ivyfic | Fic: Crazy Faith (Supernatural)

Title: Crazy Faith
Author: Ivy (

ivy03)

Sequel to Morning in the Evening.

Part I

II.

Dean crawled into bed next to his wife around three in the morning. Sammy was out, contorted on her stomach in a way that was only comfortable for small children. He figured he could get about four hours of sleep before the morning bustle.

Deb rolled unconsciously in her sleep until Dean was spooned up behind her. He gently rested his arm over her waist, trying not to wake her. He splayed his hand over the rounding of her belly, hoping to feel the baby move. When he'd crossed back to the master bedroom, he'd seen that Deb had gotten Sam settled on the couch, accordioned up under the sheets. They'd lived here ever since little Sammy was born, but Dean had never realized that he didn't really think of it as his home. Until today.

~*~

When Dean cracked his eyes, he heard the shower running. He lay still for a moment, listening for movement in the rest of the house, but there was only silence. Sammy must not be awake yet. And Sam—his brother had never been a morning person, and Dean seriously doubted that had changed in a few years.

The water turned off, and Deb stepped into the bedroom, wrapping a towel around herself. Dean took a moment to appreciate the water glistening on as much of her skin as he could see. He wished she wouldn't cover up, but he knew she was self-conscious about the stretch marks.

"So," Deb said, picking up her comb from the dresser. She looked at Dean's reflection in the mirror. "What did you two fight about?"

Dean heaved a sigh and climbed out of bed. "It's complicated," he muttered and made for the bathroom.

"Of course it's complicated, it's family." Dean ran the water in the sink and wet the bristles of his toothbrush. Deb followed him to the door, flinging water droplets from the ends of her hair with each stroke of the comb. "Dean, come on."

Dean put toothpaste on his brush and stuffed it into his mouth. "I slept with his girlfriend," he mumbled around the brush.

Deb snorted. He turned to look at her. She was laughing! "What?" he said, then turned to spit out the toothpaste and rinse his mouth. "What?"

"God, Dean," Deb said, walking away from him. "You always get yourself into trouble by sticking your dick into things."

"Hey!" Dean said. He followed her into the bedroom and playfully grabbed for her towel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, that's how you ended up married, isn't it?" Deb said haughtily.

"Oh, that's fighting dirty," Dean said. He grabbed for the towel again and she let him have it.

"I know the kind of guy a married," Deb said through a laugh. Dean tried to shut her up with a kiss, but Deb put her finger on his nose, holding him back so she could look at him. "Just as long as you know that if you put your dick into anyone—or anything—else, I'll cut it off."

"On that, I'm clear."

~*~

Sam wandered into the kitchen while Dean was feeding Sammy her breakfast. He rubbed his eyes blearily, and Dean was struck again at how much he looked like Dad. Add just a few streaks of grey to his hair, and with the stubble and the dimples, the resemblance was uncanny. It was something about the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders, his gait, his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Deb said from the sink, where she was rinsing dishes.

"Sleepyhead," Sam muttered. "As I recall, I was always the early riser in the family," he said to Dean.

"It's amazing how little sleep is actually necessary to survive," Dean said with a smile. Sammy whacked the handle of her spoon and pelted the side of Dean's head with Cheerios, then laughed uproariously at her joke. Sam snickered and made his way to the coffee-maker. Dean was surprised. Sam'd always ordered those frou-frou lattes—he'd tried to make Sam take his coffee like a man ever since he hit puberty. Guess all it took was being on his own for a while.

Sam took a sip from his mug, then winced. At Dean's questioning look, he waved his hand in the air and after a moment said, "Burnt my tongue."

"So," Dean said once Sam had gone back to blowing on his coffee, impatient for it to be cool enough to drink. "Got any plans for today? Anything you always wanted to see in Coyanosa, Texas, but never had the chance?"

"Not really, no." Sam shook his head. He waved vaguely outside with the hand not cradling his coffee. "Just let me get some stuff from my truck."

"I was wondering what you arrived in," Dean said. "Didn't figure you for just appearing out of the desert."

"Since that would probably make me an ifrit, yeah—no."

Dean widened his eyes and nodded towards Sammy, then gave a little shake with his head. Dean's wife might know, but he had no intention of ever explaining it to his kids. He knew well enough that once that innocence was lost you could never get it back.

"Oh," Sam said. "Sorry. I'll just—" He set his still steaming cup on the counter and headed out onto the porch, screen door banging behind him.

"You promised me you'd fix that," Deb said lightly.

"I will," Dean replied, and Sammy peppered him with Cheerios again.

~*~

While Deb cleaned up after breakfast, Dean ducked into his bedroom to change into a shirt Sammy hadn't decorated. When he stepped back into the kitchen, Sam had set up his laptop on the table and was doing something complicated with his cell phone and some cables. He looked up when Dean entered.

"So this is what you've been using to keep tabs on me." He indicated the cell phone, then went back to fiddling with the cables.

"Yup."

"Guess I'll have to switch carriers, now."

"Hey!"

"Kidding. Deb's outside with Sammy."

Dean stepped to the screen door to see his wife playfully chasing Sammy around the yard. Pregnant she might be, but she could still move. He turned back to Sam. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I got a message from one of my contacts—nobody you know," he added quickly. "Came across something he doesn't have time to handle, wondered if I might look into it. There we go," he said, finally getting the wires arranged. He pulled up a program on his screen, then punched something into the phone so that it played his voice mail through the computer's tinny speakers. There was an unmistakable static crackling on the message.

"Hey, that's got EVP on it," Dean said. He leaned over the back of Sam's chair.

"I know."

Dean pointed at the screen. "See if you can—"

"I've got it, Dean." Sam smiled and shook his head. He entered something on the keyboard, then Dean could see a little hourglass start slowly rotating on the screen.

"What is that?"

"I wrote an algorithm to isolate out the EVP."

"You wrote…" Dean said, looking at his brother.

"OK, Ash wrote, but I helped. Beats the heck out of fiddling around with gain and playback speed on a tape player, though."

"Come on—you're taking all the fun out of it," Dean groused. The computer made a quiet "bing" noise.

"Let's see what we've got." Sam pressed play, and a ghostly voice came out of the speakers: "Kill 'em all." It didn't matter how many times he heard it, that shit still gave Dean goose bumps.

"Well," he said. "That's cheerful." He quickly craned his head towards the kitchen door, making sure his daughter was well out of earshot. "Any idea who it is?"

"Frank had a few ideas," Sam said. He was already pulling up a map on his computer screen.

"Frank?"

"Frank Capriotti—he's a hunter."

"That contact I haven't met." Sam nodded. "Where is this nasty Casper?"

"Uh, it's in Las Cruces, New Mexico." Dean could tell his mind was already on the job. He'd always loved those early stages of the hunt, him and Sam bouncing theories back and forth. Sam's theories were always entertaining, but they weren't always crap. Dean had never admitted to how much he enjoyed seeing his brother's brain work. Right now it was like Sam was already a hundred miles down the road leaving Dean in the dust.

"That's just over the border," Dean said glancing at his watch. "We could be there by two o'clock."

That got Sam's full attention. "We?" Dean could have kicked himself. It had been four years. Of course his brother didn't need back-up. "You don't hunt anymore, Dean. You're…you know…Mr. Mom."

Dean shrugged sheepishly. "Doesn't mean I don't think about it. And it's just one spirit, right? Shouldn't take long to track down and salt the bones. In and out, no big deal."

"Who're you trying to convince, me or you?"

"Look, I'm not saying I want it to be like it was, but it's one hunt. For old times' sake. It'll just be a few days, and then we can figure out…"

"Figure out what?"

"I don't know. We'll just figure something out."

"OK," Sam said dubiously. "But I don't think I'm the one you need to worry about convincing." He pointed toward the doorway where Deb was standing with her arms crossed.

~*~

Dean braced himself for a tough battle with his wife, but it turned out to be not as difficult a sell as he thought. He argued that he had done this for years and was in no danger—well, not very much; he argued that he needed time to bond with his brother; he argued that he hadn't taken a vacation in three years and if she let him do this, he'd offer to watch Sammy for a long weekend while Deb went to the spa with her sister, which she'd been hinting at for six months. Deb agreed to all of these points.

She gave her consent with one proviso: Dean be home in one piece in three days, whether the hunt was over or not. As she pointed out, Sam had been doing just fine for four years and Dean would not be abandoning him to come home. What he would be doing was abandoning his wife and daughter and there were only so many hours Deb could spend with her daughter in a row before strangling something, not when Sammy was using her newfound aptitude at hide-and-seek to such devastating effect.

Dean spat in his palm and stuck it out to shake on it. Deb just laughed and ruffled his hair. "Go have fun being a ghostbuster," she said.

"So," Sam said when Dean finally banged out onto the front porch. "She pack us a lunch?"

"Shut up." Dean shoved Sam's shoulder and Sam laughed.

They took Sam's truck. Dean had taken the gun rack out of the Impala last year, though he still kept the first aid kit. It would be weird road-tripping in something else, but at least Sam didn't fight him when Dean asked for the keys. Dean felt a little like he was cheating on his car. At least Sam had a tape deck in the dash, not some fancy MP3 player, which assuaged Dean's guilt somewhat.

Dean kissed his wife and daughter goodbye then climbed up into the cab, wondering why a man as tall as Sam needed to be that far from the road. "Alright," he said as he adjusted the side mirror. "Here we go." He popped in AC/DC and "Back in Black" poured from the speakers. Sam's truck was a rust-colored red, but the sentiment felt the same. Dean felt almost giddy. He looked over at Sam and saw a grin just as big as his on his brother's face. Then he stepped on the gas and spit dirt as he pulled onto the road. He could see Deb and Sammy waving at him in the rearview mirror.

~*~

They pulled in to Las Cruces a little after four. They hadn't said much on the drive, but Dean couldn't resist grooving along to the music and the familiar hum of the highway, and Sam hadn't stopped smiling from the passenger seat. Dean pulled into a one-story motel on a long commercial strip of road. As Sam made his way to the office to get a room (two queens, Dean thought with a grin), Dean crossed the street to the convenience store.

When he came back Sam was just grabbing their bags out of the bed of the truck. Dean followed him into the room, finding the clashing orange and brown décor and the thin polyester bed spreads strangely comforting. He was looking forward to being able to spread out as much as he wanted. He wouldn't trade Deb for anything but she was an incorrigible blanket-stealer.

Dean dumped his booty on the bed—Slim Jims, Doritos, Jolt cola, Ding Dongs and Pixie stix. All the things Deb wouldn't let him anywhere near anymore. Sam looked at the pile. "Making up for lost time?"

"You bet." Dean handed Sam a Pixie stick—one of those jumbo plastic ones with enough sugar to keep his daughter up for three days straight. Sam gnawed on the end as he booted up his laptop. Dean flipped open the local newspaper, pretending to be researching the case. Wait for it…

Sam tipped his head back, emptying a mouthful of the Pixie stick onto his tongue. Then he choked and narrowly avoided spewing it onto his computer. He ran to the bathroom and stuck his tongue under the faucet. "Dean!" he said, once he could talk again. "What the hell was that?"

"Talcum powder," Dean said innocently. "Don't worry, Sam, it's completely non-toxic."

Sam launched himself at his brother, but Dean had a head start. He made it out of the room, throwing the door back at his brother, and was across the parking lot and onto the grassy berm that passed for the motel's lawn when Sam's longer stride caught up with him. Sam tackled his waist, no finesse, knocking him flat onto his back. Dean lost his breath, but couldn't tell if that was from the tackle or because he was laughing so hard. "You little bastard—talcum powder?" Sam said, trying to sound angry.

Dean managed to flip Sam and get him into a submission hold, though Sam's greater height and muscle mass prevented Dean from holding it for long. Sam pinned Dean, and Dean had to admit that he was a little out of shape. This was pathetic. Dean used his older brother privilege and twisted Sam's nipple until Sam let go and rolled sideways. "Ow! That's fighting dirty."

"Never fought fair before," Dean said, his breath coming in gusts. "Why start now?"

Sam swatted Dean's shoulder and laughed. They lay on their backs on the grass, staring up at the brilliant blue sky, panting a little. Dean had a huge grin on his face—it felt good.

"Talcum powder?" Sam said with a whine.

"Dude, you should have seen your face," Dean chuckled.

"I see fatherhood hasn't matured you at all. You're still a twelve-year-old at heart."

Dean shrugged, his shoulder brushing Sam's. He reached over and pinched Sam's bicep. Sam jerked his arm out of reach. "You've put on some muscle."

"What—are you saying I was a wimp before?"

"Just making an observation."

Sam pinched Dean's stomach. "And you've got a beer belly."

"I do not!" Dean said indignantly. "I'll have you know, having a toddler is an excellent workout."

"Whatever, man," Sam said. "You going to be able to handle yourself?"

Dean turned his head and gave Sam his best "you dare to doubt me?" look.

Sam laughed. "Man, it's good to see you. It's not the same…" he trailed off for a moment. "It's just not the same."

"I know what you mean," Dean said. He rolled onto his feet then extended his hand to haul his brother up.

It hadn't been like this between them, even before they parted ways. There was no tension now, the way there had been for months leading up to that incident in Georgia. Dean tried to think back to the last time it had been so…easy to be with his brother. After Stanford there had always been something between them: first Jess, then Dad, then the secret, then that other thing. Maybe at some point in their childhood they'd been this comfortable, but Dean didn't think so. This felt like some sort of magical reprieve after everything that had happened. Dean hoped it would last.

~*~

Dean had promised he'd only be gone three days. It took five. It was a pretty straightforward case; they quickly pegged the ghost as a two-hundred year old suicide. Unfortunately, at some point about a hundred years ago, all the headstones in the local graveyard had been moved around. The current groundskeeper said it was something about the townsfolk wanting to impose order on the jumble of graves from the original settlement. Didn't matter why—it took forever to find the right grave.

Dean hadn't been thinking too much about it at the time, stuck on the adrenaline high of the hunt. He hadn't thought about his family—the family that wasn't working beside him—in five days. But now, sitting in the passenger seat as his brother pointed the truck back towards Texas, he did.

"Man, that totally rocked." Sam was grinning. "The way you tricked it into leading us to the right grave? Awesome."

Dean grunted.

"Dude, what's your deal?" Sam said, glancing quickly at Dean before looking back at the road. "You haven't said word one since we left the motel."

"Nothin'."

"Oh, give me a break. You can't tell me you've got nothing to say about getting back in the saddle. You can't tell me that didn't rock."

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "It totally rocked."

"Right," Sam said, starting to sound a little annoyed.

"I'm just worried. No big deal."

"'Bout what?" Sam asked.

"I promised Deb I'd be home two days ago."

"I'm sure she won't mind." Sam shrugged.

"Oh, you haven't known her that long or you wouldn't say that."

"So, you'll argue, you'll have fantastic make-up sex—" Dean smacked him on the arm. "I still don't see what the problem is."

Dean sat in silence for a moment before he answered. "The problem is I'm turning into Dad."

Sam's mouth pressed into a grimace. "I thought you were always the great defender of Dad's parenting skills."

"Oh, don't be like that," Dean snapped. "Dad did the best he could with what he had."

Sam glared out the windshield at the road illuminated by his headlights.

"It's just…" Dean trailed off. "My kids deserve better."

~*~

It was the middle of the night when they pulled up to his house. The lights were off. He hoped he'd be able to sneak into bed without waking Deb up.

Seeing that little shape silhouetted in the dark was doing weird things to his insides. It was like he'd never seen it before. Just a small building, but his wife and his daughter lived there. His family lived there. And he was getting embarrassingly chick flick thinking about it.

He stepped out of the cab and stretched to give himself a moment to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. But having his brother beside him, his wife and daughter so close—he felt complete, and that was just not something Dean Winchester ever felt.

"So, I guess this means no more hunting," Sam said, stepping around the front of the truck.

Dean startled out of his thoughts. "That's not what I said."

"Yeah," Sam said, "it pretty much is."

"I didn't say I would never—"

"Oh, give me a break, Dean. What—this is going to be like the annual fishing trip? Every August you take a week with your brother and go waste a ghost? You've got to be kidding me." Sam sounded annoyed. Very annoyed.

"Oh don't get all soap opera on me," Dean said. "We'll figure something out."

Sam banged his fist against the hood of the truck and the noise startled Dean in the silence. "That's what you said last time." Sam's voice was low and angry.

"So? It's still true."

"You know what, Dean? That's bullshit. That's Dean-speak for you have no fucking clue what you're doing but you're not budging on this and if I want to stick around, I have to deal with it."

"Oh, come on," Dean whined. He didn't know why this was suddenly spiraling out of control. "It's late, dude. Why don't we just hit the sack and talk about it in the morning?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. "How do you picture this working, Dean? You stay here the happy family man and whenever I'm in West Texas I swing by? You call me to tell me about Sammy's first day of school and the cute thing your baby did and I call you when I end up on the wrong side of a werewolf? Is all that suddenly going to change in the morning?"

"Would that be so bad?" Dean said, his words choking in his throat. That's what he'd feared would happen to him, that it would be Sam with the normal life and him on the outside, but he couldn't do anything more than that. He just couldn't. "You don't have to keep hunting," he added a bit petulantly.

"Yeah, I think I do. You always said I was more like Dad than I wanted to believe." Sam laughed, but it wasn't a joyful sound. "You were right. I can't give it up."

Dean tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Sam was right, he didn't know how to make it work. He hadn't when the roles were reversed and he didn't now.

"I'm gonna ask you something," Sam said, his voice hushed and raw. "Your wife said that before she told you she was pregnant, you took off for a month." Sam looked at him, the light of the full moon making his eyes reflect like a cat's. "You came to see me, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice just as hushed. That had been hard, harder than he'd thought it would be. He'd gone to Sam's hospital room, stayed with him, all the while knowing that Sam didn't want him there.

"If I'd woken up and asked you to go back on the road with me, would you have?"

Dean swallowed. "Don't ask me that."

"You didn't know she was pregnant. If I'd asked, would you have left her behind, never come back?"

Dean had thought about that before—it was hard not to. He wished he'd never fought with Sam, never left him on the side of the road in Georgia. But if he hadn't—if he hadn't, he would never have met Deb, never have had Sammy and he loved them more than anything. Usually when the thought crept up on him in the night he'd turn into the warmth of Deb's body, press his face to her neck, and convince himself that there could've been a way to have both. He couldn't imagine his life without them; somehow he would have had his baby girl even if Sam hadn't left. He had to believe that. He couldn't choose. "How could you ask me that?"

"No, Dean, I want to know. I want to know if your latest conquest meant more to you than your brother." Sam advanced on him, menacing in the dark. If Dean had learned one thing in the past few days it was that if Sam wanted to take him down, he could.

"Sam, you're talking about my wife. You're talking about your niece. I'm supposed to say it would have been better if I'd abandoned Deb and she got an abortion? Then things would be OK between us?"

Sam looked contrite, but he kept going. "No, I'm not asking you to say that—but what if Deb hadn't been pregnant? She wasn't your wife, she was just some chick. Would you have come with me or gone back to her?"

Dean wanted to lash out at Sam but knew that if he did Sam would take off again and this time Dean wouldn't see him again. Why the hell was Sam being like this? "It's not a competition."

"No?" Sam said. He put one hand on the side of Dean's face, rubbed small circles on his cheek with his thumb. Oh, god, Dean thought. "I told you I was missing something when I left, that I needed to find something. You know what that is? The only thing I was missing when you were gone was you. I need you, Dean. You have no idea how hard it's—" Sam squeezed his jaw shut; Dean could see the muscle clenching, Sam was so close. "I fucked up. I really fucked up when I left and I'm sorry, but why can't we just put it back the way it was?"

"Sammy…" Dean whispered. He could see his brother was in pain but he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Sam kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time. Sam was hungry, possessive, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth. He crushed Dean back against the truck. His brother was everywhere around him, in his mouth, one hand in his hair and the other wrapped around his back, leg pushing between his thighs, body pressing against him, bending him backwards. Dean felt small and helpless, like he had no part in this action, reduced to nothing in the face of Sam's need. He didn't like the feeling. At all.

Dean pushed his hands flat against Sam's chest and was more relieved than he wanted to admit when Sam let go, stepped back. Dean straightened up, heart pounding. Sam was looking at the ground.

"I think you need to stay someplace else tonight," Dean said, hoping his voice wasn't wavering as much as he thought it was.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I—"

"Just leave, Sam."

Dean stepped back from the truck and watched as his brother climbed in silently and drove off. He stood for a long time afterwards, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. He didn't know what to do with what had just happened. Why couldn't Sam just…let things be? He had to figure out how to fix this. He didn't know how he'd handle it if Sam took off again.

Long after the sound of Sam's truck had faded, Dean finally turned toward the house. He walked inside, closing the screen door as quietly as possible. He stepped into the kitchen and froze.

His wife was standing there, in front of the sink. In front of the window over the sink that looked right out to the driveway where he and Sam had been standing. Where Sam had kissed him. She was standing there, taut like a bowstring about to snap. She'd seen them.

~*~

"How could you? How could you?"

Deb was swinging at him indiscriminately, hitting any part of Dean she could reach. Her blows were wild, sloppy, striking with an open palm and fingers splayed, no force behind them. They didn't hurt Dean at all.

"You pervert! Your own brother!"

She was crying so hard snot was bubbling out of her nose. It should have been funny. It wasn't.

Dean wanted to restrain her, calm her down, but he didn't know how to grab her without hurting the baby. He just kept thinking that she was too uncontrolled; she'd hurt herself. He just had to calm her down.

He heard crying from the doorway. Sammy was standing there, watching her parents fight, and on the verge of a major temper tantrum. Dean started toward her. Deb slapped his face. Hard. That blow had some control behind it.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare." Her voice was low and dangerous. "Don't you dare go near my baby girl."

"Deb—" Dean started, but he caught the look in his wife's eyes. She was looking at him like a stranger, like an intruder that had broken into her home and wanted to hurt her daughter. His daughter.

"You get out."

"Please—" He reached out towards her and she scratched her nails down the back of his hand.

"Get out! Get out!" she screamed, the force behind it making the cries break and tear, mingling with the high-pitched shrieks of his daughter.

He left.

~*~

Dean walked straight out into the desert, away from the road, his house, his family, everything. His hands were balled into fists, held stiffly at his side.

He'd taught his daughter it wasn't safe to go into the desert. He'd held her in his lap as they watched ribbons of lightning dance from the black clouds overhead, sheltered behind the window in her bedroom, safe. He'd warned her about rattlers and scorpions and told her it was very important never to wander out there, especially at night.

Dean walked heedless of all that. It was black and empty, a vast wasteland stretching out into nothing in front of him.

~*~

Dean was still walking when first light tinged the sky. He'd been wandering in circles, had no idea where he was. It was a stupid mistake, an amateur mistake, the sort of thing that got people killed.

The pinks and oranges had given way to blue when he came in sight of his house again. He wasn't sure what was going to happen if he went inside. He went anyway.

Dean snuck into his own house like a thief, afraid to call out his wife's name as he had so many times before. He made his way through the kitchen and living room, back to the master bedroom and finally his daughter's room. They were all empty. The house was empty, a hollow husk clinging to the edge of the desert like it might blow away.

He'd painted the walls in Sammy's room a pale pink. He'd promised to get her lace curtains for the windows, but they hadn't had the room for them in the budget yet. The drawers on the dresser he'd pulled from the dump, stripped and repainted until it looked new, were open. He felt a blind panic creeping over him. He bolted into the bedroom he shared with Deb. Her half of the closet was empty.

They were gone.

~*~

Dean wasn't sure what his next move should be, so waiting seemed like the best option. He didn't know what he was waiting for. He sat at the kitchen table, jostling his leg nervously, listening to the tick of the clock.

Dean looked up when he heard the screen door bang. He'd expected Sam. It was Deb.

He started to stand but she held out a hand to stop him. He sank back into his chair. She crossed to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter, putting as much space between them as possible.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

"I took her to my sister's. I'm staying there, too." Deb crossed her arms over her chest, gazing levelly at Dean. Dean had fallen for her because of her strength and fire. He was looking at that strength now.

"I didn't think you'd come back." Dean tried to say it as a joke, but his laugh was too close to a sob.

"To be honest, I didn't think I would either. But a girl needs her daddy. I owe it to her to give this a try. One try, Dean."

Dean nodded.

Deb took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Have you ever had sex with him?"

"No!" Dean spit out too quickly. "No. He's my baby brother."

"But you have kissed him before."

Dean clasped his hands on the table and stared at them, not seeing anything. "Once."

"And this whole week. Sharing a room with him. Not giving me a call to tell me when you were coming back. You're telling me nothing happened?" Her tone was sharp and accusatory.

"It wasn't like that. We just—it was a hunt. That's all. Nothing happened."

"Just like nothing happened last night? If this is all so innocent, were you planning on telling me about it? 'Hey, Deb. Good to see you. By the way, I cheated on you with my brother.'"

Dean's hands blurred in front of them. He gripped his fingers tightly, flesh turning white.

"How could you—" She bit off the words when some of last night's hysteria crept in. "How could you, Dean? How could you do that to me?"

"I—" I didn't do it, Dean thought. It was Sam. But he didn't know if he could say that. It made it sound too much like he was agreeing with Deb, that he shared her anger in this. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt just the same about what Sam was doing, but it was Dean's fault for letting it get this far and he couldn't pretend like it wasn't. "You don't understand," he started again. "You don't know what it was like growing up. Moving all the time, hunting. All we had was each other. And then after our dad died—I was all Sam had. I'm all he has."

"Right, so I should just let this happen. He's fucked up, you're fucked up, so it's alright?"

"No! I don't know!" Dean looked at his wife. "It just—Sammy thinks he needs this and I don't know what to do."

Deb looked at him for a long moment. "Sam needs this. Just Sam." Dean looked back down at the table and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again his eyelashes clung together. He was supposed to protect Sam and it felt like he'd just sold him out. "This is why you two split up four years ago, isn't it." It wasn't a question. More like the sound of Deb finally putting together the Winchester puzzle. "What—he wanted to fuck you, you didn't, so you left."

Dean grit his teeth. "It's complicated."

"No I really don't think it is." Deb stood there for a long time, looking at him implacably. Dean couldn't help seeing this through her eyes, just how fucked he really was. And he still didn't know a way out. "I don't want him in this house."

Dean looked up at her.

"What I saw can't ever happen again."

"It won't," Dean rushed to reassure her. "I promise it won't."

"Good," Deb said flatly. "But I still don't want him in this house. I don't want him near me and I don't want him near my daughter."

Dean felt like she had reached in and twisted his guts. "Sam wouldn't."

"How sure are you of that? He wants to fuck his brother, I'm supposed to just trust him with his niece?"

Dean felt the pain turning into anger. "Sam would never hurt her."

"He's trying to take her father away from her. You don't think that hurts her?"

Dean looked back at the table, clenching his jaw. He could feel a tear sliding down the side of his nose. Everything was falling apart.

"Here's what's going to happen," Deb said. "Sam is going to get in his truck and he's going to drive away from here and not come back. You can be in that truck with him or—" The sureness of her voice broke for a moment and Dean could hear all the pain she was feeling. God, he had hurt her so badly. She covered quickly and went on. "Or you can be here."

"Please don't ask me to choose," Dean whispered. He could hear his voice catch and couldn't stop it. "He's my brother."

"I know," Deb said, her voice softening. "I know you love him. But you have to see, Dean, this is the way it has to be." The softness disappeared and she straightened her shoulders. "I'm going back to Becky's. I'll be back tomorrow. One way or another, you need to decide by then."

Deb walked past him toward the door. She stopped, brushed her hand over his shoulder. The tenderness of it broke something inside him. He took a breath and it came out a choked cry.

"I'm sorry," Deb said quietly, then walked out the door.

~*~

He heard tires crunching over the dirt in the driveway in late afternoon. Sam, tail between his legs. Dean wondered why it had taken Sam the whole day to come back. Maybe he'd been working up his courage. Maybe he'd gotten drunk at the topless bar and gone home with one of the girls, pushing into her and thinking about Dean. Maybe Sam thought if he timed it right he could swing by when Dean's wife wasn't home and they could keep this thing going without Deb ever being the wiser.

Dean slammed the screen door open and stalked out into the yard. Sam was just climbing out of the truck, coming around the side toward him. He must have caught something on Dean's face because he looked concerned. "Dean, what happened? What's wrong?"

Dean didn't stop moving, walked right up to his brother and threw a punch as hard as he could, square on Sam's jaw. He knocked him to the ground. Pain shot up Dean's arm but he knew from experience it was nothing compared to what Sam was feeling.

"What the hell, man?" Sam groaned, then spat blood into the dirt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean yelled.

"What?" Sam asked, looking bewildered. He hadn't made a move to get up. Dean was pretty sure that if he did, he'd knock him down again.

"Don't 'what' me—you know exactly what this is about."

Sam winced. "I—I said I was sorry. I can't help what I feel."

"Oh, you're real fucking sorry." Dean kicked at the dirt, sending a shower of dust over Sam's torso. "My wife saw us. She saw you kiss me."

Sam sat up slowly. He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"She left, Sam. She took my daughter and she left me." Dean let himself feel the fear that had gripped him when he'd seen they were gone. He couldn't lose them. He couldn't lose his family.

"God, Dean—I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was a completely unforeseeable event," Dean sneered. "You ask me if I'd leave them for you. I'm real sure you didn't mean for this to happen."

Sam stood slowly, holding his hands out as if Dean were a skittish dog he needed to soothe. "I'm sorry, Dean. You have to believe me—I wasn't thinking. I'd never want you to lose your daughter, Dean, you have to know that."

"Oh, right. So if you didn't mean for Deb to see, then this was supposed to be a secret? You and I would sneak off alone together every now and then and—what?"

"I…I just wasn't thinking," Sam said pathetically.

"You weren't thinking," Dean said bitterly.

"Hey," Sam said. "Don't get all self-righteous about this. I seem to remember that being your excuse about four years ago."

"Sam," Dean said, cutting him off. "You want me to commit incest. You want me to cheat on my wife with you. Don't even try to deny that." He pointed a finger at Sam's face. Sam kept his mouth shut. "I've made my fair share of mistakes but nothing I've ever done compares to that."

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated. "I just feel like I've been riding around with a hole in my chest for four years because I missed you so bad."

"You think I've been all peaches and cream? You're the only one hurting?" The next words came out in a rush, like Dean couldn't hold the anger back. "And whose fucking fault is that Sammy? I remember you walking out on me. Again."

"I know, it was a mistake. But—then I find you and you have a family? I've barely been making it from day to day and you just what—moved on with your life? You have to expect that I'd be a little bit upset about that."

"You are so fucking selfish, Sammy," Dean said with disgust. "You always have been. You think your feelings are the only ones that matter here?" Dean's voice was edging toward a yell again. "Yeah, I have a family, Sam. Because you left me. You left me. Did you think I'd just wait around until you put your head back on straight? I did that once already. I'm not doing it again."

"Don't bring Stanford into this. That was different and you know it."

"What I know is that my brother 'needs me' until he suddenly has to go find himself and he chucks me over."

"Dean, listen—"

"No, you listen. I gave you everything I could. And it wasn't enough for you. Why couldn't you just take what I offer and have it be enough? You have to have everything so you leave me with nothing. Now I have something that makes me happy and you want me to lose it? What kind of a brother are you?"

"Dean, I'm sorry."

Sam meant it. Dean could tell. No matter what Deb said, Dean knew Sam wouldn't try anything again, he'd put it behind him if he had to. But it was too late for that. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly. "It's not your fault, Sammy. I know you can't help how you feel. I don't blame you." He needed to give Sam absolution because of what he had to do next.

Sam moved toward him, but not too close. Dean didn't think he'd ever walk too close again. "I was angry last night, Dean, and I said a lot of things I regret—and did a lot of things I regret. I am so sorry it hurt you."

"I know," Dean said. He felt all the emotion draining away, turning into something like resignation. "We were never meant for happy endings, right?" Dean half laughed. "We both did what we could." Sam was looking at him, open and broken, and Dean knew that he could give his brother everything he wanted if he just said the right words next. But those weren't the words he was going to say.

Dean turned his back on Sam, strode away. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to pull himself back together. What he had to say now was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever said. "Sam, you can't come around here anymore."

"What?" Sam said quietly.

"I need you to leave here and not come back." Dean turned back to him. "I can't lose my family, Sam. I can't."

"Dean, I'm your family."

Dean bit his cheek.

"Dean—I need you. I can't keep going alone."

Dean looked his brother hard in the eyes. "They need me more."

Sam swallowed and ducked his head, accepting it. He climbed into his truck and started the engine. Dean tried not to notice him swiping at his eyes before pulling the truck out of his driveway. It jerked as he turned onto the main road, then accelerated. Then it was gone.

When Deb brought Sammy home, Dean was waiting for them. He smiled big for his daughter and scooped her into a hug. Dean had always known he'd do anything for his family. He'd just thought that his family would always be Sam. Now he knew better.

A/N: I have taken many liberties with the geography West Texas, so apologize to all residents of Coyanosa. Their town is not just a truck stop. There is, though, somewhere, a strip club named Nightmoves.

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embroiderama

Oh. Oh my god. *wipes tears* It's all sor horrible, and I can absolutely see it happening. The way you wrote it, it just sucked me in, but now...Waaaaaaaah!

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Yaks Are Not Citizens of Any Country

Fic: Crazy Faith (Supernatural) - Part II

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