For Your Consideration

By: Maygin

Summary: Sam writes Dean a letter. Dean responds.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters nor am I making any money off of this. …can I go now?

The Blah-blah section: This kinda spilled out on my computer a few days ago while I waited for a tornado to hit… it didn't. I think I realized however just how disturbingly obsessed I am with SN though… my first thought when I heard about the coming tornado was – 'omg, what about all my Supernatural recordings?!' It looks like I'm still stuck on the whole writing to each other deal… hopefully it will pass soon – for your sake anyways. This is a completely separate story from Winchester Apologetics… just in case ya'll were wondering ;) And it's completely raw – so no beta to blame, sorry.

For Your Consideration

Dean lazily strolled into the boys latest abode, kicking the door shut behind him and tossing his keys on the room's one and only table along with a small paper bag full of powdered doughnuts and a bag of M&M's. He tossed his jacket over the small wooden chair next to the table and made a bee-line for the cheapo coffee machine his brother had obviously turned on just before jumping into the shower. He wrinkled his nose realizing he still had another few minutes of waiting until he could actually ingest some of the happy juice as he liked to call it.

"I'm back," he called loudly through the crack in the bathroom door. He smirked as he heard a sudden, squeeky thump followed by a quiet damnit. "Hey – you alright? Need some help in there?" He started to mockingly push the door open.

"NO! No… I'm fine, thanks." Dean snickered quietly before hearing a mumbled, "Jerk."

Dean tilted his head in slight agreement and no shame before moving toward his bed and flopping onto his back; stuffing a few pillows behind his head and reaching for the remote. He shifted up a little against the headboard but paused when he heard a slight crinkling beneath him. He frowned and leaned to the side, reaching beneath his back and pulled out a crisp, white envelope with his name on it. He didn't know why, old habits die hard, but he did a quick sweep of the room with his eyes before opening the envelope and pulling out a regular sheet of paper obviously neatly torn from one of Sam's notebooks. After all, he'd know that handwriting anywhere. He shifted a little higher on the pillows to sit back against the headboard before he started reading.

Hey Stupid,

I know you'd never actually talk to me about this with your extreme adversion to conversing about anything even remotely serious, not to mention your attention span of a four year old; so I'm writing it down in hopes that maybe… just maybe you might hear me out. …I know you don't like talking about Dad, and to be honest, neither do I. But the fact of the matter is it's had some pretty unpleasant effects on us. More importantly, on you.

Now before you go rolling your eyes or crumpling this letter up, please, please, please hear me out. I'm not talking about the whole Gordan escapade; that was an extremely out of whack point in both our lives that I'd just as soon rather forget. Not to mention I pretty much deserved that little 'fist of sunshine' seeing as I've now managed to shoot you not once – but twice.

Which brings me to something else I know you hate talking about. I think it's pretty safe to say the Yellow-Eyed Demon has been making some pretty bold moves forward. It seems like we keep stumbling upon more and more questions and no answers. Not to mention we keep finding others like me that either end up missing or dead – or worse, turned evil. I'm not trying to put a dark cloud over us; it's just that things are escalating, and faster than we can keep up with.

That's why I made you make that promise Dean… because any day now the Demon could make his move. Any minute now I could go darkside and turn on you. You can't deny it anymore; we have no clue as to what's really going on here or what the Demon's capable of. It's a simple fact and a high possibility… and you know it.

And here's where I make my point: you keep telling me you promised you'd save me… and yet you're taking bigger and bigger risks and looking after yourself lesser and lesser. How are you supposed to save me if you're dead? I know you said you'd rather die than kill me (did I mention I'm starting to remember more of Meg's time in me?) …but if you die Dean – I die. Maybe not physically, but I guarantee you mentally, I'd be destroyed… and left wide open for whatever the demon has planned.

I'm not strong like you or Dad. The thing with Jessica? That almost killed me man. The only thing that kept me going then was my anger, no offense. You definitely kept me alive and helped bring me out of it; but at the time anger and revenge was all I could think of. If you were to die… I'd lose the last thing in my life I care about. You'd practically be serving me up on a platter to the bastard… his own personal 'meat puppet'. And Dean - I'd rather die a horrible death a thousand times over than become evil's lap dog.

I'm not saying all this to make you feel guilty or reconsider the promise you made me back in Connecticut… I'm saying this because I need you – like seriously, seriously need you to try and be more careful and mindful of your own self preservation. We don't need to run through the front door every time; you don't have to make every kill; and you don't have to stand between me and danger all the time. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you didn't… kinda makes me feel a little useless and weak if you know what I mean.

Just… don't get yourself killed anytime soon okay? In fact, sometime in your late eighties would be great. Although with your eating habits I'm thinking fifty or sixty is probably a little more realistic. Either way… just try to be a little more careful okay? For me, please?

- Your Obnoxious Little Brother

(P.S. – quit emailing me pictures of girls from Amsterdam!!)

Dean stared at the sheet another minute after he finished re-reading it, before neatly folding up the letter and stuffing it in his back pocket. He checked his watch real quick before yelling, "Hey, you almost done in there Francis?"

"What, and waste all this nice, hot water?" Dean gave a small nod of approval as he rolled off the bed and headed toward the table. "You didn't want to shower did you Dean?"

Dean pursed his lips at his brother's obviously mocking tone. "You're the one that's gotta live with me dude," he called back. A small grin lifted at the corner of his mouth as he heard the younger man's chuckles carry through the shower and steam. He leaned down and pulled his own notebook from his bag and quietly ripped a jagged sheet out that he'd recently doodled on along the corners and then sat down at the table; opening the paper bag and stuffing an entire powdered doughnut into his mouth. He threw a quick glance at the still perculating coffee before finding a pen in his bag and started writing.

Hey Moron,

First off, work on your penmanship… it sucks. Secondly, we're stopping at the next electronics store we pass and buying you some friggin computer games. You have entirely too much 'thinking' time on your hands. …escapade? Aren't those like – girls in tight clothes throwing batons and crap in the air?

By the way, if you think I'm sticking around till I'm 80 you're out of your mind. The first time I can't put out I'm putting a gun to my head. I have my first few grey hairs on my head already thanks to you – ungrateful punk. Hey, I just realized what we could invest in for our 'Future Planning / Retirement Funds' you keep harassing me about… Viagra. Seriously - I mean when is man ever gonna not want sex? Think about it, it's the reason the human race is even still surviving… well, that and us of course. So yeah, put that in your little spreadsheet or whatever… Viagra.

As for the rest of that blah blah blah you wrote, I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request – Ha! Remember? From that Pirate movie we saw? …whatever. Look, I know everything's kinda crazy right now and it doesn't seem like we're getting anywhere; but we have. We know things now we didn't know before. Not only that but we've got people looking out for us now other than just when Dad did. …Ellen and Jo, Ash, Bobby… okay Ash may be a bit of a stretch - but he's got good intel. Give the man a beer and he'd probably kill a nightwalker by gnawing its head off with his teeth! Point is: we're not alone in this. There are a lot of other hunters out there doin the same thing we are and looking for the same evil sons of bitches. …some of em may not like you very much right now, but that's not your fault and Ellen's doin her best to keep that one under the rug.

Dude… you can't just ask me to stop doing what I've been doing… what I've been trained to do for the past twenty-seven years. It's a universal law - I'm the older brother; I look out for the younger brother… it's that simple. So suck it up and deal with it bitch. Savvy? And so help me if that was a tear stain on that letter you wrote – we're gonna have to start medicating you with some serious testosterone drugs.

Oh, and I'm thinking we need to change our code word too since you sort of told Eva what is was before she went missing. I'm thinking… Sam's a pussy. What do you think? Has a nice ring to it, and no one will even think twice about it.

-The Sex God

(P.S. – I'll do my best)

Suddenly the shower shut off. Dean hurriedly grabbed the envelope Sam had neatly presented his letter in and quickly stuffed his inside, crossing his name out on the front and writing Sam's down. He darted across the room and dropped the envelope on his brother's duffle bag and then practically lunged across Sam's bed, and onto his own; grabbing the remote and turning the tv on all in one smooth move.

Sam quietly exited the bathroom, sending a quick, self-conscious glance behind him toward the rooms only other occupant who was currently lounging on his bed, ignoring him. He adjusted his towel and ran a nervous hand through his damp hair before moving toward his duffle bag to grab some clothes. He paused as he noticed the envelope sitting lopsidedly on top. He had a brief moment of fear that maybe this was Dean's way of rejecting the note. But as he timorously turned the envelope in his fingers, he realized Dean had written his name on the front. He resisted the urge to glance behind him; to get an idea from his brother's expression of what would be inside. He wiped a sweaty hand on his towel around his hips before opening the envelope and quietly pulling the slip of paper out.

Dean slyly watched his brother's back from across the room as he read the letter. He glanced back and forth between the tv set and the younger man, looking for some kind of reaction. He smirked as he heard a quiet snort followed by a small shake of his brother's head. The smirk faded the longer he waited though, his foot now bouncing with nervous energy, obstructing his view of the tv. He put on a cool mask of indifference once more however when Sam suddenly folded the letter up in his own way and then slipped it inside a book in his duffle bag.

Sam kept silent as he remained half-kneeled in front of his bag. He pressed his lips together in thought for a moment and then reached back inside the duffle and pulled another clean sheet of paper from a notebook. He scribbled down a quick note and then folded it once, forgoing the envelope and simply writing Dean's name on the outside of the paper. He stood up; made sure he had a good grip on his towel and solemnly walked toward his seemingly ignorant brother, dropping the folded paper on his face, and snagging one of his pillows from beneath Dean's head. He lightly smacked the older man in the face with the soft weapon, hearing the paper crinkle in protest, before silently tossing the pillow back onto his own bed and returning to his duffle bag.

"Dude." Dean frowned in annoyance as he ripped the paper from his face, and half-heartedly flung his arm out at the younger man's retreating back. He sent a hearty glare across the room before roughly unfolding the paper.

Dear Dean,

You're an asshole. Oh, and I think I misplaced your favorite Blue Oyster Cult tape that you made us listen to the entire thirteen hour drive here at the last gas station. Sorry.

-Your Loving Sibling

(P.S. – about the emails? …or everything else?)

Dean cocked an eyebrow, raising his eyes to look at his brother's back as he pulled a shirt over his head. He pursed his lips and tore open the drawer in the nightstand between their beds, pulling out a pen. He raised his leg, bending his knee and used his thigh for a flat surface as he started scribbling beneath Sam's short note.

Across the room, Sam pulled his boxers on before letting out a whimsical sigh and heading toward his bed, flopping down much like his brother had earlier. He shoved his pillow beneath his head and feigned interest in the infomercial with a smirk on his face. He barely had time to blink his eyes closed as a paper plane flying overhead suddenly chose his face as a landing strip. He let out a small grunt of disapproval, clearly hearing Dean's suddenly muffled laughter behind his hand. Pulling the note from his face, he unfolded it and began to read.

Dear Sammy,

I've discovered E-bay. And guess what – there's like a thousand more of where those tapes came from. Thanks for your concern though.

-The Future King of Viagra

(P.S. – the emails will never end… just one more service all of us here at Big Brothers Inc. delight in offering.)

A slow smile warmed Sam's face as he read the deeper meaning the future king of Viagra was communicating in his own, insufferable way. Or rather, what he left unsaid. He glanced over at the future king and let out a small laugh as he caught the tail end of Dean's head whipping around to take particular interest in the infomercial. He laid the note on the bed next to him, out of sight from Dean and then released a relieved sigh, folding his arms back behind his head and sinking into the mattress.

The Winchester brothers silently watched the annoying infomercial for another ten minutes before the coffee machine suddenly beeped and they both raced and fought dirty to get the first cup.

The End.

(Yeah I know – pure mushy. And SHORT pure mushy at that. What is going ON with me lately?? I'm turning into a girl… oh – wait.)