Chapter Text
“Considering the events that transpired on initiation night,” Markham said, voice filling the conference room.
The room was much more crowded than the last time Sam and Dean had stood there. All the Men of Letters, most recent initiates included, had insisted on sitting in.
And this time, Sam wasn’t overwhelmed with dread either. In fact, he was actually feeling pretty good about himself. Dean stood next to him, swaddled in bandages, but otherwise surviving his close encounter with a window pane. Charlie’s arm was in a sling, but she still stood against the wall, sandwiched between Kevin and Henry. She grinned at Sam when she caught him looking in their direction, and Kevin gave him a thumbs up. Henry nodded at him, but more somberly. He hadn’t taken the news about Josie very well. Sam wasn’t surprised. They had been partners, after all.
“It seems in ill taste to punish you as those who typically violate their banishment have coming to them,” Markham said.
He paused for a moment, looking around him at the other Men of Letters crowded around the table.
“And, as others in the order feel, in light of services rendered in capturing Abaddon, consequently saving the lives of nearly everyone in the order and protecting a certain key,” Markham coughed into his hand. “Your initiation status has been reviewed. As of this moment, you are officially Men of Letters.”
Charlie squealed and bounced on the balls of her toes. Kevin cheered and clapped enthusiastically. Henry, and every other Man of Letters in the room (excluding Markham) joined in the applause.
Sam practically soared. It was official. He’d made it in. Perhaps not as he’d always imagined it (admission without initiation was somewhat unprecedented. And there was that whole period of banishment, but still. He was a Man of Letters.
He turned to Dean, wondering if he shared Sam’s idiotic smile.
He didn’t. Dean’s face was a mask. Stoic, not giving anything away. And rather than meeting Sam’s, his eyes were trained on Markham.
“And who says we want to be anymore?” Dean demanded.
Sam’s stomach sank. Oh.
“I beg your pardon?” Markham said.
Dean took a step forward, moving stiffly, his back not allowing for much movement at the moment.
“I said, who says we want to be Men of Letters anymore,” Dean repeated. “We did what we had to. We saved your asses. But I’m not so quick to forget. You left us out to dry, but good. You were so quick to kick Sam out, Sam who knew literally nothing but living with you his whole life, the moment you decided he was a disappointment to you.
“And other than the part where you dumped our asses on the street, let’s not forget the additional shitty things you guys do. You have some pretty messed up views about hunters, for a start. With Josie gone, Charlie is the only woman I see in this room at the moment, and I think that’s pretty sad. And who here hasn’t forgotten Garth? Anyone? You know, that stringy guy from the first day here. Because he’s sure as hell forgotten us. Your memory wipe took care of that. From where I’m standing, joining the Men of Letters doesn’t seem like such a reward.”
Markham pressed his lips together. His fingertips skimmed the surface of the wooden table. He stared evenly at Dean.
“I’m not surprised to hear you say that,” he said. “Your problems with the Men of Letters have never been secrets. In reward for your faithful protection of the interests of the order, however, we are prepared to offer you certain—leeway.
“The key Abaddon came here for, I believe she mentioned it to you?”
Sam waited for Dean to respond. When he didn’t, he simply said, “Yes?”
“What you might not know,” Markham said. “Is that that key opens a Bunker. But it’s far more than just an underground safehouse. Think of it as—the hub of all supernatural knowledge on the continent. Lifetimes’ worth of research. A veritable museum of supernatural artifacts. And some of the most advanced technology in the world.
“You’ve seen headquarters’ library and our inventory of artifacts. Believe me when I say, in comparison to the Bunker’s troves, that collection looks like the treasures in a child’s shoe box. We are prepared to offer you the key and control of the Bunker. And along with that, the right to run your own operations as you see fit. That is, of course, assuming both of you—both Smith and Wesson—agree to these terms.”
Sam bit his lip and turned to study Dean. What Markham was offering was—well, it was unbelievable, actually. Use of all the Men of Letters’ resources, and from the sounds of it, ones Sam knew nothing about. And the ability to take all that knowledge and apply it—however they saw fit. Hell, if Dean wanted, they could use it to hunt with, all while having an impregnable home base to operate from. But if Dean really wanted nothing to do with the Men of Letters—
“We’ll need our own team,” Dean said, still watching Markham.
“What?” Sam said, staring at him.
“Done,” Markham said. “Whatever you want.”
“Then,” Dean said, turning to Sam with a grin set in place. “If my partner agrees, I think this could work.”
~ * ~
Dean stood at the head of the group in the middle of a field, staring down a small brick and cement structure with a door cut into it. He slid open the box in his hand and drew out the Bunker’s key.
“Are you ready?” he asked, turning around to face the others.
“We’re ready. We’re ready,” Charlie said, swaying backward and forward a little in her enthusiasm.
“I think that’s a pretty safe yes,” Kevin said, shaking his head at his partner, who punched him in the arm.
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive back to the Roadhouse first?” Dean asked, sliding the key back into the box. “I really think this is a cause for celebration.”
“See first, celebrate later,” Charlie growled.
“I just want to make sure we all understand what an important occasion this is,” Dean said. “We’re not only about to enter our new home. This is also—”
“Dean,” Sam warned, stepping next to him and tapping the top of the box. “Quit teasing them and open the damn door already.”
“Bossy,” Dean muttered, but he turned around to hide his grin as he fitted the key into the lock.
The door pushed open with a heavy scrape, and Charlie and Kevin pushed past him through the door. Sam moved more slowly, waiting for Dean with his still painful puncture wounds (close call for his kidneys, his ass. He knew something important had punctured inside, whatever his doctor insisted) to step inside.
Lights flickered on overhead, and Dean found himself standing at the top of a short catwalk, descending in a flight of metal stairs. Charlie and Kevin were already scurrying around the room at the bottom, examining a large table with a map of the world on its surface. Machines hummed along the wall, and Charlie slid under the table, disappearing for a moment before emerging with the biggest smile Dean had ever seen on her face and a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
“I think it’s some kind of monitor,” she said. “Connected to a truly impressive computer. Have I thanked you guys yet for bringing me onto your team?”
Kevin examined a line of blinking lights nearby.
“The security system for this place is unbelievable,” he said.
“Well, I think we made the kids happy,” Dean said with a chuckle.
“We did more than that, Dean,” Sam said, staring at him all intense.
“Yeah, yeah, we saved the Men of Letters too. I know,” Dean said.
“No,” Sam argued. “More than that, even. This—this place is what Abaddon was after. If she’d gotten control over this Bunker—Dean, I think we saved the world.”
“Huh,” Dean said, looking out through the archway opposite him, into the Bunker’s deeper rooms. “I like the sound of that. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“I have no doubt we will,” Sam agreed.
“Come on,” Dean said, moving away from the banister and toward the stairs. “Time to claim the best bedroom. Gotta check out our new home, sweet home.”
Sam stood in his way, blocking him. He looked down at Dean with hungry eyes, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Sam,” Dean warned, glancing over at Charlie and Kevin, who were still babbling at each other about their respective finds.
“They saw,” Sam said. “The other night, in front of Abaddon, you kissed me. They saw, Dean. And nobody as said anything.”
“Huh,” Dean said, brow furrowing. “I guess that’s true.”
He let Sam bend down and kiss him. One of Sam’s hands moved up to cup Dean’s cheek. Dean moaned a little and angled his head to deepen the kiss, getting his tongue involved too now.
From the floor, somebody (Charlie) wolf-whistled, while Kevin called up “Get a room, you two.”
Dean pulled away, but much to his own surprise, he was laughing.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “We’re about to do just that.”
~ * ~
Later that week, Dean lay a newspaper clipping on the table in front of Sam. Already the nerd had taken over the library as his permanent habitat. Dean could always count on finding him there—when he wasn’t in their bedroom.
In fact, everyone seemed to be settling in well to life in the Bunker. They’d begun looking into cases to take on, using the many resources available to them. Dean had even been working on ways to more effectively collaborate with other hunters. Charlie was finding a way to make the information housed in the Bunker available to the rest of the community via some sort of computer network, hoping to save lives with her technological skills. And Kevin was going through the catalogs trying to get a handle on just how much the Bunker stored.
“What do you think?” Dean asked, pointing to the paper. “Us, or should we delegate it to someone in the hunter network?”
Sam stared down at the newspaper, eyes skimming the page.
Charlie burst into the library before he got a chance to finish reading and give a verdict.
“Come quick,” she panted, leaning against the door frame.
“Charlie, what’s wrong?” Dean demanded, hand on his gun.
With Abaddon locked up in the dungeon of this place, Dean was more than willing to believe the Knight of Hell had found a way out of her bindings and was wreaking havoc on the Bunker. Successful in her quest at last.
But Charlie shook her head, struggling for breath.
“Not wrong,” she said. “Just—you have to come with me. Kevin found something.”
“What is it?” Sam asked, rising to his feet.
“Remember that project Josie was filming for Father Max?”
Dean had to wrack his brain for a moment to remember what she was talking about. That felt like at least three lifetimes ago.
“Yeah,” he answered at last. “I remember something about it. Why?”
“Well, Kevin thinks he found out what they were working on. He found a film—it’s about curing demons!” Charlie said.
Dean turned to Sam, who simply shrugged.
“Could be useful,” Dean said.
“After all,” Sam agreed. “We haven’t found a way to kill Abaddon. But if we could cure her—”
“Cure a Knight of Hell,” Dean said. “Can you even imagine?”
“Stop imagining and get your asses down here,” Charlie said, waving them toward the door. “Come watch the tape.”
Dean grinned and set off down the hall after her, Sam at his tail. They couldn’t bring Josie back, and they couldn’t kill Abaddon, but maybe they could find a different way to keep the world safe from her. One that didn’t require the Mark of Cain after all.
~ * ~
Sam smiled as he curled up next to Dean in the double bed they’d hauled into the Bunker earlier that week. They still had to take any amorous activity slowly, thanks to Dean’s healing injuries. But then, Sam didn’t mind being a little gentle now and then. And after all, it was only temporary.
He skimmed one hand up and down Dean’s arm, stopping when he realized Dean wasn’t relaxing into him like normal.
“Dean?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” Dean said, craning his neck to see into Sam’s face. “It’s nothing. Just, uh—I never did—apologize.”
“Apologize?” Sam echoed, frowning.
He had no idea what Dean could possibly have to apologize for. Thanks to Dean, Sam now had a place to call home and mean it. A place where he lived with friends and his lover, instead of living alone in a headquarters for the order’s operation.
Sam’s life was amazing right now. He had no clue what Dean had to feel guilty about.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “About, you know, Abaddon.”
Dean fidgeted, moving away from Sam’s arms, putting a few inches of space between them on the bed, and no longer meeting Sam’s eyes.
“Dean, I—I don’t understand,” Sam confessed. “Charlie and Kevin are still working on reverse engineering a successful cure. Is that what you—?”
“Jesus, you going to make me say it, Sammy? I was pretty much worthless back during the big prize fight at Headquarters. You had to save all our lives. I was just there to get in the way.”
“Dean,” Sam said, placing a hand on Dean’s jaw and angling his face toward Sam’s, needing Dean to see the truth in his eyes. “That’s just plain not true. Don’t you get it? The only way I knew to defeat Abaddon, I learned from you.”
Dean just raised an eyebrow, watching Sam with skepticism clear in his features.
“I’m telling the truth, Dean. It would never have occurred to me to use a gun against Abaddon if it hadn’t been for watching you shoot at that spirit back in the old Miller place. And do you remember what you said to me then? ‘Sometimes the fanciest solution just can’t beat a bullet to the head.’”
Sam stopped holding Dean’s head in place and caressed his cheek instead.
“I was just following your advice, Dean. Maybe the devil’s trap was a little improvisation, but still. We’re all alive today because of you.”
Dean snorted out a quick laugh, but this time when he turned his head away, Sam swore he saw a tear glistening in one green eye.
Dean ran a hand over his face before turning back to Sam.
“You make a hell of a hunter, Sam Wesson,” he said, reaching out to take Sam’s hand.
“And you,” Sam said, linking their fingers. “Make a hell of a Man of Letters, Dean Smith.”