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Some people say that men date women who act like their mothers, while women date men who act like their fathers. Dean thought that Gordon acted a lot like his father, and they fell into a rhythm, one Dean was comfortable with. He thought it was strange that Sam didn’t like him, he was charming, funny, smart, a good listener, and above all a good hunter. He sat and listened to Dean drunkenly complain, nodding and smiling, laughing at the funny parts and frowning at the depressing parts. Dean sat and listened to Gordon when he told him about his sister, about his life, how he started hunting, and when he took out a whole nest in San Francisco. He kept thinking ‘Where have you been all my life?’ but that thought only left a burning sensation in his throat - one full of memories his father had ingrained into him, bloody and bruised as he told him it was a mistake, that it’d never happen again.
Dean smiled at the man who sat across from him - he felt like he knew what it was like, that he understood. They drank like that at that dingy bar all night - laughing about anything and everything and taking so much Dean was practically drunk. He hadn't laughed like this since- well since ever.
He thought about how good it felt to confide in someone who understood, someone who felt the Same. He excused himself momentarily to use the restroom - locking the door and finding himself hunched over the sink, white-knuckling the porcelain until his fingers went numb. His chest heaved but he just couldn't breathe - couldn't bring himself to let oxygen into his lungs, he didn't think he deserved it. He looked up to the mirror and saw in his reflection someone else, someone nervous and drunk - full of fear and regret - eyes rimmed with red and tears threatening to spill over.
He kept imagining Sam telling him it was alright, like the first time it happened when he was 16 and Sam was 12. He remembered the way Sam was so scared, he remembered how he was so scared, how his hands trembled, how his dad hurt him, how it wasn't the first time. He tried to control it for Sam, tried to laugh it off - tell a joke - say he stubbed his toe. What really happened was that John had found him kissing an older boy behind the motel they were staying at, how he had to fight him off when he didn’t stop, how John had seen him and blamed him ‘You shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place! I t’s disgusting! What if Sam had seen? No son of mine..’ he remembered the names John had called him, he thought he deserved it. He never told Sam, never dared to utter a word of that embarrassing situation. Hid the bruises on his arms and covered the bruises on his hips.
He knew John was gone, knew he wouldn't hurt him again. But he still had that itch on his arms where his bruises were, where the handprints were. He used to scratch them when he started feeling those things again - one time he scratched them so hard he bled and John thought he was going crazy. He remembered the looks Sam gave him when it happened, he obviously didn't understand judging by the way he used his big puppy dog eyes to silently beg Dean to stop. He knew it wasn't normal, knew everyone else didn't feel that way. That he was just weird.
He jumped when a knock came on the door, noticing he was absent-mindedly scratching at the phantom bruises leaving red marks all along his arms. He wiped his eyes and washed his hands, pretending he had been in there the whole time just using the toilet. He sighed and walked out - expecting to see some barfly waiting impatiently, instead it was Gordon.
“ Oh. hey,” he smiled awkwardly, walking back with Gordon and outside. The bar was too loud, he was overwhelmed, and he hated how Gordon could probably tell. It was quieter outside. Colder too. Gordon looked him up and down, Dean felt like he could see right through him like he knew.
“What is it, Dean?” he asked, surprisingly kind. Hunters aren't kind, they’re killers, He'd much rather Gordon ignore it and move on like everyone else does.
“Nothing man I ’m fine,” he mumbles, it sounded like a lie even to his ears.
Gordon pauses, raises a brow and opens the passenger-side door for Dean. “Alright, if you don’t want to talk that’s fine.” he finally said as he got into the driver’s side.
Dean felt safe enough, even though he and Gordon were so drunk they could hardly walk and they were planning on driving about a mile back to the motel. But he did feel safe next to Gordon, he felt safe in the silence of a trashy muscle car pummeling down a backroad at 2 in the morning.
Gordon and he got out at the motel that Baby was parked at, walking into the motel room and expecting to see Sam, when he didn’t he was slightly sad. Hoping Sam wasn't still upset about earlier. He kept remembering what Gordon had said earlier - ‘you and me.’ - that’s what had triggered his episode earlier, and he hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
Gordon and Dean discussed the possible locations of the nest, looking over a map of the local farms. He swallowed slightly when Gordon slid his hand over the map, their fingers almost touching. He felt pathetic - like a 14-year-old girl. He ignored it and continued talking with Gordon. When Dean suggested what to do, and where to look, and flashed Gordon a faint smile he almost died when Gordon gave him a look. One that asked for loyalty. Dean felt awkward, looking away and bringing up another topic, “Where’s Sam?”
“Car’s parked outside, he probably went for a walk,” Gordon replied.
Dean’s heart rate elevated, usually, he doesn't mind whenever Sam leaves, sometimes he even encourages it. But at this moment Dean felt like he was going to do something he’d regret, and he wished Sam was here to stop him. Right on time, Sam walked in the door, Dean was at first grateful - thanking whoever as Sam shut the door behind him. Then he was nervous, Sam had that look on his face. The one he gets when someone adds croutons to his salad.
He stepped outside with Sam, confused at just about everything he was saying, arguing back whenever Sam said something stupid. When the topic of Gordon came up in the bickering Dean became further frustrated - Sam hadn't even taken the time to understand him, not like Dean did.
“Ellen said he's bad news!” Sam bit back.
Dean rolled his eyes - he’d rat him out to their estranged family friend, what did the two of them even know? “You called Ellen?” he huffed, Sam nodded - he looked so punchable just then, “And I'm supposed to listen to her? We barely know her, Sam. No thanks, I'll go with Gordon.”
Sam looked offended at that, chuckling dryly, “Right because Gordon’s such an old friend.”
Dean’s arms began to itch, his knuckles clenching into fists, what did Sam know? Did Sam know? His breathing grew erratic, and the both of them paused for a second before Sam continued.
“You don't think I can see what this is?” Sam snapped.
Dean’s legs began to shake slightly no matter how hard he tried to stop them, he knew. Sam knew. “What are you talking about?” Dean tried to play dumb.
“He’s a substitute for dad, isn't he? A poor one too”
Dean’s nails dug into his palms until they went numb and he couldn't feel them anymore. “Shut up Sam.” it was a warning mostly. But Sam didn't listen.
“He’s not even close, Dean. Not on his best day.”
“You know what- I’m not even gonna talk about this” Dean held his hands up in the air, a warning telling Sam to turn back now.
“You know you slap on this big fake smile, but I can see right through it! Cause I know how you feel, Dean. Dad’s dead! And he left a hole and it hurts so bad you can’t take it, but you can't just fill up that hole with whoever you want to!” Sam was slightly calmer now having said this. “It’s an insult to his memory” he added.
Dean took a deep breath - trying to stop himself, to stay calm, to not let his emotions overcome him. “Ok,” he breathed. He turned around, ‘I’m not gonna do it I’m not gonna do it’ and then he did it. He turned around and punched Sam so hard in the jaw that it would hurt to eat for a week. How dare he say these things about Gordon, about himself, about Dad. insult to his memory? What’s more of an insult to his memory? His freak son or his other freak son?
“You hit me all you want, it won't change anything.” Sam sighed, finally calm. Maybe Dean should punch him more often.
“I’m going to that nest, you don't want to tell me where it is? Fine.” he waited for a split second, hoping Sam would turn around, would tell him he was sorry - that he was wrong. When he didn’t he continued, “I'll find it myself”
He couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of worry writhing in his stomach as he walked up the steps and back into the motel room, looking around to find that Gordon was nowhere in sight, probably having gone after the vamps. Dean was frustrated - he felt betrayed, first by his brother and second by his friend, but he pushed those feelings aside and listened to Sam.
“Just give me the benefit of the doubt, would you?” Sam sighed, “you owe me that”
Dean decided to listen, purely because he wanted to prove Sam wrong, that the vamps were really evil and that Gordon was good. This theory didn't look so good when they realized Gordon had stolen baby’s keys. He figured Gordon thought it was necessary and hard-wired the car, mumbling about just having her fixed.
Dean felt slightly bad about punching Sam - he looked sad as he went through the map giving directions to the farm where the nest was. He tried not to smile at how impressive Sam’s memory was, how he was so smart. Dean relied on his brute strength and pure dumb luck to get by, which wasn't enough whenever Sammy left, whenever he was alone with John. Sam was always John’s favorite, even when they fought it was obvious. Dean was just the runner-up - second place. He’d always tried to prove to John he was worth the trouble mostly by being the best little soldier to him. This was much easier whenever Sam left, whenever he didn't have someone to take care of and nothing to worry about. John knew this too as he sent Dean into dangerous places alone all the time knowing that his little babysitter wasn’t that useful anymore besides as bait. Which made Dean sad but he managed to hide it, managed to stay strong and stay lucky, he just ended up distracting himself with booze and women like his father did. It never felt right, he was always hungry, always empty.
When they arrived Sam and Dean rushed inside to find Gordon torturing a vampire. Dean had to admit this looked sketchy, he wanted that vomit in his throat to go away, he wanted to laugh with Gordon again, to tell stories about hunts and family drama. He knew that probably wasn't going to happen when he tried to calm Gordon down and Gordon refused and revealed that the vampire he killed - Well, that was actually his sister. Dean almost barfed at that, how could someone orchestrate a mask so brilliantly? Hide their real face so elegantly? Kill their own family without regret? Sam talked to him but all Dean could feel was that feeling of betrayal and utter nausea twist his features and fill him to the brim with hatred. This feeling was only intensified when Gordon grabbed Sam and tried to feed him to the vampire. Dean raised his gun - without a second thought ready to shoot Gordon in the brain. The gesture was to convince Dean that she was no more than an evil bloodthirsty monster - that whole time Dean kept thinking ‘You’re the evil bloodthirsty monster here.’ Sam lifted the vampire outside to the truck and helped her get settled. While Sam was helping her Dean was looking Gordon dead in the eyes.
“We have some things to talk about,” he said, betrayal and hate seeping through his tone.
The two went back and forth a little, a little meaning Dean’s world got rocked and not in a hot way. Gordon punched him several times and tried to go at him with a big ass knife. Dean responded by headbutting him several times and knocking the knife out of his hand and Gordon was STI LL fine, or at least fine enough to elbow Dean in the face and throw him on a coffee table hard enough to break it.
“You’re not like your brother. You’re a killer like me.” Gordon lurked above Dean, giving him memories he didn’t know he remembered. The night when Sam left John came back and got so drunk he broke both of Dean's legs just because he was mad.
Dean was refuelled by this memory, standing quickly and knocking Gordon to the floor, punching him and throwing him while his vision blurred like it did when he got so angry his hands shook. He calmed down slightly after pinning him to a wall and punching him a few more times, dragging him to a chair and tying him up.
He felt ashamed that he related to Gordon, that he laughed with him, drank with him, and felt a sort of kinship with him. He waited all night for Sam to get back, pacing around the room. When Sam got back they left Gordon with a good punch in the face and went out to the car - Dean sort of wished he’d hit Gordon harder, for tricking him, manipulating him, and then threatening his brother. He felt like a woman scorned, hell hath no fury when Dean’s pissed.
He rested his arms on the car, sad about what had happened - what if he’d killed things that didn’t deserve it? That weren’t bad? The way their father had raised them he’d probably killed hundreds of them. He expressed this fear with Sam who seemed to understand.
“Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could,” he said simply.
“I know he did” Dean shot back, john Winchester was not a good father or a good person, did it really matter that he ‘tried’? Dean had always tried to convince himself that it did, but now that John was dead? He felt sort of grateful. It was messed up. “But the man wasn’t perfect” he finally said. “The way he raised us? To hate those things…and man I hate them, I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn’t even think about it, hell I even enjoyed it.” he felt like a sinner confessing his sins to his preacher, asking to be forgiven.
Sam looked like he understood - but he still judged, it was always that look that killed Dean, the look that meant Sam thought he was better than Dean, more holy than thou. And Dean believed the Same thing. He was worse than Sam, on purpose. His whole childhood he spent raising Sam so he would never have to be so horrible, not like Dean was anyways, “you didn’t kill Lenore” Sam was sort of like a preacher in a way, a holy man who reasoned with god, ‘he’s good, he’s kind’ but did he really believe it? Dean sure didn’t.
“Yeah, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her, I was gonna kill them all” he breathed, trying not to panic, trying to stay calm in front of Sammy.
“Yeah, Dean, but you didn’t. And that's what matters” Sam said, Dean mumbled something in agreement but he still felt guilty, empty, and depressed. He just wanted to lie back down in his home, next to his mom while she played with his hair and sang him a lullaby, telling him the angels would protect him - he wanted to say goodnight to Sam and go sit back down on the couch and wait for his father to get home so they could watch cowboy movies while his mom comforted him at the scary bits. But he couldn’t. And sometimes - in times like these he was fine with just being Sam’s older brother, watching over him like the angels are supposed to.
~o0O0o~