To The Waters And The Wild part 11
1/25/09 07:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:1886
Dean was sitting on the couch looking as damn uncomfortable on it as Sam did. His knees were almost up around his ears, but as usual he was completely mesmerized by the TV, staring as if it held the answer to everything, his forehead wrinkled, lips parted in concentration…occasionally he'd mouth the words being spoken….
"42", Sam said and Dean whipped around, eyes wide and startled. Burst into a grin as he saw it was Sam and relaxed. "Hey."
"Hi. Sam." He smiled and glanced away, caught again by something bright flashing by on the television. Sam sat next to him and dropped a wrinkled old paper bag down on the table. It was from a time when paper bags could hold more than a gallon of milk and a package of Oreos without shredding, had been folded and refolded so many times it was almost as soft as chamois.
"Hey, I thought maybe you might want to see these. There aren’t many…" And all of them from before he'd left for college….
Sam dumped the bag out on the table and pictures slid out over the table top. "Most of these are from way after—after Mom. Some Dad had in his storage unit, some we got out of the house, that time we went back…anyway. Look, here's one of me and you—remember this house in Maryland? You taught me to ride a bike here. This one." His finger traced over a red bike, a two wheeler that Dean had showed up with one day. It been more rust than red but Dean made it work over the course of a few days. He cleaned that bike, oiled frozen parts, patched and filled the tires, worked harder than a lot of ten year olds would have done to get that bike in shape for him, and Sam had learned to ride it on the street in front of that house. Dean took the picture from him and stared, his own finger tracing over the edges of the photograph. Anyone else would have missed the little shrug he made…he didn't remember.
"Um, here's one, let me see…" Sam flipped it over and a large childish script spelled out Maine and the year, he knew it was his handwriting but didn't remember doing it, or why. "We had a cat when we stayed here…stupid." Shaking his head, Sam could almost hear himself pitching a tantrum over that cat. He remembered how miserable he'd made everyone, Dean especially, since he'd been stuck running interference between him and Dad, as usual. He'd been pissed like a motherfucker about that too, but he'd helped to feed it, kicking in money for cat food and stuff and there'd been nothing more said about it. When a few weeks later, they'd rather suddenly had to leave, Dean had convinced a girlfriend to keep it, and let Sam cry it out on him and never once said I told you so.
Dean looked at him, his face screwed up in concentration, searching Sam's eyes for something…"Maine…" He closed his eyes and after a moment repeated, "Maine." His voice was rough, distant. "Don't know." Eyes open again, squinting at Sam, he said, more a question than a statement, "Dad left. Puca."
"Yes--right, he left for a couple of weeks, right after the cat thing. You were sixteen, remember? You called me a girl, getting all emotional over a cat." Sam laughed, "Tried to get me to name it Bastard."
Dean gave him an uncertain half smile. "Yeah…?" He stroked the photo again, and dropped it for one of their dad. "Dad…young." Sam nodded and tried to keep the bright excitement he was feeling in check, afraid that if he let it show, Dean would shut down. Right now he was fairly relaxed, he was speaking, sitting next to him without flinching or…without that look that made him wonder sometimes if touch was actually painful for Dean.
This right here, the two of them just being normal, being family--this was nice.
Dean picked up another photo and Sam felt his breath catch. Dean turned it this way and that, almost put it down before he inhaled sharply. "Oh…" He lifted the photo again, held it up to the light. It was a Polaroid print, the color gone slightly reddish with age but still true enough to be able to tell the girl leaning against the gleaming black car was a blonde, and she looked happy, smiling at the camera, holding a fat baby in her arms. "Oh, your…our Mom. It's Mom." He stared at the picture, his leg jogging nervously. He placed the print carefully back on the table.
"Are you okay?" Sam started to gather the pictures together, and Dean stopped him.
"Look…I want. You…remind me. About us," he swallowed hard, "please," he said, grimaced as his voice gave out.
"Sure, sure—I'm just going to get—you need something to drink, I think." Sam jumped up quickly, he could feel a tide of emotion about to break and figured letting go in front of Dean was not the smart thing to do.
In the kitchen Sam wiped at his face, and pressed open hands over his mouth hard, to muffle gasps he couldn't lock inside of himself—let tears run freely for a minute as he pulled himself back together. He felt they'd hit a breakthrough-- maybe Dean was recovering memories. Sam was pretty sure he hadn't led him---much, anyway.
Sam took a deep shaky breath, let go of the fear that had been growing--that he'd never really have Dean back. When he was sure he could move without toppling, he grabbed some beers from the lower shelf of the fridge, grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and walked back out to the living room.
Dean had one arm spread across the back of the couch, his head tilted back against it too, when Sam came back out. He looked content, knees spread, taking up most of the couch and crowding Sam out—sitting like Dean, actually.
He was holding the picture of Mom leaning against the impala, holding Dean. "Sam…" he held up the photo. "Where's—?" he waved the picture at him.
"The car?" Fuck—he was asking about the car! Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Are you worried about your car?" Dean gave him a look that definitely said 'duh'. "Fuck Dean, you know I took care of her. She's safe. I never even drove her after getting here, put her right in a garage. We can…we can go see her if you want."
Dean nodded thoughtfully—not quite the excitement Sam had hoped for, but he was interested and that—was another fucking miracle for today. He shoved Dean's legs to the side, and flopped down. Dean grabbed the chips, and gifted Sam with a real grin. "Thanks. Chips." His eyes lit up again. "Beer. Sam." He shook his head. He put the chips down, reached out and patted Sam gently on the cheek. "Sam."
Sam grinned despite the pain in his chest. "Yeah. You're welcome."
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
"Listen, Dean's getting better, and it's time I came back to work—past time."
"Dude…you're good if you need a few more days but yeah, it'd be great to have you back in here. The girls are all ganging up on me."
Sam could hear Danny's outraged yelp in the back ground and smiled. "Yeah, don’t ask me why but I miss you guys." Raph chuckled, a low rumble that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck try to rise and he thought it was way, way past time he got laid if he couldn't ignore Raph anymore…he heard a low cough behind him…for a second, it sounded like a tiger was in the room with him. The hair on his neck rose for an entirely different reason now as the monkey brain kicked in.
He turned and Dean was watching him, head tilted and face blank…he smiled blandly when he caught Sam's eye.
Work. Sam was more than ready to go back--the problem was, he was very reluctant to bring Dean to any crime scenes, afraid of possibly triggering memories like those that had kept him under the bed for weeks and had sent him into screaming fits. He'd progressed so far from that--found more of his old self day by day. Sam didn't want to risk a reoccurrence, but he also didn’t want to leave Dean with a stranger who wouldn't understand how to…talk to him, handle him. He'd just have to…find a way to work it out with everyone. He was just going to have to twist the boundaries of friend and employer way, way hard and hope they weren't about to break.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Dean in the office actually worked. Dean in the office worked *damn* well. The crew adopted him in a way that was…well, slightly annoying actually.
For the first few days, Dean had more or less crouched at Sam's desk, silent as a stone, observing. His stillness hadn't worried Sam overmuch, Dean needed the time to process new changes and by the end of the first week, Dean knew just who ran the show.
Danny he treated with an offhand kind of friendliness that came from dismissing him as a possible threat, he treated Cassandra the same. Dana, he respected. He was careful with her, maybe even a bit afraid of her. Watching the two interact, Sam realized that Dean treated her a little bit like he'd treated Dad…he looked to her for direction and basked in any kind of approval he got from her. Dean had definitely pegged her as top dog in the office.
Raphael was a different story. Dean was always just a bit on edge around him, wary and watchful. Whether it was because he associated Raph with the time he first came home, all the disorientation and pain, or whether it was something else--when Raph was around, Dean stood taller, looked more alert…more aggressive. In fact, when Raph was around Dean looked more like--*Dean*.
Dean picked up on the office routine—he took quickly to simple filing, and answering the phone, and had learned not to curse out aggressive or disgruntled clients….
Dana was very vocal with how pleased she was with how well he fit in, and Dean seemed to bloom under her attention…and like almost any female over the age of fourteen, she was totally under his spell. Naturally, Sam thought with just the smallest edge of exasperation. That was *Dean*too. His brother had always been able to charm the birds out of the trees and the pants off of any woman he wanted to. Cassandra, whose conversations with *him* tended to center around 'Jesus, get a haircut' and 'oh my God, you're not really wearing those shoes in public' and 'have you thought about doing something about those moles?' was a *completely* different person when it came to Dean. Dean got pampered and petted and fed home-made goodies. There was nothing Dean could do wrong, Dean was priceless.
And Sam swore he was not in the least bit jealous, not at all. Even if Dean was getting treated like the freakin' Little Prince.
part 12
tbc
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:1886
Dean was sitting on the couch looking as damn uncomfortable on it as Sam did. His knees were almost up around his ears, but as usual he was completely mesmerized by the TV, staring as if it held the answer to everything, his forehead wrinkled, lips parted in concentration…occasionally he'd mouth the words being spoken….
"42", Sam said and Dean whipped around, eyes wide and startled. Burst into a grin as he saw it was Sam and relaxed. "Hey."
"Hi. Sam." He smiled and glanced away, caught again by something bright flashing by on the television. Sam sat next to him and dropped a wrinkled old paper bag down on the table. It was from a time when paper bags could hold more than a gallon of milk and a package of Oreos without shredding, had been folded and refolded so many times it was almost as soft as chamois.
"Hey, I thought maybe you might want to see these. There aren’t many…" And all of them from before he'd left for college….
Sam dumped the bag out on the table and pictures slid out over the table top. "Most of these are from way after—after Mom. Some Dad had in his storage unit, some we got out of the house, that time we went back…anyway. Look, here's one of me and you—remember this house in Maryland? You taught me to ride a bike here. This one." His finger traced over a red bike, a two wheeler that Dean had showed up with one day. It been more rust than red but Dean made it work over the course of a few days. He cleaned that bike, oiled frozen parts, patched and filled the tires, worked harder than a lot of ten year olds would have done to get that bike in shape for him, and Sam had learned to ride it on the street in front of that house. Dean took the picture from him and stared, his own finger tracing over the edges of the photograph. Anyone else would have missed the little shrug he made…he didn't remember.
"Um, here's one, let me see…" Sam flipped it over and a large childish script spelled out Maine and the year, he knew it was his handwriting but didn't remember doing it, or why. "We had a cat when we stayed here…stupid." Shaking his head, Sam could almost hear himself pitching a tantrum over that cat. He remembered how miserable he'd made everyone, Dean especially, since he'd been stuck running interference between him and Dad, as usual. He'd been pissed like a motherfucker about that too, but he'd helped to feed it, kicking in money for cat food and stuff and there'd been nothing more said about it. When a few weeks later, they'd rather suddenly had to leave, Dean had convinced a girlfriend to keep it, and let Sam cry it out on him and never once said I told you so.
Dean looked at him, his face screwed up in concentration, searching Sam's eyes for something…"Maine…" He closed his eyes and after a moment repeated, "Maine." His voice was rough, distant. "Don't know." Eyes open again, squinting at Sam, he said, more a question than a statement, "Dad left. Puca."
"Yes--right, he left for a couple of weeks, right after the cat thing. You were sixteen, remember? You called me a girl, getting all emotional over a cat." Sam laughed, "Tried to get me to name it Bastard."
Dean gave him an uncertain half smile. "Yeah…?" He stroked the photo again, and dropped it for one of their dad. "Dad…young." Sam nodded and tried to keep the bright excitement he was feeling in check, afraid that if he let it show, Dean would shut down. Right now he was fairly relaxed, he was speaking, sitting next to him without flinching or…without that look that made him wonder sometimes if touch was actually painful for Dean.
This right here, the two of them just being normal, being family--this was nice.
Dean picked up another photo and Sam felt his breath catch. Dean turned it this way and that, almost put it down before he inhaled sharply. "Oh…" He lifted the photo again, held it up to the light. It was a Polaroid print, the color gone slightly reddish with age but still true enough to be able to tell the girl leaning against the gleaming black car was a blonde, and she looked happy, smiling at the camera, holding a fat baby in her arms. "Oh, your…our Mom. It's Mom." He stared at the picture, his leg jogging nervously. He placed the print carefully back on the table.
"Are you okay?" Sam started to gather the pictures together, and Dean stopped him.
"Look…I want. You…remind me. About us," he swallowed hard, "please," he said, grimaced as his voice gave out.
"Sure, sure—I'm just going to get—you need something to drink, I think." Sam jumped up quickly, he could feel a tide of emotion about to break and figured letting go in front of Dean was not the smart thing to do.
In the kitchen Sam wiped at his face, and pressed open hands over his mouth hard, to muffle gasps he couldn't lock inside of himself—let tears run freely for a minute as he pulled himself back together. He felt they'd hit a breakthrough-- maybe Dean was recovering memories. Sam was pretty sure he hadn't led him---much, anyway.
Sam took a deep shaky breath, let go of the fear that had been growing--that he'd never really have Dean back. When he was sure he could move without toppling, he grabbed some beers from the lower shelf of the fridge, grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and walked back out to the living room.
Dean had one arm spread across the back of the couch, his head tilted back against it too, when Sam came back out. He looked content, knees spread, taking up most of the couch and crowding Sam out—sitting like Dean, actually.
He was holding the picture of Mom leaning against the impala, holding Dean. "Sam…" he held up the photo. "Where's—?" he waved the picture at him.
"The car?" Fuck—he was asking about the car! Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Are you worried about your car?" Dean gave him a look that definitely said 'duh'. "Fuck Dean, you know I took care of her. She's safe. I never even drove her after getting here, put her right in a garage. We can…we can go see her if you want."
Dean nodded thoughtfully—not quite the excitement Sam had hoped for, but he was interested and that—was another fucking miracle for today. He shoved Dean's legs to the side, and flopped down. Dean grabbed the chips, and gifted Sam with a real grin. "Thanks. Chips." His eyes lit up again. "Beer. Sam." He shook his head. He put the chips down, reached out and patted Sam gently on the cheek. "Sam."
Sam grinned despite the pain in his chest. "Yeah. You're welcome."
"Listen, Dean's getting better, and it's time I came back to work—past time."
"Dude…you're good if you need a few more days but yeah, it'd be great to have you back in here. The girls are all ganging up on me."
Sam could hear Danny's outraged yelp in the back ground and smiled. "Yeah, don’t ask me why but I miss you guys." Raph chuckled, a low rumble that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck try to rise and he thought it was way, way past time he got laid if he couldn't ignore Raph anymore…he heard a low cough behind him…for a second, it sounded like a tiger was in the room with him. The hair on his neck rose for an entirely different reason now as the monkey brain kicked in.
He turned and Dean was watching him, head tilted and face blank…he smiled blandly when he caught Sam's eye.
Work. Sam was more than ready to go back--the problem was, he was very reluctant to bring Dean to any crime scenes, afraid of possibly triggering memories like those that had kept him under the bed for weeks and had sent him into screaming fits. He'd progressed so far from that--found more of his old self day by day. Sam didn't want to risk a reoccurrence, but he also didn’t want to leave Dean with a stranger who wouldn't understand how to…talk to him, handle him. He'd just have to…find a way to work it out with everyone. He was just going to have to twist the boundaries of friend and employer way, way hard and hope they weren't about to break.
Dean in the office actually worked. Dean in the office worked *damn* well. The crew adopted him in a way that was…well, slightly annoying actually.
For the first few days, Dean had more or less crouched at Sam's desk, silent as a stone, observing. His stillness hadn't worried Sam overmuch, Dean needed the time to process new changes and by the end of the first week, Dean knew just who ran the show.
Danny he treated with an offhand kind of friendliness that came from dismissing him as a possible threat, he treated Cassandra the same. Dana, he respected. He was careful with her, maybe even a bit afraid of her. Watching the two interact, Sam realized that Dean treated her a little bit like he'd treated Dad…he looked to her for direction and basked in any kind of approval he got from her. Dean had definitely pegged her as top dog in the office.
Raphael was a different story. Dean was always just a bit on edge around him, wary and watchful. Whether it was because he associated Raph with the time he first came home, all the disorientation and pain, or whether it was something else--when Raph was around, Dean stood taller, looked more alert…more aggressive. In fact, when Raph was around Dean looked more like--*Dean*.
Dean picked up on the office routine—he took quickly to simple filing, and answering the phone, and had learned not to curse out aggressive or disgruntled clients….
Dana was very vocal with how pleased she was with how well he fit in, and Dean seemed to bloom under her attention…and like almost any female over the age of fourteen, she was totally under his spell. Naturally, Sam thought with just the smallest edge of exasperation. That was *Dean*too. His brother had always been able to charm the birds out of the trees and the pants off of any woman he wanted to. Cassandra, whose conversations with *him* tended to center around 'Jesus, get a haircut' and 'oh my God, you're not really wearing those shoes in public' and 'have you thought about doing something about those moles?' was a *completely* different person when it came to Dean. Dean got pampered and petted and fed home-made goodies. There was nothing Dean could do wrong, Dean was priceless.
And Sam swore he was not in the least bit jealous, not at all. Even if Dean was getting treated like the freakin' Little Prince.
part 12
tbc