“A lot of shit happened.”
“What happened in that forest?” Sam asked. Sam had the fucking letter from MACUSA balled in his fist and Dean could see that Sam already knew - he knew.
Of course he knew.
Dean glanced at Harry and tilted his head, silently telling him to beat it. If Dean was retelling the whole shit show, the kid didn’t need to hear it.
Harry completely ignored Dean and scooted closer to Sam, which was freaking awesome. It was even better when Sam put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and they were both staring at Dean.
It would be two against one then, cool.
“A lot of shit happened, Sammy,” Dean said, trying to ease around it.
He died, he died and it killed Dean. It killed Dean immediately, it was just going to take his soul some time to catch up.
“Specifically,” Sam said, gritting the word out from his tightly clenched jaw. “Start from the beginning.”
Did Sam mean twenty years ago when Dean was told to take care of Sam or a year ago when Dean was the one who died and someone traded their soul for him?
Where exactly was the beginning of the mess they were in?
“I don’t know, man.” Dean sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands. When he finished, he propped his elbows on his knees and stared at the wall across from him. Anything except for at Sam, Sam who was alive.
Dean didn’t regret anything, not one damn thing, because Sam was alive and able to be worked up over things.
Sam sighed and within a few seconds, he and Harry were situated on the couch, both turned to face Dean. Sam had his patient face on, Harry was chewing his nails. Dean didn’t realize until he opened his mouth to tell Harry to quit chewing his nails that he had his thumb nail caught between his teeth.
Dean didn’t want to start at the beginning, Dean wanted to just rip the freaking bandaid off. Sam had to know, he had to. Harry knew. It seemed like everyone except Sam knew.
God, Dean didn’t want to tell him.
What kind of pressure was that on Sam? To know someone traded their soul for his life? Did it mean if Sam didn’t do great and amazing things that it would be a waste?
If Sam went to community college to get a job in a shop working on cars and having a beer at night with his brothers… was that enough to earn someone else’s soul? If Harry died in a year, would Sam have to sell his soul because he was living on the same bartered time Dean had been for the last year?
“Dean traded his soul.”
Sam inhaled sharply after Harry decided to rip the bandaid off for Dean. Dean didn’t want to say it, he probably wouldn’t have.
“You did what?!” Sam jumped to his feet and Dean dropped his head when Sam’s stare weighed him down. “Dean!”
“You were dead.” Dean said the words quietly, because he didn’t have the energy to scream them. He looked up just enough to find Sam’s eyes, to see his chest rising and falling in front of him, too fast.
It was moving though and that was good enough for Dean.
“You died, Sam,” Dean repeated, stronger then. “That kid killed you and you were dead.”
Sam’s body went blurry then and Dean thought he had stopped breathing until he scrubbed his eyes again, pissed off at himself. Dean was not going to fucking cry about it; it was done.
Sam was there, Harry was there, Dean had some time. It wasn’t much time, but Dean didn’t have much to do.
“I died,” Sam said. He had to repeat himself, Dean might have been able to break the news a little more gently.
“I died. Jake did kill me… he killed me and you - you brought me back?” Sam was trembling, he would be moving soon. Dean went still in shock, Sam was a runner.
“De…” Sam was pleading, like he did when they were kids and he wanted something. “You didn’t?”
Dean moved heaven and hell to get Sam what he wanted as a kid, always. If Sam wanted it, Dean did his damndest to get it for him. But what Sam wanted then? Dean couldn’t give him.
“I did.” Dean cleared his throat and looked back at the wall past Sam. “Sam, of course I did.”
Of course he did.
Of course.
“Damn it, Dean!” Sam kicked out and the coffee table with a few books, a set of knives, and a dirty plate went flying. That was all it took for Harry to leave, he went straight for the door and slammed it behind him before Dean could tell him to not leave.
“What was I supposed to do? Huh?” Dean stood up too and found himself not quite face to face with his little-giant brother. Sam was red in the face, blinking twice as quickly as he needed to.
“You were dead, Sam,” Dean said, harsh as adhesive ripping hair and skin from around a wound. “You died. I WAS TOO LATE AND YOU DIED IN MY FREAKING ARMS, SAMMY! SO WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?”
“Not that!” Sam screamed. He lifted his hands like he wanted to shove Dean then abruptly decided against it as he dropped them back to his sides. “You think I want to be the one watching you die in ten years?”
Ten years, what a fucking joke.
Dean didn’t so much as blink, but Sam’s nostrils flared like he could smell that his own question wasn’t worded right.
“Ten years, right?” Sam asked. “Dean, did they give you ten years?”
Dean started to shake his head and Sam had him by the front of his shirt too quickly. Dean twisted around, looped his arm around Sam’s head to lock him in one place. Sam turned and shoved until Dean’s grip loosened just enough for him to slip out.
They fought like that for a minute, neither of them trying to hurt the other. Dean was already hurting, Sam couldn’t be much better off. It didn’t take long before Dean had Sam pinned on the floor beside the upended coffee table.
Dean’s blood was pumping in his ears and all he had been focused on up to then was keeping from hurting Sam or letting Sam hurt himself. It wasn’t until he could pause to breathe with his entire weight pinning Sam down that he caught Sam’s face.
“How long, Dean?” Sam asked again, that time with red eyes and a steady stream of tears falling down the sides of his face.
Dean pushed himself off Sam in a hurry. He wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t doing some sob fest on something he couldn’t take back, wouldn’t if he could. Dean paced clear to the dining room and stood by the window, listening hard to Sam trying to get himself together.
“HOW LONG DID THEY GIVE YOU?” Sam yelled at Dean’s back. “HOW LONG?”
“Six months.”
It was so quiet after that that Dean could hear the water pipes under the trailer running, he could hear Harry’s owl in his room.
It was quiet enough that when Sam made it to his feet and ran right out the door, Dean was able to hear the scream he let out before he left for who knew where.
Sam was a runner, always had been. Dean… Dean was the one who stayed.
Dean was the one who stayed and started a list of shit he had been thinking of when Sam and Harry were sleeping.
And Harry? Harry was the one that always returned first.
Dean had finished about half a bottle of whatever garbage Bobby left behind when Harry slipped inside. Harry looked to the living room first, but Dean had already cleaned up from the short fight.
“Your car’s gone,” Harry said as he crossed the trailer to sit with Dean at the table.
Dean closed the notebook he had and nodded, he heard Baby start up right after Sam went outside, Dean figured Sam took it.
It didn’t matter, it wasn’t his car for much longer.
“Sam needed to cool off,” Dean said, not that Harry needed the explanation. The kid had been there long enough, he knew Sam’s habits as well as Dean did.
Harry nodded and had one finger tapping on the tabletop, a quick and offset nervous rhythm.
“Are you mad?” Harry asked. “Because I am sorry.”
For trying to sell his soul? For spilling the beans to Sam? For leaving to cool off or get away or whatever the fuck he left for?
“I’m not mad.” Dean kicked his chair back and grabbed the bottle to give his hands something to do, something to smooth the sharp edges that were cutting him down.
Dean wasn’t mad… he was tired though. God damn, was Dean tired clear to the soul that ticked away inside of him. Dean knew if he laid down that he’d never sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes he was going to see Sam dying in his arms. Every fucking time. It wasn’t the kind of thing that Dean could sleep through.
“I’m tired.” Dean groaned and scrubbed his face again. “God damn, I’m tired.”
“Go to bed,” Harry offered. “I’ll wake you up when Sam gets home.”
If Sam took Baby then he wasn’t going to be back anytime soon. Dean needed to fix Sam’s car, it was going to take some time to do and that was his one sparse resource.
Six months, man. There was too much to do in six months.
Dean had to get everything set up for his brothers for when he was gone, he had a million things to tell Sam, twice as many things to teach Harry. Dean also wanted to live… God damn, did Dean want to do some living before he had to get to Hell.
“I don’t want to sleep,” Dean admitted.
“Alright… What do you want to do?”
Travel back in time and take back everything that happened? Keep Sam alive, not shorten his own life? Forget everything for a little bit? Get black out drunk and waste a bunch of the time he had left?
“I don’t suppose you want to go check out Vegas,” Dean joked when he couldn’t find a way to explain the everything and nothing that he wanted. He grinned at Harry and made a show of playing it all off like it was nothing.
“Come on, I can teach you blackjack, we can find margaritas in cups longer than you are tall.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “There’s a strip club on every block in Vegas.”
Dean had never actually partied in Vegas, but he had always wanted to. Dean had hit up a bar or two there before, but that was about it. It was a joke anyway, a way to skate around what Dean didn’t want to talk about anymore.
Dean didn’t expect the kid to be on board.
“I mean…” Harry grinned slowly, looking like Sam back when he’d been a little shit head teenager, as he pulled a check from his pocket. “If we want to go, we’ve got money.”
Dean looked down at the check that Harry laid on the table and he started to laugh at the sheer amount of zeros. It was a check made out to Dean Winchester for a quarter mil.
That was what Sam’s life had been worth - two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was more money than Dean could comprehend and it wasn’t enough.
Sam Winchester was worth billions, trillions, whatever came after that.
“You think we can cash it?” Dean started to reach for the check only to have it so cruelly yanked away.
“I’m sure we can.” Harry held the check out of each and had a sudden and stubborn look that Dean saw in his mirror too often. If Dean wanted the check, the kid was going to make him work for it.
“But we’ve got to wait for Sam. Also Bobby said he wants to talk to you if you’re not sleeping.”
Oh, yeah, Dean was going to have to work his ass off for that check.
Dean dragged his feet on going to Bobby’s, not really wanting to deal with more confrontation that day. It was stupid to delay it though, Bobby would need to know what was going to happen.
In six months Dean was going to go to Hell like his old man before him and Sam was going to become the single parent to Harry the teenage wizard. It was like a freaking sitcom minus the laugh track.
Harry was stubborn as a mule though, refusing to even let Dean talk about cashing that check until he went to find Bobby.
“You made me talk to Sirius, you can talk to Bobby,” Harry said. That tripped something in Dean’s head, something wrong, but it didn’t fully click for him until he was in the shower.
Dean had been busy silently grumbling about Sirius showing up in the first place. It was clear as day to Dean that Sirius thought Harry had sold his soul, it didn’t hurt the kid any to tell him he was going to live a long life.
Not like it was going to hurt Dean to tell Bobby the opposite.
“Hey! Harry!” Dean poked his bubble covered head out of the shower off his bedroom and yelled for Harry. “Kid!”
“What?” Harry didn’t sound far, it seemed like he was in Dean’s room actually. Whatever, he could have that room when Dean was gone. Sam could remodel the place, turn his and Harry’s rooms into a second master bedroom. They could install a trashy hot tub in the backyard for all Dean would care.
“What’s my name?” Dean asked him.
“Dean.” Harry paused and Dean was sure he could actually hear him sighing. “I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”
No, not okay. If the kid knew where Dean was going with his question then he knew something Dean didn’t. Since Harry had been chatting with a demon the night before, Dean thought some paranoia over his suddenly clear memory was warranted.
“Crack the door and tell me now,” Dean ordered him, only retreating back under the water and behind the curtain when the bathroom door opened up.
“You’re not going to like it,” Harry warned him. Dean scoffed so hard that he got soap in his mouth and had to spit and rinse the taste away.
“That seems like the theme of the day,” Dean said sarcastically. “Let’s hear it then.”
Dean was tense as he waited to hear about a side deal Harry made, trading something of value for a normal functioning brain like the scarecrow. What Dean got instead was more horror-comedy than family-adventure.
“You remember the trickster? Gabe?”
“The God we killed?” Dean asked, making damn sure he knew exactly what Harry was talking about.
“Er… about that… you didn’t kill him, actually…”
Dean sighed and then took his time showering off Sam’s death, his deal, the ashes of the demon that Tonks killed and Dean burned… It wasn't a long story that the kid fed him, but it was too much bullshit for one kid to be dealing with.
Even Dean didn’t deal with dragons, demons, and undead trickster Gods in a single day at Harry’s age.
Dean didn’t jump the kid’s ass over it though, he didn’t need to. Dean didn’t like it, but it sounded like Gabe had done him a real favor by blocking Harry’s deal before fixing his head.
“Maybe we can stay out of shit for a while,” Dean suggested pointedly through the cracked bathroom door while he shuffled some jeans on. Harry had relocated himself back to Dean’s room when Dean finished in the shower and Dean could hear him snort sarcastically.
“I’m in a magical tournament with a death toll, Sam’s probably halfway to New York to get his job back. Bobby said that Tonks let a thousand demons loose, and something happened at the Roadhouse. Do you really think we’re going to stay out of anything?”
Not at all. It was a nice idea, it was also as stupid as Dean going to college and getting out of hunting for good had been.
“We’re going to try,” Dean insisted. He finished getting dressed and checked the mirror to run his fingers through his hair. It was wild that Dean looked the same as he always had… everything changed and Dean was still Dean.
For six more months.
Harry was a skeptic, but he didn’t argue about Dean’s stance on no more bullshit. They had the tournament to deal with, Dean wanted to hear about the dragon, but first they had to go deal with Bobby apparently.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets when they walked across the yard, pushing them down as deep as he was the guilt that wanted to gnaw at his stomach. Bobby was family and Dean had treated him like shit.
It has been for Sam, Dean couldn’t and wouldn’t take anything back, but he didn’t have to be such a dick either.
Bobby would forgive him, because that was what family did. Dean just didn’t think he’d get that forgiveness without an apology… which sounded a lot like some chick flick shit that he didn’t want to deal with.
“Let me do it.”
Bobby had been willing to trade his soul so Dean didn’t have to, it wasn’t even the first time he made the offer. When it was Harry who had been barely clinging to life, Bobby jumped the second he followed Dean’s train of thought. Not before, after.
Bobby didn’t want to spend an eternity burning in Hell, he just didn’t want Dean to be the one burning.
Dean had only been half serious when he mentioned Vegas before, but it was sounding better every minute.
Bobby wasn’t in the kitchen or living room when Dean and Harry let themselves inside. Since the garage had been locked when they passed it, Dean led Harry down the stairs to Bobby’s basement.
It was a badass basement with its own demonic bomb shelter built from salt and stone. The freaking world could end and Bobby Singer would be having a beer in his basement.
There was some space outside the closed shelter where Bobby stored extra supplies, weapons, and enough MRE’s to feed two armies for ten years. Dean only knew what half the shit on the shelves were, but he paused to inspect the different bottles and items while Bobby filled a duffel bag.
There were tubes of blood, some with hair inside them. A box held twenty different identities for everyone Bobby cared to protect in an emergency. Most of the sparkly shit was cursed, it made it real dangerous to go rifling through Bobby’s shit.
Dean was content to look over the shelves and delay the drama - Bobby knew he was there, he would say something when he wanted to. Harry was more impatient.
“Are you going somewhere?” Harry asked, shifting around to move so Bobby could grab a box of ammo on the shelf behind him.
“Nebraska,” Bobby said shortly, not looking at either of them. “I’m going to get Ellen and Jo. Might be gone a few days, there’s a lot of crazy going around.”
“Wait, what?” Dean furrowed his brows down and shook his head. “You’re going to go get Ellen and Jo for - a what? A hunt?”
“Yup.” Bobby zipped his duffel up and slung it over his shoulder. “A thousand demons escaped Hell, I ain’t gonna sit around and wait for ‘em to make the world an even shittier place.”
“You’re taking Ellen and Jo instead of me and Sam?” Dean asked incredulously. What kind of logic was that?
“Yup.” Bobby didn’t even explain a damn thing as he moved around Dean and Harry to start back up the staircase. Dean was quick to follow, he wanted to know if Bobby was really that pissed at him that he’d take two amateur hunters over the two that he had personally helped train.
“Why?” Dean asked, frowning at Bobby’s back while Harry followed them both upstairs.
“‘Cause I ain’t your daddy, Dean.”
Yeah, okay. So Bobby was that pissed.
“Bobby…” Dean didn’t know what to say when they reached the kitchen. Bobby wasn’t slowing to give him enough of a shot to say anything really, he wasn’t even looking at Dean.
Bobby started opening cabinets, pulling pistols and ammo from eight different hiding places. He paused when he bent down to take his gallon of holy water out from under the sink.
“How long?” Bobby asked, casual as could be.
“Six months,” Dean said, stinging still from Bobby throwing his own words back in his face.
Bobby froze for a split-second with his hand halfway to the gallon he wanted, but he pushed past it quickly enough.
“Half a year…” Bobby mumbled something under his breath, it sounded like one hell of a curse, then jerked his head in a nod. “That ain’t much time.”
“Am I going to waste half of it trying to make you not pissed at me?” Dean asked, feeling about ten years old again. Bobby rarely got pissed, he had never been pissed at Dean.
Bobby was one of the few things that stayed constant for Dean: Bobby was there when Sam was running and Dad had been hunting. Bobby was there when Dean needed a place to crash or some obscure lore dug up.
When everything else went to shit, there was Bobby.
“Pissed at ya?” Bobby straightened up and spun around to stare at Dean sharply. “You think I’m pissed?”
“Sure seems like it,” Dean said, waving his hand and gesturing to the supplies Bobby had gathered. “You’re driving clear to Nebraska to find new hunting partners.”
“I’m goin’ to get the Harvelles cause their place was burned to the ground by some pissed off demons,” Bobby said. He glanced at Harry by Dean’s side for a second before crossing his arms over his chest, mirroring Dean’s own pose.
“I didn’t ask you idjits ‘cause I ain’t your daddy,” Bobby said again, pissing Dean off that time.
“You’re not my dad, Bobby.”
How many times was Bobby going to kick Dean for that? Did he stop to think Dean had enough going on that he didn’t need to be reminded of yet another mistake he made?
“Look I’m sorry I fucking said it, alright?” Dean snapped. “I was trying to save Sam, Bobby. It didn’t mean a damn thing, it was just some shit I said.”
“Dean.” Bobby dropped his duffel with a sigh, letting it clank against the linoleum floor. Dean looked down when something brushed his shoe and saw a little grey niffler scurrying over to chew and claw at the silver zipper on the bag.
Bobby didn’t pay the pest any attention, he just crossed the room in three strides and put a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean had started to shy away from it, but he stopped when he saw that Bobby wasn’t pissed.
There was a whole storm of shit in Bobby’s eyes, half of which Dean didn’t want to try and draw out in any circumstance, but he wasn’t mad.
“You really want to waste some of the time you have with a bunch’a jobs?” Bobby asked.
“I will,” Dean said. If it meant that Bobby had real backup on a demon shit storm then Dean would buck up.
“Not will ya, do you want to?” Bobby asked, stressing the difference that had never really been a difference. Dean didn’t want to, he had too much other shit to take care of, stuff he needed to get done and stuff he just wanted to take to Hell with him in his memories.
Bobby took Dean’s silence for what it was and squeezed his shoulder tightly before dropping his hand.
“Like I said,” Bobby went and picked up his bag, carefully nudging the niffler away with his boot, “I ain’t your daddy, Dean. You don’t wanna go and I’m not makin’ ya.”
It wasn’t rejection, it was freedom.
When everything went to shit, Bobby was still there.
Dean helped Bobby load up his truck and got a quick rundown on the situation. It seemed like when Tonks killed Azazel, a bunch of other demons slipped through the gates and were making themselves at home wherever they wanted.
It was badass still, Tonks killing Azazel. Dean hoped that Sam got over his shit and married that chick one day, she was a keeper.
The Roadhouse had been one of a dozen residences of hunters that had been burned down after the gates opened up though. Bobby was going to try and pick up some more strays on his way to Nebraska.
“Harry said you got some check from Sam’s job?” Bobby asked once the truck was loaded and it was just the two of them lingering beside it. Harry was playing fetch with Bobby’s pet niffler, apparently Bobby named the damn thing Puff.
As in Puff the Magic Dragon.
It was kind of funny.
“Life insurance. If I knew killing Sam would make me rich I would have done it years ago,” Dean joked.
Because Bobby was Bobby and he didn’t want some tearful bull anymore than Dean did, he snorted at the morbid joke.
“Yeah, well, don’t waste it all on strippers,” Bobby told him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the barn. “I reckon we’ll need some of it to get Sam’s car back on the road. Wouldn’t hurt to update the Impala any either, Harry’s not gonna be playing your old tapes forever.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He didn’t question how Bobby knew what Dean was going to do with the Impala, Bobby knew Dean’s moves the same way Dean did.
Dean would be gone and everyone else would have to take care of each other.
“I’m thinking I’d put most of it in an account or something,” Dean said, watching the kid throw a wrench so he didn’t have to look at Bobby. He cleared his throat. “No reason not to put your name on it. You know Sam won’t remember to order groceries, he’ll raise the kid on coffee and tofu. It wouldn’t kill you to get them stuff when you hit the stores.”
Bobby looked down and kicked the grass under his feet. Dean waited, he needed Bobby to say it.
“Yeah, it won’t kill me.” Bobby cleared his throat and moved to open his truck door. Dean stepped back, relieved at Bobby’s relatively easy agreement. It had nothing to do with groceries and they both knew it.
Sam would get the house, Harry would get the car. Sam would get Harry, Bobby would get Sam. Everything important to Dean would be divided up between the only people he cared about.
In six months Dean would be gone and there was a hell of a lot to figure out. He started his list, but he was more than willing to delay it for a few days if it meant he could get some time in with his brothers.
Preferably in Vegas.
Preferably drunk.
Except Harry seemed serious as fuck about not going until they had Sam.
“Can you call Sam?” Harry asked, taking the silver wrench from Puff and throwing it again after Bobby left. “I don’t want to go without him.”
“My phone’s fucked,” Dean told him. The thing had fried itself when Dean tried to call Sam in Magic Town. Harry and Bobby were both probably right, Sam would probably be headed toward New York to get us job back, which meant Dean had about four more hours to cash the check in Harry’s pocket.
“Oh.” Harry looked up from where he was crouched and waiting on Puff to return the wrench to grimace at Dean. “I lost mine. I think it fell out when I was facing the dragon.”
Yeah, that tracked.
“Alright, here’s the plan,” Dean started, “we hit the road, cash that check before Sam makes it void. First thing we buy is a phone and we tell Sam to catch a portkey or plane and meet us in Vegas.”
“What about your car?” Harry asked, proving why he was going to be the next Winchester to inherit Baby.
“Bobby said he’s tracking down some stranded hunters, he can drive Baby back and let Ellen drive his truck,” Dean said, knowing Bobby wouldn’t mind.
“Okay, brilliant!” Harry jumped up and whistled for Puff. It must have been some sort of ‘I made you out of a rock so you listen to me’ magic because the thing ran straight to Harry and jumped up in his arms. It was sort of cute when it curled up in Harry’s arms, making pitiful meowls for Harry to scratch it’s stomach.
“I’ll take Puff inside and then grab my bag,” Harry said, giving in and scratching Puff dotingly. “Want me to grab yours?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dean looked around the lot, trying to decide what piece of shit would get them at least far enough out that he could boost a new one.
If Bobby hadn’t built Sam’s car then Dean would say screw it and buy Sammy some new wheels and test drive it to Nevada. Sam was a sap though, he’d want the car Bobby built.
There was the neon that Dean taught Harry to drive in, that might work out alright. It didn’t take much to get it going, just some fluids topped off and the PSI checked.
Dean had the old girl purring by the time Harry jogged back to him, one duffel over each shoulder.
“Ready!” Harry said. Dean popped the trunk and Harry carefully tossed the bags in. Dean saw that Harry had his camera in the fancy bag Sam bought for it over his chest, but Dean wasn’t going to bitch about it.
“You got your blanket thing?” Dean checked. It’d be a real bitch to sneak Harry in bars and clubs without it.
Harry said he did so Dean moved to the passenger side, smirking when Harry blinked at him stupidly.
“I got six months to get you road ready, we don’t need to waste any time,” Dean said, no big deal. Dean had six months to teach the kid all sorts of shit, it wasn’t a lot of time. Dean didn’t need to waste any of it.
“I’m going to pretend like this is just a normal driving lesson and not something really morbid,” Harry said, slowly moving to the driver's seat.
Dean patted the roof in agreement. That was the Winchester way, pretend not a damn thing was wrong until they couldn’t anymore.
Demons taking over the world? Oh well.
Wizard tournaments with tasks that could kill the kid? They’d figure it out.
Dean was going straight to hell in six months time? Sounded like he needed to start checking shit off his list then.
Denial didn’t need to take Dean far, just six months in the future.