Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8745346.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Pre-Canon, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-02-27 Completed: 2007-10-23 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 10277
****** why didn't you come back to me? ******
by Poetically_Pathetic [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     Wincest warning. Several misunderstandings, and much brotherly love.
     Eventually. Other then that, you're on your own for a summary.
     ORIGINALLY: I Never Needed Anything, Anything But This Tonight , I
     Needed You To Tell Me What Was Wrong
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
     Author's notes: Title is from Cartel's Fiend. Great song and fits the
     story!
***** Chapter 1 *****

Author's notes: This is kind of random, but I found this old story as well and
at the advice of my friend, I've decided to post it. That and my weekend vaca
will keep me away from you lovely people. So here it is! Hope you enjoy! Oh,
and fair warning...this one is majorly angsty.
===============================================================================
Sam stood up and made his way quietly towards his brother’s bed. He could tell
by Dean’s tense form that he didn’t want anything to do with anyone right now,
but he couldn’t seem to stop his feet.
 
Dean had been acting strange for month now, since they’d moved here really.
Their first steady home in almost two years, but Dean seemed less then pleased
about this. He’d been more moody then ever and constantly on Sam.
 
He was lucky if he could get to the damn bathroom without his brother hovering
close by. Dean, of course, wouldn’t explain himself. He’d shrug it off with a
joke or an annoyed, get over yourself Sam. Why would Dean explain himself when
he could be an ass?
 
It just wouldn’t be his brother.
 
And it just wouldn’t be Sam if he didn’t push, at least a little.
 
“Dean?” Sam asked, placing a small hand on his back. “Are you okay?”
 
His brother’s silence scared him. The worry that had been building over the
past few months thick enough to choke on. He moved closer; if Dean didn’t
answer him soon he was going to be sorry, because Sam was not going to let this
go. He’d climb into Dean’s bed and refuse to leave until he told him what was
wrong.
 
xXx
 
Dean shifted, “I’m fine, Sam. Just go to sleep,” he mumbled.
 
He didn’t have the energy to get up and remove his clothes again. He was
drained emotionally and physically. But if Sam kept it up he was going to have
to drag up some strength to at least get the thirteen year old back into his
own bed and sound asleep. It was too late for him to be up, even if there was
no school the next day.
 
“You’re trembling,” Sam pointed out.
 
Dean opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the dark. Was he? He hadn’t
noticed it before. But now as Sam moved even closer, his hand gripping his
shirt tightly, he realized that his brother was right. He was trembling.
 
“I’m fine, Sammy.” He hoped using his brother’s pet name would reassure him
that he was telling the truth, or at least as much truth as he could manage.
 
No such luck. Sam was as stubborn as he was, sometimes even more. There was no
getting out of it if Sam wanted to talk about it.
 
“Dean, what happened?” he pleaded.
 
He sighed and wearily pushed himself up into a half sitting position, rolling
over to prop his sore body against the headboard. Without waiting for
invitation Sam climbed onto the bed and between his brother’s outstretched
legs, sitting back on his heels and staring expectantly back at Dean.
 
Dean tried not to wince at his puppy dog eyes and the fact that his brother was
sitting in a place he really didn’t need to be reminded of right now. Or ever
again.
 
“Nothing happened. Everything’s fine Sam. You just stay in here like I tell you
to. Stay out of sight, remember?”
 
xXx
 
Sam rolled his eyes. Of course he remembered. Dean told him the same thing
night after night, before tucking him into bed. And then, when Sam woke up in
the middle of the night from a nightmare or some phantom pain, he would find
his brother gone, or stumbling as quietly as possible into their darkened
bedroom with no explanation.
 
Sometimes he noticed Sam and he’d tuck him in again, with a weary smile and a
night Sammy. Other times he didn’t notice or he just pretended not to. Throwing
himself down onto his own bed and burying his face beneath the pillow. His body
trembling. Always trembling.
 
Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew that Dean was hurting and knew that it was probably
for the good of their family. Or, at least in Dean’s mind, it was for the good
of their family.
 
“Dean, are you…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It sounded so wrong, even
in his head.
 
“What is it, Sam?”
 
He shook his head. Dean wouldn’t do something so desperate, would he? Things
weren’t that bad around here. They’d been stable enough to actually stay in one
place for months at a time. And Dad was going on fewer hunts and fewer hunts,
at least ones that took him far from home.
 
Unless Dad knew…
 
No. Even Dad wouldn’t let Dean do something so stupid, so desperate and wrong.
He may not have been the greatest father, but he loved his sons. If not Sam, he
loved Dean. Too much to let him do something like…
 
No, he thought vehemently. Dean wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.
 
“Sam?” Dean asked worriedly. “You okay?
 
“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
 
“There’s nothing to worry about, Sam. I’m fine.” Dean promised.
 
“You’re not…” Dammit, why couldn’t he say it?
 
Why couldn’t he just ask Dean if he was having sex for money?
 
xXx
 
“What’s up with you, huh? You were fine two seconds ago.”
 
“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
 
“No, I’m pretty sure we were talking about you,” Dean said, nodding his head
slowly. “Yeah, definitely you kiddo.”
 
“There’s nothing wrong with me, so we can’t be talking about me,” Sam argued.
“We were talking about you and what you’ve been keeping from me for the past
three months.”
 
Dean feigned a hurt a look. “Sammy, I haven’t been keeping anything from you. I
wouldn’t lie to you, you know that.”
 
Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t play me,” he said impatiently. “Something’s going
on.”
 
“Sam,” Dean sighed, returning Sam’s impatience. He really wasn’t in the mood
for this. He wasn’t going to tell Sam anything, no matter how much he pushed,
so he might as well drop it.
 
“Dean, please,” Sam’s voice switched to pleading. “Why can’t you just tell me
what’s going on with you? You’ve always told me everything before. You can’t
just keep lying to me, I want to help!”
 
A pang of guilt struck Dean hard. He hadn’t realized how much he was worrying
Sam. This was the first time he’d brought it up, so he’d just assumed that Sam
was annoyed with him. Not worried or scared.
 
There was nothing for him to be worried or scared about. Dean was taking care
of things and that was all he needed to know. That was all he ever needed to
know.
 
xXx
 
Sam launched himself at Dean, before he’d thought things through. Like he
couldn’t come out and ask Dean if he was having sex for money, he couldn’t
explain to his brother how it tore him apart to think of him that way.
 
They weren’t so bad off that Dean had to do something like that. And even if
they were, Sam could help out somehow. It shouldn’t ever come to this. If Dad
knew, if he did know…
 
Why couldn’t Dean just tell him? If he was too ashamed of what he was doing to
tell Sam, then he shouldn’t be doing it. Dean knew that Sam loved him, would
never judge him or think any less of him. For him to not to say anything about
what was happening to him was a slap in the face.
 
He could feel his eyes tearing up and he buried his face in Dean’s chest.
Things would only get worse if Dean saw him cry. The hugging and clinging, Dean
could put up with that to an extent. Tears would mean pushing and demanding,
and then Sam would have no choice but to ask Dean what he was too scared to
know for sure.
 
“Sammy?” Dean sighed, hesitantly putting his arms around him. “What’s gotten
into you, you girl?”
 
Sam managed a laugh and shook his head. Even now Dean couldn’t be completely
serious about this.
 
“I’m worried about my brother, I’m sorry if you don’t get that.”
 
“There’s nothing to be worried about. That’s my job anyway. I’m the older
brother, I’m sorry if you don’t get that.”
 
Sam snorted. “Like that’s going to keep me from worrying about you. Maybe if
you paid more attention to what you were doing, instead of looking at girls all
the time I wouldn’t have to.”
 
“Hey!” Dean cried, thumping him on the back of the head. “I know what I’m
doing. Ask any girl.”
 
“Dean,” Sam groaned. “I didn’t need to hear that.”
 
He laughed. “It shut you up, so maybe you did need to hear it.”
 
Sam shook his head and slid his arms around Dean’s neck. There was no getting
through to him sometimes, and now was one of those times.
 
“I love you,” Sam murmured, sleepily. He didn’t care if Dean wanted to hear it
or not, he was going to hear it. Every God damn day, until he knew that this
was over. Maybe not even that would stop him from saying it.
 
If that was all Dean needed to hear to keep him from selling himself, Sam could
do that. It wasn’t like he didn’t love his brother, or didn’t want to tell him
that. He just didn’t want his ass handed to him on a daily basis.
 
He even liked having his brother talk to him.
 
Sometimes.
 
Chick flick moments were a sure way to end that. Well, the talking part, not
the mocking. The mocking would always be there. That was like asking Dean not
to breathe.
 
xXx
 
Dean stared down at his brother, dumbfounded. What the hell had gotten into
Sam? It wasn’t unusual for him to push things, or even climb into bed with
Dean. But he didn’t suddenly switch gears and throw himself into Dean, burying
his face into his chest and clutching his shirt desperately.
 
He didn’t start to cry and try and hide it then. If Sam was crying, Dean knew
it because it was usually his fault, and his job to fix things.
 
He did say he loved Dean, but normally he was high on painkillers or had just
gone through something that had shaken him to his core. It wasn’t a random,
impulsive utterance. Something was wrong and Sam wasn’t sharing.
 
Dean combed his fingers through Sam’s hair, letting his body relax beneath him.
He was okay with not talking, not talking was good when it came to Sam and
emotions. Things got too heated and he always wound up hurting Sam, or Sam
wound up hurting him which in turn had him hurting Sam. One way or another Sam
got hurt and Dean had to find a way to make things better.
 
Emotions were not his things. Talking was not his thing.
 
Physical was. He could handle this.
 
Soon Sam’s breathing evened out, but his grip never relaxed on Dean, nor Dean’s
on him. He felt his eyes grow heavy, sleep tugging at him for the first time in
months. He smiled bitterly at that thought. What had kept him up was the need
to protect Sam, and all it took for him to finally find some peace, was to have
his brother here in his arms. He drifted to sleep, cursing himself for his
idiocy and his overwhelming commitment to his brother.
***** Chapter 2 *****

Author's notes: This one is for my girlie, Nikki. :) She said this was her fav,
so here's the loooong overdue chapter! And of course, all thanks and love go
out to Miss_Cinnamon. My 'muse in a mask' is made of awesome.
===============================================================================
Sam kicked his backpack to the side. Tonight’s homework was simple and he could
do it later when Dean was out and he needed a distraction, or tomorrow morning
before class. He had a lot of time to kill then- he had a lot of time to kill
now too.
 
Glancing around the empty room he almost wished that he had more homework
tonight, to give him something to keep his mind off things and out of Dad’s
way. Or Dean’s. Between the two of them Sam was surprised he had any semblance
of sanity left in him.
 
His eyes landed on Dean’s favorite flannel shirt, crumpled in a ball next to
his jacket. Sam’s stomach twisted at the memory of how it gotten there. How
most of Dean’s shirts got there.
 
Dean had been wearing it last night when he left, with a half hearted wink and
grin at Sam like always. Halfhearted, like everything else he’d done the past
two years. Sam hadn’t thought much of it then, he hadn’t let himself. He knew
where Dean was going, knew what he was doing and he was too damn scared to
bring it up. A few hours later, Sam half asleep, Dean barged into their room
noisier than usual and ripped the shirt off. He threw it angrily into the
corner where it was now, eyes were wide and red rimmed, jaw clenched so tightly
it made Sam’s own jaw ache.
 
He hadn’t said a damn word to Sam, despite every attempt he made to find out
what was wrong. Dean just shook his head and looked away; wouldn’t meet Sam’s
eyes or answer any of his questions. He hadn’t met Sam’s eyes in nearly two
years, since that first night Sam had climbed into bed with him, and Sam
seriously doubted he ever would again.
 
Dean shrugged him off and climbed into his own bed, back to Sam, and like
always Sam climbed in right behind him, hesitant hand resting against his back.
It was all Sam could do, all he knew to do. He was the younger brother, he
wasn’t used to having to comfort Dean. That had always been Dean’s role. He was
too scared to do much else. If he pushed too hard there was no telling how Dean
would react, he might leave again and do exactly what was forcing them apart
and binding them so tightly together now: fear, family, loyalty, love.
 
Two years they’d been this way. Two years, Sam had been trying to talk to Dean,
to confront him about what he knew Dean was doing. He wasn’t ashamed of Dean,
he was just angry and worried. Angry because he should have stopped Dean,
because Dad should have stopped this, because Dean should never have had to
resort to selling himself. Not for him or their family, not for anyone or
anything. But Dean was selling himself and it worried Sam. He knew how strong
his brother was, knew that he could defend himself against anyone and just
about anything, but it didn’t keep him from worrying that somewhere along the
way he might make a mistake. Misjudge something or someone and get himself
hurt- maybe killed. Unlikely as it was that Dean would ever misjudge or trust
anyone outside of his family, it still kept him up at night.
 
Sam tore his eyes from the shirt and to the window, biting back a sob. How
could he have let this go on for two years? How could he have kept quiet all
this time? So what if he was scared. Dean had to be scared every night he left
the apartment, every night he came home was a struggle to keep his sanity. Or
at least his silence.
 
Sam could see him breaking every day. Last night had only reinforced that. Dean
usually snuck in, kept his anger as quiet as possible to avoid waking Sam. It
never worked, but that wasn’t because Dean wasn’t quiet enough. It was because
Sam was so attuned to Dean that the second he entered their room Sam knew. Just
like Sam knew that Dean needed someone, some kind of comforting or reassuring
touch when he came home at night. His own fear shouldn’t have stopped him from
protecting his brother and he was ashamed of himself for letting it go on this
long.
 
A crashing sound, like glass breaking in the kitchen startled him out of his
thoughts. It was kind of early for anyone else to be home. Dean had stopped
picking him up from school a few weeks ago, a sign of how far apart they’d
grown, and Dad was never home until close to dinner.
 
Soft swearing reached his ears and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was Dean,
not Dad. Dean had been hard to be around, but Dad was worse. Every time he saw
Dad he wanted to yell at him, wanted to reach out and shake him. Demand to know
how he couldn’t see Dean’s suffering, to know why he hadn’t stopped things
before they got this far. It didn’t help that Dad had been unbearable the past
few months either. Snapping at him, at Dean, over everything.
 
His drinking binges weren’t more frequent, but they were more severe. And Sam
didn’t like Dad’s drinking any more than he did Dean’s. In fact it scared the
hell out of him. There was no controlling Dad’s mouth or his fists sometimes.
Dean was the same way, but Dad…there was just something more to it with him.
Like it was everything he’d always wanted to do or say when he was sober, that
he might do one day when he was sober. With Dean, Sam was always more afraid
he’d hurt himself rather than someone else.
 
Straightening his spine Sam made his way into the kitchen in the hopes that
something would break. The sour stench of beer filled his nostrils as he
entered the room, making his eyes water. He hated beer, he hated alcohol period
after seeing what it had done to his family or what it could do to them if
someone didn’t step in.
 
Dean was hunched over in front of the fridge, searching out a new beer seeing
as how he’d dropped his last one, and didn’t notice Sam at first. Sam steered
clear of the still wet area and over to the kitchen counter, heart hammering in
his chest. It had taken him two years to get to this point and he wasn’t any
braver than when he’d started. Just more afraid.
 
xXx
 
Dean groaned and stretched as he made his way up the steps to the apartment. He
was still sore and worn down from last night, his body taking more abuse than
it had in a long while. He almost wish he’d stayed in bed this morning, but
then he couldn’t have been out hustling or making more money to stash away. The
way things were going he might need it. Or Sam.
 
He flicked the lock as he shut the door behind him and headed straight to the
kitchen for a beer. He’d quit drinking at bars for the most part, saving what
money he could by drinking at home. Dad always kept the fridge well stocked and
there was no reason to waste money he might need sooner than he’d hoped.
 
Relief washed through him as eyes came to rest on the fridge. He jerked it open
and let out an audible sigh of appreciation at the sight that greeted him.
Beer. Ice cold beer. His fingers had just closed around cool glass when he felt
something brush along his side. Startled he dropped the beer to find it was
only the fridge door. Swearing at his stupidity and the loss of a much needed
beer he reached around the side of the fridge and grabbed the broom. He’d come
home needing a beer and instead he’d freaked himself the hell out and was left
cleaning up the mess. Literally.
 
Dean quickly swept up the glass and wiped up the liquid, lamenting over the
waste. When he was finally satisfied, or as satisfied as he could be
considering the circumstances, with his clean up he ducked back into the fridge
in search of a new beer. His fingers had just closed around a new bottle when
fear swept through him once again. Today was just not his day.
 
He relaxed, sensing it was Sam entering the kitchen. Just Sam, he reminded
himself.
 
Things had been getting worse between them the past two years and Dean was
doing everything he could to stay as far and as close to Sam as possible. At
night Sam was his comfort, though he’d never admit it and in the daylight Sam
was his nightmare.
 
His need to protect Sam had torn them apart, made him want to leave the
apartment the second he could and find the nearest bar. But that same need to
protect kept him glued to Sam’s side in the brief time that he was home.
 
Sam always looked at him like he just knew what was going on, going back and
forth between disgust and pity. His mouth opening like he’d say something, like
he’d finally bring it up and then he’d look away, close his mouth and clear his
throat, make some lame attempt at small talk that Dean would simply grunt at
and swallow his heart.
 
He’d finally stopped looking at Sam, or at least directly at Sam when he was
looking back at Dean. He couldn’t stand to see the war of emotions going on
behind Sam’s eyes, the indecision there. He’d rather go on ignoring things and
having Sam’s silence than risk his disgust.
 
It wasn’t doing either of them any good for him to walk around acting like some
damn guard dog though, snapping at everyone and drinking when he wasn’t. Coming
home like he did every night and scaring the hell out of Sam. He didn’t have
the strength to comfort Sam to even try and lie to him about what was going on.
He had no way out, no plan, all he could do was keep playing the game and watch
out for Sam. He’d figure things out eventually and when he did, maybe then he’d
talk to Sam. Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a coward and he could tell his
brother everything.
 
“Are you ever going to talk to me?” Sam asked, leaning his hip against the
counter. His question interrupting Dean’s thoughts.
 
“About what?” Dean forced out, glancing up from the fridge, heart lodging in
his throat at the sound of Sam’s voice. All that indecision, all that back and
forth, and he’d never expected Sam to bring it up.
 
Sam shook his head in disgust and gripped the counter. “It’s been the same
thing every night for two god damn years, Dean. I kept thinking that you’d just
tell me if I stopped asking.”
 
“Tell you what?” he replied, shutting the door slowly. He wasn’t giving up any
answers when he didn’t know for sure what Sam was talking about or what he
knew. Two years was a long time to keep this from his brother, but he wasn’t
ready to give it all up just yet.
 
“Don’t play stupid, it’s not you,” Sam snapped. “Every night for two years, two
years, I’ve slept in your bed thinking that if I got close enough to you, if I
just…” Sam’s head dropped and he shuffled his feet.
 
Dean watched him open and close his mouth helplessly, not even bothering to
meet his eyes, a sight so familiar it made Dean‘s heart ache. Something must
have connected for Sam, or pushed him, because the second Sam’s name was out of
Dean’s mouth he was staring pleadingly at his brother once again.
 
“I just want to know why you’re doing it, Dean. Why can’t you find some other
way to make money? You’re worth more than that!”
 
Dean cocked his head to the side, worry turning to confusion. He didn’t
understand what Sam was so angry about, or what it was he was worth more than
but Sam’s words were making him warm all over. He was used to hushed whispers
from giggling girls and the occasional straightforward comment about his mouth
or his ass but never anything deeper than that. And it only meant more coming
from a younger brother he felt like he continually disappointed.
 
“Man,” Dean said earnestly. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
Sam turned sad eyes on him, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching.
Obviously he didn’t believe Dean. He still thought that Dean was keeping
something from him and Dean wished to hell he knew what it was Sam wanted him
to say.
 
“I’m talking about why you come home every night shaking, why half the time you
won’t even look at me. God dammit, Dean! Does Dad know about this? Were you
ever going to tell me?”
 
“Sammy, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean repeated, taking a
step forward. “You want to clue me in here?” Things had started to make sense
at first, until he’d asked about Dad. How could Dad not know? It wasn’t
possible, so Sam must be talking about something else.
 
Sam shook his head, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “I really thought that
you could trust me with anything.”
 
“I do trust you. I trust you with my life every time we go on a hunt. What more
proof do you need?”
 
“No,” Sam argued. “You trust me with your body, Dean. There’s a difference.”
 
“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Dean demanded. He understood Sam’s
confusion and anger, but he didn’t deserve Sam’s accusations.
 
“It means,” Sam answered in his most annoyed tone of voice. “I want to know
what the hell is going on.”
 
“So,” Dean replied in the same voice. “do I!”
 
“God, dammit,” Sam groaned.
 
“Just say it!” Dean cried in exasperation. He didn’t know what Sam was talking
about and if he kept going about it in circles Dean wasn’t going to be held
responsible for his actions. “Fucking clue me in here!”
 
“Fine,” Sam snapped back. “Are you having sex for money?” he asked in a rush.
 
“What?” Dean gaped. Okay, he hadn’t expected that one.
 
“Are you,” Sam repeated but mumbled, his cheeks flushing pink. “having sex for
money?”
 
“No, I’m not having sex for money! Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”
Dean stared wide eyed at his younger brother. Dean had never had sex for money,
would never even consider it for anything other than as a last, last resort.
 
Relief seemed to wash over Sam before his body went rigid and his gaze hard.
“Then what’s going on with you, Dean? Two years of you coming home like you
do…” Sam shook his head.
 
“What’s going on?”
 
“Shit, man...Sam…”
 
What was he supposed to say to his baby brother’s questions? That he wasn’t
having sex for money, that what was happening to him on an almost daily basis,
only happened because Dean let it, out of the fear that if he protested too
much Sam would be next? He had to protect Sam. He couldn’t let the same things
happen to his younger brother.
 
That was why he’d been so on top of Sam the past two years or so. Since that
night, it was all he could think about. Sam’s still tiny body, at least until a
few months ago, naked and flushed as he panted and jerked away from him, crying
for him to stop. The tears rolling down soft pink cheeks and mouth twisted in
pain. Sam was closing in on sixteen and he still had some of those baby
features, the soft rounded cheeks and full mouth. His legs and arms just
beginning to grow. He was still a baby to Dean.
 
If he was honest with himself, Sam probably always would be.
 
It was those images that kept him with Sam always; never letting up. Sometimes
he found himself jumping on Sam about something stupid, like showering with the
door open or not wearing pajama bottoms over his boxers when he went to sleep;
things that shouldn’t matter but did.
 
He could tell he was beginning to irritate his brother. The glaring and the
flare of his nostrils as he huffed and slammed the door shut behind him. He was
upset that Dean was treating him like a baby, or at least that‘s what Dean had
assumed. Now he was beginning to see where Sam’s mind had been all this time.
 
“I’m not,” Dean swore. “I’m not doing what you think.”
 
“I want you to stop,” Sam pleaded, not hearing a word of Dean‘s protest. His
mind was already made up. Dean wasn’t sure if should be insulted or relieved
that his brother had come to such a ridiculous conclusion. It was better than
the alternative, he supposed.
 
xXx
 
How could Dean stand there and lie to him? Tell him that he wasn’t out selling
himself for money when that was the only thing that made sense. His brother
came home shaking, sweating, and looking vaguely like a trapped animal. He
wouldn’t talk about it with Sam, wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was so clearly
hurting and so desperately trying to hide it. If he wasn’t out prostituting,
then why couldn’t Dean just talk to him?
 
“I’m not,” Dean insisted irritably. “I don’t know how many times I have to say
it, Sammy, but I’m not.”
 
“Don’t,” Sam growled, his heart aching at Dean’s words. “Don’t stand there and
lie to me and then call me Sammy like nothing’s wrong, Dean! Something is going
on with you and I want to know what it is! You’ve been a real pain to deal with
for the past two years and I’ve finally got the god damn courage to bring
things up and you won’t even talk to me about it?”
 
Sam shoved a hand through his hair and sank back against the counter. He was
dangerously close to losing control of his emotions, of demanding Dean talk to
him, and making any threat needed to get him to do it. “Look,” he finally said,
taking a deep breath. “I know you hate this, I know that talking is like
torture for you, but you better start doing some talking Dean, and fast,
because I’m not going to keep playing these games.”
 
“What games, Sam? What the hell are you talking about?” Dean asked,
exasperated.
 
Obviously Dean wasn’t going to make this easy on either of them the stubborn
bastard.
 
“Two years, Dean,” he reminded him again. “I’ve been playing these games for
two years and I won’t do it anymore. If Dad doesn’t know what’s going on, he
will.”
 
“Sam,” Dean warned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
“Then fill me in!” he yelled. “I’m giving you every chance to face up to things
and you just keep dancing around the question. Start talking Dean, or you’ll be
talking to Dad. One way or another this is going to stop. I’m not going to let
you keep hurting yourself. Especially not for us.”
 
“I’m not doing what you think!” Dean argued.
 
Sam glared at Dean. How many times was he going to say that? If that wasn’t
what he was doing, then he needed to tell Sam what he was doing every night
that sent him home scared to death.
 
Dean, his older brother who was afraid of almost nothing, came home every night
scared as Sam had ever seen him and if it wasn‘t because of what Sam thought.
But then what the hell was it that could scare him so badly?
 
“Then I guess you’ll be explaining to Dad what it is you are doing,” He
sneered, Dean’s face filling with panic. “Because my talking to you isn’t going
anywhere.”
 
“You mean if he can find me,” Dean corrected, the panic Sam had seen moments
ago replaced with a familiar smirk.
 
Sam scowled. That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t threaten Sam when Sam was trying to
help him! That was totally against the rules! “So what? You’re saying that if I
tell Dad you’re hurting yourself you’re going to run away? You? Dad’s little
soldier?” Sam snorted in disgust for the second time since they’d started this
conversation.
 
Dean gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Dad’s going to be upset one way or
another, don’t ya think?”
 
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, nodding once. “But what about me?”
 
Uncertainty flickered across Dean’s face before he got himself under control
and raised one brow in question. Sam’s heart gave a kick of joy. There. Now
Dean was thinking. Either way Dad was upset with him, either way he felt he
disappointed Dad. But what about Sam?
 
Sam wasn’t disappointed in him. He just wanted to protect his brother. If he
would just talk to him, or God, even Dad as much as it pained Sam to think Dean
would choose Dad over him, then Sam would be satisfied. He’d only be upset with
Dean if he left, he’d be hurt and scared for his brother, left alone with Dad.
Having to fend for himself for the first time in sixteen years. Could Dean
really walk away from him to keep his secret?
 
“What about you, Sam?” Dean asked, a hint of warning in his voice.
 
“You’re going to leave me here with Dad? Alone? Because I want to protect you
like you’ve always done for me?” Sam scoffed. Dean could put as much warning
into his voice as he wanted, Sam wasn’t backing down now. It had taken him two
years to get to this point and he wasn’t walking away from it. “That makes a
lot of sense, Dean.”
 
“Then let it drop,” he demanded.
 
“I can’t let it drop,” Sam replied with absolute disgust. “How the hell do I
let something like that drop?”
 
“Easy. How was school?” he asked, turning his back on Sam and popping open his
beer.
 
“Fuck school,” Sam snarled, startling them both.. “This is about you and
whatever’s been messing with your head for two years, man!”
 
Dean let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Sam,” he warned. “Drop it.”
 
“I’m not dropping anything.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned
back, throwing his right foot over his left. He’d stay here all night with Dean
if he had to. Right up until Dad came home and Sam spilled everything.
 
Dean didn’t answer him, just took one long pull off his beer after another. The
silence was starting to get to Sam, panic setting in. It felt like he’d hit a
wall and he didn’t know where to go from there. Dean was no help and Dad wasn’t
home. It was one stubborn brother against another. And neither of them was
budging any time soon.
 
Sam sighed in resignation and pushed away from the counter. He was halfway
through the kitchen door when he threw back over his shoulder, “Dad it is
then.”
 
He thought the conversation was over until he heard footsteps behind him. Joy
and relief surged through him at the idea of Dean finally giving in and telling
him what was going on. He could finally return a little of the love his brother
had always given him. Even if it had taken this long to get there. Sam had half
turned to confront Dean again when he felt himself being slammed back against
the living room wall.
 
“You’re not telling Dad anything!” his brother ordered.
 
Sam blinked and shook his head, the shock and impact knocking him off balance.
“What?” he managed to gasp.
 
“You’re not,” Dean repeated slowly. “Telling Dad anything.”
 
“Or what? You’ll hit me?” Sam shot back, anger clouding his judgment. He was
trying to protect Dean and the thanks he got was attitude, orders, and now
physical attacks. Just how far was Dean willing to go to keep hurting himself?
“Go ahead. That’s just one more thing you’re going to have to explain to Dad.”
 
Dean’s mouth twitched, his nostrils flaring as he took in Sam’s truth. Dad
would ask about the black eye, or bruise and if it had been over anything else
Sam would have lied to protect Dean. Now though he’d jump at the chance to pin
this on Dean.
 
“Then I’ll leave,” Dean concluded.
 
Sam’s gut clenched. That would hurt more than any hit Dean could land. He
swallowed hard and tried to slow down his beating heart. It wasn’t logical.
They weren’t being rational. Dean couldn’t just walk out on them. Not over
this.
 
“We both know you won’t leave,” Sam hissed.
 
“And why’s that?” he challenged. “I’ve got the Impala.”
 
“Because what kind of brother would you be then?” Sam smirked triumphantly at
the surprise flickering across his brother‘s face. “It’s just not you, Dean.”
 
Dean growled in frustration, knowing damn well Sam was right. Dean had never
let Sam down in his life and he wasn’t about to start now.
 
“Besides,” Sam added a little softer. “If you do, I’ll track your sorry ass
down myself. You can’t leave me here with Dad. I’ll kill him.” Sam smiled
hesitantly at his older brother, hoping he realized Sam’s position on this as
one of worry instead of signature younger brother annoyance. He was only doing
the same thing Dean would do if their positions were reversed.
 
“I’m not going anywhere, Sammy,” Dean admitted reluctantly. “But you’ve got to
let this drop.”
 
Sam face scrunched up in irritation again. “Why can’t you just talk to me?” he
demanded. “Why can’t you just let me help you?”
 
“If you want to help me, Sam, you’ll let this drop.”
 
“Dean, that’s not fair,” he protested. “If the situation was-”
 
“Do you trust me?” Dean interrupted, raising his brows in question.
 
Sam sighed and let his head drop back against the wall. “Yeah, I trust you,” he
muttered begrudgingly.
 
“Then you’ll let this go, Sam. Just for now,” he added at Sam’s jerk of
disagreement. “Trust me to figure this out.”
 
Sam hesitated, uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. It had already been two
years, how long did Dean want him to give him? “I’ll give you a week,” Sam
finally agreed. “One damn week.”
 
“Sammy-” Dean started to protest, stopping quickly at the glare Sam gave him.
 
“It’s been two years, Dean. I’m not going to let you keep hurting yourself
because you’re too stubborn to let me help you. You’ve got one week to figure
this out, or I’m going to Dad. Or locking you in the closet, whatever the hell
works.”
 
“Two weeks,” he tried to negotiate. “Give me two weeks.”
 
Sam snorted. “One week. 7 days, man, and then I rat your ass out.”
 
Dean growled his disgruntlement but nodded and released his death grip on Sam’s
shoulders. “One week,” he repeated.
 
xXx
 
Since when was his brother such a self assured pain in the ass? He knew that
Sam was only trying to help him but he was really backing Dean into a corner
more than anything. Now he only had one week to figure things out or Sam was in
for a rude awakening, one that Dean didn’t want his brother to have any part
in.
 
He took a step back and watched as Sam straightened his shirt and ran a hand
through his chestnut hair. He looked more relaxed than he had in years now that
he had Dean’s word. His usually tense muscles were unknotted and his face was
clear, his smile sincere as he glanced up at Dean, catching him staring.
 
Sam frowned suddenly, brow furrowing. “We cool?” he asked hesitantly.
 
Dean laughed at his brother’s uncertainty. “Yeah,” Dean said nodding. “We’re
cool, man.” They were always cool.
 
Sam’s grin returned full force, knocking the breath right out of Dean’s chest.
“I’ve got homework then.”
 
“Better get to it then, geek boy,” Dean teased, trying to force the air back
into his lungs. That was a weird reaction, one he’d never had to deal with
before. It was probably because he hadn’t really seen Sam smile in two years,
he reassured himself. Two years was a long time to go without seeing that Sammy
smile.
 
Sam grinned once more at him before heading off towards their bedroom, even his
walk seeming a bit lighter. Dean hadn’t realized just how heavily this had
weighed on his younger brother the past two years. He’d hidden it a lot better
than Dean had ever expected. Maybe a little too well.
 
Dean frowned. He didn’t like Sam having to hide things from him, even if it was
to make things easier on him. He didn’t realize how hypocritical that was at
first and when he did, he just didn’t give a damn. He was the older brother and
whatever he had to do to keep Sam safe was just fine. As far as Dean was
concerned, Sam didn’t have that to hide behind.
***** Chapter 3 *****

Author's notes: Today is made of suckage, so I figured I'd post and do my best
to salvage the day. :) Miss_Cinnamon,is my amazing beta, as always. She is
completely made of awesome, kind of the like the Winchesters...so, reviews!
xoxo
===============================================================================
Sam sighed and let his Calc book fall shut. He’d been trying for nearly three
hours to get this done and he just couldn’t focus. His mind was still reeling
over this afternoon, replaying every word and every look Dean had given him.
 
It was driving him crazy not knowing what was going on with his brother, not
knowing what was hurting him, or how to fix it. And he’d hoped that somewhere,
in all the things Dean had said there was a clue. Something, anything that
could tip Sam off as to what was going on.
 
True, he’d agreed to give Dean one more week to fix things himself before Sam
turned him in or bullied Dean into giving him the answer, but that didn’t mean
that he wouldn’t keep trying to figure things out on his own. A week was
nothing compared to the past two years of torture he’d gone through, or at
least it shouldn‘t be, but to Sam it was worse. He was so close to protecting
Dean, to bringing him back to the sarcastic and loving, if not pain in the ass,
older brother that he was.
 
Seven days was a lifetime.
 
“Sam,” Dean called, poking his head in. “I’ve been calling you for like five
minutes man, put down your homework and come eat.”
 
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, turning around to see Dean give him a quick smile and
then duck back out the door.
 
His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, unable to stop the smile that
spread across Sam’s own face. It was amazing how much one afternoon could
change.
 
Standing up, he cracked his back and headed for the kitchen with a surprisingly
light heart. If it wasn’t Dean tearing him apart it was Dad, and that usually
made dinner unbearable. But for once he didn’t mind being pulled away from his
homework. Not that he wasn’t getting anything done tonight anyway.
 
Dean was pulling out two sodas when he walked in, the sight of his brother’s
usually sour face so much more relaxed made his chest tighten and his breath
catch in his throat. Dean passed one of the sodas off to him, oblivious to the
affect he was having on Sam and took a seat at what passed for the dinner
table.
 
He found himself staring at Dean, searching for any physical clue to add to the
mounting pile of nothing. Not a word, not a glance from earlier did anything
other then send his body into spastic fits.
 
Sam sank into the seat next to Dean, scooting his chair a little closer than
necessary and ignoring the look of annoyance Dean shot him. He raised a brow,
daring Dean to say anything about it and was rewarded with a smirk and a roll
of his eyes. Dean could act as annoyed by Sam’s proximity as he wanted, but
there was no getting around the fact that he liked it.
 
Satisfied with yet another victory he turned back to find Dad pulling out the
chair across from him. Usually Dad sat across from Dean and they talked about
the next hunt, or the last hunt, or the hunt before that. Basically they talked
shop and Sam tried to stay awake. But tonight he was sitting across from Sam, a
pleasant smile gracing his normally stoic face.
 
He felt Dean stiffen beside him, Dean’s leg suddenly pressing insistently
against his. Sam felt his face heat up and he quickly lowered it, staring
intently at the plate of spaghetti in front of him. He couldn’t get over how
good it felt to have Dean near him again and touching him out of anything other
than fear. Whatever was going on with Dad was nothing compared to that.
 
xXx
 
Placing three plates on the table, Dean glanced over his shoulder, half
expecting to find Sam lurking behind him like he had this afternoon. Finding a
still very much empty kitchen, he frowned and realized that Sam was probably
still doing homework and hadn’t even heard Dean call him the first three times.
 
Rolling his eyes, he strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall, glancing
nervously at Dad’s closed door. He hadn’t heard a word from Dad in hours and it
was beginning to worry him.
 
Shrugging off the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, he pushed open
the bedroom door, a teasing ‘geek boy’ on his lips, and froze.
 
Sam was staring blankly at the text book in front of him, his pencil dangling
uselessly from slender fingers. A pang of guilt struck Dean, knowing it was
because of him Sam was too stressed to even focus on homework, but he bit his
tongue. As much as he wanted Sam to know he trusted him, more than anyone,
there were some things Sam just didn’t need to know. Some things that were just
best left to handle on his own.
 
Clearing his throat, he called Sam’s name again. “I’ve been calling you for
like five minutes man, put down your homework and come eat.”
 
Sam turned halfway in his chair, staring at Dean for a heartbeat. Dean flashed
him a quick smile and left before he could say something stupid, barely
sticking around to hear Sam‘s agreement. He was having the strangest reactions
to Sam lately, especially after all he’d said today. Who knew what he might say
now to make Sam smile again?
 
Yawning, he pulled open the fridge for some caffeine and froze. He was having
major déjà vu. Only he’d been looking for beer and seriously considering
slamming his head in the fridge door to numb some of the pain the first time
around. Now, he was grinning like an idiot and replaying today over and over in
his mind.
 
He’d burnt his hand at least three times while making dinner tonight and was
surprised he’d finished without setting himself or the apartment on fire. He
couldn’t help it. Dad was late getting home and hadn’t bothered him or Sam,
simply heading back into his room and shutting the door without so much as a
word. Leaving Dean to remember Sam’s normally sweet, or irritated face,
depending on the day, filled with an intense need.
 
Sam had been so determined, so dead set on protecting Dean no matter what that
meant that it knocked the breath out of him every time. His brother had gone
from angry to pleading and back again within the blink of an eye, all the while
staring pleadingly at Dean with all the love and affection he’d ever seen.
 
He knew that Sam was only trying to help like the good brother, or just the
good person he was period, but Dean was at a loss. There was only so much he
could tell Sam and he wasn’t really sure how to return the love and devotion
Sam had shown him today. That just wasn’t Dean’s thing. He could protect Sam
and he could reassure Sam over and over again that nothing was his fault,
giving Sam love in his own way, but he had no idea how to return it with the
same magnitude without turning into a complete chick.
 
Sam entered the kitchen then, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed two
sodas and handed one to Sam, his heart skipping a beat when his hand brushed
Sam’s. He quickly turned away and dropped into his seat at the empty table.
Dean knew Sam couldn’t tell what he was thinking but it still embarrassed him
to know how caught up in this he was. It was all too emotional for him and that
was Sam’s place. Dean was supposed to be the violent, protective one. Sam the
girl. That’s just how it had always been.
 
His brother took the seat next to him like always, moving as close as possible
to Dean without actually climbing into his lap. Feigning annoyance, Dean found
himself smirking uncontrollably when Sam simply raised a brow in defiance. His
little brother was growing up more every day, and not losing his talent for
bugging the crap out of Dean one bit.
 
He popped open the soda and raised it to his mouth, freezing when he felt Dad
enter the room. He’d been hoping to make it through dinner with Sam before Dad
even came back out. He wanted the two of them together as little as possible.
 
Sam may have promised him a week, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t accidentally
let something slip. If Dad noticed his weird behavior Sam might turn defensive
or angry and ask him why the hell he didn’t notice the changes in Dean as much
as he did in Sam. His brother was very clearly irritated by Dad and his seeming
lack of interest in his sons. Especially after the last two years. And if Sam
and Dean shared anything, it was a temper.
 
Dean pressed his leg against Sam’s protectively as Dad took the seat across
from Sam. He swallowed hard and pressed the can back to his lips, doing his
best to act normal. Sam wasn’t the only one that could blow this.
 
xXx
 
The rest of dinner was awkward and quiet, but better than it had been in a long
time. Or ever really, if anyone were to ask Sam. Dean sat with his leg pressed
to Sam’s, shoulders brushing, and never once pulled away. He hadn’t said much,
but Sam wasn’t surprised with Dad sitting across from them. It wasn’t like they
could have much of a conversation with him around, and Dad wasn’t usually very
talkative to begin with.
 
Sam stood, tossing his empty can into the trash and was halfway to the sink
with his plate when Dean stepped in front of him. He titled his head in the
direction of their room, asking Sam silently to leave and stay put for awhile.
He rolled his eyes but relented and handed his plate to Dean. He was on good
terms with his brother and he wanted to keep it that way.
 
As much as he liked sharing a bed with his brother every night, he didn’t like
the reason behind it. If he could give Dean anything, he wanted to give him
security.
 
His hand was on the door when he heard Dad behind him. Sam glanced over his
shoulder and gave Dad a tight smile. Dean wanted him to go to their room and
stay put, and he had every intention of doing that. Only Dad apparently didn’t.
 
“Sam, come here for a second,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of
the living room.
 
Hesitating a second, Sam nodded. What else was he supposed to do? It was
probably about something stupid anyway, a question about a symbol, a heads up
on a trip he’d only try to argue his way out of, or another lecture about
leaving Dean with the chores. Like Sam actually liked leaving Dean alone when
he was like this.
 
“What’s up?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew he wasn’t
going to like this conversation and he wanted it done with as soon as possible.
 
“How was school today, Sam?”
 
Sam blinked. “What?”
 
“I asked how your day was,” Dad repeated, laughing quietly.
 
“I, uh, it was fine?” Sam managed, glancing behind him. This felt too weird.
Since when did Dad ask about school or anything else involving Sam’s life that
wasn’t a part of his too.
 
“You don’t know?” Dad teased.
 
Sam laughed. “No, it was good.” Today was real good, he thought. He reached
down and pinched his arm quickly, wincing at the sharp sting. No, he was
definitely awake.
 
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
 
“Me?” Sam said, raising a brow. Dad was asking if he was okay? Sam wasn’t the
one dragging people off to the living room for “pleasant conversation”. “I
should be asking you the same thing.”
 
Dad sighed and took a step closer. “I know we haven’t talked much lately, but
I’ve been a little preoccupied with your brother.”
 
“You have?” Sam asked in disbelief.
 
“Yes,” Dad went on. “But things are going to change soon, I promise, son.”
 
Sam nodded wordlessly and stared back at Dad. He hadn’t thought that Dad had
noticed anything about Dean’s behavior. Dad hadn’t said anything, or done
anything that Sam knew of.
 
Dean didn’t even think Dad was paying him any attention. So just what the hell
had he been doing?
 
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, before Sam had the chance to. He turned
around at the sound of his brother’s icy voice and frowned. What was wrong now?
“What are you doing?” Dean repeated, raising an impatient brow.
 
Sam shook his head and bit back a sigh. It should have been obvious what Dean’s
problem was the second Sam had heard his tone. He’d given Dean a week and he’d
meant it. He wasn’t backing out of that now. Not when he had his brother’s
trust again. Dad had wanted to talk and what else was Sam supposed to do? Avoid
Dad until Dean’s week was up?
 
“We’re just talking, Dean,” Dad said good naturedly, clapping Sam on the
shoulder.
 
Sam glanced at Dad, a little surprised that he’d even answered Dean or
disagreed with him. Usually Dad wanted as little to do with him as possible.
Suddenly he was caught between the older brother that cared for him and the
father that ordered him around. It wasn’t exactly a hard choice, but Sam wanted
Dean to trust him fully, and right now he was doubting Sam more than ever.
 
“Sammy, go to bed now,” Dean snapped, wrapping his hand tightly around Sam’s
upper arm and dragging him from Dad.
 
His arm tingled where Dean’s fingers dug in, the usual comforting touch of his
brother’s hand more than a little disconcerting. What was it that Dean was
hiding? He was going to insane lengths to protect a secret that Sam would never
hold over him. Sam had practically torn his heart out for Dean this afternoon
to make him understand that and still they were stuck here in this pathetic
game of tug-of-war with Dad. Still, he couldn’t really bring it up in front of
Dad, now could he?
 
“Dude,” Sam tried instead, “I’m sixteen-“
 
“Bed,” Dean ordered. He wasn’t interested hearing anything Sam had to say
apparently. His paranoid mind was made up.
 
Sam shook his head, “But Dean-“
 
“Now!” he yelled, jerking Sam to his side.
 
Startled because he’d never heard his brother lose his cool like that before,
and most definitely not with him, he nodded numbly and backed away from Dean,
suddenly very eager to be away from either Winchester. A look of apology
flashed behind moss green eyes and then was gone as he turned his hardened gaze
on Dad.
 
Their father stared back, unflinching. A silent battle of wills. A soft laugh
sounded from Dad and Sam realized that Dean had won. For now at least. And then
Dean’s angry look was once again focused on Sam. “Bed. Now,” he growled
dangerously, taking a step towards him.
 
Sam stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get the
hell out of there before Dean really lost it. This day was not getting better.
He’d thought that after the talk they’d had this afternoon Dean would just be
straight with him, or more than usual anyway, and that somehow didn’t include
being jerked around and ordered to bed at ridiculous hours.
 
He shut the door behind him and changed clothes quickly, glancing over his
shoulder now and then as if he expected Dean to come bursting through and
continue yelling at him.
 
Grumbling, he shook those thoughts and climbed into bed.
 
He wasn’t tired and even if he was, he didn’t know how he was supposed to sleep
worrying about Dean and being angry with him at the same time. Conflicting
emotions, but neither meant he’d get any sleep.
 
xXx
 
Today had been a pretty rough day for the both of them. Especially for Sam who
was trying to sort things out still and do his best to blindly protect his
brother. They’d cleared things up as best they could that afternoon, leaving
him with that Sammy smile. Then Dad had to go and ruin things for them. Sam was
probably in bed and angry, unaffected by any sincere apology Dean could give
him.
 
He pushed the bedroom door open, doing his best to make as little noise as
possible in case Sam really was asleep. He wasn’t. Sam rolled over the instant
the door opened, showing Dean his back.
 
“Sam,” Dean called softly hoping Sam would at least give him the chance to
apologize.
 
Unfortunately, his answer was to tuck an arm underneath his pillow and press
his face into it. Dean sighed and cursed himself for not handling the situation
better all together. It had been hard enough to smooth things over this
afternoon, tonight was going to be a bitch.
 
He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket down on his own bed. Tonight he
would be going to Sam. He slid in behind him, throwing an arm tentatively over
his brother’s waist. Sam jerked slightly and pushed his arm away wordlessly.
 
Dean ignored him and moved closer, pulling Sam against his chest. “Sammy,” he
murmured. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
 
Sam shrugged and said nothing, this time leaving Dean‘s arms where they were.
His back was stiff and anything but warm against Dean. He was still angry or
scared, probably both. If Sam could do anything perfectly it was hold a grudge.
Dean felt sorry for anyone who would ever cross Sam in the future, because he
only got better at it with age. The stubborn brat.
 
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It wasn’t your fault; none of this is your
fault.”
 
Sam jerked away then, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “Whose fault
is it then, Dean?” he demanded, glaring down at him. “Because I can’t seem to
do anything right.”
 
“No, Sammy,” Dean protested, his heart twisting. “It’s not you.”
 
“Then who?” he demanded again.
 
“Not. You.”
 
“Dammit, Dean,” Sam swore, kicking the blankets off. “Its not you, that leaves
me and -”
 
“Sam,” Dean interrupted quickly, sitting up. “I was afraid you were going to
tell, Dad, okay?” he lied. “I know you said you’d give me a week, but I saw you
two talking and I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”
 
Sam narrowed his eyes, waiting for Dean to confess that he was lying about this
too. Dean stared back at him, hoping that all Sam saw in his eyes was apologies
and sincerity. He huffed a little and then lay back down.
 
“I said you have a week. I wouldn’t lie to you,” he grumbled.
 
Dean winced at the implication of Sam’s words and followed suit. “I know,” Dean
answered truthfully, turning on his side to look at Sam. “It was stupid. I
wasn’t thinking.”
 
“Obviously. You never think.”
 
He laughed and punched Sam’s arm lightly. “Maybe sometimes I just think too
much.”
 
“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Maybe.”
 
“We good?” he asked, taking Sam’s humor for acceptance, reluctant or not.
 
“Always,” Sam reassured him.
 
Dean smiled and threw an arm around Sam, pulling him back against his chest.
“Get some sleep then.”
 
They lay there for a while, Dean listening to the soft sound of his brother
breathing, waiting for it to even off in the tell tale sign of sleep.
 
“It won’t always be this easy,” Sam said suddenly, his breath hitching for a
moment and then evening out.
 
Dean frowned. “What won’t be?” he asked, distracted by Sam’s sudden change in
breathing.
 
“This.” He lifted a hand and gestured to them. “I can’t keep believing your
lies, no matter how much I want to.”
 
“Sam-”
 
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “You have your reasons-but you still only get a
week.”
 
“Yeah,” Dean snorted. “I know.” Sam didn’t let up and as tough a spot as that
put him in now, he couldn’t be any prouder of Sam than he was. And he couldn’t
feel any stronger than he did now, laying there with Sam and knowing that Sam
was willing to fight with him, for him no matter what.
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