Chapter Text
Sam was sitting at his desk flipping through a magazine Jess wanted him to look at when he heard it. Between the music from the radio and Jess in the kitchen chatting on the phone with her mother it was very faint, but he’d recognise the sound of that engine anywhere. He stood and went to the front window. Sure enough, there it was: the family car, a 1967 Chevy Impala.
His whole childhood had been spent in that car. John Winchester dragged his boys from one side of the country to the other and back again in it. When things were good Dean said it was to provide for the family that Dad kept moving. That the money capturing and returning bail jumpers was good. In the bad times, when even Dean couldn’t deny how rotten their lives were, he said it was the grief of losing Mom that kept Dad moving. It was too painful for him to stand still and they needed to be there for him.
Dean might have actually believed that. He could remember their mother and what it was like when she was alive. Sam couldn’t. He only knew the constant pain and loneliness of always being the “new kid” in school. He had to work three times harder than any student just to keep up because of his fragmented education. But he had done it. Thanks to a few kind teachers along the way, Sam realised that college was the shining light at the end of the tunnel. It meant being an adult on his own and in charge of his own future for the first time in his life. It meant at least four years in one place. It meant an uninterrupted education. It meant actual friends he could keep for more than a few months.
The last time he had seen that car had been the night he left for Stanford. Most fathers would have burst with pride to have a son get into the prestigious university with a full scholarship. John had burst a blood vessel. The fight had lasted for hours. John wanted his sons to work with him chasing down scumbags like the one that killed his wife. Sam tried to reason with his dad, telling him his plans of becoming a lawyer and getting the bad guys that way. But John didn’t listen. He screamed about the injustice of the system, how lawyers undid the work of cops and twisted the truth until it was a broken mess of rhetoric. Sam countered that maybe he could do some good and turn things around. John continued to rage. Had it been like any other argument Dean would have stepped in to make peace between them. But that time was different. He had been silent while John verbally took a baseball bat to Sam’s dreams. So Sam had left. If they wanted to mend the relationship then they would have to make the first move.
“Is that him?”
Sam turned to look at Jess. “How’s your mother? Still having problems with the… What was it again?”
“Dishwasher, and no, it’s fixed. Now stop stalling and welcome your brother in here.”
Sam ducked his head; Jess always saw right through him. It was part of why he loved her so much. When he opened the front door and stepped out on the porch, Dean was pulling his bag from the car. He looked up at Sam while approaching the front steps.
“All that time by the ocean and you decide you hate water?” Dean asked. “This is middle of nowhere godforsaken desert.”
“An hour's drive from Phoenix is not the middle of nowhere.” Sam huffed and glared at him.
Dean smirked. “Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam answered automatically. And just like that they were smiling. “Come on in.”
Dean barely crossed the threshold before Sam was pulling his older brother into a tight hug.
“C’mon, Sammy, don’t turn this into a Hallmark special.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Jess said. “No one here has any sort of terminal illness, I’m not secretly pregnant, and there’s no serial killer loose in town, so we’re safe for now.”
Sam laughed. “Uh Dean, this is my fiancée Jess. Jess, this is Dean.”
Dean held out a hand but Jess pulled him into a hug. “With how much Sam talks about you, I feel like you’re already my big brother too.”
“He talks about me that much?” Dean asked with genuine surprise.
“Never shuts up. I was expecting Superman to walk in the door.”
“I’m no Superman,” Dean muttered.
“You were that one time,” Sam cut in before Dean could say anything more self-deprecating, “and you’re family, so that means more.”
“You really mean that, Sammy?”
“Yeah, of course I do.”
“Should I put dinner on hold and let you two catch up for a bit?” Jess asked.
Dean hesitated. The smell of the lasagne and garlic bread filled the house and was no doubt calling to the older Winchester. His stomach gave a loud growl.
Sam laughed. “Maybe we should eat first and save this man from starving to death.”
“Shut up,” Dean replied but happily followed them into the kitchen and to the table.
Food was put out and passed around. Dean made faces at the large portion of salad Sam took, but he didn’t comment. He had his own plate heaped with the baked pasta dish and a large piece of garlic bread to keep him happy.
“So why Arizona?” Dean asked.
“Kind of a long story,” Sam answered.
“One of Sam’s professors had an uncle who was retiring and wanted to get rid of his practice, but since the professor didn’t want to leave teaching he gave it to his best and most favourite pupil,” Jess summarized. “Plus my family is scattered around Arizona, Nevada, and Southern California. It keeps us close but not in their backyard close.”
“Okay, not that long,” said Sam.
“Do you really get that many criminals out here?” asked Dean. “Illegal immigrants I can see, but with being so far out of the city drunk and disorderly seems the most…” He trailed off.
“I don’t practice criminal law,” replied Sam. “I thought I wanted it, but mostly it was trying to make Dad happy. Since I didn’t have a chance at doing that, and I discovered I liked business and property law more, I switched.”
Dean frowned. “He was proud of you.”
“Dean…”
“No, Sam, he was. In his way…”
“See, there it is. You always made excuses for him. You don’t have to anymore.”
“What, because he’s dead? You think I’m gonna stop treating him with the respect he deserves as our father?”
“The guy was a fucking hypocrite!” Sam yelled. “He was so determined to get the criminals back in jail that he didn't care he was running credit card scams that should put him right in there with them. He didn't respect the law that meant so much to him, let alone his family, so he doesn't deserve any respect for himself.”
“You don’t mean that!”
“Maybe I do!”
“Stop it, both of you,” Jess said. “Family means more, remember? Despite what either of you felt about your dad, you guys are still brothers. You're still family.”
Sam let out a deep breath. “Yeah. I know. It’s just still a bit of a sore wound.”
“You and me both,” Dean said.
“How… how are you holding up?” Sam asked slowly.
“It’s been more than a year,” Dean replied as if it clarified everything.
“Yeah, almost eighteen months since Dad died. Nearly eighteen months and you break years of silence to get back in touch.”
“Hey, you were the one that just up and aband…”
“Family!” Jess yelled out again. “This isn’t the time for this fight. It’s not that both of you don’t need to have a long talk to heal old wounds—because you do—but it’s the first time you guys are together in years. Can we just have a pleasant meal before you two pull out the emotional stun guns and hand grenades?” They mumbled an agreement. “Thank you. And I want to say that, Dean, we are very happy to have you here staying with us for a while.”
“Do you know how long you’ll stay?” Sam asked. The question hung in the air like a pendulum blade swinging closer with each second's stroke.
“I don't know,” Dean answered. Sam had been expecting a quick but vague answer of a few days, maybe a week or two, or just until the money runs out. Dean shifted uncomfortably under Sam's gaze. He naturally broke the tension with a joking smirk. “Want to get rid of me already?”
“No, Dean! I don’t want… I don’t want that.”
“We want you to stay as long as you like,” Jess said.
“C'mon. You don't really want me hanging around forever and interrupting your love life.”
“We’ll get you headphones,” Jess answered.
“I like her,” Dean said to Sam. “But I won’t be in your hair long. And speaking of that, what’s up with the Point Break look? Dude, give me five minutes with some scissors…”
“Dean!” Sam glared at his brother to get him off the topic.
The conversation turned to more mundane things about Sam and Jess's jobs, what the neighbourhood was like, the weather, and so on. When the meal was done Jess refused to let the brothers help her clean up. She handed them each a beer and sent them to the back deck to talk.
As they settled into the deck chairs, Sam was uncertain how to proceed. He decided to let Dean make the first move.
“You've got a nice place here, Sammy.”
“Yeah. It's been good.”
“I get that. Maybe it's not so bad. Better desert heat than shovelling snow, right?”
“Yeah. Dean, are you…”
“What?” Dean asked when Sam stopped mid-sentence.
“Nothing.” Sam shook his head.
“Listen, Sam. I've been thinking. Maybe Dad's way of life isn't for me. Maybe I'm sick of living like I have, sick of the shit cramped motels, sick of moving all the time. Maybe I want to put down some roots, you know?”
“Yeah, I get that. Are you thinking of moving near here?” Sam tried not to sound too eager; he failed miserably. He couldn't stop thinking how great it would be to have his brother back permanently in his life again.
“It's not a bad spot. But don't get too excited. I'll need to find a place and then a job.”
“I can introduce you to Bobby! He has an auto repair shop and junkyard. Maybe he's got some work for you. That is if you still like working on cars. And seriously, there's no rush for you to leave. I like you here. I've missed you.”
“And I've missed you. I missed out on so much; I don't want to miss you getting married too. That's big stuff. I should be here for you.”
There was a long pause before Sam spoke. “Look, man, I’m sorry. I could have done more to stay in touch. Hell, I didn’t even try.”
“You were busy studying.”
“No, I was angry at Dad and took it out on you too. So just accept my apology. Can you forgive me?”
“Invite me over for more dinners as delicious as this one and I’ll have to,” Dean joked.
“There’s still dessert,” Jess suddenly yelled from the kitchen. “I’ve got an apple pie ready and waiting.”
“Dude, Sammy, you got yourself an angel! And one hell of an eavesdropper.”
“Yeah, sure Dean,” Sam said sarcastically as they went inside. “Just because she made pie Jess is part of the heavenly host. Isn't eavesdropping a ticket to Downstairs though?”
“Hey!” Jess said and swatted his arm. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”
“He’d be cuter with shorter hair,” said Dean.
“Let it go,” Sam griped.
Sam slammed his hand on the alarm clock. Jess mumbled and turned over beside him as he got out of bed. She was used to his early morning running routine. He was dressed and just putting in his earbuds when he walked into the kitchen and saw Dean sitting at the table with a book.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks.
After a moment Dean noticed him and looked up. “Woke up, couldn't go back to sleep,” he explained. “I made some coffee.”
“Dude, are you reading?”
“Yeah.”
“You. You are reading a book. With words.”
“Yeah.” Dean bobbed his head in a 'duh' fashion. “What? Am I not allowed to like books?”
“No, that's not… I've just never known you to pick up a book on your own.”
“Well, Sammy, there's a lot of things you don't know about me.” Sam was about to apologise, but Dean cut him off. “What are you doing up anyways?”
“I go running every morning.” He hesitated a moment. “You could come with me.”
“Running? The only time I'm running is if something is chasing me, or if I'm chasing it. Running just for the hell of it is fucking nuts.”
“Right.” Sam smiled. That was much more like the brother he remembered.
A thousand thoughts were bouncing around Sam's head as his legs pounded on the familiar streets and paths. Just around dawn in the desert was the perfect time for exercise. The temperature was still cool and the light slowly changed everything from blue and purple into pink and orange. Usually Sam liked running because it was a way to empty his head, drain out all thoughts until he needed to start the day. But today his brain wouldn't shut up no matter how hard his legs worked.
Somehow he had expected Dean to be exactly the same as always. Throughout his childhood that was the one thing he could count on with Dean. His older brother had been a rock that Sam clung to while their father uprooted them time and time again. Everything around them changed. Dad's mercurial moods, the endless parade of different motel rooms, the vast array of contrasting climates. But Dean, he never altered. From his tastes in food and music to his choice in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Dean was completely predictable. Steady. Safe.
Now reality was hitting Sam hard in the face. Sure they had the same old argument, but Dean had changed, and it was Sam's fault. Time may have done it, but it was his fault for never contacting his brother. Sweat and guilt seemed to drip from every pore of his being. Sweat could be washed away in a shower, but Sam wondered if he could ever clean himself of the guilt.
When he walked back into the kitchen after his run, Dean was moving from the stove to the table and Jess was sitting there smiling. The whole room smelled of bacon and sweet cinnamon.
“You're back!” she greeted. “I was just saying to Dean that if he makes a habit of having a breakfast like this ready when I get up he's not going anywhere.”
“Got a plate right here for you too, Sammy. Unless you wanna go wash off that manly stink first.”
“I'll be quick,” Sam said.
“It'll keep,” Dean shouted after him as he ran upstairs.
When Sam came back down Jess had finished her breakfast and Dean was stuffing his face with eggs.
“Yours is in the oven under the foil,” Jess said. “I gotta go run some errands. Try not to blow up the house while I'm gone.”
Sam watched her leave and took a deep breath before retrieving his plate and joining Dean at the table. He smiled when he realised that Dean had prepared one of Sam's favourites. There were even vegetables poking through his omelette, and the French toast covered with a dusting of cinnamon had been made with his whole grain bread.
“Thanks man,” Sam said. Dean simply nodded in reply. “So we should talk some more.”
“Sam…”
“No, Dean, I need to apologise.”
“That's not…”
“Don't give me any of your 'no chick-flick' crap. I feel awful about how things happened between us, and that's not going to go away any time soon. Maybe not ever. I don't know. I just know that I really want us to be brothers again.”
“That's why I'm here, Sammy.” Dean's voice was gruff with emotion. “You did what you had to do. It's not all on you. I never came to visit; I never tried to contact you either. It's on me too, okay? It's not all on you.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded slowly. He agreed more in hope than actual feeling. Fake it till you make it, right? “Okay. Um… how do we start?”
“How about telling me how the hell you scored a chick that awesome? She is way too good for you.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, we can start there. So I was sitting in this class…”
Dean devoted a week to Sam and Jess, just hanging out and helping around the house. Sam still had to work, but he'd come home and find the faucet in the downstairs half bath wasn't leaking any more. The third step of the staircase stopped creaking. The side gate no longer banged open and shut with a heavy breeze. They were all minor projects that Sam was going to get to eventually when he had the time. It was typical Dean behaviour just to take care of them himself. His brother liked keeping busy.
Sam ended up sharing almost everything that had happened in his life since he left for college. It wasn't until he started running low on stories that he realised he still didn't know much of anything about what happened to Dean and John. Sam tried asking, but Dean always avoided answering. Sam let him. While trying the direct approach sometimes worked, most times it was better to piece together Dean's actions rather than rely on words. Every time Dean displayed a new skill or understanding of something it was a new piece of the puzzle.
Dean looked like he was serious about staying in the area. Sam would have time enough to solve the mystery puzzle of his brother's past.