FIC: Ride The Skies 10/?

[dollarformyname]

—PART TEN—

Dead inside. What a crock of shit.

That crotchety old Horseman was talking out of his ass, and if Dean knew it then, he knows it better now. Because if he was truly dead inside, he wouldn't give a flying fuck, and this whole beautiful, horrible night would be a cakewalk.

It hasn't remotely approached the realm of cakewalking. It's not even sharing a galaxy.

Dean's never felt this insane level of paranoia before. He's been close, sure, so close and so often, almost every step in his life dogged by something horrible, twisted, out for revenge, looking to tear away the few things he dares prize, but it's never been this consuming.

He's felt protective, fuck has he felt protective, because he's a possessive son of a bitch and certain things are just his, no touching, no sharing. Sam was given to him by his own father four score and fucking forever ago, and while things have been pretty jacked up between them lately, nothing can distort that stripped-bare base line into anything but what it is. Sam will always be his to protect, and now.

Now, Alec and Ben are too.

The boys are so much smaller than Sam, though. When Dean was younger, he was more invincible, it was just that kid way of thinking, and Sam's never been that much smaller than him, had the audacity to fucking outgrow him later on. But Ben and Alec are compact, low to the ground, so easy to lose that Dean's tempted to stuff them in his back pocket and never let them out again.

And the threat to all three of them is so big, too big to really wrap his mind around.

It feels like the whole world is lining up outside Bobby's door right this second, mounting their assault, and all Dean can do is watch. There's fear in his veins like a living thing, pounding and screaming to get out, the throb in his temple making him dizzy and cold. None of his weapons are big enough, loud enough, devastating enough.

Dean watches, tries to take it in, tries to mold the enemy into something tangible, weights and measurements, weak spots and kill points, but it has none.

There are all these children, prickly and scared, entire secret branches of a powerful government looking for them right now. Maybe to re-program, maybe just to eliminate, because god knows what awful, humanizing influence the world might be having on them, how it's ruined the perfect killing machines beyond repair. They're out there, searching, invisible and unknowable until it's too late.

There's annihilation out there, suffering, staggering destruction that he is half responsible for unleashing. Innocent and guilty people dying with equal disregard. Angels and devils and The Devil, the individuals nowhere near easy to kill if not downright indestructible, depleting the whole as conceivable as draining the ocean with a bucket. And they've got all four Winchesters at the top of their seek-and-destroy list.

Dean is facing the wrath of the worst things the daytime and nighttime worlds can throw at him, helpless in the wake of mind-boggling consequences, and it's all hitting him at once, right in the middle of Bobby's living room.

Add in the fact that Ben is apparently in the early stages of becoming a serial killer, and Dean's feeling a little overwhelmed.

They haven't had time to deal with that. Castiel swooped in with his warning, beamed them out, and then the chaos that had been amassing at Bobby's house blew up all over them as soon as they touched down. Alec was instantly recognized and swarmed by a dozen other kids, Ben was swept up in his wake, and Bobby had demands and assignments firing out like shots before Dean could absorb anything. Sam immediately set to work, and Dean just kind of... stopped and stared.

They haven't had time, and Dean can admit, as the blood is still drying beneath Ben's fingernails and Alec keeps shooting him anxious glances, that he's stalling. Any excuse to not talk about it, to not have to come to any hopeless conclusions, and he and Sam are all over it. They're experts when it comes to denial and suppression. There should be medals for the kind of experts they are.

But it's not going to help this time.

Intellectually, Dean knows Ben will just get worse if they ignore it. Emotionally, he still can't bring himself to address it. It's why he was so annoyed with Cas for interrupting in the first place. He knew if he had this opportunity to look the other way, he would take it and not be able to find his way back.

Fuck.

But there's one small beacon in the midst of all this chaos, and that's the thing Dean's trying to keep his attention on when it gets too much, a muddled kind of awe sitting at the back of his mind.

He sits at Bobby's desk, guns sprawled all over the surface in parts and pieces, and watches Sam go around to each kid, kneeling right there on the floor to be at eye-level with them, talking in soothing tones, gentle face belying all of his rapidly softening edges. Ben and Alec are in the thick of it with him, eager to help, eager to organize, and Sam just seems to get what they need before they ask.

Alec unearthed the television from beneath its mountain of books and flipped it on, explained its uses and warned against its deceptions before leaving a group of kids to watch and learn. Dean thinks the kid's obsession with it might be out of hand, but honestly, it's nothing to be overly concerned about in comparison to everything else. Sam gives him more to do before he can even think about floundering for his next move.

Ben's been so, so quiet, but he does exactly what Sam tells him down to the letter, hands out refreshments and explains things to the other kids. Sam keeps touching him, a hand swiping through his hair, a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, even a couple of random bear hugs in passing, where Sam has just stopped and scooped him up to cuddle.

This is Sammy, stubbornly affectionate, so concerned about the human condition and not about to apologize for it, because he's ridiculously large and it's not like anyone can make him be sorry, or feel ashamed, or really even criticize his masculinity while they're forced to look up into the clouds just to meet his eyes. It feels like decades since Dean's seen him, and he supposes that's actually pretty accurate if you count those forty years in Hell.

And God help him, Dean doesn't want him to go away. Wants more than anything to keep him.

“Okay,” Sam mutters now, walking through the kitchen to confer with Bobby. The elder hunter's got various sandwich components spread out across the table. Sam dusts his hands off on his jeans and snags a beer from the fridge, plops into a seat to help out with the sandwich construction. “I count thirty-six kids so far. I threw a bunch of blankets on the floor in the spare room. We can fit about twenty in there if they don't mind snuggling up together. Ben and Alec are clearing out the other two rooms you've been using for storage, and I figure it'll be about the same fit.”

Bobby nods and brushes his thumb across the bridge of his nose, visibly tired. “Got room for sixty, then, but we ain't got the first clue how many are still out there.”

“If it gets really tight, we can stick a few in the den and living room. I'm gonna start cleaning and airing out the attic, too, just in case.”

“Christ,” Bobby sighs, sets another sandwich off to the side with a shake of his head. “This has gotta be the weirdest fuckin' night of my life, and I've had a few.”

Bobby's reaction to seeing Ben and Alec for the first time might have been comical if Dean wasn't in the middle of freaking out again. His eyes had gone cartoon-wide, mangled curses spilling from his mouth that he couldn't even finish before moving onto the next, and he still can't seem to stop himself from gaping at them when they're in sight. But Dean had seen the hard determination at the edges of his shock, and he knows those boys are just as lodged into the man's heart as Sam and Dean themselves, automatic and permanent.

“I keep calling Cas, but I guess he's a little too preoccupied to answer,” Sam says, his face going rueful and distant for a second. “It's just, fuck, everyone we know who could help with this? We pretty much already got them killed.”

Bobby's mouth tightens. He shakes his head, but doesn't seem to have any response for that. Dean's chest feels too small again, so he snaps himself out of his absent staring and resumes cleaning Bobby's guns. The kids didn't even bat an eye at the impressive arsenal. In fact, they've been peeking at it like they're waiting to have weapons assigned, but Dean can't even deal with thinking about that right now.

“There's some old clothes up there,” Bobby says after a beat. “Toys and shit, too. Your daddy left it. Might not be enough for all of 'em, but it'll get some of them outta those damn uniforms.” Bobby's clearly just as disgusted by those outfits as the Winchesters, and Ben and Alec are still shirtless.

“I'll go up and see what I can dig out,” Dean announces suddenly, standing. He's had his moment of reflection, and it's not helping. Time to jump back on the gameboard and help keep its wobble as steady as he can.

Sam looks over, brows raised like he forgot Dean was there. He gives him a small smirk, acknowledging his return and relieved to have him back.

“I was thinking of calling Missouri,” Dean proposes as he gathers up the weapons and stuffs them back into a duffel. “Think she'd mind a few mini visitors?”

“Hot damn,” Bobby drawls, and Sam's wearing the same 'why didn't I think of that' look on his face.

“I'll call,” Sam decides, pulling out his phone. Dean doesn't argue, because he's pretty sure Missouri likes Sam better anyway.

Dean hefts the bag and leaves it under the kitchen table for Bobby to look after. Just as he's making his way through the kid-littered house, Alec comes bounding down the stairs with a gleeful look on his face, something clenched protectively in his fists. “Grandpa Bobby! Uncle Sam-dude!”

Dean freezes, heart stuttering, bulging eyes falling on Sam because seriously? What the fuck?

Sam's already got an arm flung wide, not missing a beat as Alec leaps right onto his lap and brandishes his discovery. Bobby looks about as shocked as Dean feels, though, so at least he's not the only one who missed a memo.

“Can I keep it? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?” Alec begs obnoxiously, hopeful gaze bouncing between Sam and Bobby. “I can instigate a disturbance without lethal force! The outcome promises to be hilaaarious! PLEASE!”

Sam appraises the dusty Nerf gun, its foam ammo still miraculously intact, if a little bent. “Uh, I don't mind. Bobby?”

Bobby's brows are hiding beneath the brim of his cap. He's obviously still stuck on being a grandpa, and Alec's vibrating with excitement as he turns those pleading eyes on the older man. “What'd I just get through tellin' ya, Sam?”

“Right.” Sam grins and ruffles Alec's bald head. “Dean?”

Dean's mouth opens and closes like a landed fish for a minute. “What?” he finally manages.

“Do you mind if Alec keeps the gun?” Sam says it slow, amused as all hell at Dean's newest bout of retardation.

“Yeah. I mean, no, I don't mind. Have at it, kiddo.”

Alec's grin is blinding. “Awesome!” And then he's gone in a blur, a wave of indignant protests from the children in the living room as the boy lays foamy waste to their peaceful huddle.

“Grandpa?” Bobby drawls before Dean can ask the question himself, both of them refocused on Sam.

Sam has the grace to look sheepish, shrugs. “The other kids wanted to know who we were and what the hell we were doing with them. They seem pretty protective of each other. Ben told them we were family, but that wasn't good enough, apparently, so,” he shrugs again, “it led to questions.”

“And your answer was to be an uncle?” Dean asks. He has this creeping, uneasy feeling in his gut.

Sam goes from sheepish to defensive in the blink of an eye, crosses his arms petulantly and aims a pout at Dean that he hasn't seen in forever. He feels another pang in his chest, hand coming up to rub absently at a small weight around his neck that's no longer there. Bobby catches it, raising a brow, and Dean quickly drops his hand again.

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to say? You were busy zoning out and Bobby's trying to get all this shit together. I just went with what would make the most sense in public.” Sam frowns, waiting for Dean to dazzle him with the alternative.

Dean's afraid to even ask, but— “So what does that make me?”

A slow, mischievous grin spreads across Sam's face, and he's all smart-ass when he says, “Congratulations, Dean. It's a boy. Times two.”

Christ on a rusty pogo stick.

Someone's just loaded Bobby's house onto a malfunctioning tilt-a-whirl, and Dean struggles to keep his footing. “Holy shit, Sammy,” he breathes, choppy, and suddenly Sam's right there, looming over him and hovering, Dean somehow relocated to a chair, which makes the not falling on his face thing a little easier to manage.

“It's not that big a deal, dude. Breathe.”

“Not that big a deal?” Dean snaps. “Fucking hell yeah, it's a big deal! You turned me into a father, Sam! What kind of crazy person does that shit?” He can hear Bobby chuckling from somewhere far, far away, but this isn't fucking funny. “It's not funny, Bobby!” Dean practically whines.

“Dean, seriously. Have your meltdown quietly. You're gonna make the boys feel rejected.”

“Rejected?” Dean doesn't even understand the meaning of the word, or any words. Since when did Sam get all parental psychology expert, anyway? He concentrates on regulating his breathing, because breathing makes sense in this nonsensical world, and it will get his brother out of his face sooner.

“Yes, rejected,” Sam emphasizes. “You remember the way Dad used to make us feel when he barely even looked at us after stumbling home drunk? Only worse than that, 'cause they're gonna think you don't want them at all. Suck it up, man.”

“Fuck, Sam!” Dean snaps, wounded. How is he constantly forgetting his brother's ruthless proclivity with verbal knives? He's pissed at having Dad brought up in that context, pissed at himself for even introducing the vaguest possibility that the boys could feel that way. “Of course I want them, Jesus.”

“I know that. But they're still on shaky ground.” Sam heaves a sigh and swipes a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry I didn't warn you. We gotta be more careful about flipping our shit around them.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees hoarsely. “Fuck.” He kicks off the chair and looks around for a second, clueless, floundering, before his gaze catches on his brother again.

Sam's watching him with that careful, pitying and slightly condescending look Dean's seen—and worn himself—a million times. That's when it all rises up in a wave and crashes over him, abrupt and undeniable.

He's acting like a civilian after that first glimpse of a post-mortem rampage. Dean Winchester is a lot of things, but a hysterical victim is not one of them.

Screw this. Screw all the paranoia and the mental crises. It's not getting anything done. Ben and Alec are his, he's already arrived at this conclusion, and it doesn't matter what his title is, the responsibilities are still the same. He's a hunter, he's faced scarier shit than being a... probably best not to think on that aspect of it too deeply.

It's fine. It's fucking dandy. Dean's a bad-ass. He can conquer nations with one armed tied behind his back... y'know, if there wasn't all that motivation and politicking involved.

Whatever. Dean can be king of the mountain if he needs to. He's a tactical genius, among other things.

Case in point: “Call Missouri. I'll keep trying Cas. I think it might be better if he's here when we sit down to talk to Ben.”

Sam looks a little taken aback, but pleased about it. “Yeah, okay. That actually makes sense.”

No shit. He went over the genius thing, didn't he? Cas may not be the best at public relations, but when it comes to explaining the ins and outs of religion he's the highest authority the Winchesters know and trust. Dean still doesn't know the whole story behind the Christian icon stuff, but that's why he needs to confront it.

“I don't know what to do about the rest right now.” Okay, so genius might be too strong a term. But hey, not everyone can be on twenty-four-seven. “We're gonna need to come up with some contingencies, but I think our best bet in the meantime is hiding. Somewhere where no one will think to look for us,” he adds, looking apologetically at Bobby.

Bobby just nods, completely understanding. His is the first place anyone with any intel on the Winchesters would look. Well, except the angels, apparently, because they're just really fucking stupid or something. At least they have been so far, and Dean hopes that luck will hold out for tonight.

“Okay.” Dean takes a deep breath, looking out into the living room as Alec stirs up all kinds of trouble with his new toy.

He's running and dodging haphazard book towers, collecting all his fallen ammo to reload and start again. A few other kids are chasing him around while the rest try to make themselves invisible on the sidelines, and Dean can't stop the smile from tugging at his lips to save his life.

“Die, fiends! You'll never take me alive!” Alec declares, leaping up onto the back of the couch to fire at the crowd with little concern for who does and doesn't want to participate. Definitely too much TV for that kid.

Ben pads down the stairs, much more subdued than his brother, arms full of more discovered treasures.

He walks over to Dean, looking up shyly through his lashes. “I thought maybe they could play with these? Alec seems to have found it a suitable distraction.”

Dean nods, noticing the pink tint to Ben's skin. He's scrubbed himself raw, it looks like, not a speck of baby deer blood to be found. Dean still sees it. “Good idea, kiddo. Just make sure they don't destroy the house, okay?” he swipes a hand through Ben's hair as the boy nods eagerly.

“Yes, s— I mean, yes, De— Dad?”

Ah, fuck. This lump might as well just make itself at home in his throat. Ben's eyes are wide and so uncertain, and Dean nods again to affirm the moniker, even as his heart flails a little inside his chest. Ben smiles and turns to distribute the toys, but Dean catches his shoulder, drops to one knee as Ben looks back at him, even more uncertain than before.

“We're gonna talk about the deer later,” Dean promises, and Ben pales. Dean pulls him into a hug, toys crushed up between them. “You're not goin' anywhere, Ben, I swear to fucking God. Nothing can make me stop wanting you, but we gotta talk about it. That's all. We're just gonna get some stuff straight.” He remembers when he thought he was in trouble with Dad, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he doesn't want Ben to ever question where he stands with them, doesn't want him moping around the house and worrying about every look they send his way. “No one's mad at you. Okay?”

Ben relaxes into the embrace, though not completely. “Alec's mad,” he whispers into Dean's throat, a secret that's been churning from the inside like acid, eating him up.

Dean glances out at Alec, who doesn't look anything but deviously giddy with that bright orange and green weapon of mass annoyance. Alec's got the family knack for emotional suppression down pretty well, but Dean hasn't missed the fear lurking behind his smile every time he glimpses Ben.

“He's not,” Dean assures. “He's worried about you, but he's not mad, little dude. I promise.”

Those last two words seem to seal the deal, and it sends a bolt of terror through him that he's trusted so completely after only a few hours. It's exhilarating too, though.

Ben swallows and nods against his shoulder, presses closer for a second in gratitude. “Okay.” He seems like he wants to say more, but decides against it.

Satisfied for the time being, Dean lets go and sends him off to hand out some fun, with a suggestion for Ben to try engaging in some of it himself for a little while.

Sam pats him on the back once he straightens, cell phone already at his ear. “See? No big deal,” Sam says, a secretive, knowing smirk curling his mouth. “It's not anything you haven't done before. Hey, Missouri?” Sam slips his attention smoothly to the phone before Dean has a chance to respond to that, not that he knows quite what to say.

It was different with Sam. This isn't the same thing at all, but he can't help feeling warmed at his brother's acknowledgement to his role in raising him.

“Ain't that much different,” Bobby grunts, like he's reading his mind, back to piling sandwiches. “You were younger and way more inexperienced back then. Sam turned out all right, despite all the odds The Almighty Himself stacked against him. No small feat, son.”

Dean can't even speak anymore. This whole night has pulled him to shreds and pieced him back together all wrong.

“Excuse me, sir?” A tug on his pantleg, and Dean looks down, bewildered. A dark-haired boy is looking up at him, too serious frown on his little face, a small crowd of children milling behind him with the same earnest expressions. “I understand there are duties still available. We'd appreciate an opportunity to contribute to the organization, if it's all right.”

Dean quirks a brow at him. “Um...”

“Ben mentioned a room that needs clearing?” a little girl pipes up hopefully.

Dean glances up to see Ben pushing kids in different directions. The ones eyeing Alec's antics with curious reluctance get a toy shoved at them. The ones regarding the play-war with disdain get nudged in Dean's direction.

They're soldiers, Dean reminds himself. It's all they've ever known, and not all of them are going to jump right into being reckless kids with both feet. Dean remembers opting for helping his dad rather than playing with Legos whenever the option was there, so he unfortunately gets it.

“Okay, yeah.” Dean clears his throat and motions toward the stairs. “Guess we could use the help if we wanna get it done this century. C'mon, I'll show you what to do.”

The kids follow him enthusiastically, and Dean puts them straight to work, dividing them evenly between the two rooms stacked to the ceiling with books and boxes. They take instruction easily, of course, every warning holding the same weight, from where to stash things to how to handle with care, as Dean's not sure what boxes contain occult items and the like. It's still a little disconcerting, how strong they are, and he can't help but keep getting caught off guard every time a tiny person that barely comes to his waist carries a bulky, heavy box past him like it weighs no more than a feather.

The string of numbers being spewed at him in lieu of proper names gets on his last nerve after one boy's fifth repetition of his designation.

“Enough of this bullshit,” Dean mutters, trudges downstairs and locates an old phone book, brings it up and plops it in the middle of the floor of the first room. “All right, munchkins, gather round. We're gonna have ourselves a mass christening.” The kids crowd around the book obediently, confused but silently awaiting orders. “You, X-5 whatever. That's not a name.” He points at the dark-haired boy that first approached him, then at the book. “Open it up, close your eyes, and point.”

The boy does as he's told, kneeling on the dusty floor and flipping the ratty pages at random. Dean squints at where his finger lands, snorting. “That's the name of a towing company. Maybe you wanna try again with the white pages.”

The boy peers at the word, sounding it out, and he looks reluctant, but Dean feels inexplicable pride when he voices an actual opinion on the matter. “I think I like it, sir.”

“Okay, then.” Dean shrugs. Kid likes the name, he can have the name. “Good job, Biggs. Next.”

A girl with brown, doe eyes drops down to take her turn, and Dean laughs at the name she ends up with. “Sammy's gonna love this. Awesome pointing, Sam.” He makes a mental note to tell his brother that no, he can't keep her just because of the namesake. He hasn't missed the way Sam's been eyeballing all the kids like he's wishing they had a bigger car.

The girl beams, and the next kid scoots forward. It goes on like that, each child utterly pleased to have a new designation. He doesn't quite understand the mechanics of it, but names in place of numbers make him feel better, and clearly it makes the kids feel a little more like they matter, like they're individuals. The gratification he feels at helping them achieve that is nothing less than awesome.

Names given, Dean puts Biggs in charge of one room, girl-Sam in charge of the other, and returns the book to Bobby. Bobby agrees with his idea and takes charge of the naming operation downstairs.

Dean braves the cluttered obstacle course that leads to the attic. He's got his phone tucked in the crook of his shoulder as he bats cobwebs aside and fumbles around for the light cord. “Cas,” he greets, relieved. “Put the round-up on hold for five minutes and get your ass back here. We gotta talk.”

He snaps the phone shut without waiting for a reply, starts sorting through yet more boxes. Christ, the sheer amount of junk Bobby has collected is freaking nuts.

“Dean!” Sam calls up the steps not ten minutes later, unadulterated excitement bubbling in his voice. “Missouri is a goddamn genius! C'mere!”

Once again, Dean is grinning without meaning to. Despite all the fans and all the shit repeatedly flinging itself against them, he can't be sorry that those boys came into his life, and he definitely can't be sorry he got his kid brother back, even if he's only stopping by for a brief visit.

He stops himself before his fingers graze his barren throat, and swallows. “Gimme a second, Sammy! I'll be right down!”

-:-

A/N: Thanks to kayariley for the phone book naming idea. It was suggested for another fic but I used it here. :D

NEXT

Comments

[sailorstarshine.livejournal.com]

XD I wish Sam could keep all the kids too, they make him awesome and cuddly instead of angsty!

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

Isn't he just? *pets Sam*

[pathsforme.livejournal.com]

Dean would definitely be the best dad ever for the X5's. Who better for some emotionally scarred super soldiers than an emotionally screwed up Hunter. Lot better than Lydecker. :D

[marziebarz.livejournal.com]

Oh God, the way Dean keeps reaching for his amulet (WHICH HE THREW AWAY STUPID DICKFACE) is kind of killing me. I'm just really glad that Sam doesn't appear to have noticed it. I also love how much Sam has taken charge up til now, and that Dean is acknowleding that, and I really hope he doesn't go back to being Angsty McAngstface for a while ^_^