1971
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Vietnam wasn't what Dean would have expected at all. It was green and humid, and at least Cas was right about that, but Dean thought to himself that maybe things would have been different if he was over there for a different reason. The scenery was beautiful, don't get him wrong, but he just saw things differently. Every time he went somewhere, he always sought places where he could keep cover just in case anything were to happen, because he wasn't about to get left in the open where he could get shot
He had someone to go home to, someone that expected him home in one piece, and he was going to keep his promise to Cas.
Adam Milligan joined their platoon a few months before Dean's departure . He was a greenhorn, shipped straight from Kansas, and most everyone avoided him the first couple of weeks because no one wanted to be caught near him if he made a rookie mistake in the field. The new guys were usually the first, and the first to get shipped home in the body bags.
It was raining and they had settled down to rest for the night at base. Dean was seated on the edge of his cot, cigarette dangling from his lips, when Adam walked into the tent, shirt clinging to his skin; soaked to the bone. Dean laughed dryly, blowing smoke out of his nose as Adam wandered over to him, sitting on the cot across from him.
"Get caught in the rain?"
Ashes fell from the end of his cigarette as he fished around behind him, pulling his pack of smokes out and offering it to Adam. Adam shook his head and waved him off, and Dean shrugged and set the pack down beside him.
"No, thank you."
Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised that the kid was actually polite. He had been dealing with men that were as rude and crude as him for months, so it was almost a relief to have someone around with some manners. He finished off his cigarette with one last pull, dropping it onto the ground and tamping it out with the heel of his boot. Adam shifted on the cot in front of him, eyes darting around the tent before stopping and focusing on Dean.
"So what brings you inside?"
"It's raining."
Dean laughed again, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "No shit. It's always fucking raining. Woulda been a miracle if they had sent us out here during dry season."
Adam laughed softly and leaned back, attempting to wring some of the water from his shirt, only managing to stretch the bottom. He frowned and placed his hands in his lap.
"How long you been out here?"
"Few months," Dean shrugged a shoulder, placing his hands on the cot and leaning back slightly, watching Adam the whole time. "It's Milligan, right?"
"Yes, sir," Adam nodded, smiling slightly. "Adam Milligan."
"You don't need to call me 'sir'. Dean will do just fine. Or Winchester, like the rest," he sat up and Adam pulled back slightly, leaning away from him. The kid was a stick with a of hair, not long, but a mess. He couldn't have been over eighteen, and the thought made Dean's stomach sink. He couldn't believe that they were sending kids fresh out of school over to this place.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
"God damn," Dean breathed, smoothing his hand over his face. "I guess they don't got anything better than to send kids over here, huh? Funneling you poor fools right into the ."
Adam shrugged and Dean shook his head. Not a lick of fear in the kid's eyes. If anything, he was indifferent to it all. Probably poor, Dean figured. A lot of boys enlisted to make money - if they could last that long. He reached around him and grabbed his pack of smokes, fishing another cigarette out of it. He lit it quickly and tossed the used match onto the ground, taking a long draw. Adam watched him, and Dean saw the glimmer of innocence. He bit back the urge to sigh. It was okay for Dean to be over here, just dandy, but he hated seeing kids Adam's age. It felt like they only lasted a night and then they were lying on the ground, begging for their mothers.
"You got anyone back home?"
"My ." There was a pause as Dean breathed out, smoke clouding in between them and Adam coughed, waving his hand through it. "Do you?"
"My brother," Dean answered quickly, taking another pull from the cigarette. His helmet was on the ground near his boots, and he gently pushed it beneath his cot with his heel; the picture inside was folded and creased many times over but safe from the rain and elements.
"You don't have a girl back home or anything?"
"That's none of your business." Ashes fell onto his boot and he kicked them off, Adam following the movement with his eyes before they returned to his face. He was frowning, and Dean shrugged.
"I bet you do, huh?"
"Drop it, kid."
"Is she pretty? What's her name?"
Dean pulled the cigarette from his lips and held it between his , jabbing them in the direction of Adam. Adam flinched and leaned back.
"You got a girl back home?"
"Well, uh, no."
"I don't either, so shut your mouth, will you?"
He returned the cigarette between his lips and took a pull, and Adam scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground. It was silent between the two of them, the rain beating against the roof of the tent, and he could hear people talking outside. It sounded like Ash and Henrikson, talking about some broadcast that Ash had gotten over the radio.
Adam broke the silence first, and Dean groaned.
"So what's your brother like?"
Dean finished off the cigarette threw it onto the ground with the previous one, giving it the same treatment with the heel of his boot.
"Smart. The kid's a hell of a lot brighter than I am. He's studying to get into Harvard Law. He's at Stanford at the moment." He smiled fondly and ran a hand through his hair. He missed Sam like crazy, and he missed Jess too. He missed seeing them together, all smiles and laughter, Jess' golden hair even brighter in the sunlight, and Sam having to benddown to kiss her cheek.
"California?" Adam marveled, tipping his head forward. Dean laughed.
"NorCal," Dean finished, and Adam dimmed. "What? You wanted me to say Hollywood?"
"I don't know. I've never been out of Kansas. Well, that used to be true."
"Kansas to 'Nam, my God," Dean laughed again, harder. "They pick you boys up like summer corn."
"I enlisted," Adam scoffed, flushing, "My mom's been working alone all her life. I figured this was good way to pull my weight."
Dean didn't say anything and they lapsed into silence again.
"You miss him a lot, huh?"
"You don't even know the half of it, kid."
Adam smiled and scratched at his wrist absently, looking at the ground.
"I haven't even been here that long and I already miss my mom. I miss her like crazy." He brought his hand up to rub at his eyes, and Dean leaned forward, gripping his shoulder. Adam smiled, a small smile, and Dean squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. The look he gave Dean reminded him of Sam when he was younger, when he would ask where their mother was, ask if she was going to come home anytime soon, and it broke Dean's heart.
"Hey. You'll be home in no time, okay?" He didn't pull his hand away until Adam nodded and rubbed at his eyes again. "A few months will feel like a couple of days, trust me."
"Yeah, okay," Adam chuckled, rubbing the palms of his hands against his pants. "Yeah, I trust you."
"But you don't ever let 'em see you cry, alright?" Dean insisted. Adam nodded vigorously, steeling his face. He looked like a tough kid. He held himself differently than the others, even though he was younger. Dean had been watching him from afar for a while. "They see you cry, you're cooked," Dean continued, rolling his neck and shoulders, the rain picking up.
"I doubt anyone would even care. No one talks to me."
"It's because they 're waiting to see if you'll fuck up. You're green, baby," Dean drawled, tapping his fingers idly on his matchbook. He raised his eyebrows at Adam. "You gonna fuck up?"
"No," Adam bit, straightening up. "Hand me a cigarette."
"That's more like it," Dean grinned, tapping one out into Adam's hand. He bent forward and Dean lit another match, shaking it out once the end of Adam's smoke was glowing. Adam coughed lightly and shook his head.
"Been a while," he choked, eyes watering. "Tastes like shit."
Dean shrugged, considering the notion of having a third. There was nothing else to do. He shook his head and tucked the pack away for later; no sense in wasting them.
"I haven't smoked since high school. Mom made me quit," he continued. "Says it's unsanitary."
"Hmm," Dean nodded, scratching his forehead, not really listening. His thoughts drifted; he was so damn tired he couldn't even rein them in.
"Someone else I know says the same thing," he said, after a moment blinking to wake himself up, and Adam perked up, tapping ashes to the ground.
"Your mysterious girlfriend?" he mocked, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"If it were, what would that fucking even change? You still wouldn't know her from Eve," Dean replied, standing and stretching and then sitting back down, the cot groaning under him.
"I'm just curious. All any of the other guys do is talk about the pussy they get. Figured you'd be the same. They talk about you too."
Dean laughed, head thrown back, turning his wrist so it popped.
"I'm sure they have a lot to say," he smiled, and Adam stubbed out the cigarette as Dean had done, withdrawing a pack of gum from his pocket. He unwrapped a piece and chewed it.
"Not really. They said you're the best marksman in the unit. And that you don't say much. Say you've got a hard-on for Henrikson too," Adam chewed, and Dean shook his head at the absurdity. "You two pal around."
"I respect Henrikson and he respects me, which makes him my friend - but they are right, I'm the best marksman we've got in this piss ant platoon."
"How come you're so quiet? I mean, if I were older, I'd make a ton of friends," Adam rambled. "If I had half the respect you did - I'd be using it, you know? But you never ask for favors. I know that. I've watched you. You never do."
Dean's mouth twitched and he rolled his shoulder again, feeling the tight muscle pull and ache.
"I'm not here to make friends," Dean answered, "I'm not here to do any favors for anyone," his face was stony as he spoke, his voice soft, "I'm here to do what they tell me so I can collect when it's over and go home. I've made a promise, and that's all I care about."
"Did you promise her you'd marry her when you got home, or what?" Adam snapped around his gum, and Dean lifted his eyes to him. Adam's chewing slowed to a halt.
"Here's some advice, little brother," Dean began, whispering. "Don't talk about shit you don't understand."
"Sorry," Adam murmured. "I didn't know...I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Dean sighed. "It's complicated, that's all."
"Wanna talk about it?" Adam grinned and Dean reached over and punched him hard in the arm, making him yelp.
"Shut up. And next time you're in line, don't look around like some idiot - you hold up the group."
"Dick..." Adam grumbled, rubbing his shoulder, smiling a little at Dean. Dean was back to brooding again, eyes distant, and Adam knew he wasn't going to tolerate any more stupid questions. He didn't seem like that kind of person. What he said made sense though. He acted like he wasn't there. Not really. He was just holding place there for a while, biding his time 'til he was somewhere else - just passing through their unit without really being a part of it. Except for Henrikson, who valued him and asked for his opinion at times, and Ash, but Ash was odd and a genius and no one except Dean and Henrikson really talked to him with any kind of authority.
Adam licked his lips.
"So do you love her?"
"Yes," Dean said automatically, and like a reflex, pulled his cigarettes out and lit one.
"How did you know you loved her?"
"What the fuck is this, Milligan? You writing a book? One of those romance novels?"
"No, I just wanted to know!" Adam rushed. "She'd probably want you to make one friend."
Dean chuckled good-naturedly and pursed his lips around his smoke, inhaling, his dirty fingernails brushing against his mouth.
"How did you know?"
"Moment we met," Dean answered. "That's when I knew."
Adam blanched.
"You're a fucking sap, you know that?" He scratched the back of his head. "Seriously Winchester, who the fuck even talks like that? Love at first sight? That's bullshit." Dean smiled like he knew something secret.
"What am I supposed to say? When we fucked? That's what the rest would say, but they wouldn't know true love if it bit them in the ass. But maybe you're not asking about real love. You're just after tail. I know how a nineteen year old works."
"You don't know jack shit." Adam blushed. "I was asking about real love. You know, getting married and shit like that. Makin' kids. White picket fence. So you can suck a dick, asshole."
Dean barked another laugh, smoking his cigarette slowly, making it last. He didn't answer Adam further, looking instead at his chest - a thin gold chain was wound around his neck and disappeared under his shirt.
"What's that?" He pointed at it and Adam looked down, surprised, before pulling it out and holding the thin medallion in his hand.
"It's a St. Michael. My mom had it sent before I left BST. She said it's supposed to protect me, or something." He rubbed his grubby thumb over it and then tucked it back in. "I don't know; I don't really buy into all that, but it makes her feel better, and it's like having her with me. You get that?"
Dean nodded, thinking of the photograph shadowed away in his helmet.
"When you feel like you're losing it, just look at that. It'll keep you who you are," he advised. "You don't want to go home to your mama changed, and trust me, this war is changing boys faster than they can change their clothes."
Adam nodded sagely.
"Do you ever get scared?" he murmured and Dean drew on his cigarette for a moment.
"Yes," he said after a minute.
"What do you do?" Adam's voice was quaking. "I was...I was scared shitless during that last raid. I thought I was going to die. I really did. I didn't even know what to do."
Dean swallowed thickly, trying not to think about the last raid. They'd burned the village to the ground; so many little ones watching them do it. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them.
"Just pick something. Something that makes you happy, and you think of it. Then you hold onto it until your legs work again and you can get your bearings and know what you're supposed to do."
"What do you think of?"
Dean hesitated.
"A lot of things."
He shook his hand, his cigarette having burned down a little too close to his skin. "I imagine I'm looking through a movie camera - just filming it. For a documentary or some shit. That usually helps, and when you're remembering later, you can't hear nothin'. Nobody screaming or bitching or any of it."
"Do you think of her?" Adam whispered, peering at Dean. The older man wasn't looking at him, but the floor. Adam wanted to know - he wanted to know the secret. Why Dean kept her locked up, away from all of them.
"Not if I can help it," Dean confessed, feeling sick to his stomach. He had promised he would - he had, but he couldn't bring himself to when they were in the field. "They've got no place here," he trailed off, "If I think about them too long this place is going to grab hold of them like one of those huge snakes - those big long fuckers that you almost step on. It'll swallow h-..." He cut himself off and took a last pull from his smoke.
"Can you help it?" Adam tried, and Dean smiled sadly.
"Not usually," he murmured, dropping the third stub to the ground, pressing his foot down like the rest. "But that's how it goes. That's what you gotta do. You think of your mama, you think of that medallion or St. Michael, hell, think of my gorgeous face, you won't be scared."
Adam rolled his eyes and both of them looked to the opening of the tent as Henrikson called for Dean, his voice booming through the base.
"Sure, Winchester," he mumbled, and Dean stood, walking out, ruffling Adam's hair as he went by. When he was gone, Adam stared around, eyes landing on Dean's cot and the small collection of things he had. There was a small date book and when Adam stood and flipped through it, curious, it wasn't filled with anything except x's on the calendars, no doubt counting down Dean's TOD. There weren't any letters, but there were scraps of paper with motorcycles drawn on them, and a cross section of an engine. Adam was impressed by these, but set them aside, looking forsomething. Something that would give her away.
Adam needed to see her face; needed to know Dean was right about it all.
He peered around, even glancing under his pillow, but there was literally nothing to indicate Dean had any family at all. Frustrated, Adam looked under the bed and saw Dean's helmet sitting idly beside one of the crossed legs. He could see the words "Buck Stops Here" written in black paint marker on the front, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. Everyone wrote something on their helmet. There was something else too, but Adam couldn't read it, and his insect repellent was tucked under the elastic, but that was really it. Footsteps made him straighten and he hustled out of the tent, still thinking about the helmet, but then everyone was gathering and he joined the flock.
Maybe the others were right - there was something more to Dean Winchester's story, but he wasn't willing to tell.
"Looks like we're swimming today, ladies, so let me see those skirts up!" Henrikson crowed from the end of the line. Adam groaned and Dean jabbed him forward, adjusting his pack on his shoulder and holding his gun up above his head. His arms, hardened from months of toting the M-16 around and his entire existence on his back, barely protested as he held it up.
"Quit bitchin' and walk," Dean snapped, wincing as he followed Adam down into the swampy water, his boots sinking into the muddy bottom. It was hot as fuck, and the mosquitoes swarmed around their bodies, the film on top of the waist-deep water parting as they pushed through. The line snaked around trees and underbrush. Henrikson was singing Wade in the Water behind them and Dean fought the urge to tell him to shut up. It was annoying the piss out of him. The sooner they get out of the swamp the better.
It was bullshit, the mission they'd been called in on. He watched Adam's back, almost bumping into him as a snake slithered past in the water, Adam stalling briefly to let it pass before continuing. Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Adam's helmet, making Adam growl something and shove on. They were back on dry land soon though, and once everyone was out, the medic went around checking for bites. One kid had twisted his ankle on a route and nearly drowned as a result, but otherwise they were all intact.
"Rest up, we're walkin' farther tomorrow!" Henrikson yelled as they made camp, clustering off into their groups and rummaging through their things.
"Bullshit mission," Dean griped, "Another fucking search? Chasin' our fuckin' tails out here. Makin' us walk miles for some bullshit mission."
"We're providing backup, asshole, not just asearch-" Ash commented, unloading his radio, making sure it hadn't been damaged by any water. Dean shook his head.
"They call it backup, but what they mean is bait. They wanna see if the gooks are gonna spring us before we get there. They lost track of 'em and they don't know what direction they went."
"Shut the fuck up and eat something, would you?" Ash laughed, "Your blood sugar is low, princess."
Dean rolled his eyes and brought up the little silver can from his bag, opening it with a swift pull of his wrist. Adam did the same, shoveling his into his mouth like he couldn't get it in fast enough.
A fat raindrop landed on Dean's face and he nearly threw the can down.
"All it ever does is fuckin' rain," Dean said, Adam sighing heavily beside him in agreement, already scraping the bottom of his can, having burned through his ration without a second thought. "Can't even light a fuckin' cigarette," Dean continued, grumbling to himself, using the cleanest part of his hand to swipe at his fork while Adam laughed, mouth full. Dean shook his head, his food wet. It pissed him off. Everything was wet. It was always wet - or damp. Your clothes, your hair, your skin, your matches. Everything, always sagging and drooping and soft.
"What's sagging and drooping?" Ash said, looking up from where he was doing a diagnostic on the radio. He gave Dean a wry smile and Dean smirked.
"Your dick," Dean answered promptly, not batting an eyelash. Adam coughed a laugh around his fork and slapped his own chest a few times as he swallowed.
"Not what your Mother said!" Ash cackled, fiddling with his equipment.
"Yeah? Well, my Mother's dead," Dean finished, putting his can aside, wiping condensation from his face. He wasn't even hungry. Ash laughed again, softer this time, shaking his head, and Dean used the heel of his boot to dig a groove in the ground, making an ant scatter frantically from underneath. Adam kept eating, staring off into space and Dean looked at him and his thin frame. The kid would have been better off being born a coat hanger with the size of his skinny arms. Dean picked up hiscan again and put it on the other side, closer to Adam's leg.
"Finish this," he said, gesturing at the half full can and the sloppy meat inside. Adam looked at him, puppy-eyed and hesitant, waiting till Dean gave him a stare, shoving the can further. "I don't need it."
"If Milligan don't take it, I will!" Ash sounded, smiling, and Adam rolled his eyes, scraping the rest of Dean's supper into his mouth with even little strokes of his fork. He didn't look up as he ate, Dean nodding in satisfaction.
"I don't know why I bother, you got nowhere to put your food," he drawled, his fingers twitching for a cigarette. If only it would stop raining for two seconds. He supposed he could stay under a tree with Ash, but that meant moving and he was perfectly content to sit for the moment. They'd been marching for hours and his feet were numb and tingling from the trek. Scowling, Dean dug his heel in more and then stifled a yawn, Adam absently swatting at a mosquito that kept landing on his neck, his bony fingers rubbing where it had sank into him, short nails scratching at the skin.
"I got a high metabolism," Adam responded, and Dean vaguely remembered his earlier comment and smirked, puffing air through his nose.
"That's just Italian for skinny ass," he grumbled, not missing a beat. Adam rolled his eyes again and kept eating, clearing Dean's leftovers.
"You know, you're a real son of a bitch," Adam commented, jabbing his fork in Dean's direction, swallowing his food in a gulp. "No wonder you don't talk about nobody at home. I mean, I used to think it was because you were sad or somethin'. Like you didn't like talking about it. Now I know it's just cause you're a dick and you don't have anybody."
"Little brother, you don't know the first thing about me," Dean chuckled, picking up a stick, starting to make notches in it with his knife. He shook his head, sighing. "Not a goddamn thing."
"Then prove it!" Adam insisted, and Dean couldn't believe they were actually going to have this conversation again. "Come on, everyone talks about theirs, but you never say nothin'. Not even a word. So, tell me what kind of girl you got waitin' for you. And I've looked around you got no letters and no pictures nowhere. 'Cept maybe whatever it is you keep in that helmet of yours - you hold onto that with both hands and I'll be damned if you're keeping a picture of her tits in there."
Ash glanced up from his radio, eyebrows raised.
Dean met his eyes and then flickered them away.
The rain drummed on a barrel a few feet away, softening the sound of Dean hacking into the stick with his blade.
"Your mother ever tell you it's impolite to go asking after people's personal life?" Dean said, giving Adam a wearied stare. Adam stacked their empty cans and took a drink of the whiskey in the small flask he kept in one of his bag's many pockets.
"She's ugly," Adam said and Dean tossed the stick back down to the ground. "That's it, she's ugly."
"Do you not have anything better to do other than irritate the living shit out of me?" Dean yawned, and Adam sat forward, pouring some of the watery gravy out of an empty container, watching it run into the small cleft Dean had made in the dirt.
"Come on, Winchester," Ash laughed, closing up his radio. "Like you got better shit to do yourself."
"Don't encourage him," Dean bit out and Ash smiled.
"No, please, encourage me!" Adam continued, his knee bouncing, "Who is she? What's she like?"
Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes, ignoring Adam's question flat-out. Adam wasn't deterred, and Ash stepped out into the rain, stamping out a flat area to sit on while he stretched his back with quick, calculated, twists of his spine.
"She some old hag?"
"I swear to God if I get leave with you I'll put a bullet through my skull," Dean groaned, and the cutlery clanked against the can as Adam shifted, burning with curiosity. A raindrop fell on Dean's hand and he didn't bother to shake it off; he let it slide down his bare arm, his t-shirt clinging to him in the humidity.
"If you don't tell me, I'm gonna assume you're in a relationship with your right hand," Adam said with mock sobriety and Dean beat down the urge to strangle him.
"Remind me to beat the shit out of you in a few years," Dean answered cheerfully enough and Adam just looked at him 'sincerely', his eyes drooping and almost earnest.
"Dean, your aggression denotes defensiveness!"
"Enough," Dean said sharply and Adam quieted, watching him with apprehension. Dean took his helmet off and threw it on the ground beside him. "You want to know so fucking bad? Look for yourself."
He looked at Ash and Ash shook his head.
"Aww, no, Winchester, you ain't draggin' me into this."
He stood, waving his hands defensively, "I got places to be other than here!" he said, wandering away. Adam looked at the helmet and grabbed for it, smiling in victory, but Dean was watching him with a grave face.
Adam cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, pulling the helmet up to his lap. He looked inside, and there it was. A little square of off-white crammed against the top.
Dean watched him steadily as he took it out and Adam's confusion bloomed on his features.
"Is this your brother?" he asked and Dean stared at him.
"What do you think?"
"Are you queer for your brother?"
"Motherfucker, Adam."
"Who is this?" Adam whispered, smoothing the photograph out. The man - well, he couldn't say man exactly. He was youngish looking, and his smile was quiet and sweet, split evenly by the crease. Adam couldn't get his head around it.
"His name is Cas," Dean said, and my god, how long had it been since he'd said his name, "and I swear on your mother's life, Adam, if you tell anybody about this, I will make your life a living hell. Do you hear me? A living hell."
Adam nodded dumbly along, still staring at the picture.
"Is he...no. No that can't be right," Adam said, still staring at the picture that had obviously been folded and refolded a thousand times.
"You know now, so you can shut the fuck up about it," Dean grunted, snatching the picture from him and pushing it back into the helmet which he yanked from Adam's lap. Adam flinched, still stunned.
"So, you and him..."
"If you say anything to anyone it will be the last thing you do."
"I'm not gonna tell, I just - you and him?" Adam bleated. "And everyone else..." The realization dawned.
"They already figured it. Well, most of them suspect," Dean said blandly, putting the helmet gently at his side. "That's why they don't talk much to me. You're the nosiest fucker around here, though, and you were driving me crazy. If Henrikson can tell he doesn't give a shit. I'm a warm body. Ash don't care either way. He called me out on it the first time I met him."
"Where did you meet him?" Adam asked and Dean rolled his eyes, rubbing his face as more rain began to fall. He covered the open helmet with his bag.
"At a party, dumbass."
"A party?"
"A fuckin' party, where do you think? A cave?"
Adam pressed his lips together.
"I didn't know you people threw parties."
"You people?" Dean laughed dryly, "Adam, we're just like everyone else. We do go to parties. And move in society. We get jobs and pay electric bills. Exciting stuff, right?"
"You know what I mean," Adam blushed, kicking at him. "I've never met a queer before," he whispered as an afterthought and Dean laughed harder.
"Yes you have, you just don't know it."
"And all that shit you said about girls!" Adam protested, "You don't know a damn thing!"
"I never lied to you!" Dean interrupted, and Adam's eyes bugged. Dean grinned slyly at him. "I never said I was selective."
"But you love..." Adam shook himself out again. "You said you loved him."
"I do," Dean assured. "I told you, I never lied."
"You love him?"
"Little brother, you ask the dumbest fucking questions."
"It ain't the craziest shit I've heard over here," Adam mumbled. "Maybe that's why I'm not so shocked." Dean nodded.
"It's the least of your worries," Dean finished, his voice dropping to a murmur that melted in with the rain, "this whole world tries to meddle with other people. It's the reason we're even in this hell."
Adam nodded. "Do you miss him?"
"Is the day long?" Dean muttered.
"So what was it? What was it that you promised him?"
Dean was still, and before he could answer, Adam continued.
"Is he who you think about? When you're scared? Cas?"
"Don't say his name here," Dean whispered harshly, "Don't do that. Not here."
Adam closed his mouth again and sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Well, shit," he said, "I feel like a jackass."
"You should," Dean smiled. "But it's nothin'. Long as you don't tell."
"I won't, I swear it. You're right about other people meddling. You're right about that. It does nothing but bad. What should I care what you do? I mean, really."
"Go find yourself something to do. Get some sleep. You got walkin' to do tomorrow," Dean cut him off and Adam realized he'd been rambling. He fingered the St. Michael around his neck and walked off a ways, setting out his bedroll and lying down on it.
Dean didn't know if he regretted telling him yet. Time would tell, but he trusted Adam. He was scrappy and loyal, and he trusted Dean implicitly for some reason.
The sun was beginning its journey downwards and Dean had a night shift. He closed his eyes, attempting to get some rest while he could, before someone came and roused him and he had to gear up and replace someone.
He leaned against his pack, and closed his eyes.
The mission was bullshit. It was all bullshit. They were going to get ambushed, he just knew it. He could feel it rising up in him like bile at the back of his throat, and it made him restless and weary at the same time. He wanted to pace one second, and the next he didn't want to move for the rest of his life. His heart accelerated and he tried to breathe, focusing on something else. Adam snored, exhausted, and Dean remembered when he could sleep like that, but lately it hadn't been coming so easy. His dreams were vivid and distressing. They made him ache.
He opened his eyes and looked at the place where Ash had been, the light breaking it up, making strange shadows on some of Ash's things still strewn about. Like some other room, filled with some other belongings. A turntable, a double bed pushed up against a wall, the nightstand looming beside it. He heard a clock ticking in the drum of the rain; the pop of a gas burner being lit, the sound blooming like a rose out of the still air. Someone humming, turning the pages of a book with the soft-slip of a finger.
The murmur of insects seemed to ebb and surge like some inland tide, their mindless rattling transforming and shifting into more familiar noises, just as the rain did. It was still raining; it always was in that steaming country.
He listened, and the longer he did, the more it did sound like waves - like the ocean hitting grey rocks. The sunlight he had hidden behind his eyes that day, what little he could collect, washed the inside of his eyelids to a muted grey; the grey of the sea, the grey rocks, the grey clouds.
The squeak of something metal became the cry of a gull over the roar of the water.
"Come home."
The windswept voice met his ears and Dean's finger twitched.
"Soon," he promised, and Cas picked up a shell, running his fingers over the ridges. The world was the grainy quality of photographs. He was behind the camera again, watching Cas as he tossed the shell into the sea, smiling as it splashed. "Look here," he said, and Cas turned, blinding and bright, the sun glaring off of his skin, obscuring his face for a moment before it drifted back into view.
He smiled, walking towards Dean, towards the camera, stopping just short of it, glancing shyly around.
Dean could hear the reel spinning, the click of the inside mechanisms, and the ocean. Cas laughed, and made some timid face, kicking at the sand, the wind raking his hair over his forehead.
"I can't hear you..." Dean said, and Cas looked up, his eyes soft. Dean shook his head, but the image never moved, unbroken by his motions. The steady view of a camera lens.
Cas tilted his head, looking into the camera, but it seemed as if he saw beyond that, like he could see all the way to Dean.
"God, have I forgotten your voice?" Dean whispered, suddenly anguished. Cas never faltered, and he looked up suddenly, the camera following his eyes to the gulls.
"No, no, look here," Dean continued, his voice dwindled to a desperate murmur, "No, God no, don't let me forget his face..."
The camera centered itself again and Cas took a step forward.
I love you
Dean watched his mouth, the pearly teeth, the curl of his lips around the words, but he couldn't hear them.
I love you!
He had laughed it that second time, and the wind pushed against his clothes, through his hair, but it was like watching behind glass. He had laughed it that second time, Dean remembered, could tell from his eyes. Cas turned.
He walked a few steps, down towards the surf and waved, glancing over his shoulder.
Dean felt his arm lift and he waved back.
I love you!
Cas had cupped his hands to shout - Dean felt the tears cut down his face, the chill of the air making them feel almost too-warm.
"I love you," he whispered, and Cas waved again, laughing as he turned back to the sea.
"I love you. I'll be home soon. I love you."
Cas bent, picking up another shell.
"Wait for me," Dean said, his voice trembling, "Don't go out too far."
Cas tossed the shell to the waves.
Dean opened his eyes, looking at the distant shape of Adam in the dark, listening to his breathing. It was night now, and when he squinted at his watch he saw he had two hours before his shift. He swallowed, inhaling slowly and ran his sticky hands over his face, cool with sweat. His head tilted back on his bag, neck cricked. He tried to regain a sense of reality, the dream still dissolving, its remains washing up like displaced seaweed. He wished he could dream of some other memory. It used to be his favorite one. The seaside and Cas in his windbreaker, the feeling of their hands sliding over each other, the emptiness of the world. Cas' hair touching his chin as they watched the water, his laughter when he grabbed him by the middle and picked him up, the way they'd tossed bread to the gulls and talked about flying and boats. About dreams and houses on islands. Now there was only silence, the endless void of a movie camera, the idle way Cas walked by the water, stooping to stare at crabs or watch for little fish, trapped there, in that moment. He felt so far away, and with every step Cas took the distance kept growing and he didn't know how to make it stop.
He closed his eyes against the dark, trying to think of nothing, but the dreadful silence stayed with him. Where had his voice gone? Who had taken it? What drowned him out and made him silent and sad-eyed? When he looked at Dean, and his eyes were so sad, like he wanted to say things he couldn't.
Dean rolled over and rubbed at his face some more.
He wanted to speak out, but Cas' name was trapped on his tongue.
Adam never said anything about Cas to anyone, and he never brought his name up around Dean again. Dean was glad for it, glad that Adam had listened to him, and had respected him. He was a good kid, and a strong one. But that didn't mean that things would get better just because someone didn't go running their mouth about where Dean liked to put his dick.
The days were hot, the air was sticky, and they spent most of their time trekking through the jungle and waist-high grass. Always on the lookout, watching their backs and watching where they stepped, webbed in the constant state of paranoia. Everyone was trying to stay alive so that they could return home.
Adam did stay close to Dean though, not only because Dean was the only one who would really talk to him, but everyone liked to keep their distance from him out on the field because he was still too fresh to be trusted, too easy a target.
They walked along the edge of the forest on their left, an empty field on their right, and Adam wouldn't shut up about the mosquitoes biting at his neck.
"Will you quit complaining?" Dean snapped and shoved him from behind. Adam stumbled and swatted at the back of his neck as he turned to look at Dean.
"I don't wanna catch nothing from them. Who knows what kinda diseases are out here?"
Dean just shook his head and urged Adam on, adjusting his hold on his M-16.
They didn't encounter anything for the rest of the day, and Henrikson had told them to rest up once the sun had disappeared behind the horizon. It had cooled down slightly, but the bugs were worse at night, and Dean had to deal with Adam mumbling to himself and complaining under his breath until the kid had gotten tired enough to roll out his bed and hunker down. Dean was always on the night shift now - Henrikson had assigned it to him permanently when he noticed that Dean never really got enough sleep, but could run on just a few hours. He stood above the others, tapping out rhythms absently on the stock of his gun, scanning the jungle and passing his eyes over the others. Some didn't sleep; they played cards or wrote letters, huddled around the lamps in clumps. Most slept, twitching and groaning, or bitching about getting comfortable.
Dean watched Adam the most, he knew. It wasn't his job to take special care of him, but something determined him to get him home in one piece for his mother. He passed it off as not wanting to deal with the repercussions of the alternative, but in all honesty it was an unconscious decision to watch over Adam. His brotherly instincts taking over, or something.
Adam snorted in his sleep and rolled over, throwing an arm over his face, and Dean smiled, pulling his helmet off of his head and scratching his hair. Looking around, he pinned it against his knee and fished the picture out, unfolding it, smoothing the edges and wrinkles out. He couldn't see it very well in the dark of the jungle, but he had memorized a long while back. Cas' sweet smile. The smile that he only used for Dean, the smile that said so many things with just a small hint of teeth, eyes large and blue and sincere. He'd probably been talking to him before it was taken, but Dean couldn't remember for certain. He only knew it was his favorite.
He ran his thumb over the photograph, tipping his head back and looking up through the limbs of the trees above him, the sky completely obscured from sight. He looked back down at the photograph, and folded it back up before tucking it back into his helmet. He set his helmet back on his head and adjusted his gun, resuming his watch.
Someone came to relieve him some hours later, and by the time he'd wandered back to Adam he had decided to sleep sitting up. For the first time in a few days he was tired and he pressed himself against a tree, his pack behind him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.
Cas smiled beneath him, bare arms wrapping around his neck, lips against his own, and god, how he missed kissing Cas. He kissed him like he was dying, licking into his mouth and taking, stealing his breath away. Cas pulled back, smiling, laughing, but it was silent as Dean smoothed his fingers through his hair and kissed him again.
He touched his neck, fingers ghosting over his skin, and Cas squirmed beneath him, mouth opening in another vacant laugh.
"I'll be home soon," Dean promised, and Cas tilted his head on the bed, tracing his cheek with an idle thumb. Dean covered the hand with his own before Cas tangled their fingers together, lifting his eyes to Dean's in a secret sort of way.
Dean kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips; he kissed him everywhere, touched him everywhere. He didn't want to forget him, didn't want to lose him. He could feel Cas dig his fingers into his shoulders, and Dean kissed him again, Cas gasping soundlessly into him, nails scraping down his back.
He leaned back, pushing Cas' hair from his face, and Cas stretched his arms above his head, smiling up at him.
I love you, he mouthed, and Dean circled his face with his hands, framing it with his fingers. Cas' eyes sparked playfully.
"I know," Dean answered.
Cas pushed up and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, pressing his face against his shoulder, body shuddering against his. Dean hushed him and smoothed his hands down his back, and he could feel wet on his shoulder, but when Cas pulled away, and Dean went to kiss him again, he froze. Cas wasn't crying, he was bleeding. It ran from his nose, and Dean panicked, reaching for anything to wipe it away, but there was nothing to grab, and his hands came away bloody.
He woke up gasping, eyes wet, and he immediately rubbed at them with the backs of his hands, struggling to catch air. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, and he flinched away when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey," Adam whispered, and Dean pulled his hands away from his face, looking up at him through the dark. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and straightened up. "Just a bad dream. No big deal."
Adam nodded and gave his shoulder a pat and firm squeeze, and it was only a little reassuring, before he turned away and returned to his bedroll.
It was the first of many nightmares, and from that night on, Dean mostly dreamed of Cas. They weren't like the dreams before, the ones when they were on the beach and Cas was fading away; instead, Cas was bleeding. Purple bruises bloomed on his skin when Dean touched him, and blood leaked from the corners of his mouth and his nose. It caked and cracked when he smiled, unaware of what was happening even when Dean tried to stop him.
"What's happening?" Dean cried, throwing himself away from Cas, holding his hands up, one particular night. Blood trickled onto the floor. It was matted into Cas' hairline and seeping into the collar of his shirt.
"What's happening to you?" Dean yelled again, not knowing what to do. Cas stared at him, smiling his sweet smile.
It's alright...it's alright. Everything is ok.
Dean shook his head, blood pooling on the floor and inching towards his feet, spreading out where it dripped from Cas' sleeves and pant legs.
"No, no, you're dying!" Dean shouted, and Cas looked so concerned, taking a step forward.
"I'm killing you, Cas!" Dean screamed, pushing him away. Cas slid in the slick of his own blood, staring at his hands. He rubbed his palms thoughtfully, glancing up at Dean.
It's alright, he smiled, reassuringly, and Dean felt the tears start.
"No, no," he wept as Cas' grew paler and paler, the bruises mottling his neck and his chest and the tops of his feet. He stood and put his sticky, warm, hands on Dean's, holding them. He kissed Dean's jaw with his split lip, and Dean felt him mouth something against his skin, but he couldn't make it out.
"Stop - stop," he'd gasped, sitting straight up, and then he was awake again, shaking, his fingers curled in fists. He'd bit his knuckle to keep himself from screaming, Cas' eyes looking so blue against the red, and so calm. Dean didn't know what it meant, but it scared the shit out of him, and they were so real that often, even after he'd woken he didn't know where he was. He started to become more distant, didn't talk as much as he used to, and Adam took notice when Dean began sleeping less than normal.
It was a day before they were supposed to arrive at the checkpoint. The jungle was dense and the humidity was so heavy in the air that it was hard to breathe. Dean's clothes stuck to him, and even though he was used to it by now, it was still annoying. He was tugging at his them when Adam bumped him with his shoulder, and Dean jumped slightly, hoping that Adam hadn't noticed.
"Hey, why're you so jumpy?"
"What are you talking about?" Dean faked a smile, bumping Adam back with his shoulder and hefting his pack higher onto his back. Adam just shook his head and took another step.
There was a bang and Dean bristled, snapping his head up just in time to see Corbett catch a bullet straight through his neck. His blood spattered onto the grass and he dropped, something in his bag clanking. Then the metallic zip of a bullet slicing the air, followed by another. They held, waiting. The rain dripped. It seeped. They waited.
Henrikson yelled to take cover and Dean yanked Adam behind cover, throwing him down at the base of a tree while he took the safety off.
He waited.
"Man down!" someone called, too late, and Dean could see from where he was as Teixeira, their medic, the medic skidded to his knees to kneel beside Corbett, pressing his hand to his neck to staunch the bleeding. Adam watched with wide, frozen eyes. Corbett's legs kicked and then he stilled, head lolling, hands locked around the person's wrist. .
"Mother fucker!" Dean hissed, readying himself.. Adam stayed pressed against the tree, hand fisted around his medallion, eyes shut. "Milligan!" Dean said and Adam looked at him. "Stay cool, little brother," Dean smiled and Adam smiled hesitantly back, nodding. Dean looked around and found Henrikson covering Ash. Ash was working the radio, calling coordinates into the receiver, keeping his voice as quiet as possible as bullets split the thick air, the metallic rattle of machine guns sounding closer than before.
"I need analysis!" Henrikson screamed, "Come on you lazy fucks! Tell me what you see!"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his gun, dropping low. He crouched, bending around the side of the tree and scanned the area.
He turned and waved Henrikson, holding up five fingers and then five more. Henrikson gestured for him to come closer and Dean looked at Adam. He smiled reassuringly and Adam urged him forward.
"I'm fine," he muttered, winking, and Dean reached out a hand to slap the flat of his hand on Adam's helmet before rushing towards Henrikson, slipping behind the next tree while more bullets flew past him. His heart hammered in his chest.
"At least ten, but I think they're bating - there's more on the opposite side," Dean hushed, Henrikson ducking his head to hear. He nodded somberly.
"We're naked," Henrikson grunted. "Naked as the day we were fuckin' born."It was a flurry of movement and orders after that. Dean rushed ahead with two others, and Dean took out one of the gunners on the first try. The other sergeant had the flank, moving up the left while the front held their attention, and Dean wanted to look for Adam but he couldn't find him. Dean raised his gun again, and pulled the trigger.
A shadow dropped to the ground. There was a scramble in the underbrush and the scream to take cover as a grenade lobbed through the air and Dean crouched down, hands over his head. He felt dirt scatter against his helmet and the drum of guns above his head as he lifted his face, crawling forward, pausing to fire every few feet.
More shadows filtered through the trees, darting in the vines and blurring, having been hidden behind the first wave.
"Sons of bitches just keep coming!" someone yelled, and Dean blocked them out, looking through his scope, waiting. He exhaled and pulled the trigger again, and another shadow crumpled to the ground.
The fire continued for several more minutes, and the ambushed dulled to a lull. They were a rag tag troop of VK, and though they had hidden well, their platoon outgunned them. There was silence and then Henrikson ordered them to fall back, and Dean hauled himself up. He was running towards the rest of the platoon when there was a rattle from the underbrush and he turned. The sun split the trees, silhouetting the figure that emerged.
"Hold your fire! Stay cool!Henrikson yelled, but it was too late - there was the dull crack of a discharge. Once. Twice.
"Mother Fucker, I said hold your fire!"!" Henrikson screamed and Dean stared as the figure buckled forward, clutching its abdomen. He caught the gleam of dirty brown hair as the helmet dropped, and Dean was running.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean gasped, grabbing the soldier who had crawled to Adam first and shoving them off.
"Winchester, get the fuck out of the way!"
"Who did it?" Dean said hysterically as he bent over Adam, slipping to his knees, pulling him to his lap. There was blood all over the front of his uniform and it was leaking past his hands. He gasped, choking on blood as it slithered from his mouth, Dean yanking his vest off to apply pressure. Adam's eyes rolled upwards. The men were silent, staring as Dean touched Adam's sweaty face, turning it to him, dirt smearing on his forehead and cheek.
"Don't you dare die on me," Dean growled, pressing harder as the medic came forward, shoving his hands away to inspect the wound. "You are not gonna die like this, you son of a bitch. I'm not letting you die like this!"
"He's bleeding out," the medic said calmly, pulling a packet from his bag, tearing the top with his teeth. He shook the Quik-Clot out over Adam's belly, the blood congealing in a thick layer.. Adam bucked up, howling, and Dean shushed him, holding him still. Henrikson cursed, kicking someone.
"When I give you an order I fucking expect it to be followed! No exceptions!" they cowered under his stare, "You think I'm running my fucking mouth? YOU think I'm just trying to hear myself talk, you look at him!You look at him right now! He's one of your own!You poor stupid fucks Can't you tell a god damn enemy from one of your own, you useless mother fuckers!"
They quieted as Adam gurgled, clamping his hand on Dean's vest. Dean shook his head.
"Easy, easy, take it easy," he turned over his shoulder as Adam twitched, moisture collecting at the corners of the younger boy's eyes., "Call it in! We gotta get him out of here!"
Ash turned to the radio and the medic lifted his head to stop him.
"Don't," he said quickly, pulling the syringe out, fiddling with the cap. He tapped the needle. "we're gonna lose him."
Dean smoothed Adam's hair from his face and Adam choked again, swallowing down the blood rising up the back of his throat.
"M-my mama..." he said, eyes getting glassy, and Dean nodded.
"I'll tell her, don't worry, I'll tell her," he whispered. "I'll tell her you went honorably. I'll tell her you fought hard, you fought hard, little brother." His voice hitched.
Adam's hand fell to Dean's and squeezed while the other jerkily moved to his neck, snapping the medallion off of his neck. He opened his mouth and Dean stared into his face, as he pushed the little gold chain in his fist into Dean's chest.
"I'll send it, she'll get it," Dean started and Adam shook his head.
"No!" he cried, and he gurgled again, "You..." he trailed, and Dean took Adam's hand, the fingers uncurling to press the medallion into his palm.
"I've got it," Dean said weakly,, "I've got it, don't worry."
"...You," Adam repeated before he shuddered. His legs kicked and then his head rolled back against Dean's arm. Dean stared at his dead face, still holding the medallion limply in his fingers.
"He's gone," the medic said, and Henrikson cursed. Dean kept staring down at Adam's dead eyes, wiping the tears away where they fell on his skin, making shallow paths in the grit. He slowly lowered Adam from his folded knees, his arms held stiffly over his chest. Dean pulled his drenched vest from his torso and shook it out, laying it over him.
"You and you, carry him to the checkpoint," Henrikson said softly, the medic pulling a body bag from his kit, unfurling it. "Winchester."
Dean looked up, but didn't meet Henrikson's eyes.
"Get his tags and search him for mail."
Dean nodded vaguely and lifted Adam's head to pull the dog tags from around his neck, shoving them into his pocket. Adam's eyes stared vacantly up through the trees, mouth slack. Dean checked his pockets next and found the crumpled note for his mother. He touched the bloodied corner and then put it with the tags, finally standing. He raised his head to the other men standing gravely by.
"I don't know which one of you did it," he started, "but if I ever find out, I will kill you. You're supposed to look out for the young ones. They trust you. He trusted you, and I swear on his grave if I ever find out who killed him, it will be the end of you."
He looked back down at the ground and walked past Henrikson, who put a hand on his back to pull him back so he could walk beside him.
The weeks blurred.
Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He wrote the letter to Adam's mother, but he knew it wasn't enough. She was his only son. Her only, and he was dead, and Dean couldn't stop it. All he had to show was the letter he sent home with his body.
He was a brave boy. Dean had loved him like a little brother. He was so sorry.
So sorry.
When he closed his eyes at night Cas held him while he cried, scratches and welts rising in the wake of Dean's touches.
Come home, he'd mouth, and Dean would shake his head, staring at the ground. Cass footprints were bloody and he'd stop every once in a while, the three bullet wounds in his abdomen making him cramp and double over before straightening. Dean was used to seeing them by now and just let them happen.
There was nothing he could do.
Come home, Cas would repeat, and finally, Dean was able to lift his head and stare at his face. He touched the skin under his eye and the skin rippled into a delicate yellow bruise, and Cas leaned into his palm.
"Tomorrow," Dean rasped, "tomorrow..."
He woke up and for the first time in a long time his face was dry. He packed his things quietly and shook hands with Henrikson and Ash.
He got into the chopper and watched the jungle disappear beneath his feet, getting farther and farther away. It was happening.
He was done.
He was going home.
He bent his head into his knees, the chopper so loud no one could hear him as he sobbed. Another man leaving with him placed an arm around his shoulders and kissed his head.
"I know, man, it's fucking emotional, right? Hell on earth and we're finally getting out. It's un-fuckin- real!"
Dean patted his shoulder, nodding, and wiped his eyes, watching the green land scroll under his dirty boots, and touched the St. Michael under his shirt in apprehension.
"I ain't seen my lady in thirteen months and I'm scared as hell! Wonder what she's gonna look like...you ever worry you won't recognize any of them?"
Dean wanted to say no, but he couldn't, so he just smiled instead.
He wasn't afraid of not recognizing Cas.
Dean was far more afraid Cas wouldn't recognize him.