Part 09: ...Dean shuts him up with a pillow thrown at his head.
Sam frowns when he catches him staring, looking confused and a little worried. Dean shakes his head at him. It’s nothing, the gesture says. ‘Cause it really is nothing, plus Sam’d probably laugh his ass off if he knew what he is thinking. So. Yeah. The shake of his head, the shrug. It all comes down to a ‘forget it’ answered by Sam’s confused, little smile. All this without so much as uttering a single word. They could always communicate like this – with a shrug, a nod, a shake of the head. Hell, even a smile or a simple hand sign. In their line of work, it’s necessary.
And freakin’ talking is overrated anyway. As plain as that sounds, it just is. Take that, Dr. Phil.
“Brian?”
The soft voice cuts into his contemplations, getting him to look up and away from his brother. Justin is sitting on the sofa, eyes focused on his lover. Brian is still just... standing there. The brunet looks like he’s made of stone. Just, standing right there, and Dean only now becomes aware of the fact that the guy is still standing – shut up! – and holding that picture in his hand, staring. It’s not a pretty picture. None of them are. Dean can barely stand to look at them at all.
As sad as it is, he’s used to it by now. It doesn’t make it all right, though. Or better. And God knows it’s just a little bit harder to take, a little bit more difficult to deal, a little bit more upsetting to watch whenever kids are involved. Everything is a little bit harder then, not just looking at those pictures, but—
“The fuck can anyone do that to their kids? I don’t... How?”
Sam startles so bad at the quiet, harsh spoken words, that papers and pen slip from his grasp, toppling to the floor with a dull thump. If he’s honest, he’s a bit startled as well. For a moment he’s forgotten that Brian is actually real and not made of stone as it seemed just seconds ago. Justin doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, Dean can swear he sees his face soften, a warm look entering the young man’s eyes.
“It’s not Gus,” he whispers, curling pale fingers around the hand that still holds the picture, tugging on it, pulling him down onto the sofa. Never letting go. Not even when Brian sits next to him, so close that it looks like they’re touching from knee to shoulder. “It’s not you. Let it go.”
Dean isn’t sure what he’s talking about, the picture or something else. Memories, maybe fears. Hidden or otherwise. It’s something dark, no doubt, but he has no right to ask. That he does know. Sam and he share another look. This is a private moment they shouldn’t be part of, shouldn’t witness. So they do what they always do.
Be invisible. As far as that is possible.
“I know,” Brian sighs, turning into the blond by his side. “Fuck, I know. But...”
He finally lets go of the cruel picture when Justin slips it out of his grasp. Justin doesn’t ever look away from Brian when he holds it out to Dean. Like he doesn’t want to look at it, can't stand to look at it a moment longer. Maybe he can't. Dean takes it and puts it away, into a folder, face down. Dean doesn’t blame him. The dead kids, the other victims, they look like a broken dolls.
Tossed away like it didn’t matter, they didn’t matter. A life taken, a life hurt, pained, and it doesn’t seem to matter. Never did, never will.
No matter how long he will do this, no matter what he’s seen, he knows it’s always going to be harder to do the job when kids are involved. Dad knew that, too. Because children really are innocent, come what may. It makes their ghosts so much angrier, so much more dangerous. And their anger rightful. It doesn’t take a lot to picture a clumsy, dark-haired boy – Sammy – in their place. And that’s why he knows he’s never going to get used to it.
For all he knows, it could have been Sammy. Could have. Only there’s no power in the world strong enough that would – or could – have stopped him from killing every son of bitch who dared to lay a hand on him. On his little brother.
Hell would look like freakin’ paradise. So would the devil.
But that didn’t happen, did it? No need to dwell on it then. Thank God. He takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over the side of his face, wiping the sweat away. They are silent again until Brian clears his throat, saying, “The police have no fucking clue about who killed that fucker last week,” he says. “Even less about the kid last night. There are no leads, no nothing.”
“They are doing the best they can, Brian,” Justin soothes.
Dean and Brian both snort. For different reasons, obviously. “No. These idiots are trying to do our job,” Dean snaps, and if he sounds a little petulant. No one goes out of their way to tell him. “And making it harder to get a clue on what’s going on in the first place.”
“So, you’re gonna tell me that these two murders...?”
Sam nods. “Were killed by ghosts you met last night and the woman who controls them. Yeah. We’re still not sure about the rest, of how it all fits together, but they are definitely connected. We checked.”
“Double checked,” Dean corrects, and Sammy smiles.
“Yeah, and we got a hint of the supernatural kind.”
“Cue in ghosty music and the ghost themselves. You’ve seen it before in a lot of movies, I’m sure. Now comes the boring part – research, shuffling through papers and more papers on the hunt for it.”
By now Brian and Justin are looking at them like either they think Sam and he are crazy. Or lacking sleep, depends on how you look at the situation. Which, thinking about it, could very well be the case. Maybe not the crazy part of the equation, but the lack of sleep? Yup. Could be. Dean grins to himself. Then again, some people wouldn’t necessarily disagree with the first part of the sentiment either.
“So what are you looking for, then?”
Shrugging, he doesn’t have to play stupid this time. “We’ll let you know as soon as we find it, dude.”
Sam laughs. “Yeah. We try to find a connection to those ghosts, or rather the murder of the kids that now are ghosts and the killings that started not long after. Somewhere in the middle of this whole mess we’ll find the woman who’s responsible for it, too. It just might take us a while.”
“Oh. You’ve been doing this how long exactly?”
Again, he shares a look with his brother, saying, “A while.”
“Oh,” Justin says again, “So, uh, I was thinking. Before. Where... Where do you live?”
“Live?”
“Yeah, as in home. Where do you go when you, I don’t know, are done with a case?”
Sam laughs, but it’s such a bitter sound that Dean wants to cover his ears and sing-song, ‘I don’t hear you! Nu-uh’. If his chest clenches a little painful at it, too, he’s sure it’s just him sitting folded on the floor like this for too long. “The hunt is never over, Justin. Not for us. In other words, there is no home.”
“But... Where do you live?”
“Motels usually. The Impala.”
Dean can’t help but smile at that. Yeah. The car is like a home, more than any other place along the way.
Justin, on the other hand, looks like he’s seen another ghost, maybe he has. Like this is something – a life, a mindset – he doesn’t get, no matter how smart the kid is – which he is. Maybe he doesn’t get it. A lot of people don’t get it, but a lot of people don’t get to hear it either, hear their story, so yeah.
“In other words, your life is one fucking road trip,” Brian murmurs, and he’s serious, too, but not in the ‘I’m fucking with you, humor me’ way, no. It’s just a statement.
So Dean smiles and points his finger at him, saying, “Yahtzee.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Dean reassures. And it isn't after two decades, not anymore. Sam doesn’t say a word to this, which in his case, actually says a hell of a lot. It’s not that he agrees with Dean. Oh hell, no, but he does agree that this is none of their business. Justin and Brian have nothing to do with this – the hunt, the consequences, or in his case, Sam’s dislike to how they grew up.
They sit like that for a while, them going over their papers and Brian and Justin just watching them work in silence. It’s quiet, and quiet is always good. When they finally move again, Brian goes to do some work on his computer while the blond does some of his homework. College, he says, and Dean sees Sam tense. Apparently Justin is nineteen – wonders never cease – and a student at PIFA. Which turns out to be the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts, after some probing and prodding by his brother.
Fancy name for an art school, huh? Ah hell, artists and their shit, always talking about something fancy, so it’s no wonder a school has such a name. Yeah, Justin is an artist himself, you see, and he and Sam get into a discussion of artists and styles and shit like that; famous or not, Dean wouldn’t know one way or another. So he keeps himself busy with his job while the kids – ha! – talk.
Every now and then, Brian throws in a comment of his own, either met by laughter or bashful sputtering and more laughter. Even his brother is laughing, and that is when he tries to pay a bit more attention to the conversation. Because every person who can make his brother laugh? Has earned somewhat of his attention at any rate, all right. At least for a while. Turning over to the next page, he knows he can do both.
From listening, he learns that Brian is in advertising and that he’s supposed to be one of the best – THE best, if you go by the man himself and how Justin talks about it – and huh, maybe he can present hunting in a way that makes even Sammy like it. Or at least not despise it outright. But then again, maybe Brian can talk pigs into flying, too, because that would be much more likely to happen. Oh and Justin is an intern at the same firm Brian works for, which, huh? Weird.
Oh hell, what does he know?
And one thing is even more obvious than before, if that’s possible: Justin has it bad for the older man, but Brian? He’s got it bad for the kid as well. The way he looks at the blond? Unconventional, undefined boyfriend, my ass. That’s right. If someone else looks at another person the way Brian keeps steeling glances at Justin, Dean would say they are head over heels with that someone. Totally smitten. In love.
And now he’s picturing Brian as the lovesick lover with hearts and flowers floating around his heads, like in those Japanese cartoons, singing ridiculously cheesy love songs and what not. And no, that’s so not a picture he wants in his head for long. If it was, he’d laugh every time he looked at the man. Pushing the image aside, he forces his eyes back to the fucking police report in front of him on the floor.
The next time he looks up is when Justin announces he’s done with his homework and is going to take a shower. Totally low-key, Brian shuts off the computer and states that he’s in need for a shower, and seeing as saving water is an important thing to do these days for American citizens, they might as well share. Yeah, and he might as well come right out and say ‘let’s fuck’ and it couldn’t be more obvious.
Obviously Justin gets that too, since he’s snickering when Brian is pulling him to the bedroom by the front of his pants; Brian’s index finger hooked securely through one of the belt loops. Dean and Sam have to be cramping their style, after all. “Oh, don’t mind us,” he yells after them as they vanish into the room, just loud enough so he’s sure they can hear him. “We’ll just look the other way, and ya know, won’t listen in. Have fu-un!”
Sam laughs, really laughs, but the only response he gets from the other two is the bang of the bathroom door. Shortly after that, the shower starts. He smirks, throwing a pencil at his brother. “Oh come on, you thought that, too, Sammy. You’re not that innocent.”
“Of course not. But God, Dean...”
“Yeah, God, that’s me all right.”
“You’re a stupid, arrogant jerk, that’s what you are!”
“Aww, and you still loooove me, don’t you little bro?” he mocks, chuckling.
Sam doesn’t. “Yeah, yeah I do.”, he murmurs softly, serious, and shit. That’s not cool.
“Shut up.”
Sam holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, Mr. No Chick Flick Moments, but it’s still true, you know.”
Dean glares threateningly. You know this is slipping right into chick flick moment territory and fast – and tries not to smile like an idiot at the same time. Hey, what can he say? He’s got a reputation to uphold after all, thank you very much, so, “Shut up,” he repeats with a little more force, and Sam cracks up laughing. “Dude. What?”
“I can’t believe saying this to you actually gets you flustered!” he wheezes between laughter. And yeah, okay, he knows it’s true, he can feel the tips of his ears burning like whoa, but it’s still no reason to laugh. “You can be the most blunt, outgoing, person ever. You are anything but a prude or bashful, but telling you this actually makes you blush?! Oh god, that’s hilarious! You’re unbelievable, you know that. I can’t believe I didn’t--” Dean shuts him up with a pillow thrown at his head.
Sam catches the pillow when it bounces off his face, hugging it to his chest as he lets himself fall backwards to the floor, still laughing his ass off, snorting and wheezing like a total lunatic. “Asshat...,” he grumbles, more to himself because he’s not sure Sam’s hears a word of what he’s saying. If he had been saying anything. Dean throws a pencil, another pillow, and his shoe at his brother, but he only laughs harder. Even though that, yes, he grunts when the shoe makes contact with his shin. Ha! That’ll teach you, little brother.
Only it doesn’t, because when Sam pushes himself up on his elbows and looks at him, he bursts out laughing anew. And, okay, that’s enough. Pushing himself off the ground he doesn’t bother to warn his little brother, he’s a fucking hunter and he’s his fucking little brother. He knows Dean doesn’t fight fair; not always.
And sometimes – especially – not when they are sparring. Thing is, little Sammy doesn’t know that they are. Yet. He knows it however, as soon as Dean bounces onto him, hands going to his neck. Sam’s hands come up like the head of a snake if you step on it tail, which is, well unfortunate since that’s what kept him up in the first place. The back of his head hits the floor hard, but the carpet is thick and soft, so Dean doesn’t lose one thought to think Sam is hurting himself.
He’s not, or not seriously anyway. Kid had almost had his finger cut off trying to sharpen his dagger back when he was barely a teenager, so this is not going to kill him. They are used to fighting with a mild concussion, and he’s fairly sure the hit is not hard even enough for one. They are even more used to roughhousing, sparring like they had done as kids, when they were teenagers and still when Dean wasn’t anymore. It stopped when Sam left for Stanford, of course, but it was still the same when he broke into his brother’s living room all those months ago.
At least it felt the same, though it wasn’t. He has to admit that, and he can, but never out loud, and never to Sammy or whatever. That one time, in the dark, it almost felt the same. But only almost. The place has more open space then any motel room or freaking apartment they ever stayed in, so there’s no fear of breaking something, namely Brian’s designer furniture and whatever the hell else that’s expensive and standing around.
Or in the way, if you were to ask Dean. Of course no one does, so it doesn’t matter. He notices he’s a little, well, let’s say distracted when he finds himself on his back, instead of his brother, wheezing for air. Figures. Sammy doesn’t play fair all the time either, and Dean’s not thinking about those damned puppy-dog eyes his brother is too damn good at. Oh no. That knee between his legs? Yeah. Fucking hurts. But he’s been kneed in the nuts almost as often as Sam strangled, so he gives back just as good as he gets.
Pushing and wrestling and even pulling hair; which is easier for him, since Sammy still has that freakishly long bangs hanging all over the place and he doesn’t. Maybe it’ll teach him to cut them again. And soon. Before he looks like a yeti or a girl. They fight a little bit more, and after another minute or twenty – Dean isn't sure – he finally has his brother on his stomach face down, one arm under him and the other twisted on his back. Dean’s straddling the back of his thighs, both a little bit out of breath.
“Say uncle”, he orders, twisting his brother’s arm just a little bit more when Sam huffs out another, breathy laugh. It ends on a strained groan. “So?”
“Okay, okay, Jesus, I give! Okay? You win! Now, let me up.” He pets his brother’s shoulder and gets up, combing his fingers through his short hair. And almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Justin standing at the top of the bedroom stairs.
Not that he lets it show, but whoa! Clad in nothing more than a towel, long, wet hair falls into a beautiful face, cheeks rosy from the warm water and probably getting fucked. The hair looks darker than the light blond now that it’s wet, but it’s hot as hell in any case. Justin blond looks a little, uh, confused? surprised? shocked? How his wide blue eyes are staring at them from across the room. Maybe it’s a little of everything. And a dozen things more.
“Uh... Hey,” Sam finally says, as he pulls himself up, brushing ruffled hair out of his eyes.
“I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh...” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, and Dean’s not sure what that means. The kid lives here, well practically, so why does he look like he feels completely out of place?
“Oh it’s nothing, we were just sparring, Justin,” Sam says, and oh! Right. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh.”
Dean grins, gathering the pillows and putting them back onto the sofa. “Yeah. So, how was you’re ‘shower’, kiddo? Enjoyed the scenery? The water pressure?” Yeah, yeah, it’s a little evil, but he can’t resist teasing. He’s almost as easy as Sam.
“Uh... Yeah, but...”
“Ignore him,” Sam grouses, pulling himself into a sitting position, attention going back to the folders. “He’s just jealous that he didn’t get laid last night.”
“Oh shut up, you...”
Justin laughs. “Well I can’t help with that but maybe some time off would help? Having some fun?”
That gets his attention, all right. “Uh... What’cha mean?” he presses, sitting down now, too.
“Well, Brian and I are going out tonight. So, uhm, you wanna come with us?”, the blond asks, looking back and forth between Sam and him.
“Come where?”
“To Babylon. It... It’s a dance club,” Justin says, smiling. “A gay dance club,” he clarifies.
Dean snorts. “Of course it is. Kid, I wouldn’t have thought you going to... what did your not really but still unconventional, unusual boyfriend call it back at that bar? Breeder...”
“...Central,” Justin finishes with a startled laugh. “Yeah, that’s Brian, all right. Sooo... are you coming with us? I promise we fight off every guy that comes too, you know, close.”
“You think we’d need the help?”
Eyeing them closely, he sighs. “Hmm... the way you look? Sure. But you’re right, you can most likely scare off your admirers all by yourself.”
That is definitely true. “Yeah, but I honestly don’t think that’s such a good idea...,” he starts, only his little brother? Cuts him of. That is right. He cuts Dean off. And Dean almost swallows his tongue when he says:
“Well, actually...”
Those two words should never come out of his brother’s mouth in this context. Not ever. They both turn to look at Sam. Where Dean feels plenty confused, Justin looks just a little hopeful.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind. Not really.” Then, to Dean, “We could use a break, right? Why not go out and relax some? I mean you said your brain was gonna kill itself if you didn’t get a break and away from all this,” he says, making a sweeping gesture with both hands. And dude, this is freaky as hell.
“Christo.” Dean whispers, head tilted, eyes narrowed, but Sam, again, laughs at him. And kicks his shins.
“Bite me. What I mean is, we could have some fun, you know. It’s not like we need to do this right this moment. And I know you are itching to go out, so--”
“Whoa there, Francis, wait a sec. Did you just say what I thought you said? Did you just suggest that we go out and relax a little? And – dare I say – have fun? You? My geeky little brother who always thought books were the most entertaining things in the world and libraries the answer to God’s prayer? Who always had his nose buried in a book instead of some girl’s--” Another kick to his shin shuts him up perfectly fine. He’s going to have a bruise there soon enough as it is. “Ow,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, right, because I kicked sooo hard.”
And what do you know? He can actually hear Sammy rolling his eyes. “Meanie.”
Smiling – and totally ignoring him – Sam turns to Justin. “Sure. Yeah, we’ll go with you.”
Justin beams at them. Whoa, careful where you turn that smile, buddy, he thinks.
- TBC
