as he pulls on his clothes. Alec asks, “D’ya think Alec II’s still in there? And Ben’s bear? I mean I don’t care or anything, not really…just wondering.”
The kid cares. Dean can tell, and he’s kind of sorry he didn’t think to ask about their things, but really he’s still caught up in the fact that his baby’s okay.
Dean ghosts a hand over the prickly head. “Where’d we leave ‘em?”
“In your bag. We put our bags in the trunk before we left for the store.”
“They’re probably still in there, kitten.”
Alec nods, though he looks like he doesn’t really believe it. Dean suggests they get some shut eye and Alec climbs over him and Ben to sleep with Sam, grumbling derogatory things about this “two separate beds” business under his breath.
Dean reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room falls dark. Ben curls into him, whispers “Goodnight, Dean” in the softest of voices and Dean rumbles a “Goodnight, Benny” back at him. He stays awake for some time, blinking until he can make out the grey ceiling, counting what cracks he can see, feeling Ben’s hand grip and release his shirt. He’s well aware that the kid is still awake, but neither of them acknowledges it. Things are falling into place, like they so often do, but there’s still a distance here, one that’s been sliced into them by seven days of Manticore prep, rules and lies that have been stamped into the heads of the young and impressionable and damaged.
Rules. Dean can make up rules.
“Benny, s’bedtime. Go to sleep.”
Ben ducks a guilty head into his pillow, mumbles, “I don’t want to dream.”
Dean can make up lies, too. “You won’t. M’here. If you do dream, I’ll make sure it’s nothing bad. I’m super powerful that way.”
“I know.”
Dean’s surprised by that, but he doesn’t show it. “You should. Now I want you to close your eyes and think about things that are awesome. Are your eyes closed, sweetheart?”
“They’re closed.”
“Good. Now I want you to think about ice cream and pie and double bacon cheeseburgers. Oh, and oatmeal. You like oatmeal. Think about the car, too. She’s our baby.”
“She’s incredible,” Ben agrees, but his voice is sad.
Dean curls an arm around him, tucks him in so that his back is against Dean’s chest, with his head under Dean’s chin. “She is. She’s your sister and your mother and your grandmother and your father’s mistress. She’s blood in every way that’s not red and liquid and tomorrow you’ll see her again.”
The boy goes still. Dean moves his chin across the shorn head, lowers his face just enough to brush his lips across it. “She’s one of the most awesome things in the entire world. Just like you and Alec and Sam. And Angus Young.”
“Hells Bells,” Ben murmurs.
“Fuckin’ A,” Dean says.
They fall asleep.
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