TITLE: Memories

SUMMARY: Season 1 Episode 4 "Phantom Traveler" tag: It's a long drive home. A long, boring drive. Leaves a lot of time to reminisce.

RATING: K

WORDS: 3254

NOTES: So, I didn't really know where I was going with this when I first thought of it, and it was really random that this story was sparked by Dean refusing to calm down when Sam tried to soothe him, but reluctantly calming down when Sam ordered him to. When I looked at the first draft, it was way too good to pass up. Enjoy. Just to make it clear, this is going to be Sam driving them back to the place where they left the Impala because Dean would never agree to go on a plane ride no matter what, not just then, anyway, and Sam would never force Dean to. Also, this one slightly bashes John's parenting skills and I'm really sorry. I don't hate John, he was just making the best of the bad situation he was in. He could have maybe done better, but, whatever. He did his best, kept his boys alive, didn't he?

"…really Dean, I'll get us there. You look horrible, man, you should get some rest."

"Sam-"

"Dean, I got this. Do you really want to risk it, driving in your current state? You'll get us wrapped around a tree."

"…there's nothing wrong with my 'current state'."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, whatever, man. Just get in the passenger seat."

Dean grumbled, but got in. Yeah, he'd lost it a little on the plane, he could admit to that, but then the plane had been about to crash and how could Sam not get that? Just because he'd been a little freaked, (because, hello, I told you I hate planes, Sammy, and that one had nearly crashed), didn't mean he was 'high-strung'. He was perfectly capable of driving them back to the Impala in his current state, thank you very much. What did Sam know, anyway? Stupid, little-

"Dean, you need to chill out already. You're perched on the edge of your seat like you're going to hurl yourself out the door if the car so much as hits a pothole and it's setting me a little on edge. Relax."

"I'm fine," Dean muttered. "I'd be better if you'd let me drive."

Sam sighed. "Dean, you're exhausted. No, man," he added as Dean shook his head in denial, opening his mouth to interrupt. "Don't give me that, I know you're exhausted, I can see it on your face, Dean. I'm not going to let you drive so you might as well take advantage of the opportunity and clock in some hours."

When Dean just looked mutinous, Sam shook his head. "Dean," he said helplessly. "Man, you know I can't let you drive. If you were 'okay' you'd know that letting you behind the wheel would be the worst possible thing right now. Please, just a few hours, okay? If you wake up before we get there, I promise I'll let you drive." In his head, Sam silently begged his brother to take the deal. Seeing that Dean was on the verge of accepting, he added something more to the mix. "I'll… eat whatever you put in front of me for a week, if you go to sleep now." That was all Sam had to offer and it was out there.

Dean bit his lip in thought. He didn't think he could sleep right now, but then, if he could, Sam would have to eat. The kid had been getting thinner and thinner as the days went by, turning pale at the sight of food, saying it made him nauseous. Normally, Dean would've called Sam out on that one, but since that one day where Sam had thrown up for an entire morning, even though somewhere around midway he'd just been puking bile, Dean had learned that he should probably trust Sam when it came to his eating habits.

So, this being part of the deal told Dean two things: one, he was probably worse off than he thought he was if Sam was offering this, and two, Sam was offering this and Dean wasn't stupid enough to pass it up. But he was the older brother and it was his job to look after Sam and make sure the kid was getting enough rest even if he had to go without. That was how it had always worked.

Sam could see that Dean just needed one more push, so he used the eyes he especially reserved for Dean. The ones his brother had been absolutely incapable of ignoring. He stared at Dean beseechingly until Dean went from worried and concerned to exasperated to softly understanding why Sam needed him to rest and, finally, to the one emotion that put a lump in his throat and both, brought out the full force of Sam's eyes and made it feel like he'd flipped a switch to turn them off. Love.

Disgruntled, and if he was honest, secretly pleased, Dean muttered something along the lines of 'fine, but you better eat whatever I give you, Sammy' and got settled to sleep next to his little brother. Within minutes, Dean was out like a light.

Sam smiled fondly at his older sibling. 'Sure you're not tired, Dean. I believe you.' And then he remembered what had happened on the plane and the smile slowly evaporated. Dean had followed that tone of voice unerringly as far back as Sam could remember. What to him seemed like a list of endless orders to stop wanting was Dean's way of keeping both himself and little Sammy, and eventually teenaged Sam, safe. Sam remembered several instances in his life where Dean had to give up something he wanted because he was told to. And then they were all playing in Sam's head, flashes passing by just fast enough for him to realize exactly how much Dean had sacrificed.

Dean was a 6-year-old, walking beside John, hands swinging freely. He smiled up at Sam, who called out his name from his perch in John's arms. Suddenly, Dean stopped walking, just staring dumbstruck at a window of a shop. Sam repeated his name again, surprised when his brother didn't respond like he always did. Dean didn't even seem to notice, so fascinated was he by whatever he was seeing. Sam started wriggling in his father's arms, forcing John to stop.

"Daddy," Sam tried to explain. He pointed and said, "Dean."

John turned and saw his oldest staring strangely at the window of a big toy store.

"Dean," John said in a commanding tone. "Stop staring. We've got to get to the gun store before it closes. Come on."

Dean gave the shop window another longing glance before letting out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sniff and followed John. Sam called out to Dean again. Dean looked up at Sam and gave him another smile, only this one was much smaller and had lost quite a lot of its earlier brilliance.

Sam hadn't understood then, but he did now.

Dean was 8-years-old and was sitting in front of the window of their motel room. His ears seemed to pick up a sound because he suddenly drew back the curtain and peered at the ice cream truck stopping on their street, watching all the children rush up to the man in the window and giving him their orders.

"Dean, close the curtains, you're giving me a headache," John ordered. "Go help Sam with his homework then clean the guns."

Dean's face turned sad before he let the curtains fall close and went to help Sam.

Sam remembered that when the next day he'd asked for an ice cream, Dean had gone and gotten one for him. But none for himself.

Dean was ten and really weak and sick. "Daddy, I don't wanna go to school. I don't feel too good."

"We can't do anything about it, Dean, I've already given you your medicine and someone has to drop Sam to school. If you're going to drop him, then you might as well go to class," John answered without looking up from the maps he was poring over.

Dean swallowed, an unhealthy red flush covering his cheeks, then sighed and said, "Yes, Daddy."

Sam remembered that Dean had been taken to the hospital that day because his temperature had risen to scary levels.

Dean had turned 14-years-old and had been looking forward to this day for a week. This day being Sam's birthday and he'd been looking forward to it because he'd promised his little brother that they'd spend the whole day together. But John had plans of his own because he absolutely refused to let Dean waste his day.

"But Dad," Dean protested, "I promised Sam I'd spend the day with him. And you said I could when I told you about it last week."

"Dean," John seemed to have reached the end of his patience because his tone hardened. "Stop being foolish. I didn't know last week that I'd need you for this hunt. You can spend time with Sam when we're done killing this thing, he's not going anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Dean reluctantly went to get dressed, asking Sam to forgive him for not being able to keep his promise with his eyes on the way. Sam signalled he understood, but that he wasn't happy about it.

Sam recalled that Dean had gotten pretty badly hurt on that hunt and had spent several days with Sam. Or rather, Sam had spent several days with Dean. In the hospital, handing his older brother water and pills and calling the nurse when Dean told him he wasn't feeling good. John had left on another hunt and promised to be back before Dean got discharged.

In an unfathomable daze – caused probably because he was sleeping – and utterly oblivious to his brother's thoughts, Dean relived the same moments Sam was thinking about. Every single second of them.

Newly 16-year-old Dean had spent his 16th birthday driving… his father to the hospital. At terrible speeds. He'd told John that they shouldn't have gone on that hunt without backup. But John had ordered them to move out, not taking no for an answer.

Dean remembered how panicked Sam had been. He also remembered calming Sam down in the hospital waiting room, promising him they'd be okay and that Dad would be fine, while he had John's blood covering his own hands. He remembered calmly getting up to wash his hands after Sam had stopped hyperventilating though he knew that was just a façade he put up for him; inside, Dean's self-control was crumbling against the shock and fear and repulsion he'd been feeling.

18-year-old Dean had not predicted that this day would go bad. He'd planned for Sam's birthday; gotten him a gift and had promised to take them out for pizza and movies later when they were free. Only, now, Dean couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to not see this coming. 'This' being Sam and John fighting over going hunting. Again.

"It's my birthday! You can handle this hunt alone, why do you need us to come, Dad?" Sam argued, almost yelling.

"You always go into a hunt with backup! I'm taking Dean and I don't see why you should stay home alone."

Dean interrupted before Sam could explode with fury. "Dad," he tried for placating. "You need backup and you got me for that. You might as well leave Sam at home. He could go over to his friend's. I mean, it is his birthday-"

John glared at Dean. "Dean, this is between me and your brother. Don't interfere. Go pack up the weapons and get ready."

Dean swallowed as he looked at the scene in front of him: Sam full of outrage at their father for not letting him have a normal birthday. John filled with righteous anger at his son not understanding the reason they hunted and seemingly not caring about saving lives. Dean knew he'd failed in keeping the promise he'd made to his mother soon after her death: he'd keep her family together and look after them now that she wasn't here to do it herself. He knew that if he continued trying, he'd get the brunt of a lot of negativity and anger and that he'd be fighting a losing battle.

He continued anyway out of love and because of the minute flame of hope in him.

Looking back on it, Dean realized it was just one of the many fights in which he'd been on Sam's side. Actually, really looking back on it, and on all the fights Sam had had with their father, Dean understood properly for the first time in his life: he'd always been on Sam's side.

21-year-old Dean looked a lot older than his twenty one years. And he looked really hurt. John had just forbidden him from going to the bar to celebrate his birthday. When he was questioned by Sam on why, angry on his brother's behalf, ignoring Dean's quiet plea to let it go, John replied that Dean had gotten hurt when he had told him to be careful on their last hunt and had inconvenienced him. This prohibition was punishment. Dean looked like his heart was breaking when he heard the reason, but he didn't protest. He just quietly mumbled something about his injuries hurting and feeling tired and walked to his room, the door closing just as Sam started yelling at John.

Dean had honestly been wounded by what John had said that day. By 'inconvenienced' John had meant that he'd been unable to hunt and had to look after Dean for a long while because Dean'd been pretty banged up.

Dean'd gotten hurt because he'd taken a hit intended for his father. John hadn't noticed – that was the reason why Dean had had to take that hit in the first place – that he'd been in danger and therefore had just presumed Dean had become cocksure and careless and punished him. Dean hadn't known that John had never noticed Dean was defending him when he got hurt. He thought John was punishing him for caring too much. And Dean just told himself that he couldn't change – he wouldn't change, he didn't care what John said in regards to that particular trait Dean had – simply because it enabled him to look out for his family. He refused to stay home after that incident, regardless of the severity of whatever injury disabled him at the time. Years later, Sam had told him the reason John had yelled at Dean: he'd been frustrated with Sam because of the fight they had had earlier that day and Dean had been a convenient outlet. John had apologized, but it hadn't mattered, not to Dean, who'd thought he'd been chastised for not wanting his family hurt.

In all his memories, Dean noticed that John had a specific tone he used to make Dean obey him, one, he vaguely realized – he was still dazed – similar to the tone Sam had used. The one major difference being that Sam had used the tone for Dean's own profit, rather than to ensure that his order was being followed to the letter.

With that, Dean's mind seemed satisfied and rubbed itself clear of any thought, allowing the man to drift off.

Sam realized that the tone John had used on Dean to make him obey his order without question or hesitation had been so deeply ingrained in Dean that he still listened to it. And that made Sam's eyes prickle his chest tighten.

Suddenly, Sam felt a hand carding through his hair, soothing him; Dean sleepily running his hand through Sam's hair in a gesture that had comforted him as a kid – and still did now – to ease the discomfort and upset he felt rolling off his little brother even through layers of exhaustion and sleep. A lump rose in Sam's throat.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding sleepy and (though Sam would rather die than admit out loud) cute and adorably confused.

"It's nothing, Dean, go back to sleep," Sam answered after covertly clearing his throat, thankful that Dean in his sleep, relaxing after being so afraid and stressed wouldn't be able to pick up on the fact that Sam was evading the question.

"You sure, Sammy?" he urged, worried and concerned, sleep and fatigue making him unaware that he was evincing emotion. Apparently sleep also put a damper on Dean's mask.

Sam's throat tightened further. "Yeah, Dean," he replied hoarsely. "Go back to sleep."

Dean hummed and obeyed yet another order, sleep claiming him easily. Sam's eyes prickled even more as he glanced at the sleeping form of his brother, Dean's face free of all the worry that clouded it daily and Sam smiled softly, sadly, feeling the immense love he'd always felt for him and promised Dean something, not knowing that Dean had done a similar thing all those long years ago to their mother: 'You'll never have to go through something like this, Dean. I swear.'

END

Author's note: So… that turned into more John bashing then I'd thought. I really don't hate him that much, I promise. This just came out weird, took a compete life of its own. To all you John-lovers, I'm sorry, I really don't hate him. To all you John-haters, he really isn't that bad and congrats! I have a story for you! I hope you liked it and I would really appreciate it if you'd take the time to leave a review.

Update: Right. Uh, I don't know if any of you noticed – I certainly hadn't until someone pointed it out – but this one had a huge point of view issue that should have been stupidly obvious to a person who reads as many fanfics as I do. But as I didn't and it took a person reviewing to make me realize, I'd like to thank Swellison immensely for: one, taking the time to read. Two, taking the time to review. And three, for taking the time to explain the issue and giving me tips to rectify the mistake. So thank you. A lot. I admit, when I finally understood where I'd gone wrong, I felt like a total idiot. I'm not sure how the story's flow is now, so I'd be extremely if you could review or PM me and tell me.

I'd also like to thank all of you who've favorited and reviewed the story. Just 'cause I feel like it. Thanks.