Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Fic: One Step at a Time 4/4

It had taken Sam almost a month to find his brother, once he’d started really looking for him. In the end, he’d had to plead with Bobby, apparently the only one of his father’s old friends that knew where Dean could be found, to get here.

The Impala sat outside of the garage, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Sam was willing to bet it was probably some of the best advertisement they could get. At least he knew he was in the right place. Where the car went, Dean went as well. He trailed a hand across her sun-warmed black skin, fighting back the feeling of home that this car always brought, and headed inside.

It wasn’t quite as pleasant inside the building. The bay doors were all open in a futile attempt to catch a cross breeze, but it remained stuffy and a little too warm. It was also incredibly noisy, between the hard rock blasting out of one dilapidated radio and the power tools in use, and it took a minute or so until someone noticed Sam.

The noise level dropped a little and one of the workers headed over to him, wiping rough hands on a shop cloth. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Dean Winchester,” Sam told him. He knew he looked out of place here, in his law-student clothing instead of the worn flannel and denim that he’d grown up in. He’d almost changed to fit in a little better, but decided not to. This was who he was now.

The man grunted and gestured toward the corner, where the radio was located and two booted feet stuck out from underneath a minivan. Sam headed over in that direction, feeling the eyes boring into his back as he approached what must be his brother.

He had been beyond surprised when Bobby had told him that Dean wasn’t hunting, that he’d settled down in a small town in Indiana and was working at a garage. Bobby had refused to tell him why, or where John Winchester was. Sam was willing to bet that Bobby didn’t know and didn’t care about John. His dad and Bobby had problems with each other, but then John Winchester had problems with just about everyone. “Dean?” There was no response, so Sam reached over and turned down the music. “Dean?”

“What? I’m almost done.” Sam fidgeted for a minute or two, looking down at the boots in front of him, before the dolly rolled out from underneath the vehicle, opposite the direction of Dean’s feet and Sam. His brother took his time climbing to his feet, hidden by the vehicle, and Sam held his breath. This was the moment of truth. He could have called Dean; Bobby had his number, but Sam had wanted this face to face meeting. Dean took one step, moving from the driver’s side door to the hood. He was still mostly hidden by the bulky thing, but Sam could see his face now and could see the moment his brother realized who was standing there. “Sammy?”

“Hey, Dean.” There was more that he wanted to say, a lot more, but it got lost in the overwhelming joy of being in Dean’s presence. “Been awhile.”

Dean snorted and walked around the front of the minivan, catching his brother in a hug that probably smeared grease and oil on Sam’s clothing. The small part of his brain that wasn’t caught up in ‘Dean’ and ‘home’ noticed something wrong with Dean’s slightly stiff walk, but that was a distant concern compared to everything else. When he finally let go, Sam could swear he saw tears in his brother’s eyes for just a second, but he dismissed it. That wasn’t Dean’s style. “Ralph! I finished the Wilson soccer-mobile, heading out for the day.”

The man who had pointed Sam towards Dean grunted in acknowledgement and waved them out the door. Dean walked over to the oddly neat work bench against the wall and grabbed a cane that Sam hadn’t noticed until now before walking out with the same oddly stiff gait, Sam trailing behind.

Of course his brother had been injured. He would never have given up hunting otherwise. Sam tried to see if he could tell what was causing the slightly stiff walking, how Dean was leaning on the cane and which leg was the bad one, but even with shorter legs and some sort of injury slowing him down he beat Sam to the Impala. Dean unlocked the passenger side door before walking around the front and sliding into his own seat, lifting and adjusting first one leg and then the other. He hooked the cane over the back of the bench seat and then turned to Sam. “So what is it you want, Sammy?”

Sam tore his eyes away from the hand control that had been put into place by the steering wheel. “What makes you think I want something?”

There was a raised eyebrow look, the kind that used to be incredibly familiar and also the one that indicated that he was being a dumbass. “I haven’t heard from you in seven years, Sam. You took the time to track me down, which, believe me, couldn’t have been very easy, and then came instead of calling ‘cause you know I have a hard time saying no to your face. You want something.”

“What happened to your leg?” Sam asked, changing the subject. He did want something from his brother, of course. He and Jess were getting married (and wow, did that both excite and terrify him) and he wanted Dean to be his best man. But if he admitted as much to his brother now, he’d never hear the end of it.

Dean chuckled. He reached down with his right hand and rapped lightly on his right leg, a few inches below the knee. He repeated the action with the other leg, then shrugged. “Was a little too slow one time, and that one time was more than enough.”

“God, Dean.” Sam was horrified, probably as much by his brother’s matter-of-fact approach to the subject as anything else. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean shrugged and started the car. “What was there to tell, Sam? Sometimes the job goes sideways and then you pick yourself up and move on.” He started the car and pushed in a Zeppelin tape. “We’re heading over to my place. I’ve got to take care of a few things tonight, but you can stay and have dinner. In fact, you better just plan on staying the night. For right now though, you can keep me company while I work. I’ve got to get the thing done before five.”

Sam watched as his brother manipulated the hand control with his left hand and steered with his right, his manner casual and practiced. “Didn’t you just get off work?”

“The second job isn’t the kind you get paid for,” Dean said, grinning. “I’ve been working on a few projects for some hunters. I get paid in favors for those, mostly, but it’s good to keep my hand in.”

“You’re hunting?” Sam stared at his brother, open-mouthed in astonishment. Was Dean trying to get himself killed?

“Not like I used to,” Dean admitted. “I lend a hand when I’m needed, but my days of chasing through the woods in the dark are over. Too hard to adjust to uncertain terrain. Mostly I build things for other hunters to use.” He signaled left, pushed down on the hand control, turned the wheel and eased the lever back up, all in a smooth series of motions. “Here we are, Sammy.”

Sam had been halfway expecting a motel, their familiar standard of living, but Dean had pulled into the parking lot of a modest ranch-style house. He pulled into the right-hand bay of the two-car garage, got out one leg at a time, and reached for his cane. “You coming?”

Sam nodded and followed his brother. The garage was neat, power tools lined up on a set of metal shelves and a large conventional tool box next to it. There were several low work benches along the walls and more than a few containers with heavy locks on the outside. One set of shelves nearest the door had a neat arrangement of gardening tools, with a pushmower beside them and a wheedwhacker hanging on a convenient hook above it. There was a conspicuously empty space in the other garage bay, probably for Dad’s truck.

The bench closest to the inside of the house had a variety of unrecognizable electronics sealed up in clear plastic storage bins and a wheeled office chair cozied up to it, and instead of heading inside the house Dean sat down there. “I’ve got to get this done tonight,” he told Sam, opening up a drawer and pulling out a soldering kit and a battered meter. “I wasn’t going to have time to work on it this evening anyway, so you can talk while I work. A friend of Bobby’s is waiting for it.” The older man switched on a fluorescent light and Sam watched as Dean began tinkering.

“What is it?”

“EMF meter. I can make it cheaper than most hunters can buy it, and it’s usually a little more dialed in for ghost-hunting than the commercial things.” There was a plastic casing in one of the bins and Dean was carefully fitting the circuit boards inside. “I’ve made maybe twenty of these things so far.” His brother was focused on the soldering iron in his hand, which was always a good thing. “Other than that and a few other things like it, it’s mostly making up weapons for special occasions. That way I keep my hand in and someone else who can run in the woods doesn’t waste time doing it.” Dean made a few more quick adjustments, closed up the case, and flipped the switch. It made a low humming sound and the lights flared up and then dropped down to the lowest place. “Awesome,” Dean muttered, switching it back off and tucking it into a shoebox. “Come on, Sammy, let’s go inside where it’s actually freaking air-conditioned.”

The inside of the house was just as neat as the garage and surprisingly nice. Homey, even, which wasn’t something that Sam would have expected from Dean. There was nothing overtly illegal left lying out, though Sam knew his brother had such things. “Nice place.”

“It’ll do. There’s an old lady down the street. I take care of her lawn on weekends and she makes me pie.”

“You can do that?”

Dean shot him a look. “Yeah, Sam, I can do that. It’s not like it’s hard to push a lawn mower or work a set of hedge clippers. Even a high school dropout like me can figure it out.”

“No, I mean . . .” he gestured towards Dean’s legs. “Isn’t it hard to walk?”

Dean shrugged, taking off his jacket and hanging it up on a hook near the door. It seemed so out of character for his brother that for a moment he wondered if there was some kind of possession involved. “You get used to it. As long as the ground isn’t unfamiliar, poorly lit terrain I can handle it.”

“But . . .”

“Sam!” Dean hobbled over to a comfortable-looking couch and sat down. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to head back out. You want to talk, now’s the chance.”

Sam had a hundred different questions that he wanted to ask, but he had a feeling if he didn’t get into the main reason of his quest he wouldn’t get a chance. He glanced around the room and then stood up to look at a row of framed pictures hanging on the wall. There was one of their parents, small and worn and faded, and a picture of him and Dean from just before he went to Stanford, but mixed in with those were more than a few people that Sam didn’t’ recognize at all. The most common factor seemed to be an attractive brunette with olive skin and a wide, bright smile and a boy of seven or eight, often with Dean in the picture with one or both of them. Sam looked from the pictures to his brother, who was staring back at Sam a little impatiently. “Well, Sam?”

“Do you have a family?” he blurted out, somewhere between happiness for his brother and hurt that he hadn’t been told.

There was a sigh and Dean used the cane to stand up from the couch. “That’s Lisa. She’s my girlfriend, if you need a label. The kid is our son Ben.”

Sam turned to his brother, more than a little outraged. “You have a kid? What the hell, Dean?”

“You cut me out first, Sam,” Dean said, a bit of heat behind the words. “What the hell did you expect? People get hurt on the hunt. That’s the way it works.”

“Yeah, and people always tend to call their family members when they have kids too,” Sam shot back.

“I didn’t want to call you,” Dean said. “Lisa showed up with him when I was in the hospital. I didn’t want you there then. Didn’t really want them there, either, but telling Lisa no to anything isn’t something that ever works out.”

“Why wouldn’t you want me there?”

Dean slammed his palm against the wall, making the frames shimmy in place, and hobbled back over to the couch. He pulled the legs of his jeans (worn more loosely than Sam remembered) up, rolling the denim up past his knees and exposing the prosthetics there. “This is why, Sam.”

They were ungainly things, a plastic socket cupping the end of his brother’s leg tapering into a bare metal rod, with a pair of his brother’s heavy boots laced up on the feet, tied in close to the rod. Dean pushed a button at the bottom of the socket on his right leg and lifted the stump of his leg out of the socket, repeating the action on the other leg. Once he’d rolled off the socks and liner he handed the right leg to his brother. “Here. Take a look at it.”

Sam didn’t want to touch it. Taking that thing from his brother seemed like an admission that Dean Winchester, his childhood Batman, was now permanently disabled, and it was all his fault for leaving Dean without backup on a hunt. Dean scowled and glared and shoved it into his arms. “It’s not contagious, Sam. Take the goddamned leg.”

Sam did as he was instructed, hands clasping the cold metal. Dean nodded. “Put it down against the wall. This one too.” He handed the second leg up to Sam, who reluctantly took it and did as his brother had asked. “I was twenty-three years old and I’d just been told that I was permanently crippled, idjit. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. It was bad enough that Dad was there. Then Lisa showed up with Ben. There’s no way in the world I wanted the little bit of respect you still had for me to go right down the drain like that.”

Sam swallowed and looked at the stumps of his brother’s legs. They both ended about six inches below the knee, the skin there smooth and almost hairless. “What happened?”

His brother made a frustrated sound, hands balled into fists resting on his knees. “There was a black dog,” he finally said. “It was running around some nice little neighborhood outside of St. Louis. I chased it out onto the highway, ganked it, and was standing by the guardrail trying to get Dad to come get me when someone came along in a minivan and clipped me. I was still trying to get my bearings when some jackass driving an SUV crushed my feet. It was either amputate or never really walk again, so I told ‘em to cut the damned things off.”

“Jesus,” Sam said, feeling the blood drain out of his face at the mental image. “Where was Dad?”

“I was trying to herd the thing toward him and away from the people. He was waiting for it with something a little more high-powered than a handgun. The thing made for the highway instead, got hit by a semi, and I finished it off.” Dean’s hand rested on his knee for a second, his eyes on the stumps of his legs. Then he shook off the depression and looked up. “Bring those things back over here, Sammy. We’ve got to get going.”

Sam did as he was asked, though he still wasn’t comfortable handling the prosthetics. Dean strapped the things back on and stood up stiffly. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I’ve got to pick up Ben from baseball practice.” There was a grin tossed at him over Dean’s shoulder as he headed back through the house towards the garage. “Lisa,” he said, the grin turning slightly wicked, “is teaching a yoga class this afternoon.”

Judging from the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, Sam was supposed to be impressed, and he was. Just not about that. Dean settling down with a yoga instructor took a backseat to Dean settling down at all. His brother had always been glad to pull up stakes and move on to another town, another school, another cheap rental that wasn’t terribly particular about what John did as long as he paid the rent. Sam wasn’t sure how long Dean had been living here, but he clearly had a steady job, a girlfriend, and a kid.

“So how, exactly, did you end up with a kid?” he asked.

“Well, Sammy, when two people love each other very much-,” Dean started, dropping into the driver’s seat with an odd exhalation of effort.

“Not what I meant and you know it, jerk. When did you move here?”

“Not the question you want to ask, Sam. What you really need to know is, when did I meet Lisa Braeden?”

Sam tucked the last name away for future reference. “Well, when did you meet her?”

“Remember that road trip I took after I dropped out of high school? Five states in five days?”


“I made to Indiana and pretty much stopped at Lisa Braeden’s loft.” He was still smiling, though the expression was more fond and affectionate rather than lascivious. “I’m pretty sure you can guess what happened after that.”

The Impala’s growling rumble started up a second later and Sam scrambled into the passenger seat. “So you got her pregnant back in ’99, she never called, and then she showed up at the hospital with your kid?”

It seemed a little cold to him, but Dean was clearly remembering it differently. “Yeah. Lisa didn’t know about hunting, but she knew that we didn’t exactly lead a nice, stable life. She raised her kid the way she thought he should be raised.” He backed out of the garage and turned onto the street, the door behind them closing automatically as they pulled away.

“So why show up at all?”

Dean laughed, the sound a little rueful. “I never really understood why. She found out when I had the accident and decided to bring Ben down. Gave me a second chance with him.”

There was a Metallica tape in the deck and it gave Sam an oddly nostalgic feeling. Once his dad had gotten the truck it had been just him and Dean in this car, driving toward the next town and the next hunt, and Dean had filled the silence of what Sam could now admit was sulking with the greatest hits of mullet rock. “So tell me about Lisa,” he said. “I’m having a hard time believing any woman could talk you into settling down.”

“No way, dude. You still have to get whatever sent you out here off your chest. I’ll talk when you’ve talked.”

“I’m getting married,” he blurted out. “That’s why I tracked you down. I want you to be my best man.”

Dean was quiet for a second, but he continued driving and only glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye. “Is she hot?”


“It’s a fair question, Sammy.” There was a smile creeping up his brother’s face. “Can’t let my little brother marry a chick who isn’t hot.”

Sam sighed and dug the wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled out the picture of Jess and held it so his brother could see it without taking his eyes from the road. “She’s awesome,” he said. “She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“And she’s a smoking babe! Way to go, Sammy!”

Sam rolled his eyes and took the picture back. “So, will you do it?”

“Of course, Sam.” Dean smile was bright now, big and happy like Sam didn’t remember seeing in years. “You realize this means I get to plan the bachelor party, right?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “No bachelor party! It would be too weird.”

“It’s un-American to not have a bachelor’s party, Sammy,” Dean informed him, his tone matter-of-fact. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you in front of your college friends.” There was a different kind of smile on his brother’s face now, and it made Sam a little nervous.

They pulled into a gravel parking lot before Sam could protest that no, really, he didn’t need a bachelor party, coming in close to a stand of bleachers. A team of prepubescent boys were out on the field still, running laps around the diamond, and Dean got out of the car with the practiced motions that were starting to become familiar to Sam, even if the slower speed was jarring to his sensibilities. He used the cane for balance and made his way over to the first row of bleachers, sitting down with a grunt. Sam sat down next to him and tried to look inconspicuous amongst the handful of other parents waiting for practice to die down. Dean got a couple of nods of recognition that he returned, but otherwise didn’t really interact with any of them.

The kids scattered when the coach dismissed them a few minutes later, some of them swarming the stands and others heading out in groups, probably to walk home. Sam stood up when the boy from the photographs came running up to Dean only to stop short when he caught sight of Sam. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone suspicious enough to be borrowed from Dean Winchester at his most overprotective.

“This is your Uncle Sammy,” Dean said. He stood up, barely using the cane. “Good practice, kiddo?”

“Coach Spillman said I need to practice catching fly balls on my own,” the kid said, dark eyes still focused on Sam with a tiny bit of hostility still there. “Can we do that tonight?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight we’re having dinner with your Uncle Sammy.” Dean headed back to the Impala, Ben close on his heels and Sam trailing behind. The hostility from the kid became a little less veiled when he was forced to sit in the back seat and Sam felt the glare aimed at the back of his head the entire time.

“Go get cleaned up,” Dean told the boy once they’d pulled into the garage and headed into the house. “Your mom should be home in an hour and we’re going to have chicken stir-fry for dinner.” Ben nodded, shot one more glare at Sam once Dean had turned away, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dinner was less of a disaster than Sam had expected. He vaguely remembered Dean cooking sometimes when they were kids and could afford more than ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese. Lisa was nice, possibly nicer than his brother deserved, and she took his sudden appearance with grace. Afterwards Ben went upstairs to play on some gaming system and Dean and Sam headed into the living room, leaving the dishes to Lisa since Dean had done the cooking. Sam watched as his brother sank down onto the couch with a sigh and removed the prosthetics, setting them to the side.

“You going to tell me what’s eating you?” Dean asked once they were alone. “You’ve had something bugging you since you got here.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out, pacing around the living room. “It’s not fair. None of this is fair. You shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of thing.” Sam’s eyes darted to the prosthetics and quickly away. “You’re a hero, Dean. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

“All right, Sam, listen up. I don’t want to have to tell you this again.” He gestured for Sam to sit in the chair next to the couch, which he did gingerly, and moved closer to the edge.

And then he slapped Sam across the back of the head.

Sam ducked his head away. “What the hell, Dean?”

“That’s for being an idiot, Sammy.” The man looked unrepentant. “Now, first off, I am not the moron you seem to think. I know I can’t do everything I used to be able to do. I can’t run through the woods at night with a gun loaded with silver bullets, or dig a grave. But I can wait with a sniper rifle while someone else flushes out the werewolf, or stand guard with rock salt while the grave is being dug. Hell, I can even run if I want, so long as the surface is flat. So why don’t you let me worry about what I should be doing. I’m a grown up, Sammy. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Sam said miserably. A part of him wanted to snap it out at his brother, meet tone with tone like he had when he argued with his father, but he was sitting there looking at the stumps where his brother’s lower legs should be and he just didn’t have the heart for that right now.

“Hey,” Dean said, reaching over and poking his brother in the arm. “Cut it out, Sam. It’s not the end of the world. I mean, I’m not exactly happy to be stuck living like a low-budget version of the bionic man, but I don’t have a bad life here.” Lisa came into the room just then, a cautious smile on her face, and sat down on the couch next to Dean. Dean leaned in to her and whispered something in her ear. The woman nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks. “Why don’t you have a beer with me, Sammy. We’ll talk about a few things.” Dean replaced the prosthetics, reached for his cane and pushed up out of the chair with a little effort. Sam watched him go, noticing that Lisa was doing the same thing with a smile on her face.

She turned to face him and the smile dropped away. “Don’t you dare hurt him,” she said, her voice kept low but her tone fierce and almost angry. “He’s your brother, and he loves you. If you cut him out after this is over because he’s still hunting, I will drive to California and hit you with a car.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Sam said, fighting to keep his own voice steady. “I just want my brother back, I swear. I never saw or heard anything when he got hurt or I would have been there.”

“That’s probably exactly why he didn’t call you,” Lisa said, transitioning between almost-anger to slight frustration in an eye-blink. “He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” The expression on her face said she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sam looked at her with a little more respect now. In Winchester land, a death threat was simply a welcome to the family. “You know what they say,” he said, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth. “Like attracts like.”

She huffed. “I’m not stubborn, I’m persistent.”

He couldn’t help the laugh from that one. Dean hobbled into the room, three beers held awkwardly in the hand that didn’t hold a cane. “You flirting with my girl, Sammy? I might have to kick your ass for that.”

“We’re telling stories about you,” Lisa said, leaning into him once he’d lowered his body down onto the couch. “That way we both have more ammunition to use when you start acting like a jerk.”

“Hey, now, I’m always a perfect gentleman around you,” Dean protested, a grin spreading across his face despite an attempt to look wounded. “I remember to put the toilet seat down and everything.”

Sam had the feeling that this was one of those couple’s jokes, the kind he had with Jess, and it was simultaneously disturbing and satisfying. Lisa kissed his brother, the kind of kiss that was usually accompanied with the breathy phrase of ‘come up to bed’ and headed upstairs while Sam tried to keep looking away. “You’re welcome to the couch tonight, Sam.”

Dean watched her go, a smile on his face and turned back to Sam. “All right, you’ve got three minutes to get your questions out, Sammy-boy, or you’re waiting until morning.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to spoil the mood that they were having, but if he didn’t ask now he’d just stay awake all night wondering what had happened. “Where’s dad?”

“In Minnesota,” Dean answered automatically. “He’s about halfway between Jim Murphy and Bobby Singer.”

“Dad gave up hunting?”

Dean shrugged, the beer bottle in his hand swirling. “We got the thing that got Mom, Sammy. I wanted you to be there, but Dad said no. You wanted out of the life, you wanted to be done with hunting, so we let you go. After that, Dad didn’t really have fight left. He still takes on a hunt every once in a while, but for the most part he’s out.”

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. John Winchester had been hunting for Sam’s entire life. The idea of him stopping now stopped his momentum completely. “So what does he do?”

His brother took a drink from his beer. “Believe it or not, he’s got an in with the sheriff’s department there. Got a job, a girlfriend. Hell, one day he might even marry her.” Dean drained the rest of his beer, used his cane to push up from the couch, and carried the empty bottle into the kitchen. “I’ll see you in the morning, Sammy. Spare blankets are in the closet under the stairs.” He took the steps slowly but with the kind of even motion that proclaimed a lot of practice. Sam watched him go until Dean hit the top of the stairs and turned out the lights over that part of the house. Then he burrowed down onto the couch and slept. It was the best sleep he’d had in a long time.



( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 1st, 2012 09:39 pm (UTC)
This was great. Very realistic and believable. Fabulous art
Aug. 1st, 2012 10:14 pm (UTC)
Wonderful story!! I love stories where one or both of the boys retire from hunting for a realistic and compelling reason, not just cos they're tired of it.

Your Lisa is one of the best I've come across in fic, wonderfully supportive and an interesting character in her own right, without in any way being a MarySue. It's also great that you didn't have John being a bad dad. :)

Thank you for sharing.
Aug. 1st, 2012 10:48 pm (UTC)
Beautifully done. Lovely job. (And weird angel machinations!)
Aug. 2nd, 2012 02:40 am (UTC)
I love how Dean still found a way to be badass, and I love Ben's jealousy towards Sam! I love how you showed us how Sam reconnected with Dean, and omg! Gabriel pulling all the strings from the background!
Aug. 2nd, 2012 05:24 am (UTC)
So much love for this. Original and heartwrenching and also, super amazing art.
Aug. 2nd, 2012 07:18 am (UTC)
I should have taken notes while I was reading this because I am no longer capable of telling you which ones were my favourite bits. =)
Aug. 3rd, 2012 11:13 pm (UTC)
Enjoyed this, thank you for sharing.
Aug. 7th, 2012 01:31 am (UTC)
Lovely. Really enjoyed it. :)
Aug. 8th, 2012 05:24 am (UTC)
“He’s your brother, and he loves you. If you cut him out after this is over because he’s still hunting, I will drive to California and hit you with a car.”

hee Lisa was awesome!
Aug. 23rd, 2012 11:45 pm (UTC)
I'd been looking forward to reading this, because Dean/Lisa plus h/c is always a yummy combination. Lisa was wonderful, as usual, and the inclusion of the angels was a pleasant surprise. Despite losing his feet, it looks like Dean got a much happier ending here than in canon. :)
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )


vi, no words

Latest Month

April 2015
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow