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Universes differ from each other. In some universes, John Winchester survives a demon attack on his hunter wife, his personality becomes even more hardened, and he vows revenge. He raises his sons as he knows best: perhaps too harshly, and often unfairly, because his mouth is bitter with grief and alcohol; but with a deep, stubborn love that drives him to sacrifice himself for Dean Winchester.
And in some universes - as in this one, here - John doesn't come out of the burning house, but he burns, joining his wife, and Mary's siblings, his own parents, and generations of Winchesters and Cambells - on the other side.
’It’s okay, Sammy’ murmured five years old Dean Winchester to his baby brother in his arms. ’Mama and Daddy will come out any minute now, and we will forget this ever happend, all right? Daddy wil build a new house for us, and Mama will…’
But as time passed and firefighters appeared, Dean Winchester, standing in front of the ruins of the house, found it harder and harder to hold back his tears.
A little while later, Dean was sitting in the back of one of the fire trucks, wondering why all the big, dumb giants weren't helping Mama and Daddy. They were still inside!
But then Dean's attention was distracted - the firefighters started talking among themselves about adoption. But they don't need to be adopted! Dean was a big boy already - he knew that Grandpa Henry and Grandma Millie were no longer alive, and neither were Papa Samuel and Mama Deana, but there was Mama and Daddy! They didn’t need adoption.
But the stupid adults didn't listen - babies are easier to adopt - and the next moment Sammy was no longer in his arms. The firelight splashed through his tears.
*
Dean was to be adopted by a pirate. Or that was his first thought. The man's name was Nick Fury, he looked huge, and his skin was coal black: Dean was reluctant to admit that he had a nice voice, deep and resonant, like Dad's.
But Dean didn't have time for this adoption business: he had to find Sammy. If Mummy and Daddy could no longer take care of them, he would look after Sammy. He said as much to the pirate, who smiled slowly and tightly.
’What do you think of heros, Dean?’ he asked. In a slow, calm voice, the man told the boy about an experiment they would perform on him if he decided to go with Nick. It would be dangerous, of course, said the pirate; it would hurt, and Dean might not survive. But if he did survive, Nick would always take care of him - and more importantly, he could become a hero who could help people. Doesn't he want to be a hero?
Dean was not interested in heroes. His only hero was Dad, and Dad was no more. But as he listened to Nick tell his story, he realised something. People give heroes what they want. Dean wanted Sammy back.
Dean Winchester was just a little boy at this point: he'd lost everyone he loved, so his mind didn't really dwell on Nick's repeated, and repeated warnings about the pain of the experiment - the Super Soldier experiment, as he called it - he was just focused on the fact that if he became a hero, he could ask for things. And he will ask for his little brother to be found and brought back to him. So, he said yes.
*
Camp Super Soldier was a big place with tents, food, and a bunch of loud kids, and Dean wanted to go home. But what was home? The house that Dean considered home was burned to the ground, and he had to find Sammy.
So he didn't argue: he choked back his emotions, clamped his lips shut, and went to find his tent. This ability, his ability to contain his emotions, becomes a recurring feature in our story: Dean Winchester will never be a truly bad man, but the slight shadow that characterises his personality begins here.
Where Steve Rogers becomes Captain America for great ideals: where he wants to help people, where his personality is sunny and loving, Dean Winchester is a little cautious and gritty.
It's not that Dean doesn't want to help people: he does - he wants to prevent anyone from having to go through what he went through.
Where Steve cares about everyone equally, Dean likes to think small; he has a deep distaste for house fires, for example, and wants to get to know his neighbour. And above all, Dean wants his brother back.
He wants his brother back. He wants his brother back. He wants his brother back. He wants Sam.
And when these two ideals are thrown into opposition - someone who wants to help everyone without selection, and someone who wants to stop and get to know the person they're helping - well, interesting things happen.
*
Between you and me - the people who carried out the Supersoldier experiment never thought that anything - unpleasant - could happen.
Half of the applicants were drawn from the military, on an enrollment basis and subject to certain conditions - the other half were drawn from the Shield orphans.
And its not like they made it compulsory - all applicants had to be at least twenty-five years old and a volunteer. The dangers of the experiment were explained to them - and if any orphan decided not to undertake it despite their upbringing, they were free to leave.
Of course, in this way the Shield raised many who were of no use, but they believed in free will. And in this way, the scientists slept easier: you see, a lot of children were raised for free, so the grief over those subjects who didn't survive, in the end - it wasn't so great.
And again - please don't tell anyone - but they thought it would be okay because at best only one applicant would survive. He would be Captain America, the perfect weapon in the war.
So, as you can imagine, it was a bit of a shock to them, when two of the possible supersoliders survived the process.
*
Dean found the situation a bit ridiculous, frankly. The moment, as he stood in front of the iron-lined tank in his underpants. It wasn't a tank so much as a sheet of iron, with a space for his arms and legs: the young man shivered as the iron clamped down on both his arms and held his legs in place.
The injection of the serum stung; the boy turned his head to the side; on the page next to him lay another candidate; blue-eyed and blond. Before the unimaginable pain seared into Dean's muscles, his last thought was that the boy's eyes were like the spring sky.
*
There were two of them: two, and Dean hated that fact. He should have been the only one to survive; he should have been the hero; to get Sammy back.
For a moment, the scientists just stared at them in amazement; but then the management simply decided that two was better than one, just give them two different super identities, and that was that.
The grip on Dean's throat loosened: after all, it was never literally about the idea of heroism for him. What did he care if he had to work as a duo? He could still get his brother back.
The man felt strong: he was fast, and he felt energetic: and everyone would pay hard price to to him, to give that energy to anyone.
Handsome, blue-eyed Steve Rogers was made Captain America: his round, heavy shield was the flag, with a white star on his chest, crimson and sky blue back in his outfit, like the shade of his eyes.
Dean was called Solider Boy: the man was a little irritated by this, after all, he and Steve were the same age, but never mind. But the clothes they forced him to wear were better: there was a lot of black, and a deep forest green in them: and there was the two spread silver wings of the eagle at the neck.
Winchester, for his part, preferred his shield to Steve's as well. The weapon was triangular, heavy, and its weight reassured him: it gave the impression of being made of solid silver, with the eagle carved in detail in the centre. It was perfect.
*
The seriously irritating fact was that Dean liked Steve. Steve was sunny and genuinely, blatantly kind. And for some reason, Steve was stubbornly determined that the two of them would be friends.
’Come, drink something with me, Winchester’ he said, and again, his eyes were like the clear sky. Dean swallowed hard.
’Why?’ he asked, a bit darkly. ’Because we must become a good team on missions?’
’Why not?’ Steve asked back, with ease, Dean never had. ’You have something against my company?’
Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He had no time for this: he had to find Sammy.
But the truth was, he'd hired a bunch of lawyers and private investigators months ago to find out what was going on with his brother, and so far they were all silent. But it wasn’t like he didn’t want him back. It wasn’t like he’d forgetten Sammy, or that he didn’t do anything to have him back. So maybe he can have some fun. Maybe he…?
’Okay’ he growled. ’What do you have in mind?’
’Well, even we have to eat’ noted Steve simply. ’Meet me at Demeter’s around eight?’
Dean raised his eyebrows. Demeter's was one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, and it was hard to get into, even for them.
’I have a reservation’ noted Steve, with a smile as if he could hear Dean’s thoughs.
’You have a reservation?’
’I hoped I’d get lucky’
A blue, cheerful look, and then Steve turned and walked away, his laughter echoing pleasantly in Dean's mind for a long, long time.
*
When Dean arrived at the restaurant, he felt suddenly happy that he had decided to wear a suit to the dinner. The Demeter was even more classy than he thought.
He brushed nervously at the pale silver-grey suit he had on, adjusting the subtle green tie around his neck as he followed the waiter to their table.
He didn't understand what was wrong with him: the suit was expensive and tailored, it fit him perfectly, he had nothing to worry about: yet his throat was tight.
Steve was already waiting at the table; the man was wearing a pale blue suit that brought out the blueness in his eyes, and the tightness around Dean's throat only tightened.
You want him to like you, don't you?
Winchester didn't know where this sudden desire was coming from - they'd been easy friends and comrades in arms, but now –
'I hope you don't mind that I ordered for us' Steve noted, with an apologetic smile as Dean sat down opposite him. 'They say the chargrilled steak is excellent here, and I thought we'd try it'
'No, not at all' Dean shook his head, for whom this situation was a bit new; he'd had to make his own decisions all his life, and having someone gently guide him, even in such a small matter, was a nice change. Of course, he had no intention of giving up any autonomy; but an evening where he just had to have fun didn't sound bad. 'Shall we have a wishky?' he added.
’Sure’ noded the other. ’ Scotch?’
’Sunds nice’ noted Dean softly, and the tightness around his throat eased a little: he could do that: eating and talking, a little drink, no problem.
The food was good, and the wishky was a pleasant throat burn; Steve was easy-going and kind. Dean listened as he told some silly, funny anecdote from his childhood and thought, geez, when was the last time someone was nice to me? Is that such a big ask, some kindness?
So he sat back in his chair and enjoyed it.
'Say, wasn't it your birthday sometime recently?' asked Steve, with a half-smile, when they were both done with their shots.
'Well, in January' Dean said, a little surprised; it was already February.'Why?'
Steve motioned to one of the waiters, and two penguin suits brought out a six-piece - a brownie pie with twelve glowing candles.
’Are you kidding me?’ asked Dean, as he watched the pie cake with huge, huge eyes. ’You have to be kidding me!
No one gave him a cake since he was four years old; and the gesture somehow meant more for him, than the cake itself: it meant tenderness, and kindness.
As he looked up, with sparkling, big eyes, Steve’s smile just became even larger.
’Happy Birthday, Dean’ said Steve Rogers softly.
*
By the time they found themselves in Dean's apartment, the good booze worked its magic: neither of them was really drunk, it was more, like some kind of pleasant, loose mood, which made their worries go away, and their moods lift.
The apartment was spacious and mordern: Dean spent little time here, and, like most of wild souls, were not interested in the elegance that the Shield accumulated him with. But he liked the bedroom, with its glass door to the padio, dark chery writing desk, and duoble bed, in the middle. His personal favourite spot in the room was the huge, detailed painting on the wall which ran along the bed.
It was of a forest: a mountain forest to be exact, with a car driving in the rain, thru the mountains and the trees. The picture strangely woke a longing, and some feeling of peace in Dean, at the same time, now matter how illogical that was.
Steve, unlike Dean’s most husegests, didn’t felt threatened by the circumstances. The man threw his suit jacket down on the chair next to the desk, walked over to Winchester, and simply kissed him.
The kiss was slow, and gentle, and honestly one of the best Dean had ever experienced. Steve's lips were soft and cautious, and gave off a sort of smoky taste, a hint of wishkey that made Dean's skin flush and he had to suppress the urge to groan.
'If I'm doing something you don't like, tell me and I'll stop,' Steve murmured gently: Dean appreciated that, but at the same time he was overwhelmed by a kind of childish impatience.
'You don't have to make any rules,' he mumbled back, wishing they'd go back to kissing: but Steve shook his head, the lamplight glinting off his blonde hair.
'Hey, I like my partners to be here of their own free will' Steve grinned.'And anyway, I want you to enjoy yourself.’
Dean felt a pleasant chill, and then his skin flooded with heat again: he had found something insanely sexy in the caring tone.
It had been a very long time since anyone had wanted to take care of him, genuinely, and he relished in it immensly. He suddenly felt a deep need to return the feeling.
'Okay' he nodded.'But only if you tell me if anything happens that you don't like, as well.’
'Agreed' smiled Steve, then in one swift motion he slammed the other against the painted wall with such force that Dean's back slapped against it: but strangely, the sensation was not unpleasant.
'Do you think you're stronger than me?' inquired Dean, amused at the thought; Steve, who had spent the last few moments kissing the side of his neck, now gently dug his teeth into the sensitive white skin and Dean hissed in pleasure.
'You know it's true,' whispered the other, now running his lips over the other Adam's muzzle. 'And you like the idea.'
'In your dreams' Winchester muttered, but there was no trace of the usual darkness in his voice. His hand slid playfully down Steve's thigh, then keyed between the man's legs; Rogers hissed.
’Really?’ A blue blink, and the next moment Dean was surprised to find that Rogers was holding both his hands above his head, with great force, and was pressing his whole body against him.
It crossed Winchester's mind that he should turn the situation around, after all, he was one of the strongest human beings ever, and he didn't like being second to anyone. But then, in exquisite detail, suddenly, he felt every muscle of Steve's pressing against his body, and suddenly he was disturbed by the material of the clothes between them; he wanted to feel the touch of Steve's skin against his own.
He also realised that he didn't want to think, so he let go of the idea of a fight and just locked both hands on the other man's.
'Good boy,' Steve murmured, and Dean grunted in displeasure, but before he could respond, Rogers kissed him again, deeper this time.
As Steve's lips trailed along his, his mind grew more and more foggy, and his last fully conscious thought was a half-question: he seemed to like being praised, didn't he?
But then there was no more room for logical thoughts in his mind: he trusted himself completely to his senses. He heard his belt snap open, felt the fabric release his skin and fall to the floor. He sensed the silk sheets around him as he landed on his back on the comfortable double bed he'd barely used for sleep, and his wrists tightened as Steve playfully pulled them down.
Winchester groaned with impatience as Steve kissed his way down his neck again with gentle, tender bites.
Come on, come on, I need you, he wanted to say, but Dean Winchester wasn't the best at expressing what he wanted, and it was no different in an intimate situation. So, he just impatiently lifted his hips slightly and heard Steve laugh softly, kindly.
'Good things to those who wait,' Steve murmured, and Dean wanted to tell him where to put his patience and exactly what to do with it next, but then his thoughts fled his mind as the man's lips curled around his troubling need.
*
The next morning Dean woke up first: dispite of the enorumus bed, he opened his eyes coudled on Steve’s warm chest. That was outrageous: Dean Winchester didn’t do cudles. But because noone was there to wintess the crime, Dean held the hug tighter and gently ran his lips across the other's chest.
Rogers moned softly, half asleep, then he opened his eyes, and smiled down at Dean.
'Hey,' Dean murmured, his voice a little raspy, and he felt a blush run down his cheeks. Why, why, why must he blush?!
'Morning' smiled Steve. 'What a pleasant way to wake up'
Then he turned on his stomach, playfully cradled Dean under him as if the other man had no weight, and pushed his golden-blond hair into his asaide, gently pulling at the strands. Dean gave a low, but not unpleasant growl.
’Auch’ he muttered with a grin. ’Whats with you, and my hair?’
’What?’ Steve asked back softly. ’I can’t like it?’
’You cerainly can’ grinned Dean, then, with a quick movement, he threw his hands off him, pinned Steve to the bed and kissed him. His lips felt salty and he pulled his head away too quickly, breaking the moment.
’Hey, I need to talk to you’ said Rogers, and Dean didn’t like it, how easyly Steve sit up, how easy was it for him to change the situation. He liked it, that this time he won their little westerling match, and he would’ve liked to enjoy it a bit. And anyway, words weren’t his friends so…
’I’ve got a station’ Steve said, with huge, sensitive, blue eyes. Dean's throat tightened as it had when he arrived at the dinner, but this time it wasn't from excitement. I've got a station - between the two of them, that meant one of them was being sent to the front, to the centre of the fighting.
Only – this time Dean doesn’t get the call. They didn’t need him. How is that possible? They didn’t need him. Suddenly their playful wrestling during sex didn't seem so funny anymore: maybe it was just another sign that Dean wasn't enough? After all, Steve has won every time: maybe Dean is not strong enough.
'Look, it's just that they want someone at home to protect the population. 'Then we'll swap' said Steve, as if he'd guessed what the other meant, but Dean just snorted. A well-meaning lie.
'You'd better go' said Winchester then 'You've got to get ready'. For his part he got up from the bed and began to dress; clean shirt, trousers. He was suddenly filled with bitterness at the thought that Steve was one of the few people who knew his real name. To the rest of the population, he was just Solider Boy with his face covered by a mask.
'Dean...' Steve began, but Winchester felt he couldn't take any more kind half-truths.
’Go’ he cut in. ’Please.’
Steve clenched his jaw, but then nodded; he stood up, gathered his clothes - stepped over to Dean, presumably to touch his face goodbye, but then he saw the look on his face and lowered his right hand, then turned and walked away.
Dean stood motionless for a moment as he heard the front door slam shut, let the icy touch of disappointment envelop him - then decided to drink.
*
And then he drank - he sat in the Golden Arm, which was a private pub, and he drank until the disappointment - at himself for not being enough again, just as he had been when he let baby Sammy out of his arms - and about Steve, because he knew he was being unfair to him and where he was being assigned was not up to him - eased a little.
He thought he'd be cheered up, but the drink only brought sadness, bitterness. He drank until everything went numb, drank until the club closed, then headed back to his apartment in the late evening. He was cold, lonely and angry.
Cold, lonely and angry.
’Hey, Soilder boy? Is that really you? Can I have an autograph? Wait!’
Dean froze as the excited cry reached him. Oh, for God's sake... He'd thought he wouldn't run into any fans this late. Sure, it was silly to be walking around in uniform, but he couldn't reveal his face, and anyway, he was too drunk to think logically.
’Not today, buddy, sorry’ he muttered, and he did not stop to discuss the matter on purpose; he hurried along the street as determinedly as the alcohol would allow.
’Oh, come on, don’t be such a spoil sport!’ Maybe the kid was also smashed, maybe he was just spoiled, but his voice annyoed Dean to no end.
’Hey, I said wait!’ The boy finally caught up, and his hand came down on his wrist: I can't tell what it was about the touch that bothered Dean so much, but it made him flinch, and he jerked his hand out of the grip, and then turned and instinctively punched the kid hard on the chin.
The poor idiot fell backwards, and as Dean looked at him, he was suddenly overcome with self-loathing; isn't that what you are? Weak and useless, just like him?
They picked Steve for a reason: he is strong, and you are weak. He is good, and you are bitter. Weak, weak weak, can’t even protect his own little brother. And a cheap fucking knock-off of Cap.
And before a glimmer of logic could register in his mind, his strikes rained down on the boy's body like raindrops in a storm. The sharp, pointed end of his heavy shield struck the boy's face again, and again, and again.
Blood splattered on his face, and he howled, and the sound bounced in the great silence between the houses.
*
He didn’t remember how he got home: all he know was that his clothes were blody, his body hurt all over, and his motuh was bitter from being hung over. He collapsed onto the bed where Steve had kissed his way down his body just last night, bleeding all over the silk blanket, and fell into a heavy, drunken sleep.
He woke up to a loud knocking: his head was pounding and he couldn't decide whether he had been asleep for five minutes or a week.
The banging on the door continued and Dean groaned in irritation; who the fuck is that and what does he want?
'I'm coming, you son of a bitch,' he growled, and climbed heavily out of bed: his muscles still ached. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened on the street, and he was too cowardly to touch the blood-soaked memories.
'What the fuck is wrong with you?' snarled Nick when Dean opened the door and stormed in without waiting for an answer.
'What the fuck is wrong with you? Dean echoed, and a bit groumpily, he closed the door after his adoptive father.
’I tried to reach you two days!’ ranted the other, turning to face Dean in the bedroom. ’Where the hell were you been?!’
’I’ve been around’ murmured the other, and even he felt like it’s not enough.
’Around’ spat Nick. ’Are you fucking kidding me?’ You’ve been hiding, that’s what you were doing!’
’Why do you ask, you already know?’ muttered Dean, and he felt shamed; maybe his childhood wasn’t ideal, but Nick was always there for him.
’You need legal protection, man’ said Nick, and his voice was suddenly tired.
’Legal protection?’ Dean lifted an eyebow. ’What are you talking about?’
’You don’t even read now?’ growled the other, mad again.
He pulled a stack of newspapers from his pocket and slammed them angrily down on Winchester's desk. Dean read the headline on the front page in disbelief.
Solider Boy goes crazy; bloodshed on the streets!
’It wasn’t „a deliberate act of violence” on my part!’ protested Dean, in bewilment, as he was reading the article. ’And I didn’t want to 'abuse my superpower by using it against ordinary people’! he continued. The more he read, the more discusted he felt. ’The guy was just freaking annoying, I was out of it, and things went out of hand.’
’Because that will sound so much better in court’ noted Nick in a dry voice.
’In court?’ repeated Dean, as he looked up in amazement. ’How do people even know about this?’
’Damien – the guy you beat up – went sright the news papers the next morning.’
Dean pursed his lips and decided to himself that from now on he would think of Damien as Damien, the dick - when in fact it was nothing more than a desperate attempt to suppress the guilt he felt over hurting him.
'The fact that he could go to the press isn't proof enough in itself that I didn't hurt him that badly?' asked Dean darkly.
’Doesn’t matter. They would want to bucher you in court, to show the public, that superheros are also responsible for their actions. You need legal protection.’
’I don’t want a lawyer’ groumbled Dean, sitting down on the bed. Wouldn’t it be better this way? Let he public murder him on that trial. Isn’t that what he deserves anyway?
’You will want this one’ said Nick, and he sat down on the other side of the bed to face Dean. His face was tense.
One golden eyebow up.
’How do you figure?’
’Dean’ said Nick slowly. ’I found your brother. He is a lawyer, one of the best of his generation, to be honest. He has worked with Shild before, and I want to ask him to represent you.’
The world had emptied around Dean.
I found your brother.
I found your brother.
I found –
’I don’t want Sammy to see me this way’ he found his voice, and felt even more horrible then before, if thats possible. Why should even good things leave such a bitter taste in his mouth? He had been waiting for this all his life!
’Then I suggest you take a shower’ said Nick dryly.
’I don’t…’
’Look, I arranged this thing to start in 30 minutes, and Sam Winchester is never late.’
Sam Winchester is never late – under normal circumstances Dean would have asked how Nick knew that - he knew Sam well and didn't tell him? But he felt confused, excited, tired, and his head was pounding, so he didn't ask any questions.
He just left Nick in the bedroom and took a shower, almost half asleep. He watched the blood drip down the drain from his body.
I’m gonna meet my brother. I’m gonna meet my baby brother. Sammy.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed and with slightly damp hair, Nick had already ordered several small snacks from room service.
That's the advantage of an posh apartment complex, Dean thought fleetingly, though he thought it unlikely that his brother would be busy with roasted peanuts when they met.
Nick, who was managing the small bowls on Dean's glass coffee table when the man entered, looked up.
’God, you look like shit’
’Why, thanks’ muttered Dean, in a dry voice. Any other time he wouldn’t give a shit, but now – what if he is right? He gingerly touched the deep, jagged scar on the left side of his cheek; the mark of Damien's fingernail. What if Sam agrees with Nick?
’Hey, quit picking at that!’ Nick growled, but before Dean could tell him where to go, the bell rang. Dean felt frozen.
Nick glanced at Dean and sighed.
’For fuck’s sake’ he muttered and went to answer the door.
Dean heard merging voices, then –
A tall, muscular, slightly wizened young man stood in the doorway of the living room, his features soft and painfully like John Winchester's, with dark, sensitive eyes and fine brown hair that stood in a thousand directions.
'Dean?' the boy asked, and his voice was soft, and intelligent, and deep: and the cold around Winchester dissolved as he stepped towards his little brother, who was a skip ahead of him. Dean always had trouble with emotion; too much, never enough, finally nothing.
But Sam seemed to have no such problems: his hug was strong and firm and kind, and he rested his chin on his brother's shoulder, one hand gently stroking the back of his neck.
’Its fine, I promise’ murmured Sam softly, and Dean realised, that his whole body was shaking. His grip must have been too tight too, because after a few moments his little brother groaned and he stepped back, startled.
’Sorry’ mumbled Dean, and he felt his face burning.
Sam grinned, and Dean discovered that the smile made the boy's eyes look even softer, and dimples appeared on either side of his face.
’All good’ smiled the other. ’I knew you would be way stronger than the avrige dude, seeing your identity.’ Sam looked at Nick, who has been in the shadows until now out of discretion. ’I can’t belive I knew you for five years, and you didn’t tell me you know him! You knew I was looking for him!’
’FIVE years?’ repated Dean with a tone, so dark, that both Sam and Nick winced. ’You knew him for five years? You knew I wanted him back! I always wanted that!’
Dean's forehead throbbed, and he reflexively clenched his fists: out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam's features relax, and raw joy appear on them. Did you think I wasn't looking for you?
’I was waiting for a right moment’ said Nick rigid. It wasn’t enough.
’The right moment?’ growled Dean, then realised he said the exact same thing as Sam.
’You knew I wanted to know as much about my family as possible’ said Sam codly. ’Winchesters, Cambells, both sides. You knew how devestated I was, realiseing both side died out. You also knew I spend every waking moment looking for my brother, once I realised I had one. I’m sorry it took this much time’
Sam looked at him, and Dean thought he had never seen such a sincere look in his life.
’No worries’ he murmured, what he hoped is a kind voice. Thats what his little brother deserves. Kindness, kindness, kindness. ’I was looking for you too.’
Sam smiled again and leaned his forehead against his brother's. Home, Dean thought.
Nick cleared his throat and Dean wanted to hit him. But hadn't his temper got him into enough trouble?
’Can we start with buesness, gentleman?’ asked Fury, military like. Sam opened his eyes and looked at both of them confused.
’Buesness?’ he asked Sam, visibly confused. Then he looked at Dean, like a little puppy. ’You have legal problems?’
’I had a… misanderstanding with a fan’ muttered Dean. He felt like shit. Why must he fuck up everything? Why must he disapoint Sammy?
He sat down on the sofa opposite the coffee table and buried his face in his hands. He felt someone settle down next to him, and then two warm, gentle hands clasped his arms.
’Whatever it is, we will figure it out, okay?’ Sammy said warmly. ’I’m good at my job, De’. I know it doesn’t seem like it, couse I didn’t find you, but I’m actually talented, okay? I will get you out of it, promise.’
De. Nobody called him that after mom and dad died. Not just that, but Sammy’s appent trust in him felt amazing. He slowly looked up.
’You will think I’m terrible’ he murmured, and he felt like a child.
’I could never think anything bad of you’ said his little brother.
’How come?’
’Not in the sibling handbook I hear.’
Dean smiled reflexively, and a pleasant warmth spread across his chest. He squeezed his little brother's hand.
'Can we finally talk about the important things please?' asked Nick darkly.
'Shut up!' snarled the two Winchester brothers in chorus.
*
Sam read through Dean's file with a strained expression, and by the time he got to the end, he was a shade paler and his right hand was shaking. Dean felt terrible: you did this.
'I'm sorry,' Dean muttered when his little brother looked up, even though he knew it wasn't right: he was sorry for what he'd caused to Sam, the fight he didn't even remember.
’We will figure it out’ smiled Sam, and the hardness was no more in his eyes. The pleasant warmth surrounded Dean again, although he felt he didn't deserve it.
'Who is the lawyer on the other side?' he asked.
'Brady' Nick replied curtly. Sam snorted and turned back to his brother. "He and I were roommates in college, and we're friends. Can I use room service?'
’Go ahed’ murmured Dean: it was a small thing, and Winchester didn’t know how to explain it to Sam that he could never, ever say no to him to anything.
The boy stepped over to the house phone and dialled the room service number, which was written on the little tag next to the phone.
'Hi! I'm Sam H. Winchester' he said easily. 'Do you do home deliveries? Oh, yes, great. I have an order for you. I need you to deliver four bottles of Scotch, gift wrapped, to the following address...'
When Sam hung up the phone, Nick bitterly pursed his lips.
’You guys still doing this?’ he asked. ’Other people’s lifes are not a game you know.’
’Tyson and I are old friends’ answered Sam, after he gave Nick a dark look. ’So, whenever we end up on the opposite end of a case, we send each other some drink, which we plan to drink together, regardless of the outcome, once the case is done’ Sam explained to Dean.
’He most likely will send me some fancy wishkey glasses back, but it doesn’t mean I don’t take your case seriusly. I like Ty, but I will mop the floor with him, and he would expect nothing less from me than the best I have.’
’And you’ continued Sam, suddenly in a harsh voice, looking at Nick. ’You don’t get to judge me on how I handle things, after you hid where my brother was.’
Dean had to hide his smile at that: he knew he was being petty, but he enjoyed the fact that his little brother was giving him a specific gentle tone, while everyone else was getting what he was giving.
As for Sam and Brady's friendship, Dean was happy that his brother had close friends, but at the same time it made him long for them. Steve could have been a close friend to him, and at one point was, but now that they were sleeping together, it was deeper and more confusing.
'I'd like to arrange a public appearance for you, before the trial,' Sam continued, unstoppable. 'Where you apologise to the public, before the trial. With the press present, and all that theatre: it could help a lot.'
Dean was silent for a moment: he hated public appearances, and that was not why he had taken the serum. And if he did take the serum, he wanted to help people, not parade in front of the press. But he was never a real hero, was he? Just a poor copy of Captain America. That's why they sent Steve to the war front and left him behind. And if Sammy thinks that's gonna help... Dean couldn't say no to Sammy anyway.
'Just tell me when and where,' he murmured, and Sammy gave him a sunny, bright smile in return.
'I think that's all we can do for today,' he replied.'I'll find out when the trial date is and I'll call you, OK?'
Dean nodded, and with a tightness in his throat, he saw Sam half glance towards the door. Does he want to leave? But they'd only just met!
'Stay' Dean said with difficulty; fucking emotions. Sam looked at him. 'Let's have breakfast together?' he continued, a little sheepishly. 'This whole Damien thing has kind of fucked up my sense of time, but maybe...' He fell silent. Shit.
'You want me to stay?' asked Sam, and Dean was relieved to see the young man smiling broadly, from ear to ear.
’Of course I want you to stay!’ Forever, for example, works for me.
Sam's smile widened even more, if that was physically possible, and he nodded.
'Fantastic' he said.'Okay, well, I'll make another phone call, if I may, tell my wife I'm staying, and I'll see her tomorrow, and - then we can do whatever you want?'
’ You're married?’ asked Dean, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. I missed it. I missed my baby brothers wedding.
’Yeah’ Sam noded happyly. ’Her name is Jessica, she is a nurse, and wonderful, and you need to meet her at some point!’
’Again, tell me when and where’ Dean gave him a honest smile. He wants to include me in his life!
’Deal’ smiled the other, and he went to make a call again.
’If you guys just gonna be mushy mushy all the time, then I’m gonna be off’ said Nick with some bitterness and a half smile. ’Call me if you need me?’ he asked Dean.
’I will’ he said, and wawed. He still didn’t know how to feel about the fact, that his stepfather knew where Sammy was and didn’t tell him.
*
Breakfast was a bit tense for Dean. He was consciously watching his every move. He was so distressed that Sam, who for his part was spreading jam on a piece of toast, sat opposite his brother and put down his knife.
’Hey’ he said said softly. ’You can’t fuck this up, okay? Relax.’
’You underestimate my ability for fucking up every and all things’ muttered Dean in pain. Sam reached forward and put his hand on the back of his brother's hand.
’I don’t want anything Dean’ he said kindly. ’I just want to get to know you, and I want you to meet the other half of my family. That’s all I wanted since I understood the concept of a brtoher when I was ten.’
Dean bearly noticibly smiled, and suddenly he could breath more.
’Ten, huh?’ he asked. ’Thats early.’
’That’s when my adoptive parents told me I had a brother’ Sammy said, with sad eyes. Dean wanted to hug him, but he didn’t move.
’They wanted to adopt you too, you know, but they’ve been told, that Shild already had you, and they had no means to find you. But they helped me to find out everything there is to know about our mom and dad, and our family.’
They wanted to adopt you too. The sentence echoed in Dean’s mind. I’ve could’ve grow up with Sammy. Dean suddenly hated Shild with all his being. But his temper coused him enough troubles as it was so he took a deep breath.
’They love you very much, aren’t they?’ he asked quietly. Like you deserved to be loved.
’The Harvelles?’ Sammy looked up. ’Yes – I love them too. They are really great.’
’Harvelle, hm?’ Dean muttered. ’Thats what the ’h’ stands for in your name?’ he asked, thinking about how Sam introduced himself on the phone.’
’Yeah’ smiled his baby brother. ’Winchester and Harvelle doesn’t really sound good together, but I wanted to use both anyway. I’m all Ellen and William has – they lost their little girl around the time of.. of the fire.’
You are all I have too, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He just turned Sam's hand over and squeezed it.
*
Time sped up a bit, moving too fast in the eyes of Dean, who was convinced he was only having one day with his brother. They played twenty questions.
’Who is your favourite author?’ asked Sam.
’I like Shakespeare’ answered Dean, feeling like a cliché. He wasn’t used to intellectual questions; people looked at him, and seen a brute, somebody they used for protection and physical strength. Even if, apprently, he wasn’t even strong enough compared to Steve.
But Sammy didn’t seem to be disapointed in him: his eyes lit up with joy.
’Really?’ he asked. ’God, I love Midsummer night's dream! It’s a bit ridiculous, of course, but all that magic makes so many things possible!’ Dean smiled at his excitment; his little brother was perfect.
’What’s yours?’ he asked.
’Don’t laugh at me, but I have a favourite book every day’ confessed Sam. ’I’m rereading the Bible right now.’
’You religius?’ Dean lifted a golden eyebow.
’Yes’ said Sam. ’No? I don’t know, honestly. I like the idea of it, but I would need proof? But, that in itself ruins the concept. You?’
’No’ answered Dean with conviction. ’Too much pain in the world.’
’Fair enough’ they smiled at each other.
*
The evening had gone by too quickly; Dean showed Sam to the guest room, and the boy gently touched the other's unscarred cheek as he wished him goodnight.
Dean felt happy, tired, a little empty as he settled into his bed. He quickly fell into a superficial sleep. In his dream, he knew he was dreaming: he was lying on his back, and loose, fine silk ropes held his hands and feet in place; Steve was gently leaning on his leg, and his lips were pressed to his groin –
He woke suddenly; the underpants he was sleeping in were damp; he swore loudly. What the fuck am I fifteen? Irritated, he crawled out of bed and changed his underwear for a clean pair: why did it bother him so much? He wasn't prudish at all: it was more that he regretted the way things had ended with Steve.
I don’t want to deal with this tonight, he tought, and decided to go, and drink some water. When he turned on the kitchen light, he found Sam at the tap with a glass. The boy winced.
’Sorry’ he muttered kindly. ’Great minds think alike’ he stuck his head towards the glass.
Sam smiled faintly, filled the glass with water and handed it to him.
’Sammy you don’t have give…’ Dean started, but the other just shook his head.
’It’s fine’ he said, and reaced up and took another glass out from the cupboard above the sink. Dean secretly liked that his brother was so at home here.
They drank in silence, but then, as Sam put his glass down in the sink, Dean was struck again by the new, but now half-familiar feeling that he didn't want to be away from him.
’Hey, you want ice cream?’ he asked out of nowhere.
’At two in the morning?’ Sam asked back, with huge eyes, but then he grinned. ’Yeah, sure, why not.’
So, thats how the brothers Winchester ended up with vanilla ice cream at two in the morning.
’You want to know something amazing?’ asked Sam between two spoons at some point.
’Sure?’
’I think, if I ever have the chance to meet you, I would’ve known who you are, even if Nick didn’t tell me.’
’Really?’ Dean murmured, and again, he wanted to hug him, but didn’t dare. ’How come?’
’You have this particular shade of green eyes’ his little brother said. ’And the only person who has the exact colour is my dauther.’
Dean swallowed a huge bite of ice cream and his eyes widened.
’You have a dauther?!’
’Mary Ellen H. Winchester’ nodded Sam, with a huge smile. ’Jess let me name her, with the condition that she can name our next one. She is three, and perfect.’
Dean's head was spinning with joy and surprise. A niece! Then he realised something.
’You want another one?’
’Siblings are great, or so I’ve heard’ said Sam, with a wink.
Dean laughed to himself, but then Sam threw his spoon in the sink, and the throat tightening returned.
’Sam?’ he called after him, once his little brother was at the kichen’s door. He turned back.
’Hm?’
’I don’t want to be alone.’
*
They nestled on the sofa in the living room, side by side.
’I’m so sorry about this’ Dean wishpered in the darkness.
’Nothing to be sorry for’ said Sam softly. ’Its okay, if you don’t want to be alone.’
’I’m gonna be too much, too fast, too emotional, and needy, and you will run and never coming back.’
’Wow, hold your horses’ laughed Sam kindly. ’First of all, too emotional? You are as closed off as they come, and all I want is too prove it to you that I don’t want to hurt you. I want too much too fast from you: I have to accept the fact that trust takes time. And I’m emotional and needy too, its okay.’
Dean pursed his lips, then took the risk and gently pulled his brother onto his chest. Sam didn't protest, just wrapped his arms loosely around the other's chest and laid his head on the other's skin. Dean gently squeezed his back.
’Too much?’ he asked.
’No, I liked how strong you are’ answered Sam, a bit sleepy.
A warm gurgling laugh ran through Dean.
’Aprenetly I’m not’ he told his brother, with honesty, so raw, it suprised even him. ’That’s why they didn’t send me to fight.’
’Idiots’ yawned Sam. ’But their stupidity is helping us, so I’m grateful.’
Dean blinked.
’What for? That I’m useless?’
Sam’s eyes snapped open and he looked up.
’You are not useless!’ he said, and Dean loved the outrage in his voice. ’I only meant, they don’t want you there, fine, fuck them anyway, at least you won’t get hurt, and that’s all I care about.’
Dean Winchester never loved anybody like he loved his brother.
’Thanks’ he said with a huge grin on his face.
’Very welcome’ groumbled Sam, and he nestled back to Dean. ’I’m just sorry this stupid fight ruined your standing in the bingo, but once I win the trial, your standing will be back, I’m sure. And I’m going to win, promise.’
’The fight was my fault, I drank too much’ answered Dean in a soft voice. Then he blinked. ’Wait, what bingo?’
’Well, the Seven American Heros Bingo?’ asked Sam as if it was obvius. When the sentence was only met by Dean’s confused silence, Sam given up on sleep, and he reached up on Dean's chest and looked at his brother.
’They didn’t tell you?’ he asked. ’I thought the money was for you guys. God, I hate the Shild.’
Emberald blink.
’What are you talking about, Sammy?’
’Well, you know how there was several experiments till they reached you and Steve?’ he asked.
’Steve and me, more like’ the other murmured. ’Since he is the better version.’
’Bullshit, you are perfect, but its not the point’ Sam wawed. ’There is the Destoryer, Miss America, the Thunderer, the Black Marvel, Whizzer, and you.’
’I’m aware, Sammy, we are friends. Steve is the leader, but we are all close’ smiled Dean. ’Thats why its sucks that all of them were called, but not me.’
’Well, fuck them, but it’s not my point’ wawed Sam again. ’All associates, clients, employes of Shild is encouraged to bet on at least one of you guys. How many fights will you win, how hurt you will be, how many people you save, in a given period of time, there’s a bunch of category. It plays out stricly within Shild, and its not a must of course, but if you want to work with them, you do it.’
Dean suddenly felt sick.
’Christ, this is discusting’ he groumbled. Like horses at a horse fair.
’It is, I hated it’ noded Sam sadly, and gently stroked Dean's chest. ’But I assumed, that you at least knew about it, and the winner, who got the most wins got the money. Or at least part of it.’
The older brother shook his head, then realised something.
’Wait, you worked with them’ he said slowly. ’Nick said, you worked for Shild before. That means you had to bet?’
’Yeah’ murmured Sam, visibly uncomfortable. Dean felt like shit for causing it, but he had to know.
’Who did you bet on?’
’Doesn’t matter’ said Sammy softly, but Dean shook his head again.
’Sam, who do you bet on?’
His brother looked him in the eye and smiled faintly.
’Well, if you must know, I bet on Solider boy’ he said kindly. ’I always do.’
Dean was filled with hot happiness, and smiled broadly at his brother. Then he lifted an eybow.
’Did you know that he was me?’ he asked.
’Nah’ Sam shook his head. ’Its just these things come with a lot of info, you know? What cases you take, how you treat people, for example. What values do you represent? And you often take on small cases, helping ordinary people, and I liked that. I do the same, in a much smaller scale, of course. I usually represent people who can’t afford legal protection.’
’Thats amazing, Sammy’ the other said, with more love he thought he was capebale of. He was proud.
’Well, so are you’ Sam said clearly. ’I still hated it: you risk your life for us, and we bet on how hurt you will be, its revolting. But you remember that hate crime against Black Marvel? I had to bet on somebody if I wanted to represent him. And while I didn’t know you were the peoples hero, I knew that Dean Winchester was adopted by the Shild, so I had to get in. And I wanted to help Black Marvel. It was a three way win, by the way: I won the case, I’ve got in, and that week you won the bingo too, so I did too.’
Dean hummed with contentment: his little brother was proud of him, sought him out, and bet on him, even when he didn't know he was him. Then he remembered something.
’The peoples hero?’ he asked.
'That's what the common people call you' Sam said simply. Dean smiled into the darkness.
’I like that’ he wishpered. ’I can’t belive you were Omar’s lawyer and we didn’t know it! He said you were brilliant, Sammy, brilliant.’
’Omar?’
’That’s Black Marvel’s given name. Please don’t tell anyone? I wasn’t suppose to tell you.’
’Your secreet is safe with me, I promise’ muttered Sam, nestling back to Dean’s chest. Dean hugged him loosely, then realized something and stiffened.
’Sammy?’ he wishpered in terror. ’You said my standing is now bad because of the fight?’
’Yeah’ murmured Sam, without opening his eyes. ’But De, I’m gonna win, and you will be back at the top of the list, promise. Now, be a good boy and sleep.’
Other times Dean would’ve been happy with the kind tone, but now he was too terrified to react.
’But Sammy…’
’Sleepiiing…’
’Sammy, if public opinion is influencing this shit, and you bet on me – does that mean you lost money because of me?!’
Sam opened his eyes tiredly.
’Yeah, I lost some’ he confessed reluctantly. ’But it doesnt matter!’ he added when he saw the absolute terror on Dean’s face.
’ How could it not matter? Mary is three, she needs stuff!’
’Dean?’
’And what’s Jess’s opinion? Christ, she must hate me!’
’Dean…’
’I will pay you back, okay? How much did you lose?’
’DEAN!’ snapped the other, and that was so rare of a tone for him, that Dean fell silent.
’I’m sorry’ Sam said at once, kind again. ’I…’
’You’re sorry? I’m sorry! I make it right, I promise, I just drank too much and…’
’De’, listen to me, please’ Sam's voice was now soft and pleading. ’I don’t care about the money, I care about you. Of course, I was tought to value money, but I don’t care in this case, if I need bet on somebody – and I need to do it, because I like working here – I will bet on you, and only you. Of course, I don’t like that you hurt that guy, but everybody fucks up sometimes. Big deal. And Jess won’t hate you – she knows how much I wanted you back. She is great, she will understand. And Mary is fine – for your information – she has a Solider Boy pillow.’
’I’m still sorry’ Dean said, but now he could concentrate.
’Nothing to be sorry for’ hummed Sam.
Dean smiled faintly.
’So, Mary has a Solider boy pillow?’ he wishpered.
’Yeah, she loves it’ groumbled Sam, half-asleep again. ’Me too, by the way…’
’What?’
Sam opened one eye: a golden brown glint in the night.
’What?’ he repated. ’Its big and soft, if you must know.’
Dean threw his head back and laughed.
*
Life slows down and Dean puts the solid silver shield in the cupboard and starts writing letters.
Rogers,
I’m so sorry about the last night, man. Not about the world class fucking, mind you, but that I asked you to leave. I’m so shit at this, man, but I’m sorry.
Later I fucked up even more, so I’m waiting for trial right now. But I met my brother, man, and he is brilliant. He is perfect. He is the one, who will represent me in court, actually. He is really talented, I just don’t want to bring even more shame on him, so I’m scared shitless.
News are freaking slow, and laking, I imagine, but I hear you guys are all right. Stay that way, you hear? Don’t you dare die on me, shithead. I just start to like the role of ’the copy of Cap’, so – just breath, man.
Dinner, when get back?
*
Rogers,
I just met my sister in law, Jessica. She is as tough as they come, and pretty. A nurse, she took care of all my scars. And I met Mary, my niece. She is perfect. Everything in me wants to protect her; everything.
Trial is in two days, I –
I’m scared shitless, Steve.
*
Steve,
We won! I have the smartest little brother in every fucking universe.
*
I think I’m in love with you. Don’t die, please.
*
Postcard, Captin America to Solider Boy:
I love you too. Dinner when I get back?
*
She just called me Uncle Dean, man. Now I can die happy.
*
You are forbidden to die. Not until I got my dinner, at least.
*
You’re just cheap, and don’t wanna pay up. Demeter’s when you get back?
*
You’re on. Food is the worst in here.
*
Jessica was called to the front as a nurse. I can't look Sam in the eye. I should be where you are.
*
They say, be careful what you wish for. The letter arrived on a cold day; Sam and Mary were sleeping at Dean's that day. Dean had not taken his eyes off them for a moment since Jessica had been away. A note was stapled to the official letter.
We are losing; please come, I need you.
S.
Dean put the letter down on the breakfast table, went to his cupboard, took out a heavy silver shield and a green and black uniform. When he turned back with his hands full, his gaze locked with his brother's for a moment, and in the dark eyes he saw terror.
Sam Winchester bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood. -