Battled Fields No More, 1/1, R, Sam/Dean
Jun. 3rd, 2011 12:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymTitle: Battled Fields No More
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R(ish)
Word Count: ~8500
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. This is an a/u, in the same Verse as We Know Each Other As We Always Were, and follows after that story.
Summary: The war might be over, but the battle never really will be. Soldiering on, life in snapshots.
A/N: I started this story originally, with one idea in mind: Sam and Dean at the WWII memorial. It became evident early on that it was going to be so much more than that; it was tying up loose ends and closing out this particular universe. It holds a special place in my heart, as does the original this follows, because it's personal. I need to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arliss, runedgirl and raynedanser for their advice, suggestions, beta skills and just general support while I worked on this. I've included a playlist at the end of the story, along with a download link. These are songs I listened to frequently while writing this. Hope you enjoy the story :)
Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Dream of battled fields no more.
Days of danger, nights of waking.
--Sir Walter Scott
"No," Sam says hoarsely, staring up and hardly daring to believe. "It's. It's Winchester. Dean Winchester. You. You're my brother, Dean Winchester."
He gets his brother back on a cloudy day in June, 1953. The brother he'd thought dead for a decade, suddenly there, vibrantly alive, the most familiar stranger Sam's ever met.
~~~~~
1953-54
The first year is a lot more difficult than Sam might've thought it would be. It's full of tense, shouted arguments when Dean can't remember and Sam can't forget. But in between the arguments they work on learning who each other is now, and how they fit together.
They make a promise never go to sleep mad at each other. No matter how fierce the disagreement, no matter how sharp the verbal barbs, they always let it go before going to bed. Even if it means they miss a night's sleep occasionally. Or more than one, because as Uncle Bobby pointed out on numerous occasions, both Sam and Dean got a double dose of pig-headedness.
That promise is never broken.
Sam begins what turns into an eighteen month battle with the Department of the Army to get Dean returned to the land of the living on paper, and have him honorably discharged from service, rather than the 'Discharged, Deceased' that's stamped on the paperwork Sam has. His brother isn't dead, and whoever the body in the grave is, there's a family out there somewhere who's grieving for it and has nothing to grieve over; a family who has no sense of closure. The remains are exhumed while Dean watches, stony-faced and silent, and Sam wonders what he's thinking but doesn't ask. Aside from the once, when they were first reunited, Dean doesn't like to talk about that day that took so much from both of them.
His nightmares come back after that; nights spent moving restlessly, shouting out in his sleep, mumbling unintelligibly in a mix of German and English.
They spend Dean's first Memorial Day back home putting flags and poppies on the grave markers of all the fallen servicemen and women in the area.
Sam holds Dean tight against him that night, their faces wet with tears they're both crying.
~~~~~
1957
It starts as a small thing, the third year Dean's home. Comes on sneaky, catching both of them unawares one night at dinner, of all things. Just dinner, with the radio playing softly in the background as they often have it, switching off between the station that plays big band and the new station that plays that new-fangled 'rock-and-roll' stuff. Sam's not sure if he likes it or not, but Dean seems at times like he's ready to drive off and try to find Bill Haley or Buddy Holly.
Sam usually sits at one end of the table, and Dean at the other, but tonight they have things set out to start canning this weekend, so they're short on space. Sam takes the place to Dean's right, making it easier to lay out the legal pad he's scribbling notes on; things he needs to talk to his secretary about in the morning.
"Dean, pass the salt, wouldja?"
Nothing. No response. Dean's staring off into the middle distance, probably working out his plans for morning chores, but it's not until Sam waves a hand practically under his nose, voice raised a couple of decibels (it seems) louder than usual, that he gets his brother's attention.
"What?"
"Salt? Please?"
He has to repeat it a third time, and by then he has a sinking feeling this is just a small part of a much bigger problem. From the expression on Dean's face, he feels the same way.
~~~~~
Dean's losing his hearing in his right ear. Their doctor in Wall suggests Dean go to the VA clinic in Rapid City, since it's likely related to the injury he sustained in Germany. The doctors at the clinic refer him on to the Veterans' hospital at Ft. Meade for tests and treatment.
"There's nothing we can do to stop the loss," one of the doctors tells them after a full battery of hearing tests and x-rays. "The damage happened when you experienced the trauma to your head, and the technology just isn't there to repair it. All we can do at this point is fit you with a hearing aid. It won't reverse things, but it will help you hear better."
"I don't need no damn hearing aid," Dean growls. "Thirty-five years old, ain't old enough to need something like that."
"But if it helps—" Sam cuts himself off when Dean glares, and raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. Go deaf. Whatever."
"Again, the hearing aid won't prevent hearing loss, Mr. Winchester," the doctor says, and Sam scowls. "It will only help him hear better, now. We don't have to the fitting today; it can be done at any time."
"Not gonna be any time soon," Dean mutters under his breath. He's out the door before the doctor is finished talking, shoulders squared and rigid. Sam sighs and thanks the doctor for his time, then asks for a copy of Dean's medical records to be sent to their home address.
Dean's sitting on a bench outside the hospital entrance, staring up at the flag fluttering in the breeze. Sam sits beside him, making sure to sit on his left, their shoulders just brushing. "We could go to Pierre, or Sioux Falls," he says quietly. "Or Denver. Hell, Dean, I'll take you to D.C., if it comes to that."
"Nah." Dean shrugs, and bumps his shoulder into Sam's. "Shoulda known something would come up. Ain't had headaches in forever—something had to give."
"I guess." He sighs, feeling defeated. "Andy, the kid who's been helping out around the farm—he can handle feeding the livestock tonight, right? You want to stay here tonight, drive back tomorrow?"
Dean nods. "But don't you need to go to work tomorrow?"
"Thing about being the boss—I can take the day off if I need to." Sam pauses. He's been thinking about this for awhile; pretty much since he had to start dealing with the Department of the Army as well as the Veteran's Administration on a regular basis. "I'm thinking—I might close my practice." The practice he's only had a few years.
"What, your law practice?" He has Dean's full attention now. "And do what?"
"Work as a disabled veteran's advocate. I was thinking—Service Officer. We need more than the one guy in our area." Privately, Sam's wondering about the years ahead. They have men and women coming back from Korea now, and rumbles of the US joining the conflict over in Vietnam and it's pointless to think that everything will end there. Much as he wishes otherwise, Sam knows there will always be some conflict somewhere that's going to result in veterans needing assistance.
"You're serious?"
"Yeah. I really am."
Dean grins at him, bright and happy, and Sam's heart stutters for an instant. It starts beating double-time when Dean says softly, "We need to go somewhere else right now, because I really want to kiss you. A lot."
~~~~~
1965
The nightmares are constant as the year winds down and clicks over into the next. Practically every night, Dean wakes up drenched in sweat, fingers scrabbling at the sheets, shouting and cursing at shadow people.
Sam soothes him best he can, when Dean lets him. As many nights as not, though, Dean gets up and stays up. Sam hears him puttering around downstairs and smells the coffee percolating in the old battered pot on the stove while he lays in bed, staring sleepless at the ceiling.
The last time he felt this helpless, he and Uncle Bobby had just received a telegram telling them Dean was dead.
If Sam thought it would help, he'd toss their television out into the trash. He knows it won't, though, because coverage of the war – especially now the US is deploying combat units – is a constant thing on television, on the radio, in the newspaper. It's a continual barrage of information that won't go away no matter how much he wishes it.
He holds Dean tight when he's allowed, and tries not to worry too much. It'll pass, it always does. But until it does, he aches deep inside because he can't do anything.
~~~~~
1967
The American Legion in Wall is tiny; an auxiliary branch only that meets in the basement of the Methodist Church, or occasionally in the conference room at the police station, if there's a scheduling conflict. For large events the members make the drive to Rapid City.
There's always a series of events planned for the weekend preceding Memorial Day, so Sam and Dean get a hotel room for those three days and nights. Sam helps tend bar for the Saturday night get-together, and if his heart clenches a little while he watches Dean play pool, or poker, his face open and relaxed, well. He loves his brother, and seeing him happy is the best thing that can happen, as far as Sam's concerned.
On Sunday they're all a little hung over, but everyone in the Legion helps place flags over the grave markers in the veteran's section of the cemetery.
Russell and Mary Jo Browski bring their grandsons, and Avery, the youngest, spends most of the morning trailing behind Dean, talking a mile a minute. Sam figures Dean only actually hears about a quarter of whatever Avery's chattering about – he's mostly deaf in his right ear now, even with the hearing aid – but Avery seems happy to have his attention and Sam knows Dean well enough to know he likes having the kid hanging around.
The Legion has a barbeque on Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow will be somber, services at the cemetery and time for quiet reflection, but for this afternoon it's hotdogs and hamburgers on the big smoker grill, homemade potato salad and huge slices of watermelon. Lemonade and bottles of coca-cola for the kids, and bottles of beer for the adults. Legion members bring their families, and everyone relaxes for a little while.
"You ever gonna find a nice girl and settle down, Sam?" Russell asks Sam the same question every year, convinced Sam only needs someone to point prospective girls out to him. Dean at least gets off the hook by virtue of having been married once before – he plays the part of stolid widower pretty well, Sam has to admit. But not Sam.
"I found a nice girl, but you married her first, Russell." Sam smiles when Dean chokes on his bite of potato salad, and whaps him on the back. "There isn't anyone who can compare to Mary Jo."
Russell snorts, but Mary Jo kisses Sam's cheek and hands him a plate with a huge slice of chocolate cake on it.
Once the sun's gone down, everyone settles on blankets, quilts or in lawn chairs to watch the fireworks. Sam tips his head once against Dean's and smiles when Dean takes hold of his hand, twining their fingers together under a sweatshirt, out of sight of any prying eyes.
After the fireworks are over, and all the garbage is cleaned up and thrown away, Sam takes Dean back to their hotel. He spreads Dean out on their bed and licks him from head to toe, and everywhere in between. When Dean is absolutely and utterly relaxed Sam blankets his brother, sliding deep inside inch by slow inch, whispering into his good ear how good Dean feels, hot and tight around him. They make love until dawn, and then Dean settles into a deep, restful sleep for at least a few hours, wrapped up in Sam's arms.
~~~~~
1975-80
It's been nearly two years since the US was ordered to pull out of Vietnam. With the fall of Saigon in April of '75 the war is finally, truly over, but the cost of involvement is a heavy one; over 58,000 service members lost their lives during the conflict.
The ones who didn't die found themselves coming home to a country that spit on them, broken in body and spirit.
There are some who show up in Sam's office that seem broken beyond repair. Shattered into so many pieces, Sam wonders how they'll ever put themselves back together again.
The ones who appear to be the worst off he brings home to Dean. They sleep in the barn – or out under the stars if it's warm enough – and help out around the farm. It's not as big or busy as it was when Sam and Dean were boys, but there are lots of chores to do, always, and it gives the men a chance to work on healing themselves.
"Men," Sam snorts one night, lying in bed beside Dean. "Most of them aren't much more than kids."
"They're about the same age I was," Dean says quietly. "I thought I was a man."
Sam kisses him, warm and familiar and so loved, and wonders how that cold February day can seem so long ago and so recent all at the same time. "You were," Sam whispers, fingers stroking over Dean's jaw, fingertips ghosting along the scar Dean still wears a beard to hide. "They seem so much younger than you did."
"That's because you're an old man, now." Dean pushes at Sam's shoulder and Sam rolls, pulling his brother with him, on top of him.
"Says the guy who's over fifty." Sam laughs softly when Dean pinches him, and his laughter disappears into Dean's mouth, swallowed down into their kiss.
~~~~~
They're careful, when other people are around.
To their friends and neighbors, fellow Legionnaires, even the minister at the church, they're just brothers. Two bachelor brothers who live on the outskirts of the tiny town, who will help out anyone who needs it in any way they can, and contribute constantly to the community.
When the need to get away and just be together grows beyond the privacy of their bedroom, they'll road trip for a week or two, or more, depending on Sam's caseload and if they have anyone staying at the farm that they trust to keep things going for a few weeks.
For Dean's fiftieth birthday he buys himself a '67 Chevy Impala from a guy who didn't want to have to mortgage himself to pay for the gas. He washes and waxes it, and spends enough time stroking it that Sam starts referring to it as 'the other woman', which in turn makes Dean ask him if that means Sam thinks of himself as the first woman. Those conversations usually end with Dean face-down on the bed, Sam spreading him wide open and fucking him hard and deep.
Sometimes they drive to Colorado or Wyoming – favorite back roads disappearing as the highway system grows and spreads – and once they drive down to Arizona, and then into Mexico for a couple of days. Once they go back to Lawrence and look up their mom and sister's grave.
For Sam's fiftieth birthday he coaxes Dean onto a plane and they spend a week in San Francisco, enjoying the freedom to walk around in public while holding hands. They do touristy things like Fisherman's Wharf, and the Godiva Chocolate store, and then they do a different sort of touristy thing, and go hang out in the Castro District. Dean grumbles, but by the end of the evening he's flirting with every guy who so much as glances in their direction.
Sam gets propositioned when he goes to the bathroom; some guy who's dressed all in black leather – pants, boots, hat and jacket – with metal rings pierced through his nipples. He follows Sam and offers to blow him; says he'd love to bend over and let Sam fuck him stupid. Sam thanks him, politely, and beats feet back to the main room.
"Time to go," he tells Dean.
When they get back to their hotel, it's him doing the blowing. After Dean comes down his throat with a low groan Sam flips him over and fucks him, whispering in Dean's good ear about the boy with the rings pierced through his nipples, and probably in other places. Dean shudders beneath him, flexing and squeezing until Sam's about out of his mind with pleasure.
~~~~~
1983
They're careful. But, it turns out, they're not careful enough.
It shouldn't matter, in their own barn, with no one currently sleeping in it – no vets transitioning from wherever in their mind back to the real world, and no one hired on at the moment to help out. It's post-harvest, it's bucketing down rain, and it's roughly 37 degrees outside.
Inside the barn is warm and snug, and they're chasing each other around like they're fifteen and nineteen again, stopping here and there to tussle, and then to kiss. Sam makes his way up the ladder to the barn loft, unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his belt buckle when he gets to the top. He's planning to do something like a slow strip-tease, but Dean's right behind him, his jeans already undone. He tackles Sam down into the hay—
--and the hay shudders and yells, "Ow!" before erupting all around as a youngster with blond curls and green eyes emerges.
"What the hell?" Dean picks himself up slowly, wincing when his knee pops. Sam flinches in sympathy; weather like this makes his knees crack and ache constantly. "Who're you and what're you doing in our barn?"
"Dean," Sam says, moving around to Dean's left side. "Don't you recognize him?" The boy stares defiantly at them, but Sam can see tear streaks on his face, and the shadow of bruises down one side of the kid's face. "Dean?"
Recognition dawns after another minute, and Dean shakes his head. "…Charlie Thompson? Zack Thompson's grandkid?"
"Yeah." Charlie sits up, shaking straw out of his hair. "Didn't figure nobody would be coming out here in this weather." He glares at them like they're putting him out, being here in their own barn. "Sorry. I'll get goin'."
"Wait." Dean nudges Sam in the ribs and glances downward. Sam turns around to do up his belt and shirt, hoping Charlie didn't notice in the midst of the commotion, that they weren't behaving exactly like brothers would. "It's fine, just, why are you here? Shouldn't you be in school? Or at home?"
"Probably." Charlie sounds matter-of-fact, and when Sam turns back around, he looks completely unconcerned. "Doesn't matter. I'm not goin' back there."
"To which one, school or home?" Dean sounds just like he does when he's talking to the scared, sometimes crazed young men who bunk down regularly in the barn.
"'Either one, man. Fags ain't welcome there – I've had my ass handed to me often enough to know that, and my dad's made it clear he don't want me around, either."
Sam stiffens up in anger; feels Dean do the same beside him. "Your dad—"
"Kicked me out. Said not to come home until I got my shit together and wasn't being a dirty, sinning queer." Charlie's voice catches, breath hitching.
"Did he do that?" Dean nods toward the bruises on Charlie's face, voice cold and hard.
"No. Couple'a kids at school cornered me yesterday. Dad asked about it, I said I got in a fight. When he asked what about…I dunno. I'm tired of holding it in all the time. Of hiding. So I told him why…and he said it wasn't nothing I didn't deserve."
Sam glances at Dean and raises an eyebrow, not needing Dean to nod, but watching for it anyway. Once he does, Sam reaches a hand out. "Come on into the house, Charlie. We'll get you something to eat, and talk some more."
~~~~~
Sam makes chili and cornbread while Charlie fidgets at the table, answering questions Dean and Sam put to him about his dad, school, and needing a place to stay. The conversation is a hard one, a lot of things for Charlie and the Winchesters to decide on. For Sam and Dean, that means revealing – confirming – what Charlie saw in the barn loft.
It's a hell of a chance they're taking, trusting that secret they've kept for decades to a sixteen year old boy who seems mad at the world on a good day.
"Can I ask you guys something? Like, a really personal something?" Charlie asks around a mouthful of cornbread. Dean gives him a half-smile, but Sam beats him to answering. "Chew and swallow first, then yeah."
Charlie rolls his eyes but does as Sam says, chasing the cornbread with a gulp of milk that about finishes off the glass.
"How come you two—you know. How come you're together? I mean, you're…brothers. Isn't that weird?"
Sam almost laughs out loud; beside him, Dean snorts. 'Weird'. Yeah, that's one way to put it.
"It was weird at first," Dean begins, glancing at Sam. "But it's been a really long time, Charlie. We passed by weird a while ago."
"How long is a really long time?"
"Good question." Dean looks at Sam. "I know you probably keep track of this stuff in that humongous head of yours. So, Sammy, how long?"
Sam makes a face at him. "Forty years, give or take a couple."
Charlie's mouth falls open. "Forty years?! Wow. That's like, forever!"
"That's just as a couple." Sam can't help the teasing smile he aims toward Dean. "Technically speaking, though, we've been together our whole lives."
"Sixty-two next January," Dean says, and if Charlie's eyes go any wider, his eyeballs will probably pop out and roll around on the floor.
"Grandpa Zack is only sixty," Charlie tells them. "You're older than my grandpa."
"Some of us aren't that old." Sam adds, just because he can.
"Yeah, thanks for that." Dean drains his beer bottle, belches, and pushes back from the table. "C'mon, kid. You can help with the evening chores, and we'll figure out what to do about your folks."
"So I can stay here?"
"For the time being, anyway." Sam nods and pushes back himself, trying to remember where he put his briefcase. "Put your dishes in the sink; I'll do them up in a little while."
"Brought work home with you, huh?" Dean smiles when Sam nods. "Just go get your stuff done, Sammy. Me an' Charlie can do up the dishes once the livestock's taken care of."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Go on, get busy."
"All right. I'll be up in my office if you need me for anything."
Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam sees him give Charlie a nudge and a smile. "I think me and the kid can handle feeding some animals and washing a few dishes. Go, shoo."
~~~~~
Having Charlie move in with them means some concessions on everyone's part.
The first is school. Charlie doesn't want to go back to school, but Sam and Dean make it a requirement for staying with them. Charlie argues, "but Dean didn't finish high school, why do I have to?"
"Because I'm a farmer – and an old man. Didn't need a fancy degree, or even a high school diploma to push a plow back in the 40's and 50's. After that, well, Sam's got enough schooling for the both of us. But you're young, Charlie. You got your whole life ahead of you."
"What if I just wanna stay here and farm?"
Sam sighs. Arguing with Charlie is actually a lot like arguing with Dean. They're equally stubborn, and both think their opinion is the right one. "That's fine, but these days even farmers need more than just strong arms and stubbornness. You have to have a head for business, and be able to manage things; farming is a lot more than putting seeds in the ground, and it's a lot more complicated than it used to be."
"I'm not going back to Wall High," Charlie mutters, crossing his arms and scowling.
"What about in Rapid City? Sam drives there every day to go to work." Dean blinks when Sam and Charlie both turn to stare at him. "What? You could drop him off at school on your way in to the office, and he could catch a bus down to the DAV building after school lets out. Or—whatever." Dean waves his hand around. "Something after school. But that could work, couldn't it?"
Charlie looks thoughtful, and Sam seizes on that. "It's not that you don't want to go to school, right? You just don't want to go to Wall."
"Yeah."
"Let me see what we need to do to transfer you. I have to go file the custody papers tomorrow; I'll check that all out, then, and maybe with a little luck you can start right after Christmas break, with the new year."
"What about until then?" Charlie's thoughtful look switches back to defiant. "I'm not going back to Wall High, Sam."
"Homeschooling," Sam says after a moment. "You can do your schoolwork here at home, keep up with the basic classes, the core stuff. We can help you with that. Then we'll get the okay to get you registered in Rapid City, and you'll be back in the system after Christmas."
"Awesome." For the first time in the week since they found Charlie in their barn, he actually looks happy, and hopeful, and it makes Sam feel good, that they can help this kid; that there's something they can fix and make better.
~~~~~
1985-95
Charlie graduates in the top one percent of his class, and is accepted into South Dakota State University with a scholarship. He's decided to major in Agricultural Engineering, and Sioux Falls is close enough he can still come home on the weekends to help Sam and Dean out, whether they need it or not (Dean's opinion is no, Sam's is mixed, and Charlie doesn't care either way).
He's glad of that decision when Sam falls and breaks his leg in late November. Yeah, Sam's pretty spry for a dude who's going to be sixty on his next birthday, but that doesn't mean he's a spring chicken, and no matter what Dean says, he can't take care of Sam, the house, and the farm all by himself.
Charlie comes home with a couple of his roommates, and they spend the weekend after Sam's released from the hospital moving furniture around in the living room, making room for Sam and Dean's bed and a dresser. It's probably not necessary; Sam insists he can navigate the stairs with his crutches just fine, thank you very much, but Charlie thinks it'll make things easier.
His friends head back after dinner Saturday night, but Charlie stays. He'll go back Sunday night, or first thing Monday morning. Good thing, too, because Sam's just stubborn enough to think he can go into work on Monday, which, no.
"So what're you planning to do to get back and forth to Rapid City? You can't drive with your right leg in a cast, Sam." Charlie sets mugs on the table and goes back to the stove for the pan with hot chocolate in it.
"Why does everyone discount me?" Dean grumbles. Charlie hides a smile when Sam reaches out to squeeze Dean's hand.
"You're deaf in one ear, and your hearing's not great in the other. You think I'm letting you behind the wheel of a car in heavy traffic?"
"Deaf isn't the same as blind, Sam." But Dean squeezes back, then reaches for his mug.
"Whatever. I have hundreds of hours of sick time built up. They can make do without me for a month or two, until I can drive again."
"You ever gonna retire, old man?" Charlie sits back down and stirs his chocolate.
"Maybe someday. When I'm too old to drive myself in." Sam smiles. "I'll let you know when that happens."
~~~~~
It happens a couple of years after that, when Sam falls again and this time breaks his ankle on his left leg.
Charlie and Dean meet with an architect to have plans drawn up to redo the downstairs of the farmhouse. They add on a bedroom and bathroom, with the bathroom having a large, walk-in shower rather than the old claw-footed tub still in use upstairs, and a room to serve as an office for Sam and Dean both.
Charlie finishes college, graduating Summa Cum Laude, and moves back home. The upstairs becomes his space, though he keeps one of the bedrooms free in case it's needed for a transitioning veteran, or someone else in need of a place for a little while.
Sam retires, but it ends up being more of an 'on paper' sort of thing.
Saddam Hussein invades Kuwait – a tiny country no one even really knew about until August of 1990 – and the US quickly finds itself sending troops and armament over to the middle east for what turns into Desert Shield/Desert Storm, and then there's Sarajevo, and Afghanistan after that, and there's just no keeping up any longer with the troops going out, and coming home needing medical and psychological help.
Retired or not, Sam makes the drive three times a week into Rapid City or on up to Ft. Meade to meet with the returning wounded. He might not be an official Service Officer any longer, but he has more experience at the job than anyone else in the western South Dakota territory, and part of his trips are to offer training and assistance to others wanting to be a Service Officer. Dean often makes the trip with him, pointing out that veterans are often more comfortable talking about combat with others who've been there, done that, though there are a lot of people who just assume Sam has military experience.
It breaks Sam's heart to hear him say that, because even after all the years and crap they've been through together, he knows it's the truth. He's spent enough time in VA hospitals, or at American Legion/VFW events, watching the vets group together, sharing stories and offering comfort that a non-vet just can't offer.
"At least no one's spitting on them," Dean says one morning, after breakfast is over and they're all lingering at the table over one last cup of coffee. "Guess that's a step in the right direction."
"I guess," Charlie agrees, dubious. "It's sad," he adds, "that that has to be a measure of progress."
Neither Sam nor Dean disagree with him.
~~~~~
Charlie's grandfather dies in the spring of 1994. Two years younger than Dean, but not nearly in as good shape physically, he has a heart attack on his way to the grocery store and dies when his car hits the median.
Sam and Dean attend the funeral with Charlie – they knew Zack practically their whole lives, but they also go as support for Charlie. He's talked with his mom and his sisters on the phone, and met up with them for coffee or lunch here and there in the years since coming to live with the Winchesters, but he hasn't seen or spoken to his father in all those years.
His father doesn't even acknowledge Charlie's there at the funeral, though he nods at Sam and Dean.
"Cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch," Dean mutters, maybe a little louder than strictly necessary.
They go to the VFW after the service, to have a drink in Zack Thompson's honor. Charlie waits until they have a couple beers in them, and Dean's gone to talk to someone who waved him over, and wonders out loud why his dad can't accept him for who he is and how he is. Sam sighs.
"I wish I had answers for you, Charlie. Some people just can't accept some things."
"Is it a religion thing? I mean, he makes it sound like it is."
"I don't know that, either. Dean and I were raised going to church; you know we still go, though not as regularly as we used to. It never occurred to either of us to think there was anything wrong with the gender we liked. Well." Sam frowns, and takes a swallow from his beer. "That's maybe not completely true. But there were other factors at work for us, too. Why worry about being queer, when you're screwing your brother?"
Charlie snorts into his beer. "Good point." He nods toward Dean, standing at the bar talking to Cooper Smith, who's gesturing wildly. "Did you always know--?"
Sam raises an eyebrow. "What? That I was gay? Or who I loved?"
"Either. Both."
"Well, we didn't have the resources available that you kids have today – definitely not here in Wall. But I never looked at girls with any interest. Dean did, but I didn't. So I guess I've always known, even if I didn't always understand what it was I knew."
"So Dean's—bisexual?"
"I think…" Sam trails off, then laughs. "I think Dean's Sam-sexual, to be honest. Far as I know he's never been with a guy other than me."
"But you have."
"Yeah." Sam wishes he was a little drunk for this conversation. Or maybe he's a little too drunk, because the VFW bar really isn't the place to talk about this stuff. "I forget you probably don't know the whole story anyway."
"What whole story?"
"That Dean was considered dead for more than ten years." Sam's proud that his voice doesn't shake anymore when he talks about this. Not that he talks about it much.
"He was? Really? How's—how's that even happen?"
"A good question that no one's ever really been able to answer for me." It's been nearly fifty years, but Sam hasn't forgotten. Won't forget. In fact, he can still feel the chill that wound through him when the men came to give them the news. "We don't know what happened, exactly, beyond an ambush. Dean got hit, and there were explosives—anyway. Um. His dogtags got separated from him, and picked up along with a—a body that'd been burnt beyond recognition. Dean doesn't remember getting away from the ambush, just waking up a few days later, and not knowing his name." Sam tosses back the rest of his beer and wishes for something a lot stronger. He clears his throat. "The army sent his tags and the body back to us. I found Dean in '53 when I was working in Germany. Totally by accident."
Charlie's eyes are wide. "And he didn't remember you?"
"He remembered 'Sammy'. He recognized me, when I walked up to where he was living. But he didn't remember Winchester, or South Dakota, or Uncle Bobby—" Sam clears his throat again. "He's remembered a lot of stuff we didn't think he would. But he's told me that a lot of those memories are like hearing a story from someone: you remember the story, but you don't have anything to associate it to yourself."
"Wow. That's—wow." Charlie shakes his head and pushes his beer bottle over to Sam. "That's kind of amazing, in a whole lot of ways."
"Yeah, it really is." Sam drains Charlie's bottle, then gives him a small smile. "Of course, him not being dead created its own special set of problems—because once the Army declares you dead? It's a pain in the ass to get that reversed."
Charlie laughs. "Yeah, I imagine it is. They don't like to admit when they've made a mistake, do they?"
"Not even a little bit." Sam tilts his head toward the bar. "Go on and get Dean, and we'll head home, and have a couple more beers in your grandpa's memory."
~~~~~
It's four in the morning, and Dean's been awake for a couple of hours, now. He's cleaned the stove and refrigerator, sorted the laundry for Charlie to take downstairs to the washer, and is thinking of going upstairs to get on the internet. Charlie's always telling him he needs to 'get with it and embrace technology'.
Of course, if he gets on that damned computer, he'll have to keep his eyes closed to avoid all the headlines about the bombing in Oklahoma City. Just thinking about it makes his stomach clench.
He's still sitting at the kitchen table, thinking about assholes who kill wantonly for no reason that makes sense to anyone with a shred of sanity, when the door opens and Charlie slinks in.
It's kind of funny, really, how shocked Charlie looks, and Dean can't help it, he has to mess with him a little.
"You could bring him home, you know. It's your house, too. And it's unlikely I would hear anything."
Charlie makes a choked sort of noise, and flushes. "I wasn't—I mean, it's not—damn, Dean."
Dean waves him down into one of the chairs, and gets up to pour himself another cup of coffee, and to get one for Charlie. The kid looks shell-shocked.
"So, what's his name?" He sets the mug and the sugar bowl in front of Charlie, then slides back into his own chair.
"Reggie," Charlie murmurs, fixing his attention on spooning sugar into his coffee. "Reggie Bowles."
"Been seein' him long?"
Charlie coughs. "Um. Almost a year?"
"A year, and you ain't brought him around? What, you ashamed of us, Charles Thompson?"
"What? No! I just—he works odd hours, and it never seems like the right time, and I—" He breaks off and stares at Dean suspiciously. "You're just giving me shit, aren't you?"
"Yup." Dean smiles widely. "So, really. What does Reggie do for a living?"
Charlie ducks his head. "He's a nurse. Works at the VA hospital up at Ft. Meade."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Remember when you got so sick last spring, we took you on up there? That's when I met him. He was one of your night nurses."
Dean narrows his eyes trying to remember who his nurses were. Most of them were women, but there was one – "…the colored boy? Wore little gold wire-rimmed glasses?"
Charlie rolls his eyes. "We say 'African-American' now, Dean. But yep, that's him. He's trying to get transferred to the clinic down here, but there aren't many openings, and they go quick."
"So little Charlie's got himself a guy," Dean says, smiling. About damn time, too, not that he's going to say that out loud. "Way to go, kiddo."
"Thanks." And Charlie does look happy, smile wide and open.
"But seriously—bring him home sometime. We'd love to meet him."
"You sure? Because I know this is pretty much the only place you and Sam can be—"
"Don't you worry about me an' Sam. It's not like we sit around here all day grabbing and groping at each other. We could probably keep our hands to ourselves for dinner or something."
"And with that visual firmly stuck in my mind, I'm gonna go milk the cow and gather the eggs. Thanks so much. Gyah."
Dean laughs as Charlie stomps out of the kitchen, and calls after him, "You're welcome!"
He's still chuckling when Sam comes out a few minutes later, graying, thinning hair sleep-tousled and standing on end, lines and wrinkles where there used to just be dimples, but just as beautiful to Dean as he was a half a century ago.
~~~~~
1998
Fifty-five years after he dies in an explosion and is shipped home and buried as Dean Winchester, Corporal Rory Calhoun is identified through DNA Forensics.
Sam and Dean travel to Iowa to attend Rory's funeral. It's a quiet, tense trip that has Sam watching Dean with concern.
The son who barely remembers him and the daughter who never knew him thank them for their unending pursuit to have Rory identified.
Dean joins the honor guard who send Rory on his way with the sounding of Taps and three volleys of gunfire. It's Dean himself who hands the folded flag over to Rory's daughter, and for the first time in years Sam sees his brother cry.
He holds Dean close that night, aching for Rory's family, but so thankful he has Dean…has had Dean…that his heart feels full to bursting.
"I love you," he whispers, knowing Dean won't hear him.
"Love you too, Sammy," comes back at him, and Sam smiles, thinking he shouldn't be surprised any more. Dean hears what he needs to, when he needs to, which means he always hears Sam.
~~~~~
2001
They watch the news reports together, Sam and Dean, and Charlie and Reggie.
The television hasn't been turned off in at least twelve hours; reports of the dead and missing rolling in, film crews showing the same pictures over and over, two planes crashing into the twin towers, black smoke billowing up and outward.
More pictures, more newsreel, people sharing their stories, crying on camera as the horror of the day slowly starts sinking in.
Charlie spends the afternoon pacing the length of the living room until his mom finally calls with news: his youngest sister is okay. She didn't go into work today, felt headachy and unwell, so she called in. She's at home in her apartment, and she's fine.
In all the years Charlie's lived with them, Sam's only seen him cry once or twice. But he cries unabashedly when he gets the news his sister is okay.
There aren't many events Sam can unequivocally say that he'll never forget, but this one's making the short list.
~~~~~
2004
"I don't like surprises, Sam, and I hate flying." Dean's grumbling as he folds himself into Charlie's car, and Sam hides his smile by fiddling with his seatbelt. "Y'hear me?"
"The whole county heard you. Turn your hearing aid up." Sam turns to smile at his brother. "I know you don't like surprises, but you'll like this one. I promise. Even getting on the plane will be worth it." He hopes.
Dean makes a 'hmph' noise in his throat, managing to convey his disbelief without actually saying a word. Sam rolls his eyes when Dean grumbles again, "You in on this too, kid?"
Kid. Charlie's in his 40's now, hardly a kid by anyone's standards, but Sam knows Dean holds the opinion that he's earned the right to call anyone under seventy by that moniker.
"You know I just take you guys where Sam tells me to," Charlie says, winking at Sam.
"Pity you don't pay me the same respect."
This time, Sam makes the harrumph noises in his throat. Charlie practically worships the ground Dean walks on, and well he knows it.
"So either of you going to tell me where we're going? Or are you just going to blindfold me once we get on plane, so I can't see nothin'." At least Dean doesn't sound totally freaked out. The first time – and last time – they flew anywhere was the trip to San Francisco, for Sam's fiftieth birthday, and Sam ended up having to get Dean drunk just so he wouldn't panic.
"No blindfolds," Sam says, pulling their tickets out of his jacket pocket. "At least not right now." He can sense Charlie stiffen beside him, and bites his lip, knowing what's coming next.
Sure enough, "Oh, my God, do not start. You guys know that freaks me out."
"What, you don't want to think about two old geezers spicing things up?" Sam doesn't even have to see Dean's face; he can hear the leer in his voice. Meanwhile, Charlie's turning an interesting shade of pink.
"Dean, if you freak Charlie out too much, he'll crash, we'll all die, and then you won't get your surprise."
"Since I don't like surprises to begin with, where's the bad in this?"
"Dying is bad! I'm not ready to die." Charlie makes a quick turn into the airport long-term parking, and not for the first time Sam thinks it was a really good idea to spend the night here in Sioux Falls, rather than have to get up in the middle of the night to make the drive in. "And if I die in a car accident you cause, I'll come back and haunt your ass."
"How can you haunt any part of me if I'm dead, too?" Dean sounds genuinely curious, but Sam thinks it's time to change the subject.
"We've got transportation arranged on the other end, right?"
Charlie nods. "Reggie made the reservations; I have the printout in my wallet. They'll have a wheelchair waiting for us, too." Just a precaution, in case either Sam or Dean needs it. Sam's bones, in particular, aren't what they used to be.
"I wish he could've come, too." Sam's glad Charlie has someone now. He worried Charlie might never try out of some misguided concern about leaving Sam and Dean on their own. It makes him worry less for the future, too. No, he's not planning on dying any time soon, but he and Dean are getting on in years.
"Yeah." Charlie frowns. "Unfortunately, as short-handed as they are these days, it's hard to get time off."
These days.
Sam's not involved any longer; age and health issues – his and Dean's – have conspired to force him into a real retirement, but he still has contacts within the DAV, the Veterans Administration and the Department of the Army. They're reaching critical levels of 'short-handed', with all the soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention the growing health concerns related to aging, of the veterans from both World Wars and Korea.
He sighs and looks out the window at the airport. Four-plus hours on a plane with his brother who hates to fly. Their doctor doesn't like either of them drinking much these days, but once in a while judicious applications of whiskey help more than they could hurt.
~~~~~
They arrive at their hotel late on Thursday afternoon. The plane is on time, getting them in a little after two, but by the time they have their luggage, get their rental car, and sit in traffic from Dulles to Arlington, it's close on to dinner time.
Dean doesn't say anything to Sam or Charlie; just moves when and where they tell him to. He's not drunk, exactly, but he isn't sober, either.
He's quiet until they hit the outer limits of Arlington, then he looks over at Sam, who's sharing the backseat with him. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"What're we doing here?"
Sam takes his hand and squeezes; gives his brother a big smile. "We're here for the dedication, Dean."
"The memorial?" They've both done untold amounts of fund-raising for the World War II memorial, and for years it seemed like it was never going to happen. That it would be a dream forever unfulfilled. Sam nods, and swears he feels the bones in his hand pop and creak when Dean squeezes, his eyes wide and stunned. "Jesus—the memorial. Jesus." Another squeeze, and Dean swallows, then asks, "—how? How'd you pull this off?"
Up front, Charlie laughs, and Sam joins him. "I pulled every string I could think of, and called in five decades' worth of favors," he says, and it's the God-honest truth. There was no way he wasn't going to get his brother here for this. No way.
"When's the ceremony?" Dean still looks – and sounds – stunned, but he's starting to smile, too.
"The actual dedication is Saturday afternoon. But that's only part of the surprise. The other part is tomorrow."
"And that is--?"
"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise."
"If you don't tell me, and it's too much of a shock, I could have a heart attack and then miss the whole thing." Dean scowls. "Seriously, Sam. I'm surprised enough right now to cover anything. I wanna know."
"Fine." Sam can't help huffing a little, but he has to admit Dean has a point. He really doesn't do surprises particularly well, and—yeah. "There's a…Charlie and I tracked down surviving members of your unit. Through message boards and stuff. There's twelve of you – including Steven "Rabbit" Wise, and Delbert McConklin. Steve Wise stayed in the Army; he retired from active duty as a Lieutenant Colonel in 1974."
Dean's back to looking completely stunned. "Rabbit…" He lifts his hand, touches the tattoo on his left arm, hidden beneath his shirt. "Son-of-a-bitch. Rabbit and Del."
"We're having dinner with Steve tonight, but the others won't be in until a lot later, or tomorrow. But tomorrow night we're having a…well, a reunion," Sam tells him. "Then breakfast on Saturday morning, and we'll go to the memorial and have a look around, before the dedication ceremony. I know the organizers have some events planned for on the grounds, but not sure what all those events are. I'll know better when we get checked into the hotel, and get our information packets." Dean's still gripping his left arm, eyes staring off into the middle distance, so Sam squeezes his hand gently. "You okay?"
Green eyes refocus, bright with unshed tears, and Dean smiles. "Yeah, Sammy, I am." He leans in and kisses Sam gently, unmindful of the traffic around them, or Charlie watching in the rear-view. "Thank you. Just—thank you."
~~~~~
2011
Reggie grunts when Charlie rolls out of bed, but settles back into sleep almost immediately. Just as well; he doesn't need to be up for work for a few hours yet.
Charlie's kind of surprised by the quiet as he makes his way downstairs. He's also surprised by how cold the stairs are. Even with heavy socks on, the wood floors are chilly, and he makes a mental note to check the thermostat. If the cold is bothering him, Sam's going to be miserable, what with his arthritis making it damned near impossible to get around now, in wintertime.
It's weirdly quiet, still, as he descends into the downstairs hall, and Charlie frowns. Dean's the oldest guy in the house, but he's almost always the first one up – Sam and Charlie beat him out once in a while, but not often – and he usually has coffee going by now.
Charlie takes a minute to get the coffee started, wrestling with the Mr. Coffee he bought a couple of years ago, much to Dean's disgust. He's a slave to his caffeine habit, and he's not ashamed to admit to it, but that damned percolator was just more than he could deal with on a regular basis. Dean still grumbles about it, and refuses to use the coffee maker, though he'll drink the coffee once it's made.
Once the coffee maker is doing its thing, Charlie goes to knock softly on Sam and Dean's door. When there's no answer he pushes the door open just enough to peek around and inside. He hates intruding in their private space any more than he has to.
They're curled around each other, Sam spooned up to Dean and one arm stretched over to hold Dean close. They have the quilt and feather bed pulled up practically to their noses, sound asleep. Charlie smiles and backs away, pulling the door shut behind him.
They're old guys, and if anyone deserves to sleep in undisturbed once in a while, it's them. He'll wake them up after he's checked the henhouse for eggs and got breakfast started.
There's plenty of time for them to sleep, yet.
~fin~
World War II Memorial Plaza
Playlist for Battled Fields No More:
01. Down to the River to Pray - Alison Krause
02. Rock Around the Clock - Bill Haley & the Comets
03. Baby I'm a Soldier - Kareem Salama
04. Amazing Grace - artist unknown
05. 8th of November - Big & Rich
06. One Tin Soldier - Coven
07. Ballad of the Green Berets - Sgt Barry Sadler
08. Eve of Destruction - Barry McGuire
09. Letters From Home - John Michael Montgomery
10. When You Say Nothing At All - Alison Krause & Keith Whitley
11. End of Innocence - Don Henley
12. Don't Stop Believing - Journey
13. Take These Broken Wings - Mister Mister
14. Arlington - Trace Adkins
15. The Battle Hymn of the Republic - Lee Greenwood
Download Link - right-click and save as. It's zipped as a self-extracting file, so just click on it once it's dl'd and you're good to go.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R(ish)
Word Count: ~8500
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. This is an a/u, in the same Verse as We Know Each Other As We Always Were, and follows after that story.
Summary: The war might be over, but the battle never really will be. Soldiering on, life in snapshots.
A/N: I started this story originally, with one idea in mind: Sam and Dean at the WWII memorial. It became evident early on that it was going to be so much more than that; it was tying up loose ends and closing out this particular universe. It holds a special place in my heart, as does the original this follows, because it's personal. I need to thank
arliss, runedgirl and raynedanser for their advice, suggestions, beta skills and just general support while I worked on this. I've included a playlist at the end of the story, along with a download link. These are songs I listened to frequently while writing this. Hope you enjoy the story :)Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Dream of battled fields no more.
Days of danger, nights of waking.
--Sir Walter Scott
"No," Sam says hoarsely, staring up and hardly daring to believe. "It's. It's Winchester. Dean Winchester. You. You're my brother, Dean Winchester."
He gets his brother back on a cloudy day in June, 1953. The brother he'd thought dead for a decade, suddenly there, vibrantly alive, the most familiar stranger Sam's ever met.
1953-54
The first year is a lot more difficult than Sam might've thought it would be. It's full of tense, shouted arguments when Dean can't remember and Sam can't forget. But in between the arguments they work on learning who each other is now, and how they fit together.
They make a promise never go to sleep mad at each other. No matter how fierce the disagreement, no matter how sharp the verbal barbs, they always let it go before going to bed. Even if it means they miss a night's sleep occasionally. Or more than one, because as Uncle Bobby pointed out on numerous occasions, both Sam and Dean got a double dose of pig-headedness.
That promise is never broken.
Sam begins what turns into an eighteen month battle with the Department of the Army to get Dean returned to the land of the living on paper, and have him honorably discharged from service, rather than the 'Discharged, Deceased' that's stamped on the paperwork Sam has. His brother isn't dead, and whoever the body in the grave is, there's a family out there somewhere who's grieving for it and has nothing to grieve over; a family who has no sense of closure. The remains are exhumed while Dean watches, stony-faced and silent, and Sam wonders what he's thinking but doesn't ask. Aside from the once, when they were first reunited, Dean doesn't like to talk about that day that took so much from both of them.
His nightmares come back after that; nights spent moving restlessly, shouting out in his sleep, mumbling unintelligibly in a mix of German and English.
They spend Dean's first Memorial Day back home putting flags and poppies on the grave markers of all the fallen servicemen and women in the area.
Sam holds Dean tight against him that night, their faces wet with tears they're both crying.
1957
It starts as a small thing, the third year Dean's home. Comes on sneaky, catching both of them unawares one night at dinner, of all things. Just dinner, with the radio playing softly in the background as they often have it, switching off between the station that plays big band and the new station that plays that new-fangled 'rock-and-roll' stuff. Sam's not sure if he likes it or not, but Dean seems at times like he's ready to drive off and try to find Bill Haley or Buddy Holly.
Sam usually sits at one end of the table, and Dean at the other, but tonight they have things set out to start canning this weekend, so they're short on space. Sam takes the place to Dean's right, making it easier to lay out the legal pad he's scribbling notes on; things he needs to talk to his secretary about in the morning.
"Dean, pass the salt, wouldja?"
Nothing. No response. Dean's staring off into the middle distance, probably working out his plans for morning chores, but it's not until Sam waves a hand practically under his nose, voice raised a couple of decibels (it seems) louder than usual, that he gets his brother's attention.
"What?"
"Salt? Please?"
He has to repeat it a third time, and by then he has a sinking feeling this is just a small part of a much bigger problem. From the expression on Dean's face, he feels the same way.
Dean's losing his hearing in his right ear. Their doctor in Wall suggests Dean go to the VA clinic in Rapid City, since it's likely related to the injury he sustained in Germany. The doctors at the clinic refer him on to the Veterans' hospital at Ft. Meade for tests and treatment.
"There's nothing we can do to stop the loss," one of the doctors tells them after a full battery of hearing tests and x-rays. "The damage happened when you experienced the trauma to your head, and the technology just isn't there to repair it. All we can do at this point is fit you with a hearing aid. It won't reverse things, but it will help you hear better."
"I don't need no damn hearing aid," Dean growls. "Thirty-five years old, ain't old enough to need something like that."
"But if it helps—" Sam cuts himself off when Dean glares, and raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. Go deaf. Whatever."
"Again, the hearing aid won't prevent hearing loss, Mr. Winchester," the doctor says, and Sam scowls. "It will only help him hear better, now. We don't have to the fitting today; it can be done at any time."
"Not gonna be any time soon," Dean mutters under his breath. He's out the door before the doctor is finished talking, shoulders squared and rigid. Sam sighs and thanks the doctor for his time, then asks for a copy of Dean's medical records to be sent to their home address.
Dean's sitting on a bench outside the hospital entrance, staring up at the flag fluttering in the breeze. Sam sits beside him, making sure to sit on his left, their shoulders just brushing. "We could go to Pierre, or Sioux Falls," he says quietly. "Or Denver. Hell, Dean, I'll take you to D.C., if it comes to that."
"Nah." Dean shrugs, and bumps his shoulder into Sam's. "Shoulda known something would come up. Ain't had headaches in forever—something had to give."
"I guess." He sighs, feeling defeated. "Andy, the kid who's been helping out around the farm—he can handle feeding the livestock tonight, right? You want to stay here tonight, drive back tomorrow?"
Dean nods. "But don't you need to go to work tomorrow?"
"Thing about being the boss—I can take the day off if I need to." Sam pauses. He's been thinking about this for awhile; pretty much since he had to start dealing with the Department of the Army as well as the Veteran's Administration on a regular basis. "I'm thinking—I might close my practice." The practice he's only had a few years.
"What, your law practice?" He has Dean's full attention now. "And do what?"
"Work as a disabled veteran's advocate. I was thinking—Service Officer. We need more than the one guy in our area." Privately, Sam's wondering about the years ahead. They have men and women coming back from Korea now, and rumbles of the US joining the conflict over in Vietnam and it's pointless to think that everything will end there. Much as he wishes otherwise, Sam knows there will always be some conflict somewhere that's going to result in veterans needing assistance.
"You're serious?"
"Yeah. I really am."
Dean grins at him, bright and happy, and Sam's heart stutters for an instant. It starts beating double-time when Dean says softly, "We need to go somewhere else right now, because I really want to kiss you. A lot."
1965
The nightmares are constant as the year winds down and clicks over into the next. Practically every night, Dean wakes up drenched in sweat, fingers scrabbling at the sheets, shouting and cursing at shadow people.
Sam soothes him best he can, when Dean lets him. As many nights as not, though, Dean gets up and stays up. Sam hears him puttering around downstairs and smells the coffee percolating in the old battered pot on the stove while he lays in bed, staring sleepless at the ceiling.
The last time he felt this helpless, he and Uncle Bobby had just received a telegram telling them Dean was dead.
If Sam thought it would help, he'd toss their television out into the trash. He knows it won't, though, because coverage of the war – especially now the US is deploying combat units – is a constant thing on television, on the radio, in the newspaper. It's a continual barrage of information that won't go away no matter how much he wishes it.
He holds Dean tight when he's allowed, and tries not to worry too much. It'll pass, it always does. But until it does, he aches deep inside because he can't do anything.
1967
The American Legion in Wall is tiny; an auxiliary branch only that meets in the basement of the Methodist Church, or occasionally in the conference room at the police station, if there's a scheduling conflict. For large events the members make the drive to Rapid City.
There's always a series of events planned for the weekend preceding Memorial Day, so Sam and Dean get a hotel room for those three days and nights. Sam helps tend bar for the Saturday night get-together, and if his heart clenches a little while he watches Dean play pool, or poker, his face open and relaxed, well. He loves his brother, and seeing him happy is the best thing that can happen, as far as Sam's concerned.
On Sunday they're all a little hung over, but everyone in the Legion helps place flags over the grave markers in the veteran's section of the cemetery.
Russell and Mary Jo Browski bring their grandsons, and Avery, the youngest, spends most of the morning trailing behind Dean, talking a mile a minute. Sam figures Dean only actually hears about a quarter of whatever Avery's chattering about – he's mostly deaf in his right ear now, even with the hearing aid – but Avery seems happy to have his attention and Sam knows Dean well enough to know he likes having the kid hanging around.
The Legion has a barbeque on Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow will be somber, services at the cemetery and time for quiet reflection, but for this afternoon it's hotdogs and hamburgers on the big smoker grill, homemade potato salad and huge slices of watermelon. Lemonade and bottles of coca-cola for the kids, and bottles of beer for the adults. Legion members bring their families, and everyone relaxes for a little while.
"You ever gonna find a nice girl and settle down, Sam?" Russell asks Sam the same question every year, convinced Sam only needs someone to point prospective girls out to him. Dean at least gets off the hook by virtue of having been married once before – he plays the part of stolid widower pretty well, Sam has to admit. But not Sam.
"I found a nice girl, but you married her first, Russell." Sam smiles when Dean chokes on his bite of potato salad, and whaps him on the back. "There isn't anyone who can compare to Mary Jo."
Russell snorts, but Mary Jo kisses Sam's cheek and hands him a plate with a huge slice of chocolate cake on it.
Once the sun's gone down, everyone settles on blankets, quilts or in lawn chairs to watch the fireworks. Sam tips his head once against Dean's and smiles when Dean takes hold of his hand, twining their fingers together under a sweatshirt, out of sight of any prying eyes.
After the fireworks are over, and all the garbage is cleaned up and thrown away, Sam takes Dean back to their hotel. He spreads Dean out on their bed and licks him from head to toe, and everywhere in between. When Dean is absolutely and utterly relaxed Sam blankets his brother, sliding deep inside inch by slow inch, whispering into his good ear how good Dean feels, hot and tight around him. They make love until dawn, and then Dean settles into a deep, restful sleep for at least a few hours, wrapped up in Sam's arms.
1975-80
It's been nearly two years since the US was ordered to pull out of Vietnam. With the fall of Saigon in April of '75 the war is finally, truly over, but the cost of involvement is a heavy one; over 58,000 service members lost their lives during the conflict.
The ones who didn't die found themselves coming home to a country that spit on them, broken in body and spirit.
There are some who show up in Sam's office that seem broken beyond repair. Shattered into so many pieces, Sam wonders how they'll ever put themselves back together again.
The ones who appear to be the worst off he brings home to Dean. They sleep in the barn – or out under the stars if it's warm enough – and help out around the farm. It's not as big or busy as it was when Sam and Dean were boys, but there are lots of chores to do, always, and it gives the men a chance to work on healing themselves.
"Men," Sam snorts one night, lying in bed beside Dean. "Most of them aren't much more than kids."
"They're about the same age I was," Dean says quietly. "I thought I was a man."
Sam kisses him, warm and familiar and so loved, and wonders how that cold February day can seem so long ago and so recent all at the same time. "You were," Sam whispers, fingers stroking over Dean's jaw, fingertips ghosting along the scar Dean still wears a beard to hide. "They seem so much younger than you did."
"That's because you're an old man, now." Dean pushes at Sam's shoulder and Sam rolls, pulling his brother with him, on top of him.
"Says the guy who's over fifty." Sam laughs softly when Dean pinches him, and his laughter disappears into Dean's mouth, swallowed down into their kiss.
They're careful, when other people are around.
To their friends and neighbors, fellow Legionnaires, even the minister at the church, they're just brothers. Two bachelor brothers who live on the outskirts of the tiny town, who will help out anyone who needs it in any way they can, and contribute constantly to the community.
When the need to get away and just be together grows beyond the privacy of their bedroom, they'll road trip for a week or two, or more, depending on Sam's caseload and if they have anyone staying at the farm that they trust to keep things going for a few weeks.
For Dean's fiftieth birthday he buys himself a '67 Chevy Impala from a guy who didn't want to have to mortgage himself to pay for the gas. He washes and waxes it, and spends enough time stroking it that Sam starts referring to it as 'the other woman', which in turn makes Dean ask him if that means Sam thinks of himself as the first woman. Those conversations usually end with Dean face-down on the bed, Sam spreading him wide open and fucking him hard and deep.
Sometimes they drive to Colorado or Wyoming – favorite back roads disappearing as the highway system grows and spreads – and once they drive down to Arizona, and then into Mexico for a couple of days. Once they go back to Lawrence and look up their mom and sister's grave.
For Sam's fiftieth birthday he coaxes Dean onto a plane and they spend a week in San Francisco, enjoying the freedom to walk around in public while holding hands. They do touristy things like Fisherman's Wharf, and the Godiva Chocolate store, and then they do a different sort of touristy thing, and go hang out in the Castro District. Dean grumbles, but by the end of the evening he's flirting with every guy who so much as glances in their direction.
Sam gets propositioned when he goes to the bathroom; some guy who's dressed all in black leather – pants, boots, hat and jacket – with metal rings pierced through his nipples. He follows Sam and offers to blow him; says he'd love to bend over and let Sam fuck him stupid. Sam thanks him, politely, and beats feet back to the main room.
"Time to go," he tells Dean.
When they get back to their hotel, it's him doing the blowing. After Dean comes down his throat with a low groan Sam flips him over and fucks him, whispering in Dean's good ear about the boy with the rings pierced through his nipples, and probably in other places. Dean shudders beneath him, flexing and squeezing until Sam's about out of his mind with pleasure.
1983
They're careful. But, it turns out, they're not careful enough.
It shouldn't matter, in their own barn, with no one currently sleeping in it – no vets transitioning from wherever in their mind back to the real world, and no one hired on at the moment to help out. It's post-harvest, it's bucketing down rain, and it's roughly 37 degrees outside.
Inside the barn is warm and snug, and they're chasing each other around like they're fifteen and nineteen again, stopping here and there to tussle, and then to kiss. Sam makes his way up the ladder to the barn loft, unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his belt buckle when he gets to the top. He's planning to do something like a slow strip-tease, but Dean's right behind him, his jeans already undone. He tackles Sam down into the hay—
--and the hay shudders and yells, "Ow!" before erupting all around as a youngster with blond curls and green eyes emerges.
"What the hell?" Dean picks himself up slowly, wincing when his knee pops. Sam flinches in sympathy; weather like this makes his knees crack and ache constantly. "Who're you and what're you doing in our barn?"
"Dean," Sam says, moving around to Dean's left side. "Don't you recognize him?" The boy stares defiantly at them, but Sam can see tear streaks on his face, and the shadow of bruises down one side of the kid's face. "Dean?"
Recognition dawns after another minute, and Dean shakes his head. "…Charlie Thompson? Zack Thompson's grandkid?"
"Yeah." Charlie sits up, shaking straw out of his hair. "Didn't figure nobody would be coming out here in this weather." He glares at them like they're putting him out, being here in their own barn. "Sorry. I'll get goin'."
"Wait." Dean nudges Sam in the ribs and glances downward. Sam turns around to do up his belt and shirt, hoping Charlie didn't notice in the midst of the commotion, that they weren't behaving exactly like brothers would. "It's fine, just, why are you here? Shouldn't you be in school? Or at home?"
"Probably." Charlie sounds matter-of-fact, and when Sam turns back around, he looks completely unconcerned. "Doesn't matter. I'm not goin' back there."
"To which one, school or home?" Dean sounds just like he does when he's talking to the scared, sometimes crazed young men who bunk down regularly in the barn.
"'Either one, man. Fags ain't welcome there – I've had my ass handed to me often enough to know that, and my dad's made it clear he don't want me around, either."
Sam stiffens up in anger; feels Dean do the same beside him. "Your dad—"
"Kicked me out. Said not to come home until I got my shit together and wasn't being a dirty, sinning queer." Charlie's voice catches, breath hitching.
"Did he do that?" Dean nods toward the bruises on Charlie's face, voice cold and hard.
"No. Couple'a kids at school cornered me yesterday. Dad asked about it, I said I got in a fight. When he asked what about…I dunno. I'm tired of holding it in all the time. Of hiding. So I told him why…and he said it wasn't nothing I didn't deserve."
Sam glances at Dean and raises an eyebrow, not needing Dean to nod, but watching for it anyway. Once he does, Sam reaches a hand out. "Come on into the house, Charlie. We'll get you something to eat, and talk some more."
Sam makes chili and cornbread while Charlie fidgets at the table, answering questions Dean and Sam put to him about his dad, school, and needing a place to stay. The conversation is a hard one, a lot of things for Charlie and the Winchesters to decide on. For Sam and Dean, that means revealing – confirming – what Charlie saw in the barn loft.
It's a hell of a chance they're taking, trusting that secret they've kept for decades to a sixteen year old boy who seems mad at the world on a good day.
"Can I ask you guys something? Like, a really personal something?" Charlie asks around a mouthful of cornbread. Dean gives him a half-smile, but Sam beats him to answering. "Chew and swallow first, then yeah."
Charlie rolls his eyes but does as Sam says, chasing the cornbread with a gulp of milk that about finishes off the glass.
"How come you two—you know. How come you're together? I mean, you're…brothers. Isn't that weird?"
Sam almost laughs out loud; beside him, Dean snorts. 'Weird'. Yeah, that's one way to put it.
"It was weird at first," Dean begins, glancing at Sam. "But it's been a really long time, Charlie. We passed by weird a while ago."
"How long is a really long time?"
"Good question." Dean looks at Sam. "I know you probably keep track of this stuff in that humongous head of yours. So, Sammy, how long?"
Sam makes a face at him. "Forty years, give or take a couple."
Charlie's mouth falls open. "Forty years?! Wow. That's like, forever!"
"That's just as a couple." Sam can't help the teasing smile he aims toward Dean. "Technically speaking, though, we've been together our whole lives."
"Sixty-two next January," Dean says, and if Charlie's eyes go any wider, his eyeballs will probably pop out and roll around on the floor.
"Grandpa Zack is only sixty," Charlie tells them. "You're older than my grandpa."
"Some of us aren't that old." Sam adds, just because he can.
"Yeah, thanks for that." Dean drains his beer bottle, belches, and pushes back from the table. "C'mon, kid. You can help with the evening chores, and we'll figure out what to do about your folks."
"So I can stay here?"
"For the time being, anyway." Sam nods and pushes back himself, trying to remember where he put his briefcase. "Put your dishes in the sink; I'll do them up in a little while."
"Brought work home with you, huh?" Dean smiles when Sam nods. "Just go get your stuff done, Sammy. Me an' Charlie can do up the dishes once the livestock's taken care of."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Go on, get busy."
"All right. I'll be up in my office if you need me for anything."
Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam sees him give Charlie a nudge and a smile. "I think me and the kid can handle feeding some animals and washing a few dishes. Go, shoo."
Having Charlie move in with them means some concessions on everyone's part.
The first is school. Charlie doesn't want to go back to school, but Sam and Dean make it a requirement for staying with them. Charlie argues, "but Dean didn't finish high school, why do I have to?"
"Because I'm a farmer – and an old man. Didn't need a fancy degree, or even a high school diploma to push a plow back in the 40's and 50's. After that, well, Sam's got enough schooling for the both of us. But you're young, Charlie. You got your whole life ahead of you."
"What if I just wanna stay here and farm?"
Sam sighs. Arguing with Charlie is actually a lot like arguing with Dean. They're equally stubborn, and both think their opinion is the right one. "That's fine, but these days even farmers need more than just strong arms and stubbornness. You have to have a head for business, and be able to manage things; farming is a lot more than putting seeds in the ground, and it's a lot more complicated than it used to be."
"I'm not going back to Wall High," Charlie mutters, crossing his arms and scowling.
"What about in Rapid City? Sam drives there every day to go to work." Dean blinks when Sam and Charlie both turn to stare at him. "What? You could drop him off at school on your way in to the office, and he could catch a bus down to the DAV building after school lets out. Or—whatever." Dean waves his hand around. "Something after school. But that could work, couldn't it?"
Charlie looks thoughtful, and Sam seizes on that. "It's not that you don't want to go to school, right? You just don't want to go to Wall."
"Yeah."
"Let me see what we need to do to transfer you. I have to go file the custody papers tomorrow; I'll check that all out, then, and maybe with a little luck you can start right after Christmas break, with the new year."
"What about until then?" Charlie's thoughtful look switches back to defiant. "I'm not going back to Wall High, Sam."
"Homeschooling," Sam says after a moment. "You can do your schoolwork here at home, keep up with the basic classes, the core stuff. We can help you with that. Then we'll get the okay to get you registered in Rapid City, and you'll be back in the system after Christmas."
"Awesome." For the first time in the week since they found Charlie in their barn, he actually looks happy, and hopeful, and it makes Sam feel good, that they can help this kid; that there's something they can fix and make better.
1985-95
Charlie graduates in the top one percent of his class, and is accepted into South Dakota State University with a scholarship. He's decided to major in Agricultural Engineering, and Sioux Falls is close enough he can still come home on the weekends to help Sam and Dean out, whether they need it or not (Dean's opinion is no, Sam's is mixed, and Charlie doesn't care either way).
He's glad of that decision when Sam falls and breaks his leg in late November. Yeah, Sam's pretty spry for a dude who's going to be sixty on his next birthday, but that doesn't mean he's a spring chicken, and no matter what Dean says, he can't take care of Sam, the house, and the farm all by himself.
Charlie comes home with a couple of his roommates, and they spend the weekend after Sam's released from the hospital moving furniture around in the living room, making room for Sam and Dean's bed and a dresser. It's probably not necessary; Sam insists he can navigate the stairs with his crutches just fine, thank you very much, but Charlie thinks it'll make things easier.
His friends head back after dinner Saturday night, but Charlie stays. He'll go back Sunday night, or first thing Monday morning. Good thing, too, because Sam's just stubborn enough to think he can go into work on Monday, which, no.
"So what're you planning to do to get back and forth to Rapid City? You can't drive with your right leg in a cast, Sam." Charlie sets mugs on the table and goes back to the stove for the pan with hot chocolate in it.
"Why does everyone discount me?" Dean grumbles. Charlie hides a smile when Sam reaches out to squeeze Dean's hand.
"You're deaf in one ear, and your hearing's not great in the other. You think I'm letting you behind the wheel of a car in heavy traffic?"
"Deaf isn't the same as blind, Sam." But Dean squeezes back, then reaches for his mug.
"Whatever. I have hundreds of hours of sick time built up. They can make do without me for a month or two, until I can drive again."
"You ever gonna retire, old man?" Charlie sits back down and stirs his chocolate.
"Maybe someday. When I'm too old to drive myself in." Sam smiles. "I'll let you know when that happens."
It happens a couple of years after that, when Sam falls again and this time breaks his ankle on his left leg.
Charlie and Dean meet with an architect to have plans drawn up to redo the downstairs of the farmhouse. They add on a bedroom and bathroom, with the bathroom having a large, walk-in shower rather than the old claw-footed tub still in use upstairs, and a room to serve as an office for Sam and Dean both.
Charlie finishes college, graduating Summa Cum Laude, and moves back home. The upstairs becomes his space, though he keeps one of the bedrooms free in case it's needed for a transitioning veteran, or someone else in need of a place for a little while.
Sam retires, but it ends up being more of an 'on paper' sort of thing.
Saddam Hussein invades Kuwait – a tiny country no one even really knew about until August of 1990 – and the US quickly finds itself sending troops and armament over to the middle east for what turns into Desert Shield/Desert Storm, and then there's Sarajevo, and Afghanistan after that, and there's just no keeping up any longer with the troops going out, and coming home needing medical and psychological help.
Retired or not, Sam makes the drive three times a week into Rapid City or on up to Ft. Meade to meet with the returning wounded. He might not be an official Service Officer any longer, but he has more experience at the job than anyone else in the western South Dakota territory, and part of his trips are to offer training and assistance to others wanting to be a Service Officer. Dean often makes the trip with him, pointing out that veterans are often more comfortable talking about combat with others who've been there, done that, though there are a lot of people who just assume Sam has military experience.
It breaks Sam's heart to hear him say that, because even after all the years and crap they've been through together, he knows it's the truth. He's spent enough time in VA hospitals, or at American Legion/VFW events, watching the vets group together, sharing stories and offering comfort that a non-vet just can't offer.
"At least no one's spitting on them," Dean says one morning, after breakfast is over and they're all lingering at the table over one last cup of coffee. "Guess that's a step in the right direction."
"I guess," Charlie agrees, dubious. "It's sad," he adds, "that that has to be a measure of progress."
Neither Sam nor Dean disagree with him.
Charlie's grandfather dies in the spring of 1994. Two years younger than Dean, but not nearly in as good shape physically, he has a heart attack on his way to the grocery store and dies when his car hits the median.
Sam and Dean attend the funeral with Charlie – they knew Zack practically their whole lives, but they also go as support for Charlie. He's talked with his mom and his sisters on the phone, and met up with them for coffee or lunch here and there in the years since coming to live with the Winchesters, but he hasn't seen or spoken to his father in all those years.
His father doesn't even acknowledge Charlie's there at the funeral, though he nods at Sam and Dean.
"Cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch," Dean mutters, maybe a little louder than strictly necessary.
They go to the VFW after the service, to have a drink in Zack Thompson's honor. Charlie waits until they have a couple beers in them, and Dean's gone to talk to someone who waved him over, and wonders out loud why his dad can't accept him for who he is and how he is. Sam sighs.
"I wish I had answers for you, Charlie. Some people just can't accept some things."
"Is it a religion thing? I mean, he makes it sound like it is."
"I don't know that, either. Dean and I were raised going to church; you know we still go, though not as regularly as we used to. It never occurred to either of us to think there was anything wrong with the gender we liked. Well." Sam frowns, and takes a swallow from his beer. "That's maybe not completely true. But there were other factors at work for us, too. Why worry about being queer, when you're screwing your brother?"
Charlie snorts into his beer. "Good point." He nods toward Dean, standing at the bar talking to Cooper Smith, who's gesturing wildly. "Did you always know--?"
Sam raises an eyebrow. "What? That I was gay? Or who I loved?"
"Either. Both."
"Well, we didn't have the resources available that you kids have today – definitely not here in Wall. But I never looked at girls with any interest. Dean did, but I didn't. So I guess I've always known, even if I didn't always understand what it was I knew."
"So Dean's—bisexual?"
"I think…" Sam trails off, then laughs. "I think Dean's Sam-sexual, to be honest. Far as I know he's never been with a guy other than me."
"But you have."
"Yeah." Sam wishes he was a little drunk for this conversation. Or maybe he's a little too drunk, because the VFW bar really isn't the place to talk about this stuff. "I forget you probably don't know the whole story anyway."
"What whole story?"
"That Dean was considered dead for more than ten years." Sam's proud that his voice doesn't shake anymore when he talks about this. Not that he talks about it much.
"He was? Really? How's—how's that even happen?"
"A good question that no one's ever really been able to answer for me." It's been nearly fifty years, but Sam hasn't forgotten. Won't forget. In fact, he can still feel the chill that wound through him when the men came to give them the news. "We don't know what happened, exactly, beyond an ambush. Dean got hit, and there were explosives—anyway. Um. His dogtags got separated from him, and picked up along with a—a body that'd been burnt beyond recognition. Dean doesn't remember getting away from the ambush, just waking up a few days later, and not knowing his name." Sam tosses back the rest of his beer and wishes for something a lot stronger. He clears his throat. "The army sent his tags and the body back to us. I found Dean in '53 when I was working in Germany. Totally by accident."
Charlie's eyes are wide. "And he didn't remember you?"
"He remembered 'Sammy'. He recognized me, when I walked up to where he was living. But he didn't remember Winchester, or South Dakota, or Uncle Bobby—" Sam clears his throat again. "He's remembered a lot of stuff we didn't think he would. But he's told me that a lot of those memories are like hearing a story from someone: you remember the story, but you don't have anything to associate it to yourself."
"Wow. That's—wow." Charlie shakes his head and pushes his beer bottle over to Sam. "That's kind of amazing, in a whole lot of ways."
"Yeah, it really is." Sam drains Charlie's bottle, then gives him a small smile. "Of course, him not being dead created its own special set of problems—because once the Army declares you dead? It's a pain in the ass to get that reversed."
Charlie laughs. "Yeah, I imagine it is. They don't like to admit when they've made a mistake, do they?"
"Not even a little bit." Sam tilts his head toward the bar. "Go on and get Dean, and we'll head home, and have a couple more beers in your grandpa's memory."
It's four in the morning, and Dean's been awake for a couple of hours, now. He's cleaned the stove and refrigerator, sorted the laundry for Charlie to take downstairs to the washer, and is thinking of going upstairs to get on the internet. Charlie's always telling him he needs to 'get with it and embrace technology'.
Of course, if he gets on that damned computer, he'll have to keep his eyes closed to avoid all the headlines about the bombing in Oklahoma City. Just thinking about it makes his stomach clench.
He's still sitting at the kitchen table, thinking about assholes who kill wantonly for no reason that makes sense to anyone with a shred of sanity, when the door opens and Charlie slinks in.
It's kind of funny, really, how shocked Charlie looks, and Dean can't help it, he has to mess with him a little.
"You could bring him home, you know. It's your house, too. And it's unlikely I would hear anything."
Charlie makes a choked sort of noise, and flushes. "I wasn't—I mean, it's not—damn, Dean."
Dean waves him down into one of the chairs, and gets up to pour himself another cup of coffee, and to get one for Charlie. The kid looks shell-shocked.
"So, what's his name?" He sets the mug and the sugar bowl in front of Charlie, then slides back into his own chair.
"Reggie," Charlie murmurs, fixing his attention on spooning sugar into his coffee. "Reggie Bowles."
"Been seein' him long?"
Charlie coughs. "Um. Almost a year?"
"A year, and you ain't brought him around? What, you ashamed of us, Charles Thompson?"
"What? No! I just—he works odd hours, and it never seems like the right time, and I—" He breaks off and stares at Dean suspiciously. "You're just giving me shit, aren't you?"
"Yup." Dean smiles widely. "So, really. What does Reggie do for a living?"
Charlie ducks his head. "He's a nurse. Works at the VA hospital up at Ft. Meade."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Remember when you got so sick last spring, we took you on up there? That's when I met him. He was one of your night nurses."
Dean narrows his eyes trying to remember who his nurses were. Most of them were women, but there was one – "…the colored boy? Wore little gold wire-rimmed glasses?"
Charlie rolls his eyes. "We say 'African-American' now, Dean. But yep, that's him. He's trying to get transferred to the clinic down here, but there aren't many openings, and they go quick."
"So little Charlie's got himself a guy," Dean says, smiling. About damn time, too, not that he's going to say that out loud. "Way to go, kiddo."
"Thanks." And Charlie does look happy, smile wide and open.
"But seriously—bring him home sometime. We'd love to meet him."
"You sure? Because I know this is pretty much the only place you and Sam can be—"
"Don't you worry about me an' Sam. It's not like we sit around here all day grabbing and groping at each other. We could probably keep our hands to ourselves for dinner or something."
"And with that visual firmly stuck in my mind, I'm gonna go milk the cow and gather the eggs. Thanks so much. Gyah."
Dean laughs as Charlie stomps out of the kitchen, and calls after him, "You're welcome!"
He's still chuckling when Sam comes out a few minutes later, graying, thinning hair sleep-tousled and standing on end, lines and wrinkles where there used to just be dimples, but just as beautiful to Dean as he was a half a century ago.
1998
Fifty-five years after he dies in an explosion and is shipped home and buried as Dean Winchester, Corporal Rory Calhoun is identified through DNA Forensics.
Sam and Dean travel to Iowa to attend Rory's funeral. It's a quiet, tense trip that has Sam watching Dean with concern.
The son who barely remembers him and the daughter who never knew him thank them for their unending pursuit to have Rory identified.
Dean joins the honor guard who send Rory on his way with the sounding of Taps and three volleys of gunfire. It's Dean himself who hands the folded flag over to Rory's daughter, and for the first time in years Sam sees his brother cry.
He holds Dean close that night, aching for Rory's family, but so thankful he has Dean…has had Dean…that his heart feels full to bursting.
"I love you," he whispers, knowing Dean won't hear him.
"Love you too, Sammy," comes back at him, and Sam smiles, thinking he shouldn't be surprised any more. Dean hears what he needs to, when he needs to, which means he always hears Sam.
2001
They watch the news reports together, Sam and Dean, and Charlie and Reggie.
The television hasn't been turned off in at least twelve hours; reports of the dead and missing rolling in, film crews showing the same pictures over and over, two planes crashing into the twin towers, black smoke billowing up and outward.
More pictures, more newsreel, people sharing their stories, crying on camera as the horror of the day slowly starts sinking in.
Charlie spends the afternoon pacing the length of the living room until his mom finally calls with news: his youngest sister is okay. She didn't go into work today, felt headachy and unwell, so she called in. She's at home in her apartment, and she's fine.
In all the years Charlie's lived with them, Sam's only seen him cry once or twice. But he cries unabashedly when he gets the news his sister is okay.
There aren't many events Sam can unequivocally say that he'll never forget, but this one's making the short list.
2004
"I don't like surprises, Sam, and I hate flying." Dean's grumbling as he folds himself into Charlie's car, and Sam hides his smile by fiddling with his seatbelt. "Y'hear me?"
"The whole county heard you. Turn your hearing aid up." Sam turns to smile at his brother. "I know you don't like surprises, but you'll like this one. I promise. Even getting on the plane will be worth it." He hopes.
Dean makes a 'hmph' noise in his throat, managing to convey his disbelief without actually saying a word. Sam rolls his eyes when Dean grumbles again, "You in on this too, kid?"
Kid. Charlie's in his 40's now, hardly a kid by anyone's standards, but Sam knows Dean holds the opinion that he's earned the right to call anyone under seventy by that moniker.
"You know I just take you guys where Sam tells me to," Charlie says, winking at Sam.
"Pity you don't pay me the same respect."
This time, Sam makes the harrumph noises in his throat. Charlie practically worships the ground Dean walks on, and well he knows it.
"So either of you going to tell me where we're going? Or are you just going to blindfold me once we get on plane, so I can't see nothin'." At least Dean doesn't sound totally freaked out. The first time – and last time – they flew anywhere was the trip to San Francisco, for Sam's fiftieth birthday, and Sam ended up having to get Dean drunk just so he wouldn't panic.
"No blindfolds," Sam says, pulling their tickets out of his jacket pocket. "At least not right now." He can sense Charlie stiffen beside him, and bites his lip, knowing what's coming next.
Sure enough, "Oh, my God, do not start. You guys know that freaks me out."
"What, you don't want to think about two old geezers spicing things up?" Sam doesn't even have to see Dean's face; he can hear the leer in his voice. Meanwhile, Charlie's turning an interesting shade of pink.
"Dean, if you freak Charlie out too much, he'll crash, we'll all die, and then you won't get your surprise."
"Since I don't like surprises to begin with, where's the bad in this?"
"Dying is bad! I'm not ready to die." Charlie makes a quick turn into the airport long-term parking, and not for the first time Sam thinks it was a really good idea to spend the night here in Sioux Falls, rather than have to get up in the middle of the night to make the drive in. "And if I die in a car accident you cause, I'll come back and haunt your ass."
"How can you haunt any part of me if I'm dead, too?" Dean sounds genuinely curious, but Sam thinks it's time to change the subject.
"We've got transportation arranged on the other end, right?"
Charlie nods. "Reggie made the reservations; I have the printout in my wallet. They'll have a wheelchair waiting for us, too." Just a precaution, in case either Sam or Dean needs it. Sam's bones, in particular, aren't what they used to be.
"I wish he could've come, too." Sam's glad Charlie has someone now. He worried Charlie might never try out of some misguided concern about leaving Sam and Dean on their own. It makes him worry less for the future, too. No, he's not planning on dying any time soon, but he and Dean are getting on in years.
"Yeah." Charlie frowns. "Unfortunately, as short-handed as they are these days, it's hard to get time off."
These days.
Sam's not involved any longer; age and health issues – his and Dean's – have conspired to force him into a real retirement, but he still has contacts within the DAV, the Veterans Administration and the Department of the Army. They're reaching critical levels of 'short-handed', with all the soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention the growing health concerns related to aging, of the veterans from both World Wars and Korea.
He sighs and looks out the window at the airport. Four-plus hours on a plane with his brother who hates to fly. Their doctor doesn't like either of them drinking much these days, but once in a while judicious applications of whiskey help more than they could hurt.
They arrive at their hotel late on Thursday afternoon. The plane is on time, getting them in a little after two, but by the time they have their luggage, get their rental car, and sit in traffic from Dulles to Arlington, it's close on to dinner time.
Dean doesn't say anything to Sam or Charlie; just moves when and where they tell him to. He's not drunk, exactly, but he isn't sober, either.
He's quiet until they hit the outer limits of Arlington, then he looks over at Sam, who's sharing the backseat with him. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"What're we doing here?"
Sam takes his hand and squeezes; gives his brother a big smile. "We're here for the dedication, Dean."
"The memorial?" They've both done untold amounts of fund-raising for the World War II memorial, and for years it seemed like it was never going to happen. That it would be a dream forever unfulfilled. Sam nods, and swears he feels the bones in his hand pop and creak when Dean squeezes, his eyes wide and stunned. "Jesus—the memorial. Jesus." Another squeeze, and Dean swallows, then asks, "—how? How'd you pull this off?"
Up front, Charlie laughs, and Sam joins him. "I pulled every string I could think of, and called in five decades' worth of favors," he says, and it's the God-honest truth. There was no way he wasn't going to get his brother here for this. No way.
"When's the ceremony?" Dean still looks – and sounds – stunned, but he's starting to smile, too.
"The actual dedication is Saturday afternoon. But that's only part of the surprise. The other part is tomorrow."
"And that is--?"
"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise."
"If you don't tell me, and it's too much of a shock, I could have a heart attack and then miss the whole thing." Dean scowls. "Seriously, Sam. I'm surprised enough right now to cover anything. I wanna know."
"Fine." Sam can't help huffing a little, but he has to admit Dean has a point. He really doesn't do surprises particularly well, and—yeah. "There's a…Charlie and I tracked down surviving members of your unit. Through message boards and stuff. There's twelve of you – including Steven "Rabbit" Wise, and Delbert McConklin. Steve Wise stayed in the Army; he retired from active duty as a Lieutenant Colonel in 1974."
Dean's back to looking completely stunned. "Rabbit…" He lifts his hand, touches the tattoo on his left arm, hidden beneath his shirt. "Son-of-a-bitch. Rabbit and Del."
"We're having dinner with Steve tonight, but the others won't be in until a lot later, or tomorrow. But tomorrow night we're having a…well, a reunion," Sam tells him. "Then breakfast on Saturday morning, and we'll go to the memorial and have a look around, before the dedication ceremony. I know the organizers have some events planned for on the grounds, but not sure what all those events are. I'll know better when we get checked into the hotel, and get our information packets." Dean's still gripping his left arm, eyes staring off into the middle distance, so Sam squeezes his hand gently. "You okay?"
Green eyes refocus, bright with unshed tears, and Dean smiles. "Yeah, Sammy, I am." He leans in and kisses Sam gently, unmindful of the traffic around them, or Charlie watching in the rear-view. "Thank you. Just—thank you."
2011
Reggie grunts when Charlie rolls out of bed, but settles back into sleep almost immediately. Just as well; he doesn't need to be up for work for a few hours yet.
Charlie's kind of surprised by the quiet as he makes his way downstairs. He's also surprised by how cold the stairs are. Even with heavy socks on, the wood floors are chilly, and he makes a mental note to check the thermostat. If the cold is bothering him, Sam's going to be miserable, what with his arthritis making it damned near impossible to get around now, in wintertime.
It's weirdly quiet, still, as he descends into the downstairs hall, and Charlie frowns. Dean's the oldest guy in the house, but he's almost always the first one up – Sam and Charlie beat him out once in a while, but not often – and he usually has coffee going by now.
Charlie takes a minute to get the coffee started, wrestling with the Mr. Coffee he bought a couple of years ago, much to Dean's disgust. He's a slave to his caffeine habit, and he's not ashamed to admit to it, but that damned percolator was just more than he could deal with on a regular basis. Dean still grumbles about it, and refuses to use the coffee maker, though he'll drink the coffee once it's made.
Once the coffee maker is doing its thing, Charlie goes to knock softly on Sam and Dean's door. When there's no answer he pushes the door open just enough to peek around and inside. He hates intruding in their private space any more than he has to.
They're curled around each other, Sam spooned up to Dean and one arm stretched over to hold Dean close. They have the quilt and feather bed pulled up practically to their noses, sound asleep. Charlie smiles and backs away, pulling the door shut behind him.
They're old guys, and if anyone deserves to sleep in undisturbed once in a while, it's them. He'll wake them up after he's checked the henhouse for eggs and got breakfast started.
There's plenty of time for them to sleep, yet.
~fin~
Playlist for Battled Fields No More:
01. Down to the River to Pray - Alison Krause
02. Rock Around the Clock - Bill Haley & the Comets
03. Baby I'm a Soldier - Kareem Salama
04. Amazing Grace - artist unknown
05. 8th of November - Big & Rich
06. One Tin Soldier - Coven
07. Ballad of the Green Berets - Sgt Barry Sadler
08. Eve of Destruction - Barry McGuire
09. Letters From Home - John Michael Montgomery
10. When You Say Nothing At All - Alison Krause & Keith Whitley
11. End of Innocence - Don Henley
12. Don't Stop Believing - Journey
13. Take These Broken Wings - Mister Mister
14. Arlington - Trace Adkins
15. The Battle Hymn of the Republic - Lee Greenwood
Download Link - right-click and save as. It's zipped as a self-extracting file, so just click on it once it's dl'd and you're good to go.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 03:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 05:14 am (UTC)