Chapter Text
Dean is dragged from his drunken sleep by the persistent ring of a phone. For a second, he almost yells out for his dad to pick up his damn phone already, but then he remembers. He’s all alone. The yellow-eyed demon that burned his mother and brother alive, ripped his father apart in front of his eyes. What was left of John was salted and burned nearly six months ago, but when Dean’s half asleep or wasted, he still forgets.
Groaning at the feeling of his pounding head, Dean drags himself out of the lumpy motel bed and nearly trips over his own pile of empties on the way to dig his dead father’s cell out of his duffle. He doesn’t recognize the number, but then, he rarely does, so he answers it anyway with a raspy ‘hello’.
No one answers, so Dean says it louder, “Hello-o, anyone there?”
“Hi, um.” It sounds like a boy, which is pretty odd. “I’m- I was trying to reach my dad?”
Dean yawns, “Bad news, bud. You got the wrong number, I’m an only child.”
“Oh.”
“So… yeah, sorry.” Dean snaps the flip phone shut with a practiced flick of the wrist. He doesn’t even have time to put it away though before it rings again. Same number. He ends the call, only for the number to pop up on the screen a third time. “Look, kid-”
“So you don’t know John Winchester? ‘Cause I know this is his phone, I’ve called this number before.”
“Excuse me?”
“John Winchester,” the boy repeats. “He’s my dad, this is his phone.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m his son?”
“No- damnit. What’s your fucking name?”
“I-it’s, uh, Sam. It’s Sam Winchester.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Dean’s clutching the phone to his ear so hard it threatens to break under his fingers. His mother and brother have been dead since he was ten, but he’s never stopped missing them. His pretty blonde mommy, the long-awaited baby he doted on. Both his parents had cried happy tears when they told him he’d finally have a sibling. “Who the fuck do you think you are calling this phone pretending to be John Winchester’s kid?”
“I- I don’t- I am though,” the boy protests, “and who’re you that you have my dad’s phone?”
“I’m his son, you moron, Dean Winchester. And John’s dead, so whatever trick you’re trying to pull, it’s no use.”
“Dead?” There’s a genuine quaver in the voice that time, just enough to make Dean pause. “How? I mean, was it a car accident or something?”
Dean opens his mouth to reply, processes the question, and asks, “Why the hell would it be a car accident? Of all the things that could happen to a hunter any day and you go with car accident?”
“A hunter? Dad never went hunting that I know of. He was a traveling salesman, he was in his car all the time.”
Nothing makes sense, and yet it does. Dean runs the kid on the phone through a litany of questions. The birthday is right, and he knows personal things about John, but says his mother’s name is Kate. He’s lived in the same house all his life and has a little brother named Adam.
They longer they talk, the more enraged Dean is. He doesn’t know what he hates more, that his father died letting him think he was all alone in the world, or that his father had a secret second family in the first place. A secret, normal family who had no idea what hunting was. It’s exactly something John would do. He never gave out even the tiniest scrap of information unless he thought it was life or death that someone know it.
“I’m coming to see you,” Dean says on impulse. “What’s your address?”
Sam balks. “I dunno, I should probably ask my mom before I have strangers over.”
“If you’re Sam, then I’m your big brother,” Dean replied. “You can’t trust your big brother now?”
Still somewhat reluctant, Sam gives his address, and Dean gives him an estimate for how long it’ll take him to get there. It’s probably a stupid idea, but Dean’s been on his own for months. He’d stayed at Bobby’s for a while after John’s death, but eventually it started to feel like he was overstaying his welcome, despite Bobby’s assurances otherwise.
“I’ll be driving Dad’s car,” Dean says. “You know what it looks like?”
“The Impala? Yeah. He taught me to drive it for my fifteenth birthday.”
Dean’s been hopped up on so many substances in the last few months, he can barely remember last week, but he knows if he looks back at Dad’s journal, he can figure out what they were each doing on Sam’s birthday last year, just to be absolutely sure.
Once Sam hangs up, he clears the motel room out as quickly as he can. He’s been there for a while, longer than usual, and he hasn’t let housekeeping in at all, so it’s a pigsty. It’s worse than usual actually. There’s crumbs of pot and white coke residue on the table, a used syringe underneath from that sketchy but hot girl he picked up last week. He cleans up the suspicious stuff, collects the bottles and cans to turn in for a few cents each at the collection center. If he just had a few he wouldn’t bother, but there’s quite a lot built up. Housekeeping can deal with the overflowing trash and dirty sheets, he leaves a very generous cash tip to make up for the general filth and amount of used condoms.
Dean’s in the car by nightfall, feeling more alive than he has in a long time. He might still have family, actual living family, and something in his gut tells him that all he’ll have to do is look Sam in the face to know if it’s true. It sounded true. He’s never met a monster that was good enough at faking human insecurity. They actually tend to be overly cocky, a general monster tell that lets you know they’re trying too hard for a reason.
Barely stopping to eat or sleep, Dean blasts through Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Iowa, finally reaching Sam’s address in Minnesota at the absolutely perfect hour of four-thirty in the afternoon. Sam will be out of school, according to his claims. Dean smoothly swings the Impala into a convenient parking spot around the block from Sam’s house. He doesn’t want to bring too much attention to his arrival just in case, but if he has to run for it, the car won’t be too far.
Sam’s house is so… so normal and apple pie. There’s a fucking yard and everything. Plants in it with gnomes and a rock path. Dean’s never been to a house like that before unless it was for a case. It’s unbelievable that his own flesh and blood grew up in a place like that.
With a gun in the back of his pants, silver knife and a flask of holy water in his jacket pocket, he approaches the house. He’s never been so afraid to ring a doorbell, but since Dad died, he’s never been so lonely. Anything would be better than existing in the void like he’s been doing, so he raises his hand to press the cracked plastic button. Distantly, an electronic ding-dong sounds.
Sam’s been up in his room, waiting on tenterhooks for that beautiful black Impala to appear in front of his house because he’s been going nuts over the idea that he has a big brother. He doesn’t even know why, but being the oldest of two siblings has never felt natural. When he hears the doorbell go off on the day Dean said he would be there, he almost falls in his haste to get down the stairs and answer it. He rips the front door open and stops dead because no way this is his brother, he looks like one of the male models in his mother’s fashion magazines.
There’s no other word for it. He’s gorgeous. Sam’s been having doubts about his orientation ever since he watched The Outsiders, but this is so far beyond that. This is live and in the flesh. He’s got to be over six feet, black jacket layered over a dark green button up and gray t-shirt, there’s a hole in the knee of his worn jeans that come to a stop at the toes of black boots- not biker boots, the kind where you can tell they’re not wearing them for looks, there’s something that has to be a tattoo peeking out from the cuff of his jacket, and the hair. The hair. Longish to the point that there’s one lock of it hanging in his eyes.
“Dean?”
The dark god on his front step runs a hand over the top of his head, slicking the stray strands back into place. “Heya, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t need any more information to be sure. He takes a step forward, and Dean’s arms enfold him, strong and tight and warm. He smells like cigarettes and leather. Then Dean says, deep voice rumbling in his chest, “Good to meet you, kid.”
That should not make Sam feel tingly all over, but the shame he feels is overridden by the insanely powerful urge to keep this man near him forever. He steps back again and Dean flashes him a heart-stopping grin. It’s nuts. Nobody in real life has a mouth like that. His teeth are perfect in a way that makes Sam hope he remembered to brush.
“You home alone?” Dean asks.
Sam nods. “Yeah, mom’s at work and my little brother’s at aftercare.”
“What’s aftercare?”
“Basically he has to hang around at school until 6 when my mom can pick him up.”
“That sucks,” Dean chuckles. “I never went to school to begin with, and I’d rather have jumped out a window than stay late.”
“Really? Dad didn’t make you go?”
“Dad wasn’t around very much. I was on my own mostly.”
“Oh.”
“You gonna invite me in?” Dean asks, smirking a little.
“Yeah, sorry.” Sam steps back to let him pass, then closes the door behind him, trying to think of what to do. He barely knows what to do on the rare occasion he gets to bring a friend home, much less this effortlessly cool, twenty-six year old brother he’s never met.
Dean’s gone into the living room, where he’s slowly turning around, eyes scanning the pictures on the walls. His dad is in a few of them, with a blond woman who must be Kate, the boy he now knows is Sam, and another, younger boy, presumably Adam.
“Do you believe me now?” Sam asks meekly, joining him in the living room.
“Yeah… I- I believe you.” For a split second, Dean looks much younger, like he’s just a kid himself, but then it’s gone. “Y’know, I forgot to ask before, but how come you and your little brother have different last names?”
Sam makes a face that seems to indicate this isn’t the first time he’s been asked that question. “Mom and Dad never got married,” he explains. “Mom’s into all that feminist stuff, she didn’t want to take someone else’s name. They agreed I’d have Dad’s last name and when they had their second kid, he’d have Mom’s.”
That sounds like bullshit to Dean, a story obviously cooked up to cover the truth. “Huh. So you have a bedroom and stuff in here?”
“Uh, yeah. You wanna see it?”
Of course he does, he wants to see everything. He follows Sam up the stairs and down the hall to a small bedroom, which does indeed appear to be all Sam’s. There’s only one twin bed and it’s very much the room of a teenage boy, from the laundry on the floor to the wall of sports trophies. He listens avidly as Sam tells him one mundane detail after another, the soccer team he’s on, the computer Dad bought him when he was fourteen, his favorite classes at school. The kid’s a nerd apparently, which makes sense because he’s wearing nerdy too-short jeans and sneakers, and a rather girly purple hoodie. He seems super smart though, and obviously he’s decent at sports, he’s not a bad-looking kid either, so it’s a bit weird that he has only two friends, both of whom are girls.
Sam rarely has such a captive audience, much less one so attractive. It’s silly, but it makes him feel important, special. He must be if someone that mysterious and worldly wants to hear about his boring life and track his every movement with velvety green eyes. When he hears the front door, he realizes with a jolt of panic that he’s lost track of time.
“Oh, crap,” he mutters, glancing at the open door.
“What?” Dean asks, following his gaze. He reaches behind him under his jacket as he mutters, “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”
“It’s just my mom,” Sam says hastily. “I, uh, I didn’t tell her you were coming. I meant to, I just, I didn’t know what to say about Dad and honestly, I thought you wouldn’t show. Dad did that a lot.”
Before Dean has time to address that, there are running footsteps. A nine year old boy appears in the doorway and stops short, mouth open in surprise.
“Adam-” Sam starts to speak but his little brother cuts him off.
“Mom!” Adam hollers. “Sam’s got a guy in his room!”
Well, there goes Dean’s plan for sneaking out so Sam doesn’t get in trouble. Adam runs off back downstairs, Sam races after him, though it’s a bit late for that, and Dean follows them at a slower pace.
At the bottom of the stairs, he can see Kate in her work scrubs from the hospital. She’s clutching Adam around the shoulders, and Sam’s trying to stammer out an explanation.
“Hey, look,” Dean says, in his best charming and casual voice as he slowly descends the stairs. “You know what, this is my fault. Sammy let me in, but I’m the one who showed up uninvited.”
When he reaches Sam, standing guiltily on the bottom step, he puts an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t touch him,” Kate snaps, reaching out to snatch at Sam’s arm and drag him away.
Dean holds his hands up, palms out defensively.
“Get out of my house,” Kate says flatly, glaring at him with dull blue eyes. “Right now, and don’t come back here.”
Dean doesn’t move. He will be coming back, that’s just a fact.
“Now! Or I’ll call the police.”
“Hold up, look,” Dean says, “I don’t know what you think is going on here-”
“I think you’re a pervert doing something inappropriate with my underage son. What are you? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” he answers. “And we were just talking. I’m Dean.”
“Great, I’ll be sure to let the cops know.”
“Dean Winchester.”
Kate’s already opened her mouth to reply, but then stops short and shakes her head a little. “No. N-no, you can’t be. I- I thought you died. You were in a fire, with your mother.”
“How could I have died in a fire, when I wasn’t even there?” Dean’s been wondering if this secret thing went both ways, and apparently it does. “Go ahead and check the news. Lawrence, Kansas, November 2nd, 1989. My childhood home burned down while I was at a sleepover. Dad got out, but my mom and my brother died. No bodies were ever recovered.”
“Your brother?” Sam asks, frowning slightly.
“He was six months old.” Dean allows himself a fond smile. “Man, I loved that kid from the minute I saw him. Carried him everywhere, played with him all day. My mom used to joke that she never had to do a thing when I was around. I got used to her being gone after a while, but I don’t think I ever got over losing Sammy.”
Kate’s gone white as a sheet and Sam is staring at her with dawning comprehension.
“Mom?” he says softly.
“Sam, I can explain,” Kate replies, voice shaking.
Dean should feel bad for dropping a bomb that will forever change this innocent little family, but he doesn’t. Sam is his brother, the baby he’s mourned for his whole life, wondering what might have been, what it would’ve been like to have company besides just his father. Sam’s his, and he’s not letting anyone take him again.
Kate turns back to Dean. “Where’s John? This was all his idea, he can explain better than I can.”
“Gone,” he answers. “You won’t be hearing from him again.”
“What? How?”
Dean doesn’t know how much she knows, if anything, so he goes with Sam’s original assumption and says, “Car accident. About six months back. I’m sorry.” He’ll tell Sam the truth later, when he gets a chance to introduce the whole ‘monsters are real’ concept.
Kate just nods, upset but not wrecked or sobbing, which makes sense, because as little as he saw John growing up, these people have seen even less of the man over the years.
“I’m gonna head out,” Dean says. “Unless you have any more questions?”
Kate shakes her head, so he goes for the door. Sam comes to life, lunging forward to stop him. His back thuds against the doorframe in a way that must have hurt, but he doesn’t let on.
“You’re leaving?” he says desperately. “Am I gonna see you again?”
“Just gonna go look for a motel,” Dean assures him, reaching out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think Kate here wants me staying over.”
“But you’ll come back?”
“You bet.”
“When?”
“Whenever you need me.”
They stare at each other, Sam looks like he doesn’t believe it. “Pick me up from school tomorrow?”
“Sam,” Kate says sharply.
It doesn’t seem like Sam’s a rebellious kid, she looks pretty shocked when he comes back with a sullen, “What?”
“I don’t want you going anywhere alone with a grown man.”
“So you can lie to me my whole life but my big brother can’t give me a ride home?”
Something flickers hot in Dean’s chest. He’s a big brother again, and Sam likes him enough to talk back to his stepmother for the sake of spending time with him.
“He’s not…” Kate falters and stops at the look on Sam’s face. “You don’t even know him.”
“Dean wanted to come here,” Sam retorts. “I didn’t ask, but he dropped everything and came straight here from Tennessee just to see me, which is more than Dad ever did. Every year he said he’d be here for my birthday and he only made it, like, three times.”
Kate’s gaze flickers between the two of them, then she deflates, angry mom giving way to reality. “Fine. But I will be calling to make sure you get home when you’re supposed to.”
Dean gives Sam a crushing hug before he leaves. It’s a quick stroll to the car, then he puts in his favorite Zeppelin tape and takes off for downtown, grinning and singing along, feeling better than he has in a long time.