Work Text:
It’s My Job To Raise You Right
June 1994
The room was spinning — that much Dean knew — and his brain was still functioning enough to realize he was in trouble.
He was surrounded by strangers, drunk out of his mind, and obviously losing control. Dean Winchester did not lose control.
In any other situation, Dean never would’ve allowed himself to get this messed up, but for once he didn’t have anyone to protect. Sam was safe back at the motel with their dad, and Dean had just wanted to let loose.
And honestly?
For a while, it had been worth it.
Dean was entranced. Here he was in the middle of music history, standing where some of the greatest bands in the world had once played, and for the first time in a long time, he felt perfectly at home in the world of lights, music, and smoke.
He thought maybe he could stay there forever.
Then he heard it.
“Dean Winchester.”
Dean shut his eyes and swore under his breath.
He would know that voice anywhere.
The people sitting around him immediately avoided eye contact with the burly man standing behind them. Dean turned slightly and looked up at his father, too drunk to realize he should probably be afraid.
“Sup, Dad?” Dean slurred.
John Winchester narrowed his eyes before grabbing Dean by the back of his jacket.
“Time to go, son.”
John dragged him toward the door by the collar while Dean stumbled along beside him.
“Lemme go!” Dean snapped, trying to shove his father off him.
John just sighed.
“You can barely stand, Ace. I’m not letting go just so you can fall into the street and get run over by a taxi.”
Dean huffed, trying to come up with an argument, but his brain was too fuzzy to cooperate. Before he knew it, he was tumbling into the passenger seat of the Impala and being buckled in like a helpless little kid.
John slid into the driver’s seat while Dean kept himself turned toward the window, glaring out at the passing city lights.
“How much did you drink tonight?” John asked calmly.
“I dunno.”
“Did you take anything else?”
Dean whipped around with anger flashing in his green eyes.
“I was fucking fine, Dad. You didn’t have to embarrass me like that.”
John didn’t react to Dean’s tone. Honestly, the hangover waiting for the kid tomorrow would probably be punishment enough.
“You weren’t fine, Dean,” John said evenly. “And even if I didn’t already know the kind of crap that goes on in places like that, I’d still know you were messed up on something.”
Dean snorted.
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
John quirked an eyebrow before pointing toward the backseat.
“Because, Dean-o, you haven’t asked where your eleven-year-old brother is yet.”
Dean frowned and twisted around, taking far too long to process the fact that Sam wasn’t sprawled across the backseat.
“You left him at the motel?” Dean demanded. “In New York City?”
“Nope.” John popped the P.
Dean’s fists clenched.
“Dad…” he growled. “Where’s Sammy?”
John smirked faintly.
“Oh look. My overprotective son is still under all the rebellion and stupidity.” He started the car again. “I left him at Caleb’s. Which is where you’re staying tonight while I sort some things out.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.”
John knocked on the apartment door, and a tired-looking Caleb opened it a second later wearing sweatpants and an old Led Zeppelin shirt.
“Find him at CBGB?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah. Guess you were right.”
Caleb smirked.
“What can I say? I remember being a stupid teenager in this city. I know all the best bad decisions.”
“You were a stupid teenager in this city like five years ago,” John replied. “Of course you remember.”
Dean frowned immediately.
“So you ratted me out?”
Caleb looked down at him innocently.
“No, Deuce. I helped your father save your sorry ass. Big difference.”
“Where’s Sammy?” John asked.
“On the couch. Kid wouldn’t go to sleep until Dean came back.”
John nodded once.
“You mind if I leave them here tonight? I need to go have a conversation with the club about how minors are getting served.”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
John shoved Dean lightly toward Caleb, and the older man caught him before he tripped over his own boots.
Dean crossed his arms and glared at his father.
“I hate you.”
“Dean—” Caleb warned.
But John held up a hand.
“It’s okay.”
John crouched down until Dean finally looked him in the eye.
“Son, you don’t have to like me. That’s fine.” His voice stayed calm and steady. “It’s not my job to be liked. It’s my job to raise you right.”
Dean stared at him silently as John stood and headed for the door.
“See you tomorrow, John,” Caleb called.
John paused.
“You sure you’ll survive him?”
Caleb grinned.
“Oh yeah. I’ve got painkillers ready. He’ll be begging for mercy by morning.”
John laughed quietly before disappearing out the door.
The apartment fell silent.
Then—
“Dean?”
Dean lifted his head toward the hallway.
At eleven, Sam Winchester was still small for his age, half-hidden behind the wall in one of Caleb’s oversized hoodies.
Dean’s expression immediately hardened.
“What do you want, Sam?”
Sam hesitated.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “I woke up and you were gone…”
Dean rolled his eyes and dropped heavily into a kitchen chair.
Sam walked closer before resting a hand lightly on Dean’s arm.
Dean grabbed his wrist and shoved it away.
There wasn’t much force behind it.
Didn’t matter.
Sam still flinched.
“Are you capable of leaving me alone for like two seconds?” Dean snapped. “Maybe if you did, I wouldn’t have to sneak out just to get some damn peace and quiet.”
Sam froze.
“I’m not here to coddle you every second of the day.”
Sam backed up immediately, bumping into Caleb.
“Jesus Christ, Deuce,” Caleb muttered. “It isn’t his fault you got caught. Don’t be a dick.”
Dean laughed bitterly.
“I was just trying to have fun for once. One time without this kid attached to me. One time without being saddled with responsibility.” His voice rose. “Dad treats me like some damn housewife — staying home taking care of the baby.”
Sam’s face crumpled instantly.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered. “I didn’t know I was bothering you.”
Dean rubbed a hand over his face.
“Yeah, whatever. You say that now, but give it a few days and you’ll be right back to following me around asking questions about everything…”
Sam shrank further into himself.
“Asking questions about Mom…”
The second the words left his mouth, Dean looked like he wanted to take them back.
But the alcohol had loosened every ugly thought he usually kept buried.
“I just wanted to know about her,” Sam whispered. “I don’t remember anything…”
Dean laughed harshly.
“No shit, Sam. But those memories are all I’ve got left.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t get to take those too.”
Sam looked completely shattered.
Caleb immediately stepped in.
“Dean.”
Dean shut his eyes.
Too late.
Caleb woke up less than five hours later to the distinct sound of someone throwing up.
He groaned and pushed himself off the couch before making his way toward the bathroom, where Dean was bent over the toilet with his forehead resting against the seat.
“You know, Deuce,” Caleb said dryly, “you should be happy I don’t still live in the dump I had right after college. Trust me, you wouldn’t wanna put your face anywhere near that toilet.”
Dean groaned without lifting his head.
“I don’t wanna put my face near this one either,” he muttered miserably, “but I also don’t wanna clean puke off your floor.”
Caleb laughed quietly and sat down against the wall beside him.
“See? This is why we don’t drink. Hangovers suck.”
Dean cracked one eye open.
“Don’t act like you never had a drink before you were twenty-one.”
“Oh, I definitely did,” Caleb admitted. “And I definitely remember being exactly where you are right now. But maybe a few more years of sobriety won’t kill you.”
Dean huffed weakly.
“Maybe I’ll take you out drinking on your eighteenth birthday or something,” Caleb added.
Dean smirked faintly.
“Yeah, okay.”
A few quiet minutes passed before Dean leaned back against the wall with a groan.
“How pissed is my dad?”
Caleb shrugged.
“I don’t think he’s pissed. I think he’s disappointed.”
Dean immediately dropped his head back against the wall.
“That’s so much worse.”
And there it was.
Dean could handle John angry. Hell, he expected angry.
But disappointment?
That always wrecked him.
“Yeah,” Caleb admitted. “You definitely owe him an apology.”
Dean nodded tiredly.
“But honestly?” Caleb continued. “Your little brother deserves one first.”
Dean frowned for half a second before his expression dropped completely.
“Oh, damn it Sammy…”
The memory came back all at once — Sam’s face falling apart in front of him, the fear and hurt in those giant eyes.
Dean pressed the heels of his hands against his face.
“I didn’t mean any of that.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said gently. “I know that. Problem is, Sam doesn’t.”
Dean swallowed hard.
“Shit…”
“Not exactly one of your finer moments, kiddo.”
Dean groaned.
“He has to know I didn’t mean it.”
Caleb shrugged slightly.
“Well according to your brother, alcohol just makes people say things they mean but don’t wanna say out loud.”
Dean looked horrified.
“Oh my God.”
“Yep.”
Dean pushed himself upright a little too quickly and immediately turned green again before steadying himself against the sink.
“Easy there, rockstar.”
“Is he awake?” Dean asked.
Caleb checked his watch.
“9:30.”
Dean nodded once.
“He’s awake then. Kid doesn’t understand the concept of sleeping in.”
Caleb smirked faintly.
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
Dean took a breath before slowly making his way across the hall toward the spare room.
The door creaked softly when he pushed it open.
Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed reading a book, though judging by the way his eyes stayed fixed on the page without moving, he hadn’t actually read a single word.
The second Dean sat down on the mattress, Sam tensed.
That hurt more than the hangover.
“Hey Sammy…” Dean started quietly. “I’m really sorry about last night.”
Sam shrugged without looking up from the book.
“It’s okay.”
Dean sighed softly and reached over, gently pushing the book down until Sam finally looked at him.
“No, kiddo. It’s not.”
Sam’s eyes immediately dropped again.
Dean swallowed hard.
“You didn’t deserve any of that. I was drunk and angry and stupid, and you were just there.” He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “Nothing I said was true.”
Sam’s eyes filled with tears almost instantly.
“Then why would you say it?” he whispered.
Dean froze.
Because honestly?
That was fair.
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted quietly. “I guess…” He sighed. “I guess sometimes talking about Mom hurts more than I know what to do with.”
Sam wiped at his face with his sleeve.
“I don’t mean to upset you.”
“I know you don’t.”
Dean leaned back slightly against the headboard.
“It’s not you asking that hurts, Sammy. It’s that every time we talk about her, I remember what happened all over again.”
Sam nodded slowly.
“I just don’t remember anything,” he admitted softly. “Sometimes it feels like…” He hesitated. “Like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.”
Dean felt his chest ache at that.
Because that was exactly what grief felt like.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” Dean admitted.
Sam shrugged tightly.
“I just…” He sniffled. “I didn’t wanna be a burden.”
Dean immediately wrapped an arm around him.
“Hey. None of that.”
Sam curled closer automatically, like instinct.
“You are not a burden, Sammy,” Dean said firmly. “Taking care of you is my job, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”
Sam looked up uncertainly.
“Really?”
“Course really.” Dean smiled softly. “Honestly? You disappearing on me for five minutes scares the hell outta me.”
That finally got a tiny laugh out of Sam.
Dean smiled a little wider at the sound.
“Last night was just…” He grimaced. “A really bad lapse in judgment.”
Sam leaned lightly against his side.
“Okay.”
Dean was quiet for a moment before nudging him gently.
“So…” he said carefully. “Any questions about Mom?”
Sam looked surprised by that.
“You mean it?”
Dean nodded.
“Yeah. I’m gonna try harder, okay?”
Sam thought for a long moment.
Then finally:
“Did she love me?”
Dean’s breath caught painfully in his throat.
Because as much as remembering Mary hurt, Dean had never once doubted she loved Sam completely.
And somehow his little brother had been carrying that fear around silently.
“Sam,” Dean said softly, “Mom loved you more than anything.”
Sam let out one shaky breath like something heavy had finally loosened inside his chest.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Dean tightened his arm around him slightly.
“And for the record?” Dean added. “I still love you too, even when you’re annoying.”
Sam laughed quietly.
“Mmkay.”
Dean grinned.
“So are we okay, little brother?”
Sam nodded.
“Yeah. We’re okay.”
A comfortable silence settled between them for a minute before Sam looked up again.
“Are you gonna apologize to Dad?”
Dean groaned dramatically.
“Unfortunately, yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Guy’s probably gonna make me run extra drills for a month.”
Sam snickered.
“I’ll do them with you.”
Dean looked down at him fondly.
“Yeah?”
Sam nodded seriously.
“I got your back.”
Dean laughed softly and ruffled his hair.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he whispered. “I know you do.”