Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

’I’m…’

’Shut up.’

There was a long, painful moment without a sound, as Charlie’s body burned before them. Dean knew his brother was two moments from crying, but he did not move to comfort him.

’I’m done’ Sam Winchester said quietly, and Dean snapped his head up. The tone was exactly like John Winchester's before he started to shout, and Dean instinctively pursed his lips.

He knew that he had been incredibly unfair to his brother lately: he knew that Sam was suffering as much from Charlie's death as he was: he knew that Sam had never, ever wanted anything to happen to her.

But the unconscious rage that had been simmering inside him ever since the girl's death had to be directed somewhere, and he always chose the one closest to him.

’What?’ he asked: his voice was cold, but from the first time since he bear the mark, he was afraid.

’I’m done’ repated Sam softly. ’I'm done trying, I'm done begging you to hear me out: you won't even let me apologise for something that's not my fault. Charlie was my friend too, and if I could die for her to live, I would. But at the end of the day, Charlie was an adult and made the decision to help us herself. And the fact that you won't even let me apologize is disgraceful.

How hypocritical do you have to be, on a scale of one to ten? You can go to hell for me to live, but I can't do everything for you? Newsflash: if someone would do anything for you, it's fucking terrifying. I thought you knew that since Dad. But I'm done. I'm done crawling on my knees, I'm done begging. I'm leaving.'

And Sam turned, leaving the still-flaming body, the hunter's funeral; Dean felt the ice armor that had surrounded his body until now, preventing him from speaking, shattering, the heat reaching his skin painfully.

'Then go!' he shouted after him.'You always do that, don't you? You run away when things get difficult' he thundered. Sam didn't turn around, and Dean knew he was being unfair again; Sam had been in countless hellishly difficult situations with him, and he had walked over his little brother's spirit, his soul again and again.

'But if you leave now, don't come back' Sam paused, and Dean felt like a piece of shit. Sam and Dad had made up, before the hunter's death, but that sentence still hurt him: Dean knew that, and he'd deliberately brushed back the thought, which neither he nor John Winchester had meant.

His little brother turned around, and Dean had a moment of hope that this would all be nothing more than a terrible fight, like the night before Sam went to Stanford. Sam himself said it didn't mean anything to him anymore, he just wanted Dad back. Can't it be the same with him?

But, you know, Dean forgot, or at least tried to forget, how stubborn Sam Winchester is when he's really hurt. And let's face it, Dean really hurt him.

'Really, Dean?' he asked very quietly, and he found it hard to look at him, with his dark, pained eyes. "Seriously?" asked Sam, and then he said no more. He walked off, flatly.

About an hour later he heard the sound of a car: so Sam took one of the many cars from the Bunker's garage.

The hunter stumbled silently, on heavy feet, to Sam's room.  The place was perfectly clean and tidy: Sam's personal belongings were completely gone, but he had left everything as he had first found it. There were sheets of clean bed linen on the mattress, and the only change Dean noticed were the two keys on Sam's desk. A copy of the Impala’s key Sam had always kept on him since their first night together at Stanford: and a copy of the Bunker’s key.

So, it wasn’t Baby he took.

Dean felt a moment of foolish relief: this was quickly followed by deep self-loathing. You're worried about a stupid, stupid car when your little brother is gone?!

Every part of his body was wracked with deep, desperate pain: he had lost the only person... He did not finish the thought.  Did he not deserve it? Of course he did. Stupid, violent, insensitive ass. That was him, nothing more.

He felt as if he were walking in a dream; all his limbs were heavy and moved as if by instinct: he had no one to account to, he was alone in the Bunker. He walked over to one of the armory rooms and took a long, razor-sharp dagger from the wall

When the dagger cut into the arm that held the mark, he let out a low, rumbling howl.  The cry echoed in the empty space.

Suddenly blood, and pain, burning, splitting, cold pain surrounded him, and he gritted his teeth. This is what you deserve, and nothing more.

He kept on cutting, with force. Screaming, shrieking pain. I want Dad. Where's Mum?  Sammy! Come back! Come back!

Everything around him became red, bitter and foggy. I want my brother, I want my brother, I want my brother, I want my brother back. Then came the darkness.

*

He briefly saw shapes in front of him; air touched his skin and he let out a long sob. He lay on his back in filth and blood, and Cas knelt over him. Everything hurt, everything ached, everything was rotten around him.

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, everything sharpened in front of him, and he realised that Cas was going to cure him: this can't be happening.

’Don’t’ he murmured, but he was not sure he could make himself heard; the angel looked up, his blue eyes shining strangely.

’Do you wish to die?’ asked Castiel softly; and it was too much of a complicated question for Dean who felt and understood nothing but pain at this point. Maybe not – but he didn’t want the arm back. He didn’t want Mark back. He hated the Mark with a passion; everything went wrong because of the Mark.

But, of course, he was unable to articulate all that: his consciousness drained away like water from his fingers.

*

Fourteen years later

Hey, I’m Rosemary Winchester. I think I’m your niece.  Can we talk?

Dean stared at the text for a moment, motionless. Of course, he knew Sammy had children; a son, and a daughter, John William, and Rosemary, but he had never met them.

Dean had recently (in the last ten or fifteen years) come to hate the messages; Sam's polished, polite words, the only link between him and his little brother.

Christmas; birthdays; the announcement of the birth of two kids;  the fact, that those were nothing, but naked information pieces: for example, Dean had no idea how Sam had fallen in love with Rowena. A witch, really?  But he was too tired, too bitter to judge. His stump was particularly sore today; he hated the prosthetic.

With a slightly stiff, cold hand, he picked up the phone and began to type.

Well, we're already talking, ain't we? What do you want to know?

What do you know about making silk?

Dean blinked, and shaked his head like a dog with a wet fur coat: he wondered for a moment if he's drunk and has imagined the message.

What?

Eh, sorry, I’m suppose to do homework right now, history to be exact. Normally I would ask Dad, but Dad is out hunting, and Mom believes in trying to solve your problems yourself, trying until you have no other choice, and then she will help you.

Honestly, I'm just interested in your opinion.  Don't you feel sorry for the caterpillars?

Dean stared, and stared at the message. Christ, this kid really is Sammy's.

Is your father hunting alone? And what’s with the caterpillars?

Don't worry, Dad's just helping some vampire fit in. He says she's just like Benny. And you know, caterpillars! The ones that make the dye for the silk?

Dean Winchester swallowed hard. The girl knew about Benny: in his mind, Dean always thought Sam would raise his kids to know about the supernatural, as hunters, even if not as harshly as they'd been trained, and the assumption seemed to turn out to be true.  And of course their mother is a witch...

Sorry, my historical facts are a bit vague, he wrote back.

It's okay, I like to research, his phone beeped. I won't be able to sleep until Dad gets back anyway.

Me neither, Dean wanted to write, but didn't. His arm had been aching horribly all day: he was in good shape, but he couldn't hunt, and the thought of Sam out in the dark night, alone, made his stomach twist.

Sure, he'd lost the right to worry about Sam years ago, but it was like a reflex for him. He couldn't help it. He never let go of his anger that Sam had gone away again, and again, and again, and this time he didn't come back: but at the same time he was worried about him, and Christ, he missed him.

He wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sure if he still had the right to: after all, wasn't it the last straw for Sam that he wasn't even allowed to apologize? Not to mention the fact that Dean Winchester was proud and withdrawn: in recent years he has become even more closed off that his little brother has not been constantly by his side. He let few people near himself: since he could not hunt, his so-called social circle became even smaller.

He was strong and muscular, but lately he ate more, and it made him hate his body. What are you good for?  You can't even call yourself a golden boy anymore.

The man bitterly dropped his mobile phone on a table in the Bunker's library and went to take a shower. He hated the evenings the most: long, interminable, and quiet.

As he stepped into one of the spartan showers and turned on the tap, he began to mentally gather the facts he had known about his brother as of late.

He knew that Sammy had eventually graduated from college; he knew that he usually took on hopeless cases as a public defender: traumatized marines, domestic violence, hunters accused of serious crimes without a lawyer.

Some things don't change, he thought as he rubbed shampoo into his hair: he tried to touch his body as little as possible. He also found out that his brother had a second degree: he picked literature, of all things, the nerd.

He almost smiled at that, but then the feeling came again that he had no right, and he bit his tongue: the blood in his mouth tasted like iron.

And what to think about his niece? She seemed cheerful and open: full of facts and random thoughts; what made her write to him? From her style, Dean deduced that Sam hadn't said anything bad about his brother, to his children, maybe just that they weren't close anymore.

The hunter sighed, stepped out onto the stone, turned off the tap, and began rubbing his body with a towel, a little too hard. Disgusting, he thought without depth as the skin flushed red.

Rosemary awakened a kind of longing in him: he wanted to know her, he wanted to be her friend, and he wanted to meet John as well.

But he kept hope from himself with a strong hand, in his mind. Good things rarely happened to him. Later, as he lay in bed in the dark, he couldn't bring himself to sleep: he just stared at the ceiling and waited. But what for?

He was hungry, but he ate a lot as it is,  and he hated the extra weight on his body: he didn't move. Has Sam come home yet? Is he okay? Is...? Dean's cell phone on the nightstand began to buzz, and he flinched.

Hey, Dad is back. He is bloody, and he got shot on the shoulder. He tells me it doesn’t hurt, but Sam Winchester lies about pain, so I don’t belive him. Johnny and Mum treated the wound, however: Dad will be fine. Thought you'd like to know.

Dean was fixed on the message. She thought about writing to him. The thought made him warm and he kicked the covers off angrily. His throat tightened. His little brother was shot and he was not there.

There was a mixture of bitterness and self-loathing in him. It's none of my business now, is it? Then why does it feel that way?  Sam Winchester lies about pain. So, she does know the Winchester way.

Thanks, he type back, even if it was too simple, it’ was too naked, it’s not enugh. Sleep still doesn’t come easily to him that night.

*

Donna dropped by again, with breakfast. She did this almost every day: while Castiel checked in once a week, Donna was there every single day, with a pot of coffee and sandwiches, or home-made pancakes, or whatever she made for the girls that day.

At first she came up with excuses, like she was nearby or had a question about a hunt, but as the days swelled into weeks, the weeks turned into months, and the months aged into years, she gave up.  After a while she said nothing, they just sat down, ate and talked quietly. And though Dean would never admit it, he loved it.

Dean was somewhere around the second fried egg, listening intently to Donna's account of their last hunt, when his phone rang.

’Who is it?’ asked Donna, raising her pale blond eyebrows kindly. The other hunter glanced at the display in surprise.

’It’s my niece’ Dean noted, and the word felt strange coming out of his mouth. But Donna's eyes lit up with excitement.

’Oh, Rose? She is an angel! Answer it’

’You know her?’ asked the other hunter, feeling somehow betrayed. How could Donna know the girl and he didn't? And it's not like he was forming some sort of ownership over Donna, but still - Donna was the one who... again, he didn't finish the thought and put the phone on speaker.

’Hello darling, your uncle and I are in the middle of breakfast’ said Donna before Dean could say anything, and he couldn’t decide if he was greatful for that or a little hurt.  ’What’s going on?’

’Oh, shit, hey, Donna’ Dean heard a pretty, bit posh, but kind voice on the other side. ’Did I call the wrong number again?’

She didn’t even meant to call him?

’Well, you called your uncle’ Donna said carefully.

’Oh yes ’ panted the girl, and Dean, stupidly, felt as if some of the ever present pressure was lifted from his chest.  But why? ’Hey, Dean!’

’Heya, kid’ he growled, a bit lamely. God, did it felt the same for Dad too, to talk to him and Sammy? So inept and –

’Wait, are you runing?’ he asked with a sudden pounding of the heart. Are you running away from someone?

’Yes’ said Rosemary, with audible irritation in her voice. 'Because my stupid, stupid big brother overslept, and now we're both going to be late, but I can't leave him here because Dad raised me to believe that nothing is more important than big brothers, and that reminds me,' Rose suddenly ran out of breath, and Dean heard a whooshing sound as the teenager turned around. 'John William Winchester, you've got five minutes to get dressed, or God help me, I'll leave you here, no matter what Dad says,' she called back, her voice coming from further away.

Dean and Donna exchanged stunned glances: Donna smiled openly at the babbling monologue.

Dean heard the clunk of a seatbelt, then the sound of an engine.

'Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm here now' they heard a deep boy's voice, so much like a teenage Sam Winchester that Dean gulped, but Donna was laughing already. ’Hi, guys!’

’Hi, Johnny!’ grinned Donna. ’So you are late for school?”

’Yeah, Dad’s going to kill us’ Johnny grumbled so morosely that Dean almost felt sorry for him.

’He will kill you, my friend’ said Rose cheerfully. Then there was a beat of silence. ’Oh come on, he won’t punish a honest mistake, JJ, chill out. Anyway, speaking of Dad, he is out of twon next week.  Has a big conference, and Momma would go with him. Can we come, meet you, Dean?’

The hunter's mouth suddenly went dry, and for a moment his voice was gone. It had been a long time since he had lived with anyone and two teenagers for a week...

'Your Dad doesn't mind?' he then asked heavily.

This time John replied.

'Why would he do that? We know you've been fighting, but Dad always said the argument was between you two and he'd like us to know each other. He never said anything bad about you. But if you don't feel like it, that's fine: we'd planned to spend the week at friends', it was just an idea.'

Heartbeat. He never said anything bad about you. Do they kow that I lost a hand? But…

'Come along, if you like,' said Dean softly. Donna smiled sweetly at him: the hunter's eyes were burning.

’It’s gonna be great, thanks’ Rose replied, brightly. "Not for the whole week, just for Friday? That's when the first episode of Echo comes out, did you see?'

Dean blinked. This girl was so much, but at same time, instinctively kind, and the hunter was amused by her manner.

’Well…’

’Rose, we gonna be late!’ Johnny cut in, nervously.

’And who’s fault is that?’ the girl retorted, but her voice was playful. ’Okay, De, I’m gonna text you the details? And Donna, you and Dad, lunch, tommorrow, right?’

’Yes, Miss Winchester’ Donna was laughing again. ’You're your da's secretary?’

’Feels that way somethimes’ she murmured. ’But he needs somebody to take care of him, because he takes care of everyone. Okay, everybody hold your breath, we're here. Keep your fingers crossed!’

’Good luck guys!’ smiled Donna.

’Bye!’

The call was over, and for a moment Dean felt empty. Nobody called him De since Sammy, and Dad were both gone from his life. And…. He needs somebody to take care of him, because he takes care of everyone. Everyone but me.

In the momentary silence, Dean and Donna's eyes met.

’You have lunch with my brother?’ asked the hunter, and just like in that fight so many years ago, he knew he was being unfair, but just like then, he couldn’t help it.

’Every week’ noded Donna a bit belligerently. ’I love you, but he is my friend as well, you know, and just because you idiots have a problem with each other, doesn’t mean I do.’

Dean clenched his jaw and said nothing. I love you. Donna had just uttered something intangible, something that had been forming between them for years, something that Dean was afraid to touch lest it break.

’He told his kids that siblings are the most important thing’ the woman remarked with barely audible subtlety.

'He's just trying to raise them as decent human beings,' Dean growled, biting down hard on the inside of his mouth where it was already sore.

Donna's gentle, dark eyes ran over his face as if following the movement, then she stood and kissed Dean briefly, softly on the forehead.

'Meet your nephew and niece, Dean,' she said. 'They're both good kids.'

As if it were that simple.

*

Dean was up at the crack of dawn on Friday, and he hadn't had a sip of alcohol: how silly when he knew Rose and Johnny weren't coming until after three. Still, he wanted the kids to meet him, not some soaked, drunk version of his. Not that there was so much to learn about him, but still.

Time acted a bit strange: the hunter blinked, and there they were. Sammy’s kids, standing before him.

Rosemary was just as tall and flexible, as her father, although while Sam Winchester was brutally strong nowdays, Rosemary had some elegant ironlike quialty of her.  Her features also reminded Dean of Sam, but on her, everything seemed one degree softer.

The girl's hair was deep red, like her mother's, but as she walked through the bunker’s hall, and the sunlight fell on her locks, Dean saw a slight flash of blonde, like Mom’s and the rest of the Cambells. And her eyes? Her eyes were green, green, and more green, the perfect replica of Mary Cambells. And mine, thought Dean with a painful breath. Her eyes are like mine.

And John - John was even more painful for Dean than Rose, if possible. Rose had plenty of Rowena in her, but John was like a weird mix between his dad, and his grandfather, the man he was named for.

Johnny was a little shorter than Sam, but he was only sixteen, and Dean thought he'd be just as tall someday.  The boy was bound and strong, his dark hair a degree darker than his father's, almost coal-black, and slightly curly.

His features are almost exactly like Dean's little brother's, his eyebrows are thicker than the original John Winchester's, but just as black.

Why, why should even his eyes be like Sammy's and Dad’s, Dean thought painfully. It hurt, and it was good.

But before Dean could fully immerse himself in painful memories of people who were no longer with him, Rosemary approached him and hurriedly hugged him.

’Hi!’ she said gently, and she held her uncle to herself. She smelled of a mild, pleasant cherry, and Dean instinctively laid his head on her shoulder.

Chapter Text

’Are you kidding me?’ asked Rosemary Winchester, staring at the laptop screen in front of the three of them. She glanced quickly at her brother, who was sitting to her right on Dean's bed in the Bunker. ’They have to be kidding me, right? What is this?’

’Oh, boy, here we go again’ noted Johnny with a huge grinn, and popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth. ’Go on, let out your inner Sam Winchester.’

’I’m not like Dad’ Rose waved, casting another irritated glance at the screen. 'He was analysing the ethical implications of cloning last week while we were watching Orphan Black' added the teen, turning to Dean.

The hunter was sitting on the left side of his niece' on the bed, and even he knew that he was a little stiff. It was all so - normal.  His niece and nephew treated him almost immediately after their arrival as if they had always known him.

They talked a lot, they argued, they asked Dean for popcorn - thank goodness for Donna - and they mentioned Sammy lightly. And he - what happened to Dean Winchester? He was quieter than usual, more tense than usual, and though he wouldn't have admitted it, he was worried about ruining this afternoon. And he was angry with himself for that. Week, useles, piece of…

’I’m not like Dad’ repated Rose, cutting Dean’s inner hatred into two. ’But this is terrible.’ The girl pointed to the screen. They were watching the pilot of Echo. ’  He is not suppose to be like this!’

To be honest, Dean wasn’t really interested in the show, but as he understood it, Rose was mainly concerned by the character of the Kingpin, who wasn’t living up to her expectations.

’To be fair’ said Johnny gently, as if he did this, many times before. ’They did tell us that they have a new vision for the character.’

’Yeah’ murmured Rose a bit groumpily. ’But now there is nothing interesting in him anymore!’ She shighted. ’Okay, I can’t do this!’

She climbed over to Dean's side and sat directly behind him. He froze in surprise when she wrapped her arms around his chest, but then began to chuckle involuntarily when he realized Rose had buried her face in his shoulder.

’Tell me when I should watch’ directed the girl, and Dean had to laugh even harder, even if his stump was sore from it.

’I’m not narrating the whole thing!’ Johnny protested, casting a slightly tired glance at his uncle. ’We watched the Lecter movies this way. She used Dad as a living shild. You are in the same role now.’

’You guys have the exact same aura’ muttered Rose, without opening her eyes.

As with so much else lately, Dean didn't know how to feel about that. The statement filled him with both reflexive joy and pain. He must have stiffened even more, as he thought about it, because Rose opened her eyes and sat down next to him.

’Hey, De?’ she asked, and while Dean only knew her for few hours now, he kenw she was really careful now

’Hm?’

'Does your arm hurt?' Your arm, she said. Dean already known that he was going to be really tired by the end of this visit, even tho, he still preteneded, that most emotions are not real. Your arm, she said, and yet again, she reminded him of Sammy so much it hurt.  She was gentle, and she said, your arm, not your stump.

’I will live, don’t you worry’ he said, as kindly as he was able, and gave her a half smile, but she looked worried anyway.

’You know’ Johnny chilmed in. ’You can take the prostetic down if you wanna? This is your home, you should be comfortable. And it’s not like we didn’t see hunting wounds before. Dad’s back is in a horrible shape.’

Hunting wounds, he said, and yet again, there was this reflexive kindness in these kids Dean couldn’t handle.  They weren’t hunting wounds, I did it myself, he wanted to say, because he didn’t deseve gentleness, but –

Then he realised something, and it felt like he was struck by lightning.

’What’s wrong with his back?’ he asked.

’Well’ said Johnny, carefully. ’A few years back he had to bring somebody out of a middle of a werwolf pack, and while he won, the scratches on his back were severe.  Mama could fix them with magic, becuse – she is Mama, but his scares are permenent. Scars cover his entire back.’

Scars cover his entire back. His baby brother was almost torn to pieces, and he wasn’t there. For the first time ever, he was really greatful for the fact that Sammy went and fall in love with Rowena of all people. Dean's whole body shook, then something touched his face. He blinked, and realised it was Rose’s hand, with which she softly stroked over the man's face. Worried green eyes looked at him, just like his own.

’Hey’ she murmured when he looked at her, and her voice was kind. Then she grinned, when Dean was fully back in reality. ’We totally should watch something else.’

Time sped up again: they were eating a bunch of junk food, and Dean couldn't shake the feeling that Sam would kill him if he knew.

’God, I’m in no mood to go home’ complained Johnny, after a big slice of pizza. ’Its gonna be a miracle if I can move.’

Dean took a deep breath and pretended to watch the no name action movie they had selected. You want them to stay, don't you? Finally, you're not alone. Open your mouth!

’You can stay’ he said simply. ’There are a bunch of clean and empty rooms with beds, and this place has a good library if you have to study, since I saw you guys have school stuff with you. If you wanna stay, I mean – no pressure or anything.’

The end of the stentence come out a bit too fast, and shit, when did he got so akward? He used to be good with people, used to be able to convience them to trust him, when did he became such a…

But the next moment Rose nodded cheerfully, and Johnny's half-smile, like Dad's, appeared at the corner of his mouth, and it pulled him out of his thoughts.

’That would be great, thanks. Dad and Mama only come home Sunday evening, so we have a bunch of time, honestly. Can we borrow some clothes, please?’

Dean blinked. He still wasn’t used to the information strom which was Rosemary Winchester. But then, he just nodded.

’Sure. Take what you need.’

And to that he got a heartbreakingly kind smile. I will never get used to this again.

’Okay, I will just need to call Dad, and then we are all set’ noted Johnny.

Dean's throat tightened.

’Well, if he has a problem with it, you guys can go home as well.’

Johnny’s tick, black eybowys gone up.

’He has no problem with it, De. You are his brother. It’s just we always call him when he is out, to check in.’

The grip on his throat loosened, and shame flared in his place. Your baby brother just tries to be a good Dad, and you make it all about you. He is your brother. As if it means anything nowdays. Then again – he let his kids stay…

Then, to Dean utter horror, Johnny just pulled out his cell phone form his pocket, and dialled. He wanted to get up, and leave the room, but he couldn’t move. Two rings, and Dean heard a voice he didn’t heard in more than ten years. It was soft, deep, and cheerful, and the hunter wanted to die.

’Hey, buddy, what’s up?’

’Hey Dad’ said Johnny, not realising that his uncle will have a heart attack in two minutes. ’You are on speaker. How is the conference?’

’Hi, Dad!’ Rose exclaimed from beside Dean, just as cheerfully. Dean swallowed hard and tried to breathe evenly. Don’t bitch about this, don’t bicth about this, don’t.

’Hello, my darling’ chuckled Sammy, so, so kindly. Dean ached for this tone. ’The conference is fine, I think half of my colleges, and the people in general are already in love with your Mom, which is not suprising at all, of course. How was school?’

’Boring’ muttered Johnny. ’There is gonna be a cookie sale for the school next week. They want to fix the building up, I think?  You think Mama is okay with baking?’

’ I don’t see why not’ said Sammy easyly.

Dean's whole body ached with pain. The whole conversation was so normal - and though he had pretended to look down on such things when he was younger, now he felt nothing but longing. He wanted to be a part of this. But he also known that its stupid. The kids already done more than he expected. And in any case, who could he expect anything, when he can’t even open his mouth and say something to his brother? He wasn’t even sure if Sam was aware of him, hearing the conversation.

’It would be better than me, baking, let me tell you’ added Sam, with laughter in his voice.

’Yeah, we don’t want to poison anybody’ nodded Johnny with a huge, shit eating smile.

’Why, Iove you too’ laughed Sam, and the deep, nice sound slapped Dean in the face. I can’t do this. ’So, what did you think of the Bunker?’

He thinks that they already home.

’It’s amazing’ said Rose, and the honestly in his voice helped Dean a bit. ’We are still here, actually. Would you mind if we stay the night, and only go home on Sunday? We have our books here, and the ones we will need on Monday, so we can do homework. We have connection, and also, the library is huge.’

A short silence. Dean fought the urge to close his eyes.

’It is an excellent library’ said Sam in a quiet voice. ’Ask your uncle; its his boat, after all, but if he is okay with it, its fine with me. Just be polite, okay?’

’Yes Sir’ said Rosmary and Johnny in perfect tandem, and Dean Winchester was suddenly eleven again, answering Dad the same.

’Don’t you want to talk to him?’ wishperd Rose, but Dean Winchester became a coward, and just shook his head.

’All right’ said Sam. ’I have to go now. There’s going to be a big dinner, for everyone, the fancy type’

’You hate it’ observed Johnny with repressed laughter in his voice.

’I hate it’ noted Sam in such a dark voice that Dean almost grinned. Almost. ’But its part of the job, and your mom is going to be brilliant, of course.’

’Tell her we said hi’ asked Rose in a tender voice.

’Will do’ Sam answered. ’Listen to your uncle, and I will see you Sunday evening. Bye guys!’

’Bye’ answered the two kids at the same time, and when the lane became silent, Dean was more or less himself again. What the fuck is wrong with me?

’So, you stuck with us’ Rose smiled at him. ’God, Dad sounded misarable. Can you show me where the showers are?’

Dean blinked. This girl never stopped, is she?

The evening slowed down a little as they ate their dinner in silence.

Dean was trying with all his might to get used to the feeling of not being alone when he noticed Rose playing with the candle on the table. She waved her hand lightly as the candle flame flickered spectacularly.

’Sorry’ she said, once she noticed Dean’s watching. ’I can manipulate the elements, to some degree.’

Her mother was a witch after all.

’Like the Last Airbender?’ asked the hunter, golden eyebows up.

Rose laughed.

’You are so related to Dad. That was his reaction when my magic first showed. But yeah, sure. Something like that. And Johnny can see auras around people, amongst other things.’

’Really? How does that work?’

’Well’ said Johnny, and he was so like young, self important Sam Winchester that Dean almost chocked ont he pizza. ’Its like an extention of your body for me. I can see – emotion changes, soul scares, so like how you reacted to traumatic stuff, and many, many other things.’

’So, you can see mine?’ asked Dean carefully.

’No’ the boy shook his head. ’I mean, I can choose not to look, so to say.’

’So, you’re not looking?’

’Dad said this thing is personal, and he is right’ explained Johnny. ’So, you suppose to ask the person before you do something like this. So, I’m not looking without you knowing.’

’Knock yourself out.’ Why am I doing this? I want to know what he sees.

Johnny stood up, walked over to Dean's chair, and crouched down in front of his uncle, squeezing his wrists gently with both hands. His gentle, dark eyes widened.

’What it is it?’ asked Dean, a bit uneasy. Is it just like another exam I will fail?

’Nothing’ John said queitly. ’Auras are pretty. Yours is mostly goldenish, and it’s really…’

’Really what?’

’Really like Dad’s’ he wishpered. ’Like your wounds are in different places, there are some scars sill bleeding so to speak, but fundamentaliy…’

’Its similar because of the soulmate thing?’ asked Rose.

’Yeah’ nodded Johnny, and Dean wanted to duck his head, but he didn’t move. ’I never seen anything like this, Rosie. Mom and Dad’s are in the romantic sense, but I never seen examples for the platonic solumate thing, even tho we were suppose to grow up with both of you.’

We took something from them. And yet, they know what we suppose to be to each other. And Sammy is with his romantic soulmate anyway, so me? No big loss.

John squeezed his wrists again, gently, and Dean suddenly felt less weight on his body and breathed easier.

’What did you do?’ Dean asked, worridly.

’I can’t just heal all your sould wonds, De’ the boy said, and was he a little pale, or was it in Dean’s mind? ’I would need time for that, and your trust, which I don’t have yet.’

’I trust…’

’No’ John cut in, and he sounded like the original John Winchester. ’And I don’t expect you to. But I hope we will be friends, and then I can do more. I know that family is not all about blood, Dad told us that, but in the magical sense, these things are suppose to work better with blood relatives. I can heal some things then.’

Family doesn’t end with blood. Sammy actually teached them that! Good. But then –

’Then what did you do?’

’I just gave you some plus energy. Some things only you can resolve, or you and your brother, but I can give you some plus.’

Rose herself got up from the table and walked over to Johnny's side, eyeing him critically.

’It must’ve been more than a little, JJ. You bearly holding up.’

And its my fault. Yet again.

'You shouldn't have’ he muttered, ashemed.

’Of course I should!’ snapped Johnny wildly. ’You are family and your aura is…’

’What is it?’ asked Rose.

’Its all over the place, Ro’, I don’t know what to do. I mean I know, Dad’s bleeding too, too much loss, too much pain, hell trauma, he is missing his own Dad as well, I get it but…’

Dad’s bleeding too, too much loss, too much pain, hell trauma, he is missing his own Dad as well, I get it but…’ My baby brother is bleeding constantly. Is he missing me as well?

’Give me your hand’ said Rosmary, in a determinated voice, and, Dean, reflexivly, did.

She gently drew a circle with her finger in his palm. When was the last time someone touched me like that?

’ ενεργειακή’ she wishpered, and yet again, warm, light, stream-like energy coursed through Dean's body, but Rose, suddenly, visibly, was finding it harder to stand.

Fuck.

’Enough’ said Dean, suddenly in a hard voice. There was, something from him in there, somewhere, after all. ’Its not your job to fix me.’

But, Sam Winchester’s kids were rased to stand their ground.

’You don’t need fixing’ Johnny shook his head.

’You just need a little help thats all’ added Rose.

Dean Winchester was losing, and he knew it.

’Bed time’ he said a bit lamley, and both teens grinned, but didn’t fight back.

’Yes, Sir’ smiled Rose.

’Night, Winchester’ winked Johnny.

*

There was blood all around Dean, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Where was his arm? Where was Sammy? Sammy is gone, isn’t  he? He finally fucked it up for god. He arched his back and let out a deep howl, then –

’Hey, hey, wake up! Hey, its fine, okay? Its just…’

He opened his eyes, and sat up anxiously on the bed, beside which Johnny was standing, with a worried look on his face. Dark, tender blink, just like Sammy’s.

’Hey back’ he said more kindly then Dean deserved. ’It was just a dream, promise…’

Chapter Text

Dean pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose. Be an adult, come on.

’Thanks for waking me up’ he told Johnny. He hated the fact that his little brother’s boy saw him this way: weak and open, open, too open. But at the same time, this mess wasn’t the teens fault.  Johnny just shook his head and looked at his uncle with worried, big, dark eyes.

’Are you okay? Do you want me to stay a bit? Dad prefers company after night terrors.’ My baby brother has night terrors. And, to be honest, I would prefer you to stay as well, but –

It was too early for him to be this close, and so he only gave John a slight smile.

’I’m fine, promise. Go back to sleep.’ Johnny sighed and nodded; he reached forward and gently brushed a lock of deep blond hair from his uncle's forehead; Dean let his eyes close reflexively, but then the touch broke.

’ Shout if you change your mind? Rose and I have chosen a room together, we're just down the hall.’ Dean gave him a sad, faint smile: he didn’t know how to tell him, that he wants him around, but they've only just met and he doesn't want to seem like too much. Dean Winchester is unable to express himself: wasn't that the problem between him and Sammy as well?

’Night Johnny’ he told him, simply, and the boy didn't argue: when the door closed behind him, Dean sat back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Sleep was hard to come by, he found, and when it arrived he was heavily pulled down by his eyelashes.

*

’Call us, if you need anything’ Rose told him, just before they were going, the next morning. She hugged him close, her skin smelling of the sun, and Dean sighed softly.

'Isn't that for me to say?'  he inquired, with a hint of mischief in his voice, just like in the old days.

’Oh, I’m gonna call you, don’t worry’ smiled Roise. 'I'm practically glued to my phone anyway'.

’Thanks for having us’ added Johnny. ’You have any message for Dad?’

A beat of tense silence, and then –

’No. No messege.’ Coward.

’You are both impossible, you know that?’ he got a slightly darkish look from Johnny, which was so much like Dad, he actually smiled.

’Yeah, thats the talk of the town.’

When the kids left, the Bunker seemed even more deserted and quiet than before. Dean felt aimless, and he hated himself for it. He settled down at one of the tables in the library section and pulled a long, torn yellow envelope from under a pile of books. It was a case; there was rarely one nowadays, because few people visited him except Donna, and when they did, he would easily lose his temper and lash out at them.

Those who knew them often said that there was more of John in Sammy and more of Mary in Dean, but nowadays, Dean thought, he had plenty of his father's famous temperament. And so, hunters often avoided him.

Not this young hunter; Carlos reminded Dean a little of Garth, with his endless optimism. He was the one who brought the case to Dean. Winchester wasn't particularly enthusiastic, because there was no mystery in this case, nothing to uncover, and if he was honest, he missed the process of investigation in hunting. Then again, he missed so much these days, it didn’t really matter. It was just a bunch of werwolfes, who kidnpped Carlos’s little sisters. and the boy couldn't follow them because he broke his legs.

Dean felt a pang of self-loathing every time he thought about it: since when had saving two little girls ever become too low for him to consider? At the same time, he didn't really understand Carlos's logic: Dean was missing an arm, so why would he be better for the job? And of course, he knew that every day he was thinking about this, and not actually doing it, was a waste for the girls.

Still, his life had been frozen in a kind of stillness, and now that he could compare his daily life to spending the weekend with Johnny and Rosemary, it seemed even worse. The next week went by slowly, one grey day after another.

Then, late Thursday afternoon, his phone rang, and when he saw Rose's number on the screen, he picked it up faster than he'd admitted it to himself.

’Hey man’ he heard Johnny’s voice. 'This is Rosemary Winchester's secretary'.

’You stole your sister’s phone?’ Dean chuckled. He was pretty sure it was his first laugh of the week.

’Nah, I borrowed it because mine fell in the bathtub, otherwise I would have already given my number to you’ said Johnny easyly. ’So, listen…’

’Yours fell in the bathtub?’ repated Dean, golden eyebow up. He found it amazing, and still unusual how Sam's children let him into their lives without a second thought: all the small, ordinary, boring facts fascinated him.

’Yeah, welcome to my life, I’m clumsy’ noted Johnny, with lauther in his voice. ’So, listen, what are your plans for the weekend? Would it be okay, if we stopped by again?’

I waitied for you guys all week. Its the only thing stopping me from putting a bullet to my brain.

'Nothing urgent,' he said instead out loud.'Come when you like.'

He felt like a liar, unable to truly express himself, and he suddenly remembered Carlos when he said 'urgent', but then he suppressed the guilt. He'd been feeling like a dying animal all week, and these visits were the only things that gave him any pleasure, so - what if he didn't want to give them up? If that made him selfish – which it probably did, lets face it – let him be selfish. It was by no means his biggest on the list of his sins.

’Great!’ said Johnny happyly. ’Can we go like right now?’

’Wait, now? What about school tommorrow?’

’Classes are cancelled, because there is this biiig parent teacher-conference. Both Mama and Dad are going, and they will call us after. It would be good, not to be alone, if they want to take of our heads, you know?’

’Are you guys in any trouble?’ asked Dean, not noticing, that he was actually grinning.

’Not that we know of’ shrugged JJ. ’But you never really know. So…’

’So, drop in, when you feel like it’ nodded Dean, and fuck, he was actually happy.

’Be right there!’ Rosemary's cheerful voice came from the background. The line went dead, but Dean's good mood persisted

Fuck the random wolfes: he had family coming over.

*

’Yohoo, Winchester!’ Rose's voice reached Dean before she actually appeared in the library section. ’Are you ready?’

’Ready for what?’ asked Dean, with a relflexive smile. Rose was like a storm, with her tremendous energy, her vibrant enthusiasm, all around her, as she suddenly was standing in front of him.

'So, we didn't tell you last time,' Johnny said from behind his sister, ' but with Dad, we regularly take food out to the homeless in the area. Pizza, sandwiches, whatever, just a lot of it, and preferably good quality.'

’Thats a kind idea’ nodded Dean, carefully, and suddenly he missed Sam, and his honest kindness even more.

'Yeah, it's the only advantage  of that fact, that Dad works a ton, so we've got a little extra cash to spend on them now and then' John nodded, stepping up beside Rose.

’We just wondering, since Dad can’t come with us’ added Rose, kindly. ’Would you come instead?’

Dean's gaze ran over Johnny, and stopped on Rose's hopeful face. He didn't know how to feel about this. He had become too withdrawn, too reclusive for this. At the same time - it would help people. Fuck, it.

’Sure, we can go’ he allowed it. ’But first, I have to introduce you to someone.’

*

’Oh, my fucking god’ said Johnny, with feeling as he first laid eyes on Baby: it was the right reaction to have, so Dean didn’t mention the language of it. The boy stared at the car with almost religious reverence, much to Dean's amusement.

’Can I tuch her?’ asked Rosemary softly, and Dean’s smile became even bigger. Sam must told stories about Baby then.

’Sure, go ahed’.

She gently stroked the shiny, coal-black surface of the car.

’Well, hello, darling’ she said gently. ’You must be Baby, right? My Dad’s asked me to say hi for him.’

As always these days, when Dean thought of his brother, a chill ran down his spine. His little brother had even mentioned the car to his children, but hadn't spoken to him in over ten years.

’Come on’ Johnny's voice jolted him out of his cold thoughts this time; the teenager climbed cheerfully into the passenger seat, while Rose curled up in the back seat without comment. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been behind the wheel of a car, and now the smell of the original leather, the familiar feel of the rim, was reassuring. Maybe its not such a terrible idea?

’Okay, so’ said Johnny, while he opened the glove compartment and fished out an old map. ’What do we buying for the guys, and how much money Dad gave us for this?’

’I was thinking chicken sandwiches, and Dad said, we have emo for around forty’ answered Rose. Dean saw as Johnny gentle, dark eyes widened.

’Forty?’ he repated. Then he looked at him. ’Your brother is a lunatic, man. I’m really proud of him, and someday I’m going to be just like him, but he is crazy. He works too much.’

’And he doesn’t sleep enough’ muttered Rose. ’I don’t think he slept enough this week, anyway.’

’Has night terriros’ noted Johnny, as if obvius. ’Thats why he is the first up, and the last down. Wants to spend the least possible time sleeping I think. Okay, turn right here, please.’

Dean didn't know how much longer he could do this. On the one hand, he wanted to hear as much about his brother as was physically possible. However, he felt an almost palpable pain every time his nephew and niece mentioned that Sam was unwell.

Realistically, Sam was better than Dean. The man maintained a good marriage, was well-loved by his children, had a successful career, and remained a hunter. But... from the scraps Dean had gathered, he saw that all was not perfect around his brother.

Sammy was working too hard, his back was almost wrecked, he was sleeping badly, and John said the other day that there was something wrong with his aura that terrified his son.

And the worst thing was that Dean could do nothing to help, he had lost that right. He was too stubborn, too closed off to take the initiative, and he wasn't even sure Sam would accept it.

Dean couldn't do much about it: so he listened to John and simply turned down the street. The Hot Plate was a small sandwich shop with a smiling older woman behind the counter. Her pretty blue eyes lit up when she saw them enter.

’Hello, John, Roise. It’s nice to have you back. What can I get you today?’

How much do they come here if she knows them by name?

’Hey Carla’ noded Johnny, in Sammy’s distinctive kind style. ’Do you have forty for us today?’

’Forty? Tell your Dad to work less. But, of course, coming right up.’

She glanced at Dean, and Rosie smiled.

’Carla, this is our uncle, Dean Winchester. He is with us today, while our Dad is investigating our crimes at school. It’s parent-teacher conference day…’

’Oh, the guy Sam Winchester wants back? Its nice to meet you finally!’ The woman's smile widened as she held out her hand, and Dean was saved only by his reflexes as he accepted it and smiled faintly.

The guy Sammy wants back. Is that him, really?

’Thats the one’ noded Rosie, and then looked at Dean. ’Carla here knows us since forever, because Dad comes here reagularly. Johnny over here took his first steps in this shop.’

’God, you were adrorable’ winked the woman, and Johnny visibly reddened.

’ I need a new topic please’ muttered Johnny, and Carla laughed.

’Okay, okay, sorry. I will just concentrate on my sandwiches now. Its really nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester!’

’Thanks for helping us out’ said Dean. It was really hard for him, social interaction, after so much time alone, but he tried. He gave another week smile, and tried not to concantrate on the fact that this stranger saw Johnny’s first steps, while he didn’t.

Carla disappeared into the back of the shop and soon appeared with four large boxes full of sandwiches.

’You don’t really need to pay, you know’ she tried. ’You are family, it’s for something good, and Sam already left a fortunie here.’

’You don’t fuck family over’ Johnny shook his head. ’Please let me pay? Dad would kill me otherwise.’

So, even Sam had his hard side.

’Okay, but you get a discount' said the clerk.

Dean's nephew grinned and nodded.

’Johnny always wins. Always.’ Roise wishpered to him.

*

The homeless in the neighbourhood knew the Winchester siblings.

Dean tried to suppress the astonishment he felt at the ease with which John and Rose spoke to these people, as if they did this often.

'How are you today?' asked Rose lightly of a lady.'Can I give you a sandwich?’

'Hey, Terry, do you like chicken?' he heard Johnny's voice, and the huge, bear-like man actually smiled at the question.

’How is Sam’s back?’ asked the lady, Rosie just spoken to. 'Did you give him the cream I mixed?’

’I did; it helped a lot, thank you’ answered the girl. ’This is his brother, Dean. He looks after us today.’

As if two teens needed as much looking after. But the woman looked at the hunter with interest.

’So, your brother actually called you?’ she asked as if they known each other for ages. ’Its fucking time, if you ask me.’

Dean didn’t, but before he could answer, Rose did.

’No, I did. Even Dad needs some help with things sometimes.’

The stranger gave them a strange, unblinking look.

’You are a good person, Rosemary Winchester’ she said.

*

When they got back to the Bunker, Dean's muscles ached and burned with fatigue, but he was strangely satisfied. The three of them settled down in the library, and the kids chatted quietly among themselves while Dean poured himself a glass of wishkey.

Almost half the alcohol was gone when Johnny turned to him.

'Hey, Dean, have you solved this case yet?' the boy pointed to the old yellow envelope lying open in front of him.'I'm sorry if I shouldn't have seen it, but it was open. Wolves?'

’Wolves’ answered Dean a bit darkly. ’And no, I didn’t had the time.’ Liar. ’To be honest’ he added. ’I’m not sure, if I’m the right person for the job anymore.’

He saw as John and Mary exchanged a look between the two of them.

’Of course you are’ said Rosemary then, kindly. ’We are happy to help if you let us?’

Dean's throat tightened. To hunt with family again, just like when he had hunted with Dad and Sammy when he was young; it would be incredible. However, would he be willing to risk their lives?

’What would your father say?’ he asked softly.

’He usually not big on letting us hunt with anyome but Mama and him’ answered Rose with suprising honesty. ’I mean he doesn’t mind if we hunt in a team with other hunters, but he, or Mama has to be there.’

’Yeah, well, then….’

’But its you.’ Johnny cut in. ’You are family: and the only rule is for us to always hunt with family persent. So its fine.’

Dean leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at the two teenagers.

'What do you use to kill a werewolf?'

’Silver’ they said in perfect union, then Johnny continued.

’They can be killed or harmed with a variety of silver objects like silver stakes, knives, bullets, axes, letter openers, handcuffs, spoons, forks, even the mere contact with silver will hurt them.’

’Good’ smiled Dean. ’Your parents did a good job with you.’

Good work, Sammy.

’And we’ said Rose, fishing her schoolbag out from under her desk. ’Have just a thing for this trip.’  Dean watched in amazement as she put three different guns on the table.

’You have a gun?’ he asked, a bit dumbly.

’I’m a Winchester’ said the girl looking up, and giving her uncle a cool, green look. ’Of course I have a gun.’

’You had these with you in school?’

’Your brother is the best Dad anyone can have’ explained Johnny. ’But he is also a bit paranoid.’

You don’t say. Dean watched as Johnny took a wooden box from his own bag and opened it to reveal a series of silver bullets.

’You have to be kidding me’ muttered Dean.

’My point exactly’ grinned the boy.

Winchester shighed as he decided whats gonna happen.

’If we are doing this, you guys have to listen to me’ he said.

’Okay’ noded Johnny.

’We will’ agreed Rose.

’If I tell you to jump, you jump’ Dean insisted.

’Yes, Sir’ answerd the two kids in union.

’If I tell you to fire, you fire’ continued Winchester.

’All right’ they said at the same time.

’If I tell you to run, and hide, you do as I say. ’

’Yes, Sir’ was the answer again.

’If I tell you tor un and leave me behind, you run and leave me.’

The two teenagers' faces hardened at the same time, and both of their expressions reflected rejection.

’Fuck. That.’ said Johnny.

’No freaking way’ Rose shook her head.

’Listen…’

’No, you listen’ Rose interjected firmly.'We understand if you don't want to hunt with us, because we've known each other for about two minutes. That's fine. It's also okay if we follow your rules during the hunt, because you're our uncle, we want to get to know you, and anyway, you're a good hunter, and Dad asked us to listen to you while we're here. But...'

'Don't ask us to leave you behind' Johnny continued the thought, calmly. 'That's not how we're raised, we don't leave family members, team members, anyone behind. If you want to hunt with us, you need to understand this. If you get hurt or surrounded, we're not gonna leave you. This is not up for debate. If you don't want to hunt with us, that's fine. But again, it's not negotiable. Decide.'

Dean clenched his jaw: it had been a long time since he'd been met with open opposition. True, Cas and Donna visited regularly, but lately they were both gentle and didn't argue. Johnny, on the other hand, looked just like Dad, with Sammy's dark, hard gaze as he cocked his head and waited for his response. And there was something improbably familiar in Rose's calm, cool, green eyes; she looks just like me when I disagree with something.

’There's nothing I can do to make you walk, is there?’ he asked, tiredly.

’No, Sir’ said the other two, in perfect union, and Dean almost growled to that. He wanted to hunt with them, that what was in the center of things.  He wanted it, and even his worries were weaker than that need. And hated himself for it. But can’t he be selfish, already? He was selfless for years. And so he decided.

’All right, you little shits. Lets do this.’

*

The whole thing would have been a bit funny if Dean hadn't been surrounded by twenty or so snarling wolves within ten minutes. Ridiculous, or rather, pathetic, because Dean Winchester is used to saving the world. By comparison, it looked like he was about to be torn to shreds by a pack of mangy wolves. Dad would be so disappointed, Dean thought, as he shot a wolf in the head with a firm motion.

They stood in an abandoned barn, and at first all went well; they found the children, and the two little girls were now hiding behind Johnny. The Winchester siblings stood shoulder to shoulder and fired continuously. If Dean hadn't had to keep backing up, he would have been proud of the two teenagers, because their shots were fast, accurate, and deadly: the wolves kept falling, but there were just too many of them. Too many. Just too many.

Ridiculous, Dean thought, ridiculous. We're going to die here, and I'll go on feeling guilty, thinking of Garth, while we bleed to death here. What the fuck is...

Johnny raised his free hand in a sharp motion, and one of the wolves lifted slightly in the air; a power the boy hadn't told his uncle about. That was all Rose needed; a clear target, and the girl's silver knife sank deep into the beast's forehead.

It was that momentary hesitation, that momentary wonder, that interested look Dean gave his nephew that caused the trouble. The next moment, a set of sharp wolf teeth dug into Winchester's back, the man screamed, and then - nothing.

*

Blood, pain, darkness, tears, sweat, fear.

Someone was working on his back, and in the moment of consciousness he realised the touch was gentle, but even that bit into his skin.

Blood, pain, darkness, tears, sweat, fear.

Everything hurt: he wanted to milk off his skin; he was surrounded by some kind of material; a blanket; he kicked it off. The momentary coolness helped, but then suddenly the air felt sharply cold, and that hurt too.

Blood, pain, darkness, tears, sweat, fear.

Pain throbbed in his temples: he was sure that if he touched the skin there he could feel a vein, but he wasn't strong enough to lift his arm.

Blood, pain, darkness, tears, sweat, fear.

He was nauseous, he couldn't breathe, he was choking. Can't it be over already?

*

You have reached Samuel Winchester. I'm not available at the moment, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Please leave a message after the signal.

’Its me. I know you turn off your phone during parent-teacher things, but it’s Dean. He got hurt, and I don’t know what to do. It’s a wolf bite, like yours, several, in fact and… Dad, I did everything right, and its keep bleeding! Blood is everywhere! Everywhere, Dad, he will bleed out, and I don’t know what to do, and I always know what to do, but its just keep getting worse, I…’ Rosemary's voice cracked, and she bit her lip with a fury that drew blood. Stop babbling, you stupid bitch, can't you for once in your life get to the point?!

’Daddy, please come as soon as you can.’

Chapter Text

Dean woke slowly; his back ached, his bedroom was dim and his mind was not quite his own. It could not have been his own, he must have been hallucinating, because he saw his brother sitting on a chair by his bed, reading.

It could not be true, because Sam was gone, Dean had chased him away: that fact was certain, and even the searing, never-ending pain could not erase it from Dean's mind. He slowly raised his head, a little proud of his hallucinating, broken mind. He had to admit that his brain was good at filling in the missing details.

Dream-Sammy was older than the last time he had seen his brother, but in spectacularly good shape; he was visibly in a state of fitness, dressed a little more smartly than the usual hunter style, but it wasn’t too much. He was wearing a simple white shirt, dark jeans, and black leather boots, his hair shorter than last time, but thick and as dark as ever.

Dean turned cautiously on his side, hoping the movement wouldn't make a sound; he was afraid the noise would scare the vision away, even if somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it might be silly; visions don't scare. The point of visions is to scare you; you had to work hard to scare them away.

But still he wanted to be quiet; he wanted to stare at Dream-Sammy as long as he could. The hunter almost drank in the new (even if not real) details. A subtle shadow was cast around Sam's mouth by his dark stubble; time had left fine, barely perceptible wrinkles at either corner of his lips. On the back of his hand, there were scars - burn marks, perhaps?

Dean wondered how badly the hunt had damaged his brain. He'd never considered himself much of a mind, yet he wouldn't have wanted any permanent damage... wait - hunting? They were hunting, with Johnny and Rosie, weren't they?

Johnny and Rosie - his nephew and niece, where were they? Dean suddenly straightened up, tried to sit up, his attempt to hide forgotten. He has to find –

Sam looked up at the movement, and Dean's idea that his brother wasn't real was shattered.

’Dean?’ asked Sam, gently, relief and joy came over his features, as if he hadn't missed ten fucking years. For a second Dean thought again of hallucinating; why would his brother be happy to see him?

’What are you doing here?’ That was Dean’s first question to his brother after that ten years, and of course it was the worst possible one to ask.

The joy relief and delight disappeared from Sam's face and was replaced by a disciplined aloofness, the expression Dean most often saw when Dad and Sam were about to have a big fight. Great. Dean fucked up again. So what's new?

'My daughter,' Sam said, in a level, controlled voice.' She called to say she needed me because my brother would bleed to death in two minutes if I didn't. So, here I am.'

And now you care about your brother again, Dean thought, knowing it was unfair. He said horrible things to Sam first.

'I'm alive,' he said tiredly.'You don't have to worry; you can go if you want.’

’You wanted me to go!’ snapped Sam, hurt in his voice, on his face. ’You said I should be dead.’

There was an uncomfortable, brief silence between them.

’I should be the one whos dead’ noted Dean then, because that was the only thing he could offer. It would solve a bunch of problems.

’Oh, fuck you, of course you shouldn’t be dead’ growled Sam, annoyed and sad. He sighed. 'Your back will get better in time,' he mumbled. 'But the scars will linger. Rosie and John did a fantastic job closing the wounds over and over again, but it wasn't enough, it took Rowena to keep them shut.'

Dean's mind flashed an image of the two teenage kids watching their uncle writhing in a pool of blood. Shit.

’Tell them thanks for me’ muttered Dean. ’And your wife too.’

'Rowena said to tell you that if you interrupt her knitting class again, she'll have your balls,' Sam answered, with a half smile. 'And Rosemary and Johnny are here in the Bunker, I can get them in if you feel strong enough.'

A wild, unbridled joy surged through Dean's soul, which for a moment made him forget his pain. Johnny and Rosie were still here! They wanted to know how I am!

Then he realised something.

'Rowena is learning to knit?' he asked with a raised eyebrow.

'I've come to the conclusion that it's better not to question it,' Sammy remarked, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice. ’So, what do you say, can the kids come in? They're worried about you.'

Dean nodded visibly; he still found it hard to talk to his brother; he felt like a familiar stranger, and every possible sentence had the potential to fuck things up. And of course, his back still itched.

The hunter tried to sit up again, but the throbbing pain intensified, and Winchester howled –

Sam jumped up from the chair, dropping the book on top of it, and stepped closer to the bed to help, but Dean suddenly couldn't bear the thought of his brother holding him upright. Wasn't it enough that he obviously saw his wounds, that he saw the prosthetic, that he saw how much extra weight he had put on?

'I don't need your help,' he hissed, even if it was a lie.'I know you think I'm disgusting.'

’What the fuck are you talking about?’ Dean didn't have the energy left to argue; he tried to lie very still and waited for the pain to subside a little.

Sam sat back in the chair, and for a moment Dean saw the concern on his face. Excellent. What else can I screw up? Why are you here, Sammy? And, when will you leave me again when you realize I'm worthless?

The sharp pain has faded a little, like a wolf that cowers before the hunt. Dean opened his eyes.

’Where are they?’ he asked softly.

’Who?’

’Your kids, Sam, where are they?’ Dean repated, and even he could hear the unfair nagging, impatience in his voice. Pain always made him a bitch. Or maybe that was his default now; being a bitch to his baby brother. Sam gave him a sharp look.

I was waiting for when you weren't pissing yourself in pain to call them - that's what Sam should say, in Dean's opinion, but his little brother is better than him and doesn't comment.

Instead, without a word, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. A faint smile appeared on his face when one of the children picked it up.

’Hey, sweetheart, your uncle is up, and he wants to talk to you guys. So, come up, please? No, he is gonna be okay. No, I promise….’ Sam shook his head, then nodded. ’Okay, so, we are waiting for you. Bye.’  He hung up the phone and sighed.

’They will be here in a minute’ he told Dean, and he could see the anger, worry and tiredness in his dark eyes. ’They did very well with your wounds, for their age.’ he continued. ’But Dean, what the fuck did they do with you on a hunt? Who told them they could go hunting with you?!’

Dean winced, unable to decide if it was the recurring pain or Sam's words.

'Dad, don't be angry at Dean, it was our idea' The Winchester brothers looked up at the same time; Rosmary was standing in the bedroom doorway, her bright red hair dishevelled, her green eyes tired. Beside her, Johnny stood spectacularly pale.

'I don't care' said Sam; he didn't shout as John Winchester would have done; his voice was quiet and cool, but Dean saw Rose blush with shame and Johnny bow his head.'It may have been your idea, but your uncle should have said no.'

'He tried' Johnny lifted his head and looked his father in the eye; another difference between the Winchester generations; Sam had taught his son to debate, while Sam had to figure out how to debate himself.

Sam shook his head.

'JJ, I'm not angry with you for going hunting with your uncle; Dean can take you wherever he wants. But next time, let me know before you go, okay?'

Dean watched as Rosie - a talkative, cheerful Roise who clearly adored her father - blushed even more with shame.

’Yes Sir’ they said in a perfect union.

Sam nodded.

'OK, the drama's over,' he declared, in a firm but kind voice.'Come here!'

The pain subsided slightly, and Dean watched as the two teenagers moved up to their father at the same time. Sam gently stroked Johnny's cheek; beyond the tired ache, Dean remembered that this was exactly what Dad did when he wanted to express his love for them. It was a silent sign from John Winchester; I love you, but I'm incapable of saying anything; do you understand what I'm trying to say?

Somehow, it felt different with Sam; Dean's little brother resolved their conflict with physical touch. And it worked; Dean could see Johnny's distinctive, honest smile. Then Sam turned to Rose and simply kissed her on the forehead. Dean watched as the girl relaxed and reflexively moved closer to Sam, then hugged him. He returned the hug and rested his head on her shoulder.

The Winchester brothers' eyes met over Rose's shoulder; two identically tired looks. Sam looked, Dean realized, like he hadn't slept in days. Is it because you kept vigil with me? And where do I deserve this? I’m sorry!

Dean tried to condense all his regrets, all his unspoken apologies into the look. But the point was that he didn't say what he wanted; he suffered from the same invisible wall, just like Dad did. And in the past, Sam understood all this; it didn't matter if it was him or Dad, Sam understood the unspoken things. And he almost always approached these things with tenderness, until Dad said things that Sam had long considered unforgivable. Later, of course, they reconciled, but this reconciliation took a long, long time.

Dean unconsciously held his breath for a moment and maintained eye contact. Would he get the favour he had so many times as a kid? Will Sam indicate that he understands the apology?

But that didn't seem to be enough; his little brother closed his eyes and hugged Rosemary tighter for a moment, then gently let go. Dean's breath caught and the pain ripped through his back again.

Then the two teenagers were suddenly lying on either side of Dean; the stillness made him miss some of the movements, but he realised, heart pounding, that both children were being gentle, careful not to hurt him, not to tuch him.

'Hey, hey, wolf hunter,' Rose smiled at him, and he tried to playfully wink back.

How are you feeling?" asked Johnny, big, worried, dark eyes and pale skin.

’Just peachy’ he murmured trying to be gentle. Its not the kids fault he is worthless.

’Sorry I couldn’t help more’ said Johnny guiltily chewing the corners of his mouth.

So, I couldn't even reassure him.

Dean hissed in agony as he tried to sit up, and Rose gently reached under his arm to help. As soon as he managed to settle down, he gave her a grateful look.

’Listen to me’ he started, looking at Johnny, but suddenly the air ran out of his lungs.

’Its not your fault’ for a moment it was just like old times, and Sammy finished his thoughts.

All Dean could do was give a visible nod of agreement, but Johnny continued to look at him timidly.

’Oh, come on, you even developed a whole freaking power in the process!’ said Sammy, with kind determination.

’What?’ asked Dean.

’Magical power is tied to intense emotion’ explained Johnny, a bit tiredly. ’When your uncle is dying in front of you, you get a pretty strong reaction, so...’

Johnny raised both hands, and Dean saw the icy white air swirling between his palms. The kid could summon ice, the hunter realized. His sister had fire, his had ice.

The boy leaned forward and placed both hands gently on the hunter's face, on either side; Dean sighed in surprise. The cool felt good - he only now realized that his skin was burning from heat.

'Rose tried to close your wounds over and over again, and she was brilliant, but it wasn't enough, so I tried to... freeze them,' he explained, and Dean shivered. No teenage boy should ever have to go through that, and he decided they could come hunting with him. It's his fault...

'It didn't work' Rose interjected guiltily.'So, I called Dad, who got here awfully fast.'She looked up at Sam.'How do you know so much about biten wounds?'

'I grew up with a very interesting Dad' Sammy noted in a sad voice. Their eyes met again; and Dean was suddenly filled with a strong longing for his father. Yes, John Winchester was irritable, and often unfair, with terrible parenting choices - but at the same time - he was strong, warm, and always, always loved them.

'And of course, your mother did the lion's share of the work,' added his little brother.

’Mama is the best’ smiled Rose. .

’She really is.’

John gently stroked Dean's forehead, and he found it hard to suppress a contented sigh. The coolness was really nice, even if it was getting harder for Dean to control his fatigue.

'I think you've got a fever again,' the boy said worriedly. 'Dad?' Dean knew that tone, he'd used it a thousand times. Dad, what do I do? Which way do I turn?

Sam got up from the chair, leaned over Dean, and his lips brushed his forehead; Dean couldn't decide how to feel. On the one hand there was the almost unbridled joy inside him; Sammy was here and he cared! On the other hand, there was the intangible distance between them that he couldn't bridge, and he was afraid that if he tried he would ruin everything.

'I'll get you some painkillers in a minute' Sam said, and Dean was tired of fighting, so he just nodded.

Rose's phone started to beep, and as she looked at it, she pursed her lips.

’Mama is here to pick us up’ she noted.

’Dad, can we stay? John tried at once, and Dean's heart was filled with a pleasant warmth, but Sam shook his head.

’Nah, man, you guys already missed a whole week of school, your teachers will murder us. But maybe you could come after school?’

As Dean watched them in silence, he suddenly felt a chill. A week! I've been out for a week?

Rose nodded sheepishly, then turned to Dean and kissed him on the cheek. He suddenly had a strong urge to hug her, but he couldn't lift his arms.

'We'll be back as soon as we can,' she promised.

'Pay attention at school' Dean muttered, feeling like a hypocrite considering how much he hated school at this age.

John gently stroked his uncle's face once more, and then the kids were gone.

It took Dean a few minutes to realise that his brother was still sitting in the chair.

’You stayin’?’

’I’m staying’ nodded Sammy, the sharpness from earlier disappeared from his voice. 'Unless you'd like me to call Donna instead?'

Dean considered: but he didn't want Donna to see him like this, and damn it, he needed someone here. He wasn't even sure he could make it to the toilet.

He didn't want Sam to see him like that either, but if he did, it meant he was here, and Dean wanted as much of that as he could get, from that, because he knew Sam would leave again at some point. Pathetic. The hunter shook his head.

’All right, then’

A minute of silence fell between them; Dean's body was cold and shivering, despite the blanket. He heard Sam stand up; a kind of helplessness took hold of him.

'Don't go anywhere' he mumbled, something he would never have said normally.

'I'm just going to get the painkillers, De'

Pain, and anger.

’I don’t care about the fuckin’ painkillers. Stay!’

He wasn't just talking about now, and they both knew it. The fever had washed away the distances, and Dean worried ahead about what would happen when he was himself again.

Dean heard the bed groan under Sam's weight as he lay down next to his brother. Something Dean would never have tolerated otherwise, but his need to be near Sam was stronger. Again.

’But I do care. I care about your pain: thats the goddamened point!’ There was rage in the choked voice. Another example of them seeing the same thing differently.

Sam very gently laid his head on Dean's chest; the other was enjoying the closeness, but at the same time painfully aware that Sam's shirt smelled different than it had in the past. Tiny, needle-like changes. Silly.

Silence. And then –

'Dean, do you take your prosthesis off to sleep?'

’Yeah, I do. Why?’

'Do you want to take it off now? You need  help?'

The older hunter was suddenly struck with self-loathing and terror; he pulled away and his skin burned at Sam's surprised, confused glance.

’No!’

’Well… but why not? Do you want me to go out while you do it or…?’

Suddenly it was all too much, and Dean was filled with anger. At the same time, he wanted his brother.

'I don't need this Sam! I don't need you to find me even more disgusting!'

Sam staggered back as if he had been hit

’What the actual…. why would I… What?’

They stared at each other, Sam blinked. Dean refused to speak.

’What the fuck are you talking about?’ Sam hissed, with visible, helpless fury. 'It's a fucking injury, why would I find it disgusting? What kind of person do you think I am? What the fuck?’

Dean couldn't explain that the injury was just part of it, that he hated his body and that... he sighed.

’You don’t?’

’No, I don’t!’ snapped Sam. ’What the… christ, I’m so mad at you, I need a painkiller, because I’m having a fucking headache! I’m so mad at you, I can't think of a fucking synonym for what the fuck!'

Under normal circumstances, Dean would have found this almost funny, but Sam was almost vibrating with anger. His brother sat up in bed, and Dean was alone again. Then, a few minutes later, Sam appeared with a tray, two glasses of water and some pills. Of course - he lived here once.

’Drink it’ said Sam darkly, as he gave Dean the glass, and he got it with his hand intact. The pills were bitter.

Dean watched as Sam took his own dose in one motion - an overly practiced motion - and then chugged the water. Concern filled him; then he let go. Where did he have the right?

They looked at each other in the semi-darkness, and Dean put the glass down and slowly, slowly unhooked the prosthesis. Sam's dark eyes were tender and the older man felt exposed, but it was all he could do.

As the limb separated from the skin, Dean felt a sense of relief; Sam bent down to his bag lying beside the bed and took out some cream. It was just like the one Dean had used. How did... Oh. Donna.

Sam began to rub the stump with gentle, careful movements, and Dean sighed involuntarily. Sam looked up, concern in his eyes. It was all so.... personal that Dean was momentarily speechless.

’How do you know how to do this?’ asked Dean, quietly enjoying his brother's movements. Sam gave his brother a soft half-glance from under his lashes, with a slightly self-mocking smirk.

’I read things’ he answered; and Dean gave a quiet laugh. I read things, that was fourteen-year-old Sam's slightly irritated response to John's many questions.

'You cut it off, Dean?' whispered Sam, without his hand pausing for a moment. There was terror in his voice. ’But why?’

Dean pursed his lips: if he had lost the right to a lot of things, Sam had lost the right to an answer. And Sam didn't push it; he finished the anointing, wiped his hands, and cuddled up next to Dean without a word.

For the first time, the silence between them was not uncomfortable. They didn't resolve anything, but still –

'I'm tired,' Sam mumbled, and for a moment Dean heard the voice of ten-year-old Sam Winchester.

'Then go to sleep' Dean offered, trying to steal some kindness in his voice.

’Don’t wanna’ muttered Sam.

’Why?’ Do you have night terrors?

'We'll start all over again tomorrow,' Sam whispered.'We're circling around our grievances, and I don't want to; I want my brother.'

Too much: it was all too much for Dean, and it wasn't as if Sam was wrong.

Hissing, he turned onto his back, ignoring Sam's protests.

’What are you doing, stop it!’

’Shut your mouth and come here’ He pulled Sam on top of him with his heavy, muscular weight.

’Dean!’ Sammy condensed countless emotions into these words: amazement, worry, neediness, attachment, anger, joy.

But he didn't move to pull away from him, rather, he wrapped his arms around his chest, and Dean was silently pleased. He fell into a fitful, troubled, feverish sleep.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester was startled by soft classical music, but the sound hit his sleepy mind so suddenly that he winced, and pain shot up his spine. Beyond the black suffering, the man realized the sound was coming from the nightstand where Sam had left his phone.

’Sorry, sorry’ his brother muttered quickly, gently letting go of Dean, and picking up the phone: he sat up and threw his back against the back of the bed.

'Sam Winchester' his little brother introduced himself with such professionalism that Dean noticed even beyond the splitting ache. Where was I while Sammy was changing so much?

'General, do you have a new phone number again?' his brother's voice turned warm, which made Dean think he knew the caller. 'Yeah, I've been a bit busy the last few days, but I haven't forgotten about the trial this afternoon. I'll be there, don't worry.'

Of course: Sam was still practising law.

There was a brief silence.

'Sir, you can't say that in court' Sam reflexively shook his head. 'Why? Because it's not the first born's job to raise the second born, and...' The General seemed to cut in, and Sam and Dean's eyes met.

It's not the first born's job to raise the second born.

Dean's stomach clenched: it was a sentence Sam had often said to his father as a teenager. He screamed, shrieked, more like. And although John often took it as a tongue-in-cheek criticism, it was really a plea. Where are you, Dad? Don't you miss us? Because we miss you.

Dean mentally shook his head and shoved the memory away. He had enough trouble as it was.

'You're going there to defend your parental rights,' said Sam, firmly. 'To say that you've entrusted your five-year-old daughter to your ten-year-old son is only to undermine the case. Get a babysitter!’

Dean realised with mild horror that he had to pee; how was he going to get to the toilet? Slowly he tried to move; the black beast, the agony that gnawed at his back, dug its teeth deep into his skin and he hissed.

Sam gave him a worried look, but then pursed his lips and focused on the General.

'I don't look down on soldiers, sir,' he interjected at one point. 'My father was one, and I know it's hard to do it alone...' Sam fell silent and closed his eyes in surrender for a moment. Then his eyes opened and narrowed as the other continued to speak.

'I have a brother, as a matter of fact, but my personal experience is irrelevant,' he said, sternly.’ I'll be happy to pay for it even, but don't leave two minors alone or you'll  lose them.'

Sam sighed soundlessly, then grabbed Dean's wrist with his free hand to stop his attempts to sit up. He shook his head.

Wait for me, he moulded the words with his lips, and Dean wanted to ask, what do you think I've been doing for the last 10 years? Of course, that was unfair: Sam only meant: wait till I finish this, I will help you, and Dean knew that.

'Augustus, I'm not offering you charity,' Sam sighed wearily.'My job is to help you and your children, just let me handle my end of the bargain. I'll send you a phone number. Her name is Lily Green, she looked after my kids when they were little. Refer to me.'

The tension in Dean's loins was becoming uncomfortable; for God's sake, he was a hunter, he'd been to hell; it was not right that he was unable to stand up. He bit his tongue to drain away any sound and sat up in one motion.

The pain was unbelievable; Dean suddenly wished he had hellhounds clawing at his back instead, and he let out a low, howling cry. Sam's eyes widened in terror.

'Sir, I will have to call you back later. I'll meet you in front of the courthouse at two o'clock in the afternoon.'

He threw the phone between the blankets so quickly that there was no way the General had time to say goodbye.

'What the hell are you doing, I told you to wait for me!' Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder and held him in place, which was good because Winchester felt like he was going to collapse.

'I shouldn't have to wait for you to take a piss, damn it!' he snapped, and immediately regretted it, as guilt flashed across his little brother's face.

'You're right' he said quietly. 'I'm sorry it took me so long. Agustus Wihler is unbearable.'

Dean bit his lip hard: that's not what he meant. He meant that he shouldn't be so useless that he needed help to... to... exist.

'You were just doing your job,' Dean grumbled, a little sheepishly.

There was a tense, yet strangely tender moment between them: the closeness of last night had evaporated, and as Sam had said, their wounds, their grudges, were still there between them. But there was something.

Sam gently tilted his forehead towards Dean. He felt sweat trickling down his temples; he hated to break the silence, but he had to.

'I need the bathroom' he murmured, slightly embarrassed.

Sam jumped, as if he had forgotten where he was the moment he could be close to his brother, but then nodded quickly.

’Come on then’ he told him gently. Dean let the other put his arm around his waist and pull him to his feet in one swift motion. It hurt, but Sam's strong arm held him up. The walk to the bathroom was agonising, and slow: Dean felt as if he was suffocating with shame.

'Just put your weight on me, okay?' muttered Sam gently, and that was too much; this sudden kindness that Dean was unashamedly enjoying, yet he kept wondering when his brother was going to take it again.

'Do you want me to stick around?' he asked calmly when they finally arrived at the bathroom door.

The elder brother raised his eyebrows in irritation.

’Why would I want you to…’

'I found it incredibly difficult to sit down and stand up with this injury, especially when the toilet was low. You'll see stars from the agony' Sam interjected, and Dean simultaneously sensed that his little brother had used a deliberately neutral, matter-of-fact tone and felt like shit: of course - Sam had experienced the injury himself, and Dean had just forgotten about it.

’Who helped you?’ he asked, heart punding. Because it’s sure as shit wasn’t me.

He could feel his throat tightening with deep, raging self-hatred. Sure, there was a reason he wasn't there, and there was a reason Sam didn't want him there - but at the same time, what was the point if he couldn't take care of Sam? And what happens when he needs caring for?

But Sam only gave him a weak smile.

’Rowena’ he answered as it was obvius: maybe it was, but Dean still wasn't used to his brother being married. ' She was incredibly furious with me: Johnny was only two years old. What kind of father is it who almost gets himself killed while his son is just starting to talk? And she was right, so I didn't say that everything hurt so much that I considered shooting myself in the head several times in the first three months after the hunt.'

Dean was suddenly overcome with so many emotions that he could not express any of them. He didn't know what hurt him more; that Sam was in so much pain or that he hadn't turned to him with his anguish. And if that was the case - how could Dean ask him to help?

'I'll be fine,' he said, nodding his head towards the door. Sam gritted his teeth and made no protest, instead slowly letting his brother go. Dean immediately faltered and began to swear colourfully. Sam caught him.

'Look, I'm really happy to help,' he said quickly.'You've seen me in nappies before, so nothing new under the sun, right?' Dean could tell from the weak smile that his little brother was trying his best to joke, but helplessness made him angry.

'Do you really want to bring that up now?' he snapped, and Sam's playful smile was instantly gone.

'That's not a dig at Dad' he growled. 'I miss him too, in case you hadn't noticed. I meant that there's nothing wrong with me helping you. But then you can suffer in peace, if you want to. Far from me to be in the way.’

He let go of the other, and Dean immediately had to grab the knob to keep himself on his feet. Stupid, stupid, animal, thought with self-loathing. That's exactly what you deserve. Sam turned on his heel, walked back to the bed they'd shared the night before, and picked up the tray of glasses from the floor. Or so Dean assumed: his brother had disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone.

The man opened the door - which was difficult because the prop he was using for support had suddenly started to move, no longer stable - but then managed to crawl into the room.

The fucking toilet bowl was low - Dean considered simply standing, but his legs were shaking and there was no way he could get up again if he fell now, so he sat down.

He had felt as if someone had cut his skin with a sharp knife, and believing Sam was out of earshot, he gave a dragged cry.

’Dean?!’ Sam yanked the door open with force, a look of abject terror on his face. The two brothers stared at each other for a moment.

'I thought you weren't here' Dean whispered, tired. His face was burning with shame.

'I grew up with John Winchester. I learned to ignore stupid machismo by the time I was eleven' Sam said reflexively. Then, as if realising where he was, he stepped back. 'Sorry.' He closed the door.

The man remained in the small room, under the yellow light of the lamp, and almost immediately became aware that he was unable to stand up.

He gripped both sides of the toilet to push himself up, but the burning pain returned immediately, and the hunter froze motionless. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Thats not going to work now, is it?

’Sam?’ asked Dean softly. He knew that his voice is not strong enough, and it wasn’t the request that his brother deserved, but he was unable to do more, his wounded pride just kept on bothering him. ’Sam?’

’Dean?’ There was no judment in his voice, just worry. It’s more than what I deserve. Sam carefully opened the door and took stock of the situation with a glance.

’Right’ he nodded. 'So, I'm going to pull you up' he explained, in a deliberately neutral tone, Dean assumed to reduce the other's embarrassment. "Hold on to my neck and don't let go, no matter what happens, you hear?’

Dean wanted to lower his head and die on the spot, but his little brother kept eye contact, his touch cool against his skin.

'On the count of three?'

Dean nodded, with his lips clenched. He didn’t deserve this, did he? His brother’s gentleness.

’One’ murmured Sam, and Dean held his breath. ’Two’ Sam's hands were clasped around his waist. 'Three' The younger man pulled the older man up in a quick gesture and Dean hissed sharply; just don't start shouting, just don't start shouting, do you have to make an even bigger idiot of yourself in front of your brother?

Of course, that was stupid: Sam had seen him, in almost every possible situation in life. But that was before.

'It'll pass' Sam whispered quietly. 'I promise it will pass and you'll be the same' he said as they walked slowly out of the small room, Sam's arm sliding up his shoulder.

'What a pleasure,' Dean growled back, the sentence dripping with self-loathing, but Sam just laughed.

'Well, I'll take any version of you I can get,' he said lightly, and Dean felt shame, fear and joy all at once. He clung to the fear.

'So, how long is this going to last?' he asked a little coolly.

’What do you mean?’ asked Sam, as he helped Dean back onto the bed.

’This Florence Nightingale rutin of yours’ he stated. 'When will you get fed up and start running the other way?’

The question was mean, and like so many times he already regretted it, but well, that was him now, apprently.

Sam's tender brown eyes darkened with anger and hurt.

’What is wrong with you?!’ he snapped, and Dean had to fight not to bow his head in shame.

’Sam…’

'Why do you feel the need to kick me every chance you get? I know I've obviously made mistakes in the past, I've never fucking pretended to be blameless. But you almost died, I thought we'd put it to rest until you were better. Then you can go back to hating me.'

'I don't hate you!' snapped Dean back.'When did I say I hate you?'

'You said I should have died,' Sam hissed. 'But...' the fight in his voice seemed to suddenly fade. 'Look, if you didn't want me to stay, I would have called Donna, or whoever you wanted. You could have just said so.'

'It's not that' Dean growled, his face burning. 'I just feel disgusting'

Sam stared at him and then, to Dean's amazement, started laughing.

’Fuck, you’re a bloody idiot’ he grinned. That was not what Dean had expected, and it hurt like a bitch it was.

’Thanks’ he grumbled. The smile faded from Sam's face and he grabbed his brother's wrist

’You’re not disgusting' he shook his head. ’You’re not’ he interjected, seeing that Dean was about to protest. ’You are hurt, and you’re being impossible about it, but there’s nothing wrong with how you look. And other than being cruel to me, you handle this better than I did’

Other than being cruel to me. It is not despicable enough?

’But…’

'Tell me, are you begging for your mum and dad, who have been dead for years?' asked Sam, and Dean felt like he'd been slapped.

’Because that's what I did. I even asked for you, several times, in fact’ he noted, without shame. ’And Bobby. And Henry. Any family member really, to come, and help me.’

I even asked for you, several times, in fact.

’And Rowena ignored it?’ Dean growled. His anger hid desperation; he could have had more time with his little brother.

Sam smiled at him gently.

’She ignored it, because she knew that I would’ve hated myself, for asking for you, would’ve I’ve been okay. And neither of us were sure you'd come.’

'I would have come' Dean grumbled. 'I would have come.'

Sam's smile grew even wider, then he stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

’What are you doing?’ asked Dean, golden eyebows up.

’I’m asking you a favour’ answered Sam warmly. 'Apart from you, only Rowena and my kids have seen this' Sam bent down and took a tube of ointment from his bag beside the bed. ’I've only got marks now, but I have to keep them tended, twice a day, and I can't reach them. Can you put the ointment on them, please?’

Dean nodded, slightly stunned. He was acutely aware of what his brother was doing: showing vulnerability, defenselessness, showing something personal, hoping it would make it easier for Dean to do the same. But the fact that there was a logical reason for it didn't make it any less important to him. He took the tube and Sam dropped his shirt on the bed and turned around, his back to his brother.

The kids had told him that Sam had a back full of scars, so it shouldn't have affected Dean that way. But seeing him was a different story. There wasn't an inch of his little brother's back that was perfectly seamless, full of scars that had closed up. Most were pale white, a map of tiny, snow-white lines, some pale pink, these seemed more delicate.

Dean reached up with his free hand and, almost in a trance, gently stroked the wounds. They were rough on the surface, and Sam flinched under his touch. Dean immediately snatched his hand away.

'Do they hurt?' he asked.

’No’ Sam’s voice was gentle. ’It’s just…’ Personal, was unsaid between the two of them. Sam reached back and, without turning back, guided his brother's hand back to its original point.

Dean applied gentle pressure to the skin, then unscrewed the top of the tube and gently began to apply it to the scars.

For a while, all that could be heard was Sam's quiet breathing; it was a bit ridiculous, because Dean was in pain, but he was grateful for the situation. He needed something to distract him.

’What’s wrong?’ asked Dean when he saw as Sam nervously reaches back and poked the hair at the back of his head.

’Nothing it’s just…’ Sam took a deep breath. 'This trial is going to be very public. Augustus is an asshole, but I want him to keep his kids. He loves them. And because he's considered a national hero, his every move will be followed by packs of reporters.'

'You'll be great,' Dean urged, feeling like he was talking to a ten-year-old Sam Winchester in the morning before a test. 'A complicated military man who's a real arse but loves his kids is nothing new to you.'

It worked: laughter erupted from Sam.

’You’re right’ he told him then, smile still in his voice. ’It’s just that…’

He never finished the sentence. Donna literally burst into the Bunker, bloody, hunted, with wide eyes.

’What happend?’ asked the two Winchester brothers at exactly the same time.

A heartbeat of silence.

’Jody and the girls – she taken them.’