Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, I dont own, so dont sue.

Warnings: none.

A/N: You know reviews are very helpful...(hint hint!)

And A massive thank you and hugs to Courtney who read and beta'd this!

A Few Home Truths

Dean gazed up at the door as Sam walked through. He frowned as his dad- John- followed. Another argument Dean thought as Sam flashed him a don't even say it look. John looked at both boys and smiled as he flopped down on to one of the beds in the room, instantly passing out. Dean wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing; he honestly couldn't be bothered with another Sam/John argument but he also knew that he would have to either share a bed with Sam or sleep on the floor. Again. He looked at his drunken father on the bed then looked at his younger brother.

Sam gazed absently at the wall above Dean's head, then at Dean sitting on the chair and sighed. He slowly crossed the room and sat heavily on the other chair next to his clearly pissed off brother, he caught a glimpse of Dean's hazel/green eyes and smiled slightly.

Dean looked tired, not just tired as in sleepy but also fed up. Dean was a player in all aspects of the word- drink, girls, pool and god knows what else- but he hadn't been out for almost two weeks. Well, he had been out doing research and the like; but as for John, to say he drank too much was like saying Hitler was a fair dictator.

John had been out every night and sometimes every day for the past few months leaving the boys to protect themselves and him. Okay, so they were grown men- Sam was twenty two and Dean was twenty six- but sometimes they wanted to go out and have fun. Well, Dean did anyway. Sam looked at his brother again, and this time Dean looked back at him.

"You can go out if you want tonight," Sam said finally to him as he watched his brother carefully flick through their Dad's journal for the millionth time.

Dean stopped at that statement and looked at his little brother. He thought about it, he really did, he was about to grab his jacket when John groaned and rolled over hitting the floor, still however in a deep drunken sleep. The look in his hazel/green eyes hardened for a moment then softened again.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, "I'd rather sit here and knit you a woolly jumper," he finished, his usual cocky grin appearing on his unshaven and exhausted looking face. Sam laughed as he pushed his too-long hair out of his face; Dean laughed too.

Suddenly John awoke. Jesus Dean thought, there was going to be a fight after all but he was too tired to be bothered, in the back of Dean's mind he knew that things were going to turn nasty. Really nasty.

It had been about twenty minutes and John had hardly spoken, but he cradled the cup of coffee that his eldest son had put in to his shaky hands and walked back to the table, leaning against it. Sam had walked into the bathroom and slammed the door closed just to spite John. Dean had flinched as the door slammed shut and held his head in his own shaking hands.

Dean had to admit, at least to himself, that two or three hours of sleep per night for a few months wasn't good for anyone; he was exhausted. He looked at his dad sitting on the bed and sighed, walking towards the other bed in the room.

The bathroom door opened.

Shit the little voice inDean's head screamed, shit, shit, shit! Sam walked out and mumbled something about Dean always sleeping on the floor and not being able to have any girls over. Dean tried to flash his brother a shut up look but it was too late; the cup John had been holding had just missed Sam's right ear and Sam was ready to pounce.

Dean didn't need this. His whole body ached, he wanted to heave but there was no way he would ever tell this to the two most important people in his life, he would die rather than show them any pain, any weakness. Sam leapt forward but so did Dean surprising himself with his strength and speed as he pushed Sam back into the bathroom and shut the door bracing it closed with a chair.

He looked at John and sighed, leaning against the closest wall and slowly sliding down as his 'little' brother (Sam was 6'4" and not the weakest of guys) tried to rip the door off its hinges. Dean banged on the door and Sam started to shout abuse at the door that was just preventing him from killing his father and John yelled things back worse things. Dean drew his knees to his chest, he could stop them from ripping each other apart physically but verbally he didn't have a hope in hell, he wasn't superman- although that blonde in that bar in Peoria thought he was.

Sam was yelling at John for ruining his life and that they were dragged up not brought up like other people, normal people, but when John yelled back his reply it felt like a sucker punch to Dean and Sam fell silent. Dean slowly got up and John yelled that Sam had shut up now, hadn't he. Dean landed a blow on John and knocked him to the ground. However it was when John saw a scared look in Dean's eyes for the first time in a long time, that he knew he had gone too far.

Dean pulled the chair away from the door and slowly opened it. Sam was perched on the side of the bath, tears shone in his blue eyes; Dean wanted to cry for his brother. He locked the door then sat on the bath next to his little brother, placing a protective arm around Sam's shoulders like he had done for the past twenty odd years.

Sam turned and looked at his brother, he felt numb but as soon as Dean pulled him a little closer he felt comforted. He buried his head into the crook of his brothers' neck, and Dean brought his other arm up and gently placed it near the bottom of Sam's back.

"It's okay," he soothed, stroking the bottom of Sam's hair like he used to when he climbed into his crib each night to protect him, "It's not your fault," he whispered into Sam's hair, "None of this mess is. You never caused mums death, or Jess'" he whispered again.

Sam pulled his head back and Dean looked down, "I was six months old when mum died Dean, she died in my nursery, pinned to the ceiling," he argued.

"What, were you six months old when the thing killed Jess, and did she die in your nursery too, pinned to the ceiling?" Dean said in a low voice. Sam looked hurt, and Dean let out a breath and brought a hand up to wipe the tears from his brothers' cheek, "It didn't sound like that in my head," he mumbled.

Sam chuckled slightly, "You didn't say it in your head, Dean, that's why it didn't sound like that," he smirked, acknowledging the fact that his brother was the 'act first think about it later only if necessary' type.

"Look, what I meant was that it wasn't your fault because if you think about it- I mean really think about it- I've always been there when people are killed by that thing. So either it's not just you, it's me; or just timing," Dean said defiantly.

Sam thought about it. Dean was in Palo Alto when Jess died, and being four was obviously there when Mary died. That was the moment Sam Winchester realized that maybe this whole thing wasn't his fault; maybe Dean was right, maybe he was in just the wrong place at the wrong time. But there was one thing he knew for sure, his big brother- no matter how big a jerk he was- would always be there to protect him. He smiled at Dean and whispered, "This chick flick thing is killing you, maybe we should stop."

Dean shook his head, "Once- and I mean this just this once- I feel okay with it," he said with a cocky smile on his face. Both boys laughed, and as Dean turned the lock opening the door, his face went white with the sight that greeted him as the door opened.