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It was a Tuesday morning, and they were midway through Idaho when Sam got a glimpse of some Hetwen attacking a cabin around sunset. They hit up a local campground, and divvy up the two main trails the cabins are on. Dean sends Sam, Christopher and April up one, and he and David take the other. Jalil sits in the Impala with the extra weapons and med supplies.
It’s nearly sundown, and when they reach the end of the trail Dean can feel the buzz of a Hetwen in the earth under his feet. There are two cabins within sight, and it takes only a quick glance between him and David before they’re off and running: David to the right and Dean to the left.
~
It’s a quick fight, if bloody – or maybe gooey is the better word, since the Hetwen are annoyingly invulnerable to bullets, and their insides seem to consist entirely of purple slime – but they’re usually not hard to kill. It’s just a messy Impala ride to the nearest Laundromat. Not to mention Dean always feels like a complete dork when fighting with a sword.
Dean wipes his D&D rip-off sword off on the grass and watches to make sure that the Hetwen bodies fully evaporate like usual – because that’s all that they need, someone finding alien carcasses in the Midwest woods – before going off to find David.
When he gets to the other cabin, David is lying on the ground like a rag doll, and the only thing that keeps Dean’s heart from completely seizing in his ribcage is the way David’s chest is heaving up and down and the fact that he never heard David scream.
“Where’re you hurt?” he barks out.
“Mostly winded,” David says, one hand fluttering weakly over his stomach. “There were more of them than Sam thought.”
When Dean reaches him, he drops to his knees and grabs a handful of goo-covered Radiohead t-shirt to pull David towards him without thinking. Barely even realizing he’s done it. And him and Sam have warned them all about shapeshifters and possessions, and Dean’s just as likely to get stabbed as not, but he’s done dumber things.
The things is -- Dean’s tired of this. Tired of David. Tired of this crazy, cocky, silent kid with his stories of gods and witches and dragons. Tired of watching him pick up pale blonde girls and golden boys in the bars they stop at. Tired of watching him sleep curled up in the corner of the Impala like a hedgehog, pulling his coat closer around him and muttering things in between soft snores. Tired of the way he stiffens whenever anyone touches him. Maybe even worse, Dean’s tired of pretending not to want him. He’s tired of waiting for his turn to share a bed with David instead of Christopher or Jalil. He’s tired of stumbling into the bathroom in the morning, catching glimpses of David in the shower, just stepping in, or out. Dean’s tired of pretending it doesn’t matter.
The slime smells rank and chances are Dean and David aren’t smelling so good themselves, but the kiss is short and hard and perfect, with David’s mouth soft and surprised under him.
When he lets go, David’s eyes narrow and Dean wonders what his chances of getting slugged are.
“Christo.”
Dean rolls his eyes. At least David went for Latin before stabbing. “Well, fuck you very much. I’m not possessed, kid.” There’s a small slice on David’s side, and Dean presses down it, watching the blood ooze sluggishly out around his fingers. “We should find the others.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m older than you,” David shoots back while pushing Dean’s hand away and pressing down on it himself. “And fuck the others. We should find Jalil.” He looks at his bloody fingers distastefully. “Let’s just fucking find Jalil.”
“Fine.” One of David’s hands is at his side, the other pushing back his hair. Dean sees the opening and takes the chance to push David back to the ground and hold him there for a moment. “We’ll fucking find Jalil.” It comes out a lot less pissed off than he expected. “Get you patched up.”
“Yeah.” David’s eyes are clear, staring at Dean with something like wonder. “I can see where that might come in handy.” His voice trembles but his eyes are clear, and Dean knows enough about David to know that’s what counts.