Fear Itself

The drive home was uncomfortable and somehow quiet, even in the midst of the catchy pop tunes pumping through the speakers. Not a word was uttered. Sadness hung heavy in Dean’s eyes, so I kept my gaze ahead, tired, and blank.

Rather unaffected by the Commander’s attitude (certainly, I expected such), I found myself troubled by Dean’s sudden melancholia. Never once had I heard him mention Conor Kennedy, or being legitimately close close to anyone in the Kennedy family, but he seemed awfully disturbed and shaken by the mere mention of Conor’s name.

He said that Conor was a great man. Everything I had read pointed out the opposite. Granted, all I ever read about him was what my mother wrote in her journal. He was Clinton’s father, the first Commander of Earth. From description alone, he did not seem like a “great man.” Compared to his son, he seemed such, perhaps… but he was still a ruthless tyrant. He killed rebels in the streets. My mother died because of him.

However, I didn’t have the gall to voice any of this until we were at home, laying in bed in utter silence as time ticked by and the sky melted into pinks and oranges, casting shadows across the carpet.

Uncomfortably, I shifted in Dean’s arms, sitting up and staring down at him while he propped himself up on his elbow. “Blondie, is something wrong?” His eyebrows knitted in worry, forming wrinkles where they met.

“You never told me you were close with Conor,” I said, voice blank, trying not to judge him either way, at least not until he explained himself and the situation.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and puffed out a strained breath. “Yeah, I was,” Dean admitted. His eyes wandered to the left, away from me. “We were really close,” he continued with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Practically family.”

Blinking, I still stared, eyes never leaving his face, not once. He still couldn’t look at me. “He ordered the death of my mother,” I murmured. As Dean’s gaze dropped, so did mine. I scooted back a little, sitting on my knees now, wringing my hands in lap. “So… why?”

Without missing a beat, Dean shut down. “He was just a cool guy,” Dean explained coldly, sitting up now, still a few feet away from me, back propped against the wall behind the bed.

“You said you were practically family, Muscles. That was just moments ago.” My voice was soft, gentle, but voice of judgment. If he was already unwilling to explain, anger certainly wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Dean never answered me, and I sighed quietly. “What did you all do?” I asked. “Clint mentioned you went on vacation with them.”

“All the time,” Dean replied. A very subtle, soft smile crept onto his face, but it was fleeting. It lasted for no more than a moment. “Vacations, birthdays, football games, holidays, even weddings. Just about everything.”

I laughed half-heartedly. “Wow, you really were like family, huh?” I lifted my eyes to find Dean looking at me once more. “What did Sam think about all this?”

“He didn’t.” Dean shrugged again. “We weren’t speaking back then.”

Right. He had told me that, hand’t he? “I forgot you didn’t speak for awhile… at least until the Brotherhood happened.” Dean gave me an affirming nod. “The League made things pretty nice for you,” I commented. “Nice clothes, nice money, nice job… Why would you go against them if you had it so great?”

“I don’t quite agree with their plans for the world,” he explained. He reached his hand across the bed to grab mine.

Smiling softly, I laced our fingers together. My eyes fell for just a moment before looking back to him. “But you seem rather fond of your guns and reckless destruction,” I joked, which drew a small grin and a throaty chuckle from Dean.

“Blondie, I agree with their methods, not their morals,” he chuckled and squeezed my hand. “Getting the public’s support is much easier when you a point a gun in their face.”

“So, is that your big plan for when you’re king?” I asked with a small, playful grin. “Hold a nuke in the public’s face and demand high approval ratings?”

Dean laughed a little louder now. “First of all, I’m going to be a president, not a king,” Dean corrected, laughter slowly fading from his voice. “And I’m planning on doing what’s effective, and if that’s it, well…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

Just as soon as he finished, I leaned forward and nudged his shoulder. “Muscles!” I exclaimed with incredulous laughter. “That isn’t nice!”

Dean grabbed me without warning; his arms wrapped tightly around my center before he pulled me onto his lap. He pressed his lips softly against my neck, then rested his head on my shoulder. “You’re nice,” he mumbled and closed his eyes. “Why else you do you think I keep you around?” he teased.

The laughter settled until the room was quiet, save for the nighttime ambiance growing louder as the sun sank outside. I wrapped one arm around his shoulders and used the other to cradle his head. I ran my fingers through his hair and tucked a few stray strands back into place. “Muscles, if you were so close to Conor, why did you still help Sam?” My voice was soft when I finally broke the silence.

“Easy,” he murmured. His shifted his grasp and held me tighter. “He’s my big brother.”

It was then that it occurred to me that perhaps the change I had sparked in Dean was not so mysterious, after all. He liked the wealth, and his mansions, and his car, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted a family. He wanted that sense of inclusion one could only find in unconditional love. Even more so, I thought that he wanted somebody who needed him. If someone truly needed him, they couldn’t leave him. They couldn’t go on without him. If he was needed, he couldn’t ever be abandoned. Conversely, if he shut people out, it would hurt less if they did abandon him, and Dean lived under the assumption that they would.

With this in mind, I continued carefully. Sighing softly and stroking his hair, I admitted, “Muscles, I wish you would tell me these things.” I paused, and things were quiet. His breath swept over the skin on my collarbone with every exhale. “Not your whole life story… not unless you want to, that is. Just the important things, like this,” I continued. “The things that really hurt you.” I pulled my neck back a little and took his face in my hands. “I know you want me to be happy, and you would do anything to help me,” I told him. “But what would make me really happy was if you would let me help you too.”

Dean stared up at me in a bit of a daze. His mouth had fallen open just slightly. I gently brushed my thumb over his cheek. “The world doesn’t have to rest on your shoulders alone, Dean,” I whispered. “You just have to let me help you.”

He stammered a little, trying to find the correct words to say. The fact that he didn’t quite know how to respond forced a small smile onto my face. “Sh,” I hushed him just before I leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I know.” Without another word, I pulled his head close to my heart and held him there, held him tight. It wasn’t until my eyes glanced at the clock that the panic set in. “Muscles, we’ve gotta go,” I hurried.

A few swears left his mouth as we scrambled around for better clothing, trying to prepare ourselves for an evening in the Hangar, an evening for which we were already late by an hour. After all, it was a very big night for the resistance movement: the Americans were coming.