Chapter Text
The airplane hits a pocket of turbulence that has Dean Winchester clutching the thin arms of his seat as if his life depends on it. Closing his eyes, he hums the chorus of Back in Black , and then Ramble On, and then Sweet Home Alabama stopping short when he realizes that one: it’s probably bad luck to hum a song by a band whose plane crashed and B: none of his usual comfort songs are helping, anyway. Nothing helps. The turbulence is gonna take them down and Dean’s gonna die in this stupid tin can and it's gonna be all Sam's fault.
This dumb plane is the worst of them too, the smallest, a puddle jumper they called it, something to get him from San Jose to the airport in Limon. Sam said there was no way he was driving all that way to pick him up. Something about the crappy roads. Dean almost made him come anyway when he saw the size of the plane, but he gritted his teeth and climbed aboard and now—he has regrets. He doesn't want to die in something this tiny.
Thank fuck it’s the last airplane he has to get on today. Or ever, if he has the option.
Now Dean understands why Sam was so vague about the travel part of his pitch to get Dean to join him in Costa Rica.
Like the self-preservationist he is, Dean doesn’t open his eyes until the plane lands safely, and even then, he won’t relax until he’s standing on actual solid ground again.
The tin can deposits them right on the runway, and stepping off the air stairs, Dean resists the urge to kiss the tarmac and slips on his aviators instead, grabbing his duffle from the pile of unloaded cargo. It’s resting against a box labeled Live Animals and Dean shudders, not wanting to know what he’s been flying around with. He adjusts his backpack, and picks up the black guitar case at his feet before he takes off for the small red building that can’t be bigger than two rooms, at most.
So much for the Limon International Airport.
Squinting against the bright morning sunshine, Dean notices that the plane he was on (if you could even call it that) is the only other aircraft in sight, besides an ancient helicopter with fading decals for island excursions. Its backdrop is a line of tall palm trees with the Caribbean Ocean sparkling bluer than anything Dean's ever seen. Puffy white cumulus clouds dot the sky and the salty sea breeze does little to curb the humidity in the air, but Dean's used to that, coming from the Midwest.
It's the ocean with no end in sight to his left and the freakin’ rainforest and volcano off in the distance to his right that reminds Dean he's not in Kansas anymore.
Another thing that reminds him is Sam.
Dean's never sure what he'll get whenever he sees his little brother, and today, as he exits the airport, he's not expecting the laid back, extra long haired, and most importantly, smiling little brother that greets him.
It’s a relief, to say least.
It’s been a few years since the brothers have seen each other, but at thirty years old, it seems like Sam Winchester may finally be in a healthy place. Dean can remember a time when Sam was much worse, when Dean got called to a hospital in Palo Alto, where his baby brother was recovering from an accidental overdose. The doctor called them “study drugs” and told Dean the Adderall Sam was chowing down on to stay awake and study caused a pretty bad seizure that left Sam unconscious for three days.
When Sam woke up with no lasting damage, he wouldn’t look Dean in the eye and didn’t talk to him again until he got out of rehab (the worst year of Dean’s life for anyone following along at home). The only contact and relief Dean had was in one, brief visit from Sam to show Dean that he was okay, tell him he quit school, and that instead of becoming a lawyer, he had joined Greenpeace.
Dean's never been able to keep up with him.
It was a long time between visits after that, and then Sam was on the doorstep of Dean’s shitty apartment in Lawrence, talking about moving to an ecological commune somewhere in Costa Rica so he could study sustainable living environments, whatever the hell that meant.
That was two years ago, and while Dean still doesn't know what the hell a sustainable living environment is, he's sure as shit about to find out.
Sam pushes himself off the muddy black jeep he was leaning against while he waited for Dean, and he's quick to wrap Dean in a hug only a Sasquatch could love, realizing his mistake pretty fast when he pins Dean's arms down and Dean can't hug back. He lets him go with a chuckle and takes the duffle and Dean's guitar out of his hands to swing them over the roll bar of the jeep, securing both in the backseat.
Dean's happy to hug Sam the next time he tries. “Hey, Sammy. How are ya?”
“It's so good to see you, Dean,” he replies, slapping Dean on the back a few times with his giant moose paws. It never fails to make Dean grin.
Damn, he missed Sam a hell of a lot.
Dean steps back so he can take a good look at the kid, Sam rolling his eyes when he realizes what Dean’s doing. “What? It’s been two years, man. Did you grow again? I thought adults stop doing that at like, twenty-five.”
Sam tugs at his black tank top, his finger going through a hole along the hem. His cargo shorts are pretty broken in and he’s wearing a pair of those ugly hiking sandals, but he’s tan, and his arms are very bulgy like he’s specializing in pull ups and not the environment. Dean can’t deny that this is the healthiest he’s ever seen his brother.
He’s still gotta give the kid shit. “Guess it’s a good thing there’s a needle and thread in my Dopp kit, seeing as they apparently don’t have them on the commune.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Dean. I can mend my own clothes, it’s just low on my to-do list, okay?” He looks past him toward the building Dean just came from. “I gotta grab a delivery, if you wanna climb in?”
Dean shrugs, smirking. “I’d rather get my hands on some clippers, see what I can do about your hair.”
And cue the epic bitch face. Dean thinks he actually missed it. It comes with Sam flipping him the bird over his shoulder while he runs inside and doing what he’s told, he climbs into the passenger seat. Literally. There aren’t any doors on the jeep, so Dean just has to climb in and pray he doesn't fall out.
He tightens his seatbelt for good measure.
Sam's back and tucking the same Live Animals box from the plane into the car. That they’re gonna ride in. Dean side eyes it in the backseat as Sam climbs in and buckles his seatbelt.
“Uh, what the hell is that?”
Sam chuckles and starts the jeep. “I just pick the packages up, I don't ask what's in ‘em.” Tall palm trees line the driveway, and Sam maneuvers them past a few other idling cars. “Anything alive? That's what I call Novak business. Not mine.”
Dean has no idea what that means as they pull out onto some kind of main road. Keeping one eye on the mystery box, he settles in his seat and tries to ignore the proximity of the edge of the fucking jungle outside the gaping hole in the car’s side. “You said it was another hour on the road from here?”
“A little over, but yeah,” Sam answers, glancing at him. “Did you eat breakfast in San Jose?”
Wincing, Dean remembers the terrible landing in Costa Rica. “Nah, landing was a little bumpy, got my stomach all worked up. And on the last flight, I was too busy prayin' to think about eatin'.” He shifts in his seat so Sam knows Dean's giving him a look.
Sam ignores him. “You'd still be in San Jose waiting for me. The road I needed to take washed out during last night's storm,” he informs Dean, all matter of fact about it too.
Bastard knows there's no way for Dean to verify something like that. He huffs, pouting. “Doesn't look like it rained here last night.”
Sam replies with a chuckle as he pulls the Jeep off the road, a bright yellow sign advertising TACOS. “Guess I'm buying breakfast then, to make up for the shitty flight.”
“Yes, you are.” Dean's okay with that.
Sam orders their food from a small, purple shack with bright, teal trim set against the lush, green jungle, just a spot on the highway to stop for sustenance, or a fill up from the ancient gas pump off to one side. It’s nothing like Lawrence, where they recently opened a Chevron Station with a Dairy Queen inside it. All Dean knows is that a mocha fudge Blizzard ain’t got shit on the platter of food Sam brings back for them.
The tacos here rolled and deep fried, bits of seasoned shredded beef sticking out each end and all of them smothered in cream and shredded lettuce and a bright red sauce drizzled over everything. There’s a few perfectly fried eggs on top of the lot of them too, and Dean’s stomach growls as his mouth waters. Included are a few fish tacos for each of them, sprinkled with mango salsa that Dean thinks he might actually fight someone for, they’re so damn good.
The diner down the street from his apartment could never.
Old apartment. He's gotta get used to not referring to it like he still lives there—not when, as of yesterday, he's officially an American expat.
Moving to Costa Rica was never in the cards, it wasn't even a blip, until Sam planted the seed, mentioning that his commune was looking for a new music teacher around the same time Dean finished his degree in musical education.
Another thing he never thought possible.
If anyone had asked Dean Winchester where he saw himself ten years ago, he would have said still selling insurance for his grandpa's company and working in Bobby’s garage on the weekends — which is what he was doing back then. He got into the insurance game after he had to drop out of high school, his Grandpa Samuel taking pity on him and offering a job answering the phone when Dean was seventeen.
Dean didn’t have much of a choice, after a stroke took out their dad Dean’s Junior year of High School. First their mom skips out on them when they’re kids, and then, thinking the brothers need more trauma, the universe leaves Dean to pick up all the pieces.
It fucking sucked, but Dean worked to keep the roof over their head long enough for Sam to graduate (valedictorian even the nerd) and get a full ride to Stanford. After that, Dean sold the house, threw the money in a savings account, and got a tiny apartment down the street from the office, which is where he's been… until he sold most of his earthly possessions to move to Costa Rica.
The only things that made the cut were a duffle bag full of clothes, his laptop, a few of his favorite books, and his guitar, and then— he was buying a one-way ticket to paradise.
Paradise which is now being punctuated by the sound of a very loud, very large goddamn cow mooing its ass off as it approaches the table they've commandeered. Dean protects the platter of tacos while Moose versus Cow goes down, and so what if Dean sneaks an extra taco that way?
Sam can blame the cow who he’s shooing away with practiced gestures. Dean can't help it when he laughs.
“What?” Sam asks, still glaring at the animal as it crosses back over the street to wander into the field it came from.
“Just never thought I’d see you go all Wild Kingdom on me, man. Though you did always want a dog when you were a kid.” Dean takes a bite and has to stifle a moan of ecstasy at how goddamn delicious the food is.
Sam perks up. “I might get a dog! Well, Eileen and I might.” He falters. “She said cats are more intelligent, but I haven’t found any data to back that up—”
Dean tries not to choke at this brand new information as he finishes his bite. “Wait, wait, back it up — Eileen? Who the hell is that? What happened to Jess?!”
Sam ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, a clear sign he's about to apologize for something. He's been doing it his whole life, anytime he didn’t tell the entire truth about something. “Uh… me and Jess broke up? She went back to Palo Alto.”
“She what! Jess is the reason you came out here. What the hell happened?” Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing.
It was Jessica Moore who convinced Sam to move to Costa Rica, after they met while working together in Uganda or Australia or somewhere Dean can't remember, considering how often Greenpeace used to move Sam around. She was the water conservation queen, based on the way Sam used to talk about her. Dean even figured one of Sam's random calls home would be to tell him they'd gotten married, but Dean guesses he was really off the mark with that one.
Not that he's good at judging relationships. Or having them.
But this isn't about him.
He raises an eyebrow and takes another bite, waiting for Sam to continue.
Sam sighs and takes the hint. “She stayed about a year before her dad offered her a job at his company. She thought she could do more good that way.” Sam seems wistful. “We tried to stay in touch, but you know how hard it is.”
Considering he's used to hearing from Sam once or twice a year, yeah, Dean gets it.
Something shifts in Sam's eyes as he smiles. “Why do you think I made you come here?”
Dean scoffs. “Made me, Sammy, that's not how it went down. But it is nice to be missed,” he teases, happy when Sam cracks up.
Dean missed him.
The Winchester Brothers have not had what anyone would call an apple pie life. Sam was four when Mary Winchester decided that being a mother wasn't for her. Dean didn't even know anything was wrong until the bus dropped him off from school one day to an empty house. Usually, there was a snack on the table and Sam home from day care and asking Dean to watch cartoons with him. That day, nothing. Dean had to use the emergency list to call his dad after an hour went by and still no Mary with Sam on her hip bustling through the kitchen door. No, that day, John had to leave Bobby's garage early after no one picked Sam up at daycare and when the two of them got home, John found Mary's side of the room cleaned out.
She didn't even leave a note.
Last Dean heard she was in Canada somewhere. He tries his damndest not to think about Mary Winchester if he can help it.
After she left, their dad fell apart and started drinking and nothing was good again. Sam started having nightmares and sleeping in Dean's bed to escape them and those nights were the worst, because Dean felt so alone, consumed with responsibilities far beyond his age while he held his crying baby brother and begged him to stop asking when their mom was coming home.
How do you explain to a kid that their mom didn't want to be their mom anymore? At eight years old, how was Dean supposed to understand it himself? He still struggles, and it's been almost thirty years. Everything that came after felt like a result of her decision, and it's the reason Dean tries his hardest not to think of her.
Sam is what matters. That's the way it's always been.
And Dean did his best with what he had. It wasn't perfect, and maybe he wasn't strong enough to keep all of Sam's demons away, but just like everything else, they got through that too and now it's another new beginning.
Dean's life has had reboots before, but never one so big he thought it would land him in another country, about to join a real life hippie commune because of his little brother. Then again, he never expected to go back to school either, but he did that too and somehow, that road led him here.
Once the food is gone, they get back on the winding highway, traveling along the coast for a while, Dean getting lulled into a doze, watching the crystal blue Caribbean Ocean glint in the sun. He blinks awake as the jeep takes a curve in the road, leading them into the lush rainforest, the high, green trees towering over them.
Thankful for the topless jeep, Dean can’t help but tilt his head back to watch the canopy pass above them. It’s fucking awesome, something he’s only ever seen in movies and all the Google searches he did in the last six months.
“Awesome, right?” Sam’s amused by Dean getting lost in the scenery.
Clearing his throat, Dean focuses back on the road, cheeks burning. “It’s really green.”
Snorting, Sam shakes his head. “So, Bobby was cool with you leaving the Impala there?”
Okay, this Dean can talk about. He ignores the pang in his chest about leaving his beloved Baby back in Lawrence. “Yeah, he found a spot for her in the yard. Said he’d only sell her for parts if he was really hard up.” Dean grins when Sam laughs.
Truth is, the Impala was parked in an enclosed garage, and under lock and key, a key held by the only person aside from Sam that Dean trusts in this world — Bobby Singer.
A friend of his dad’s from their Army days, Bobby was always around when Dean was growing up. He gave John a job when other places wouldn’t hire Vietnam veterans, and he always took him back when John didn’t show up for work because he was too drunk to leave the house. After their dad died, Bobby offered Dean a job at his garage, but he couldn’t pay as much as his grandpa was offering, so Dean had to decline. He even offered Dean a room over the shop after Sam graduated, but by then, Dean was determined to keep getting by on his own.
Doesn’t mean he wasn’t there most weekends anyway, hanging out and helping Bobby where he could. It’s how he ended up on a stool beside whatever car Bobby was working on, not having anywhere else to go, or anyone else to talk to. Not that Bobby was much for talking, but Dean was okay with that, not much for talking himself. Maybe that’s why he got along so well with the surly old man.
“Sorry you couldn’t bring her, man,” Sam replies, sounding like he means it. “You’ll see soon enough, the roads here would wreak havoc on her suspension.”
Dean sighs. “I believe you. Still sucked to say goodbye.”
“To Bobby or to the car?”
“Like I’m gonna miss watching old Tori & Dean reruns and driving him to his monthly pedicure,” he replies, letting Sam in on some old trade secrets. Bobby would kill him dead for his betrayal, but since communication is so bad, the likeliness of Sam ratting him out is low.
Sam snorts. “I don’t even want to know.”
“You don’t,” Dean agrees, nodding his head and hiding a grin. “So, give me the rundown on this place again.” Sam mailed him a bunch of pamphlets and papers and stuff, but Dean wants to hear it from him.
“Did you read any of the literature I sent you?”
Oops. Dean rolls his eyes. “Been a little busy uprooting my whole life, in case you forgot?” Truth is, Dean read it all, poured over it with a beer in hand after work for a week, making sure he had all the details he needed to make his decision.
He was on the fence, until he was holding an honest to god job offer in his hand from the school, offering an employment contract for a year (with the guarantee of more if things worked out), with room and board included, and while it wasn’t as much as he was making, it was the chance to do something he loved — teach music.
And a chance to be near his little brother again.
Dean never would have gone back to school if almost losing Sam hadn’t thrown his life into a tailspin that caused him to examine his priorities that much closer. It wasn’t enough that he made a decent paycheck, he was still a high school dropout. The first thing he did was get his GED. Then he started night school and so what if it took him longer than most, he still graduated with his degree and a plan to do some substitute work to get his foot in the door.
Then Sam called to congratulate him, during which he mentioned that the commune needed a new teacher for the arts. Dean didn’t need to see the puppy dog eyes to know Sam had them as he agreed to think about his proposal. It seemed too crazy at first, the idea of leaving Lawrence… and for Costa Rica of all places. Dean knew it was a huge change and an even bigger risk, and yet, here he was.
It took six months to get his passport, tie up his loose ends, talk Bobby into storing the Impala, and sell all his shit, and then Dean’s biggest problem was how he was getting to the airport two days ago. And now—here he is, cruising down a remote island highway with the ocean wind in his hair, an ocean something he'd never seen before this morning.
Dean really only wants to know one thing about where they’re going. “How long until they're asking me to drink the kool-aid?” All the research he did cleared up his misconceptions, but Dean still has to give Sam shit for it.
Sam makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat as he turns onto a road Dean didn’t even notice. “It's not a cult, Dean, how many times do I have to tell you that?”
Dean smirks to himself. It's a freakin’ commune. What the hell else is he supposed to think? Before, all he knew about them involved acid trips and orgies and the thought of Sam partaking in anything like that was cringe worthy. Sam assured him there were no drugs allowed every time Dean teased him, and Dean believed Sam wasn't over here tripping the light fantastic every night. He never has gotten a straight answer about the orgies, though.
Either way, Dean may or may not have packed a big box of condoms in his duffle — not that he's interested in doing any of those kinds of activities with his brother involved. Gross, no thank you. He doesn't want to talk about how long it's been since he got laid, though.
The jeep rocks as they drive onto a well maintained dirt road that cuts into the wilderness. All that marks it is a strand of colorful flags tied around the thick, brown trunk of the freakiest tree Dean’s ever seen, its long branches holding huge, spiky pods that look ready to burst open at any moment. Dean’s imagining spiders pouring out, or maybe some kind of small, bitey alien when Sam brings the car to a crawl, drawing Dean’s attention away from the jungle.
“Why are we stopped—” The question dies on Dean’s tongue as he focuses on the road, and the absolutely gigantic, emerald green snake that’s stretched across it, blocking their way. The thing is as thick as a goddamn tree trunk and apparently, just out for some sun because it doesn’t seem in any hurry to move, all while Dean wonders if it would be able to get inside the car. With no fuckin’ doors, it sure seems likely, and he scoots over towards Sam as inconspicuously as he can. Just in case.
Sam’s laughter means he’s caught. “Dude, chill. Give her a minute and she’ll move.”
“Wait, she?” Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What the hell?”
“Look at her, see that big bulge?” Sam motions at what is in fact an enormous lump towards the end of the snake as she makes her way still across the road. How long is this thing?? “She’s probably due any day now.”
“Holy crap.” A pregnant snake. Dean’s been here five frickin’ minutes and he’s already seen a wild cow and a pregnant snake.
Together the brothers watch her slide silently back into the jungle, and Sam chuckles again. “I told you, it’s wild here.”
“You didn’t tell me you were being literal!”
“When am I not?!” Before Dean can retort, Sam snaps his fingers. “Shit, I almost forgot.” Grinning, he reaches up to free a leather cord that's tucked under his shirt, pulling it free from his long hair and presenting it to Dean proudly. “You can have this back now.”
A tiny horned face molded from shiny brass hangs on the end of the worn leather cord, a grim set to its miniature features as it sways in his little brother’s hand.
It's the Samulet.
One of Dean's most prized possessions, a gift from Sam, a few Christmases after their mom left. Their dad was passed out drunk on the couch and if it wasn't for Bobby helping them, they'd have had no gifts to exchange. Dean got Sam a rock tumbling kit after saving his pocket money all year, and Sam had presented him with this as they sat together quietly under the small, hardly decorated Christmas tree John brought home—only on the pretense that Dean take care of everything and “leave him alone about it already.”
“It’s to protect us,” Sam had whispered, before he made Dean put it on.
“Us? You got one too?” They had to keep their voices down or risk waking John. Neither of them liked their dad drunk and pissed off. They were taking a risk that night, hiding behind the tree while their dad slept less than ten feet away. Dean had slipped the necklace on, but wasn’t able to see if Sam had a matching one or not.
It disappointed Dean when Sam shook his head, until he said why. “Nah, don’t need one. As long as you're safe, I'm safe. I know you'll protect me, Dean.”
Dean didn’t take the necklace off again until he was putting Sam on a plane to Washington D.C., where he was off to begin his Greenpeace Adventure. Sam tried to resist the responsibility of such a gift, but Dean insisted.
“I couldn’t keep you safe the last time we were apart, Sammy, and if I can’t go with you to save the world, I can at least give you this.” There was little time for Sam to argue then because he had a plane to catch, and after one last moose hug, Sam was in the wind again.
Too many years apart and now here they are, grinning at each other in the middle of a Costa Rican rainforest and for some weird reason, that feels fitting for their less than apple pie life.
Dean slips the necklace over his head with a small smile. “You don’t need it?”
Sam claps him on the shoulder and gives it a shake. “Not anymore.”
The weight of the Samulet against his chest is so familiar, and combined with his happiness about getting his little brother back, the moment is getting soft. Shaking Sam’s hand off with a wry grin, Dean holds one hand up to stop Sam in his tracks. “Dude, no chick-flick moments.”
Instead of the bitch face Dean’s expecting, Sam laughs and pushes Dean away, hard enough to concern him about the missing door. “All right, jerk.” He checks to make sure the road is clear before putting the jeep in drive again.
“Bitch,” Dean retorts, not missing a beat. Some things just don’t change.
They bicker back and forth like this as they drive deeper into the jungle, and it's not long until they're passing under a big, hand carved sign—Casa Nova—in varying shades of colored wood. It's adorned with more rainbow flags that flap in the breeze and it's bright and welcoming, and Dean doesn't fight the smile he gives Sam this time as they venture into his strange new world.
