Page 153 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

“Because you’re not sleeping,” Sloane told him, just as quietly.

“And so are you,” Sloane shot back, though his voice was thick and distant.

“Kettle. Pot.”

“It’s gonna be one of those nights, Sloane.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t have much choice.”

Beneath him, he felt Sloane give a great, ragged sigh.

One of the realities of their relationship was that no matter how great a comfort Sloane was to him, the man couldn’t be a balm to all his ills.

Sometimes, no matter what Sloane did, no matter what he was to Dean, his mind would run out of control and keep him from sleep.

“Need to walk?” Sloane asked softly.

“Probably,” Dean admitted, smiling in the dark at how well the man knew him.

“Then go walk.”

“Only if you promise to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep, but it won’t be the same.”

Dean had to admit he would have no choice but to accept that.

Ever since he had admitted that the sleepless nights he spent, and the dream-filled ones, were due to a harrowing and heartbreaking experience on a deployment, Sloane had never willingly let Dean sleep alone.

It didn’t always chase away the taste of blood and fear on his tongue or the memory of good men lost, but mostly, it did.

“Go for a walk,” Sloane finally said, nudging Dean.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Dean teased, letting himself be pushed away.

“Never.”

That one word was enough for Dean to pull himself from the bed, setting his bare feet on the floorboards.

Sloane’s fingers lingered on his hip until he stood, stretching his arms toward the ceiling with a low grunt.

He dressed quickly, pulling on his thicker clothes in deference to how cold it was outside.

“Love you,” Sloane murmured as Dean left the room.

“Love you too,” Dean said, smiling gently as he stepped into the dark hall.

Everyone had long since gone to bed, and Dean was left with the company of the twinkling lights as he walked down the hall into the dining room.

The smell of chocolate wafted out of the kitchen, and with his head cocked, Dean padded in there.

Ana stood at the stove, using the light over it as she slowly stirred the pot.

She looked up, jerking when she spotted him. “Oh! Dean, hello.”

Dean winced apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “Don’t you worry about it. I’m just not used to anyone being up at this time of night.”

“Normally, I am,” Dean said.

“Sloane told me you sometimes get restless in the middle of the night and have to roam around for a bit.”

“He told you that, huh?”

Ana smiled. “I told you exactly what he told me. Never gave details, and I didn’t ask.”

Dean huffed, more annoyed with himself. “I guess I should’ve known. Sloane isn’t exactly one to give away too much.”

“He’s always been like that,” she informed him, reaching out to turn the heat off. “Even as a boy, he kept things close to his chest. And he got worse after their father left.”

“Sloane doesn’t talk about him much...or at all.”

“No, I imagine he wouldn’t. The girls were still young when Thomas left. Sloane, though...ah, he was old enough. And he had always been...a bit of a daddy’s boy. But don’t ever tell him that.”

Dean chewed on that for a moment before asking softly, “Sloane looks like him...doesn’t he?”

“Thomas?” Ana asked, and Dean nodded. “Thomas was a big man, but I think he would have had to look up to Sloane even before the boy was done growing. Thomas was better at smiling than Sloane and laughed easier. He was a man who enjoyed a good time...which is probably why he left.”

Dean gave her a puzzled look as she laughed. “You sound okay about a man who left you with three children and not a lot of money.”

Ana shrugged, drawing two mugs from the cabinet.

“I hated him for a long time. I could live with him leaving me, relationships end sometimes, that’s the way of the world.

But it took me a long time to forgive him for how much he broke our son’s heart.

Sloane was never the same after Thomas left, yet he’s proven to be a better man than his father ever hoped to be.

I don’t hate Thomas anymore. I barely think of him, and yet, without him, I wouldn’t have my children. ”

“I guess I owe him a debt of gratitude,” Dean said, knowing he would sooner punch the man than thank him.

She handed him a steaming mug. “I don’t think either of us is going to be thanking him anytime soon. And it’s probably best if you never bring him up around Sloane. I thought he was going to have a stroke when he visited a few years ago and saw I still had a picture of Thomas in a family album.”

Dean chewed his bottom lip in thought. “Do you still have it?”

Ana winked. “You want to see?”

Sloane would probably wonder why Dean cared, just as he wondered why Dean thought being a couple in front of his family was strange.

Dean couldn’t always articulate why he felt something, but he knew he was feeling it all the same.

And he’d learned that sometimes, the best way to figure out the why was to follow through.

“I would, yeah,” Dean admitted.

She led him into the dining room, crouching before the short cabinet that housed the ceramic mini village.

Opening a door, she rummaged in the back and drew out a small picture album.

It was a thin volume, each page just large enough to hold one picture.

She flipped it open, rifling through it and smiling at the pictures.

“Ah, here it is, the one picture I have of them. The only one I could bear to keep after he left,” Ana said, handing it to him.

Dean took it, holding it to the nearest light and squinting at the image.

He immediately understood why Sloane had such a natural repulsion to wanting to see his father.

Save for Sloane’s darker coloring, he was almost identical to the man he was staring at.

Thomas didn’t have the tattoos, and his features hadn’t fallen into a natural scowl, but he could have been Sloane’s twin.

And in his arms. “Is that Sloane?”

Ana nodded. “He was only a few months old.”

Dean chuckled at the baby’s face, pinched into a frown even then. “Hard to believe he was that little.”

“Sometimes I forget he was that small, that helpless. And he was such a quiet baby, I thought I’d lucked out when I had him. Barely cried, slept through the night,” she said, smiling at the picture.

“Let me guess,” Dean said, handing it back with a grin. “And then you had Shawna.”

Ana laughed. “Oh, my daughter, every bit as loud and fiery as Sloane was quiet and steady. Sloane never was one for friends,” Ana began, tucking the album away.

“Oh sure, he had friends, but there is a world of difference between someone you spend idle time with and someone you spend real time with. He had buddies , but he never had friends. Always keeping it close to his chest.”

Dean smiled. “He was never like that with me.”

Ana nodded, standing straight. “I gathered as much the first time he ever spoke of you. I held back from saying anything, as I didn’t wish to make him back off.

He did that sometimes when he thought he was being seen behind that mask of his.

But he’s not as good at it as he thinks.

He hides behind that gruffness and surliness, growling, snapping, and scowling at anyone or anything that tries to see what he might be hiding. ”

Dean looked around the room, thinking that the house, Ana, Shawna, and Diana’s life were due to Sloane.

The same man who had seen a lonely recruit in boot camp and taken him under his wing.

The same man who, despite what he might think, was always there to help another person, even if it was an annoying coworker going through an identity crisis, as Sloane had done a handful of months back.

“He’s not very good at hiding that heart of his,” Dean agreed.

“He is, and he isn’t, not for those of us who know him better,” Ana said, sipping from her mug. “But I’d never seen him open up to someone quite like he opened up to you.”

“He’s told me something about that before,” Dean admitted.

“Honesty is one of those virtues he sticks to stubbornly. Sometimes I wish he was a little more tactful, but that’s Sloane,” Ana said, smiling with a hint of pride.

“For my part, I was delighted to hear that my son had finally found a true friend. And he was so…” She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“When he told me you were gay, he was so...ready to fight. I can still see his face, so fierce and ready for a wrong word.”

Dean peered at her, heart thudding nervously. “He thought you might not be happy about that?”

Ana sighed. “It was something we’d never talked about.

I had seen the girls in his life, short-lived as they were.

So, I never thought to address the fact that I wouldn’t have cared if he’d brought a boy home.

That was my fault. If I’d said something, he would have known there was nothing to fear that his best friend was a gay man. ”

“I can’t imagine you being the sort of person who cared about that sort of thing,” Dean admitted.

She wound her way into the living room, standing behind the couch to stare at the twinkling tree. “That’s sweet of you; he always said you were sweet.”

“I’m guessing he’s left out the times I was anything but sweet to him,” Dean muttered.

Ana laughed softly. “My son is a bold, strong, capable, and very compassionate man under it all, but he absolutely can be a pain. He is stubborn, irritable, and blunt to the point of offending people. He needs someone who can set him straight sometimes.”

“I guess I was the wrong person for the job,” Dean said.

Ana turned to him, amusement spread over her features. “I suppose he didn’t turn out all that straight. And how delightful it is that, for the rest of the world, he was. But for you, he found in his heart a path that led him somewhere else, somewhere none of us could have predicted.”

“I don’t think any of us saw it coming,” Dean said, staring at the tree to avoid looking her in the eye.

Ana made a soft noise. “True, but sometimes those surprises in life can lead us right where we belong. I’m not always sure about the plans of the universe, God, or whatever you want to believe in.

But sometimes, I think we are pointed in the direction we were meant to go, even if we don’t know why or how it will turn out. ”

“Is this your way of telling me you think Sloane and I belong together?” Dean asked her, finally looking her in the eye.

Ana’s expression was warm as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I have seen my son have friends, but none of them ever found their way into Sloane’s heart as you did.

I have seen my son date, but none of them ever managed to make him light up the way he does around you.

Whatever might have happened before, whatever any of us might have believed to be true, I know now that my son has never been more in love with someone than he is with you.

Everything else is for priests, philosophers, and people with far too much time on their hands. ”

Dean felt his throat tighten and bowed his head, unable to look her in the eye anymore.

He so dearly hoped that what she said was true.

From the moment he realized how much he cared about Sloane, all he wanted was to make sure the man was happy and taken care of.

If what she said was true, then it meant all his fears and worries were for nothing, and maybe, just maybe, he could truly be everything Sloane had ever needed.

Ana bent forward, kissing his cheek gently. “My son welcomed you into his heart a long time ago, and I’m glad to welcome you into ours finally. Sleep well, Dean.”

Dean turned to watch her go, clutching the cup of hot chocolate she’d given him.

She never looked back as she walked up the stairs, but he could hear her humming.

Not caring how foolish he might look, he raised a hand to the cheek she had kissed, brushing his fingers over the spot.

Smiling softly, he drank the rest of the cup, rinsed it in the kitchen, and returned to the guest room.

He slid between the sheets, finding Sloane on his side. Dean pressed himself against the man’s chest, wrapping his arms around him. Tears threatened when he felt Sloane’s arms, the sleepy man grunting happily as he wrapped himself around Dean.

“Good walk?” Sloane asked, voice rough and heavy.

“Yeah,” Dean told him, kissing his bare chest and closing his eyes.

He believed he’d sleep just fine.