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Raising two kids by yourself is not an easy thing.
What is easy is judging someone as being a bad parent. It requires no effort or insight, just the willingness to be critical.
When you’ve mostly had revenge and the very safety of humanity on your mind for the majority of your adult life, it’s quite an obvious choice to prioritize that above other matters. It also means you might miss (ignore) everything else around you. Up until recently, he’s done just that.
Recently, for reasons he himself wasn’t sure of, he’s decided to prioritize his family, for the first time in fourteen years.
Maybe it was the things he’s heard people say that made him look for signs that something might be… off about his boys. The snorts he’s heard when his back was turned. Maybe it was something he’s seen himself, but never really acknowledged.
The point is, now that he started paying attention, he also started to think something wasn’t quite right with Sam and Dean.
They say better late than never, but that’s not exactly true.
***
“Hey, Sammy, come check this out.” Dean shouted across the room.
Sam walked over and sat right onto Dean’s lap.
Dean smiled slightly before flipping a couple of pages and putting his finger somewhere in the lore book. “So, apparently this one can be killed with…”
He was taken aback by the ease both of his sons displayed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
“We’re reading.” Sam said, looking at him as if he was slow.
“Can’t you get your own chair, Sam? Instead of…”
“Dean doesn’t mind.” Sam said, dismissive. “Do you, Dean?”
“’Course not, Sammy.”
“What’s the problem, then?” Sam asked, leaning against Dean’s chest.
“You shouldn’t… do that.”
“Do that. Thanks for clarifying it, Dad.”
He was not yet ready to actually say “you shouldn’t sit on your brother’s lap”, because that’s not a thing anyone should ever say. Besides, it was just a little thing.
He let this one slide.
***
Problem was, they did that stuff all the time. Every other time Dean was watching TV, Sam would crawl right onto his lap as if he was five.
Once he’s started looking, and actually seeing, he just couldn’t ignore it.
“Sam.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“Don’t do that. I thought I made it clear.”
“Don’t do what… Oh.”
“We like sitting like that.” Dean said, wrapping his arm around Sam’s middle.
“Well, you shouldn’t.”
“It’s never bothered you before.” Dean said, unsure.
“It’s not like he’s ever looked at us before.” Sam muttered, glaring at him.
Dean rubbed his hand over Sam’s stomach. “Don’t be rude, Sammy doll.”
***
It's only been a couple of days since he started paying attention and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
The thing is, they didn’t do anything really… inappropriate. The way Dean treated Sam, it was with the level of affection normal towards a small child, mostly hugs and hair-ruffling and forehead kisses. But seeing two almost grown men interact this way was… unsettling.
He waited for a couple hours’ drive before mustering up the courage to breach the subject. Sam was stretched out in the backseat, sleeping with his legs on top of Dean’s.
“Dean…” He said hesitantly. “Since Sam’s asleep, I need to talk to you.”
Dean snorted. “He’s not asleep. He’s just pretending so that I’ll carry him to the room. Isn’t that right, baby doll?” He said, amused, before leaning in to kiss Sam on the forehead. Sam cracked one eye open for a second before burrowing deeper under the blanket.
He’d just talk to him next time. It’s not like he was sure how to word it, anyway.
***
A couple of more days and he's noticed other things.
They were rubbing noses and holding hands and kissed not-on-the-mouth (Dean kissed Sam’s forehead, Sam kissed Dean’s cheek).
He figured he could deal with the pet names first.
***
“C’mere, Sammy doll.” Dean hollered at Sam through the window when Sam was picking-and-choosing things from Impala’s trunk to bring inside.
“You should start calling Sam by his name.” John said quietly.
“I do that all the time.” Dean said. “But he looks like a doll. Don’t you, Sammy?” Dean smiled at him fondly as soon as Sam entered the room. Sam preened.
***
Deal with the closeness.
Give them some space.
***
Dean looked around the room, visibly confused.
“What do we need the three beds for?”
Probably the time (years too late) to mention it. “You shouldn’t sleep in one bed at this age.”
Dean was clearly uncomfortable with it. “Sam can’t sleep alone, Dad. He’s got nightmares.”
“You’re both grown up. It’s better this way.”
“We don’t mind sleeping together. We’re comfortable.”
John sighed. “Do you at least use the other bed when I’m gone?”
And there was that expression again, as if Dean couldn’t even understand why he’s asking. “We always sleep together. I told you, he’s got nightmares.”
***
He was absent, no denying that, but there was no way he missed that much.
***
There was the diner thing.
Usually, he’d be pouring over the journal to find a single clue as to defeating the yellow-eyed demon, and not spare a glance at his sons. He wondered how many things like that he’s missed over the years.
All the times he never really looked at them. He should’ve.
“Christ, this pie is amazing, you have to try it, Sammy.” Dean mumbled with his mouth full, and lifted his fork towards Sam to feed it to him. He accidentally (accidentally?) smeared a bit of pie in the corner of Sam’s mouth and after he wiped it with his thumb, Sam sucked it into his mouth.
He told himself the nausea was a result of bad diner food and not the thought that they might be…
Diner food.
***
They were just sitting next to each other this time, but Dean had an arm around Sam, using his other hand to gobble down popcorn, feeding it to Sam on every other grab. When Sam licked the salt off Dean’s fingers he snapped his journal shut.
“Could you two just stop? For one second?” They both froze at his harsh tone, Sam with his tongue still out. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so wrong.
They looked at him and then at each other. “Stop what?”
“Sam, can’t you use your own goddamn hands and eat by yourself?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”He said in a mocking tone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
***
There were some definitely questionable sounds coming from the room his boys were in at the moment.
“Jesus, Sammy, just like that. Fuck, you’re amazing at this.”
He braced himself before he opened the door, ready to deal with anything that could be happening.
Dean was laying on the bed on his stomach, with Sam perched on top of him, hands on Dean’s shoulderblades.
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Sam’s scratching my back, what does it look like?”
Right. What else could it be, anyway.
“Right. You boys need to pack, we’re leaving in the morning.”
False alarm, this one.
***
There was the bathroom incident.
“Boys, are you in there?” He asked after knocking.
“Yeah, we’re in here.” Dean shouted through the door.
When he tried to open the door he found it locked.
“Don’t come in, Dad, Sam is naked.”
John refused to really acknowledge the last words. “You’re in there.”
“I’m washing Sam’s hair.”
“What?”
“I said I’m…”
“I heard you. Get out of the bathroom, Dean. Now.”
Dean came out of the bathroom after a minute, and, thankfully, clothed.
“Come and sit with me for a minute, Dean.”
John tapped his fingers on the table. “When did it start?”
“When did what start?” Dean asked, frowning at him.
John gestured to the bathroom.
“I’ve always washed his hair.” Dean said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Since he was a little baby.”
“And you just… never stopped.”
“Why would I?” Dean looked confused. “Sam likes it, and I really don’t mind.”
All the times he left little Dean alone with Sam…. Dean could’ve been six the first time, maybe even five.
If only he’d noticed a couple years earlier, if he’d been there a couple of years earlier, maybe he could’ve done something.
No point in dwelling on it now. “Your brother is fifteen.”
Dean had the sense to look bashful. “Yeah, he can do it just fine himself, I know, but he likes it. I don’t do it every time, dad, only sometimes. And I really don’t mind.”
John rubbed a hand over his weary face before settling on what seemed like a good argument. “Think about this. Would you be okay with me helping Sam shower?”
Dean visibly cringed. “Whoa, Dad, that’d just be weird.”
John was, frankly, taken aback by the admission. “You do that. All the time, apparently.”
“Well, it’s me. I can do that.”
Seeing John’s blank stare he elaborated. “I have to take care of him. It’s my job.”
“You have to take care of him.” His exact words. There are things you shouldn’t say to a five-year-old, if you’re not sure they’re not going to follow through with that for years after. Learning from your mistakes is a horrible experience.
“Yeah, exactly. You wanted me to take care of Sammy, and that’s what I’m doing.”
***
Dean didn’t seem to be aware of how their interactions looked like. That left one person to talk to.
Thing is, Sam could hold up his own. When he was talking to John, he’d badmouth him, argue, be a little brat with a terrifyingly good vocabulary. But when it came to Dean, it seemed like he regressed to his five year old self.
Sam could go on a rant about what he hated (hunting), and wanted (to go to college, Dad), and everything he hated some more, when talking to him, but sometimes he only said one syllable to Dean to get what he wanted.
“Hand?” He’d say and Dean would grab and squeeze his hand.
“Hug?” Dean would lean into his outstretched arms and hug him, no matter what situation they were in.
Because Dean indulged him. No, he actively encouraged him. But Sam, he seemed fully aware of what it looked like.
“I know what you’re doing, Sam.”
Sam turned around to look at him. “What am I doing?”
“You damn well know it.”
“No, I really don’t.” Sam didn’t even try to hide his smile. “What are you talking about, dad?”
“You… you’re….” There are some things you can’t ever articulate. That was one of those. “You should stop clinging to your brother.”
“He likes me clingy.” Sam said, before turning back to his homework.
***
Dean approached him a couple of days after that.
“You have been getting upset a lot, dad. Did something happen?”
You happened.
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
***
He wasn’t there for them. He should have been.
It wasn’t completely his fault, though, was it. Was it?
He's decided to give it more tries. Anything to stop… this, before it could progress further in ways he really didn’t want to think about.
***
The attempt to separate them for a while didn’t work.
He’s sent Dean on a job that was going to take two weeks, at least. Rogue werewolf in Tampa, no clue as to who it was.
It took three weeks before Dean got back.
Sam was taking a shower when Dean got back from the job.
He must have heard him coming in because he just run out of the bathroom.
He jumped up to wrap his arms and legs around Dean like an octopus.
A piece of advice to any prospective parent, you really don’t want to see your teenage kid jump naked on your other teenage kid. Teach them about boundaries.
A wet, naked Sam clinging to his older brother was not something he would ever forget. Dean had an arm under his ass to hold him up, the other wrapped around his shoulders.
It was the most nauseating thing he’s seen in a while, and he’s seen a lot.
“I missed you, Dean.” Sam said, before hiding his face in Dean’s neck.
“I missed you too, baby doll.”
Time to intervene. “Jesus Christ, Sam.” John said, covering his eyes with a hand. “Put something on.”
“Dad’s right, you’re going to catch a cold, Sammy.” He kissed the top of Sam’s head. “Go get a towel.”
Sam rubbed his face in Dean’s shirt and hugged him tighter. Dean laughed and kissed the top of his head again. “Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?”
Sam nodded without lifting his head, still hiding his face in Dean’s shirt. Like a little kid.
***
They all went to this one bar when John needed to get leads on the case.
He wished he could say his boys were just playing pool in the meantime.
Dean was leaning over Sam, who was bent over the pool table. He was correcting his grip on the cue, but he's had his other hand on Sam's hip and his mouth practically pressed against his neck, like it was no thing. Like he wasn’t actually pressed against his brother's back in a way that was just not right.
As if they didn’t even realize how weird it looked.
A group of men at a nearby table was eyeing them with sour faces.
Sooner or later, something was bound to happen.
One, two, three balls in the pocket, then the black one.
Sam turned to Dean, threw his arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dean. You’re the best.”
Dean grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off the ground a few inches, making Sam squeak, and twirled them around a couple of times before putting him back down.
They just stood there grinning at each other for a minute before Dean grabbed Sam’s hand. “Come on, Sammy doll, let’s get you a coke.” He pulled them towards the bar.
One of the guys from the nearby table, clearly drunk, got up and blocked their path.
“You think you can just act like that it public?”
He shoved Dean in the chest.
Sam grabbed onto Dean’s arm.
“Whoa, what’s your problem?” Dean asked, taking a defensive stance.
Sam hugged Dean’s arm tighter. “He thinks we’re a couple, Dean.”
Dean looked confused before he barked out a laugh. “No, you’ve got it all wrong, man. This is my little brother.”
“Holy fuck, you’re sick.”
The other guys from the table got up.
John pulled his gun out and pointed it at the first guy.
“You try to hurt my sons and you’re not walking out of here.”
The guy snorted before he spit on the ground next to his boots.
“Great family you got there. Congratulations.”
***
He got drunk by himself, for the hundredth or thousandth time, at the rickety table in the motel they were staying in at the time.
Sam and Dean were lying in the same bed, as always. Sam was sleeping with his head on Dean’s chest, a leg and an arm thrown over him, and Dean was absently flipping through channels on the muted TV.
All the talk about whiskey courage? It really doesn’t help when you can’t articulate what’s on your mind. It was worth a try, though.
“Dean, can I talk to you?”
Dean carefully detangled himself from Sam. Sam grabbed after him sleepily and Dean squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s okay, Sammy baby, go back to sleep. I’ll be with you in a minute”, he said, before walking over to John warily.
“It’s okay, Dean, I’m not mad. Take a seat.”
Now or never. He downed his glass. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”
Dean looked surprised. “For what?”
John poured himself another. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, boys.”
Dean smiled at him. “It’s fine, Dad. Sammy and I, we take care of each other.”