Chapter Text
25/11 1995
“Why are we moving again, Dean?” The older boy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, facing his younger brother and his never ending questions.
“I told you, Sammy. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you when you’re older, kay?”
“But I’m twelve, Dean! And I’ll be thirteen soon,” he pouted and crossed his arms in a childish manner.
“Which is like exactly my point. C’mon, get your stuff and let’s go to the car. Dad wants to hit the road before it gets dark.” So Sam did, he grabbed his backpack and headed out, murmuring quiet swears. Dean chuckled humourlessly and took off after his brother.
Given the amount of time they had already spent in their car, the boys didn’t complain. Plus, both of them knew it would be pointless, anyway. Dean watched his brother slowly fall asleep in the backseat before he glared at his father beside him. The man didn’t see it, which was exactly the boy’s intention, because even after everything they’ve been forced to go through because of their father, Dean still feared him, a lot. So he didn’t voice anything that was floating through his mind, because he knew damn well it would do no good. The least he could do was look out for Sammy and to make sure his old man would never be able to hurt him. Yeah, that he could do. With that thought, he leaned back into his seat and fell asleep in a second.
Dean woke up when it was already pitch-black outside, and the car was filled with quiet music. Sam was peacefully snoring behind him and his father didn’t seem to care enough to have a conversation right now. But Dean wanted to know.
“Where we going?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.
“Bobby got a job for me,” John answered after a beat. Dean’s eyes widened with surprise. This was probably the only answer he hadn’t expected.
“He did?”
“Yeah. There’s a school for you ‘n Sammy, you’re already signed in. I ain’t sure if we speak long term here, but I’ll be damned if I don’t make sure you get your education, alright?” Dean blinked and propped his legs up on the dashboard, which probably wasn’t the best idea, seeing as John immediately slammed his thigh with a growl. “Feet where they belong, Dean.”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, curling in the seat again, trying to go back to sleep. He loved the Impala with all his heart, but you just get uncomfortable after hours curled in the leather seat. Squirming, he finally found a way to sleep and not be useless and broken later, let himself to be lulled by the tones and the darkness took over him.
He was just having a really, really weird dream, about a dog and a giraffe, when the giraffe suddenly opened its mouth and called out his name. In Sammy’s voice. “Dean. Dean, wake up! Geez, you’re such a sleeping beauty.” Not wanting to open his eyes, he grunted and waved his arm. His hand connected with something soft and warm, which apparently was Sam, because he’d heard an annoyed groan just before he opened his eyes at last.
“Sorry, dude. We’re there?” Dean asked around a yawn, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “Dad just stopped the car, got out and went straight into that building. Whatever it is.” It was… a building. A low, grey apartment block. Apparently, this was their home station for now. Kinda expected, nothing fancy but not too bad. They didn’t see the apartment itself, of course, but first impression wasn’t that horrible. They’ve managed worse.
“Guess we're stayin'. But you’ll have to wait for Dad with questions.” Because Dean couldn’t handle more questions until he’s had a proper good night sleep. And as if on cue, John walked out of the house and headed back to them.
“So, are we staying?” Sam asked with the best puppy eyes he could pull off. Dean would lie if he said it didn’t work on him.
“Both of you get your stuff, we’re stayin’.” Fucking finally, Dean thought and one corner of his mouth quirked up at Sam’s beaming face. The apartment was small, two rooms and a kitchen. And a bathroom, of course. Dean and Sam would sleep in one of the rooms and their Dad claimed he’d sleep in the other one, but that it would also be considered a living room. Their room had two beds, which they immediately brought together, one desk and the only light was afforded by an old chandelier that illuminated the whole thing with dull, yellow light. The wallpaper was slightly peeling off, but Dean promised to take care of that. His backpack ended on the other side of the room and he fell down face first into his half of the upgraded bed.
“It’s not bad, Sammy,” he remarked, voice muffled by the pillow. His brother snorted cynically.
“You’re wrong, Dean. It’s not horrible. But it is bad.”
“Come on, we’ve had much worse.” Sam sighed and plopped down. Dean turned his face so he could look at him, but his brother just continued to stare at the ceiling.
“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Dean. We shouldn’t have had much worse. What even is our life?” He squirmed until he was facing the other boy. Dean just opened his arms and waited. Sam smiled a little and crawled over to him, curled into a little ball of limbs with his hair tickling Dean’s nose.
“Sometimes I forget you’re not so little anymore, Sammy,” Dean whispered, tightening his grip on Sam. Eventually, he let himself fall asleep while listening to his little brother’s calm breaths.