Thanks again to my beta buttercupgalaxy for helping me with my mistakes.

This one is (again) for my sis. Why? Well because :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the appearing characters.

Drifting Apart

Dean was sleeping.

And when Dean was sleeping it left Sam… alone, thinking about things he'd rather not, and watching the man that was once his everything, his life; but who had now become almost a stranger.

It was odd.

Odd how different Dean would look when he laid there, on his side, one hand stuffed under the pillow the other one hanging slightly over the edge of the dingy motel bed. It was a crappy motel, Sam had to admit that. With hideous wallpaper, sheets that reeked of cheap detergent and something else Sam couldn't yet decipher though he didn't think he wanted to either. But still… it was better than the car where they had spent the last few nights. And, damn it, it had taken a real argument to get Dean to spend money on real beds for once. Beds… Sam had missed beds.

And Dean obviously, too, because for once he seemed sound asleep and not passed out from exhaustion. Because Sam could actually distinguish the difference. And he knew, too, when his brother was faking sleep and when he wasn't. He would notice the faint signs of waking as well… the light flutter of Dean's lashes, the unconscious movement... right before his eyes would open and he would look at his watch and yawn, asking Sam if he had found out anything new about their current hunt and where they were going to have breakfast.

Now, however, even a train wouldn't be able to rouse his brother. And neither would Sam if he wanted, unless he had a bucket of freezing water at hand. Just an imagination of course, nothing he'd actually do. Although when they were kids…

Sam stopped his train of thought before a chuckle could bubble past his lips; he didn't want to go there. Happy memories always made the reality seem so much harsher than it had before. And he didn't want to wake Dean either.

Because it hurt… to see in every look, in every gesture, how far they were drifting apart.

They had changed. Both of them. Hell had worked its ways on Dean… tearing, destroying everything Sam's brother had once been and right now Dean was trying to pick up the pieces. And he himself… well he guessed he had experienced his own kind of hell when Dean died. Even though, he felt somewhat guilty comparing his pain to that which Dean must have felt. Because… damn, what were four months in comparison to all those years? The thought alone made Sam feel nauseous.

And yet again he wondered how Dean could look that way when he slept. So calm… almost peaceful, all these lines of worry and sorrow on his face smoothed out by the sweet relief of slumber. He looked so much younger. A man, who maybe had a wife that loved him and children who he doted on… a man that could be happy. But Sam knew Dean would never be happy, could never be happy. He would never have a loving wife and never have children either.

Because as soon as Dean would wake up the worry lines would return, so would the sorrow in his gaze and the anguish that had been there since he'd come back from hell and because the hand under the pillow that looked oh so relaxed and almost childlike held a knife. The knife had been there some nights in the past, too. But now it was there every night and Sam knew that his brother was scared. He was scared of being sent back to hell, scared of what would happen if they lost this battle and maybe just maybe even a little scared of him, Sam. The thought hurt but Sam knew it was true in a way. He was Demon boy after all. Hell, he was scared of himself as well. Still…

Dean's impression of peace and calm was destroyed immediately when Sam heard a light moan and his brother started tossing around. Another nightmare probably… Sam winced at the pain his brothers face. There was nothing he could do though and he squeezed his eyes shut and gave a tiny sob at every distressed sound that escaped Dean's slightly parted lips. It was wrong… so wrong. The person he had always thought of as the strongest was crumbling before his very eyes. He wanted to go back so badly… back before Dean died, before he died, before Dad died. Everything was fine then. Yeah, their lives were screwed up but it had been better, so much better, than it was now. Because he'd had Dean. And Dean had had him. And now they both were alone… so close, always in reach of one another, but alone.

How he hated being alone.

Dean gave another moan and Sam almost considered waking him up but he decided against it. He shifted in his bed instead so that across the tiny space between their beds his arm would touch Dean's wrist and Dean calmed… almost instantly, feeling the familiar presence.

Not so alone then, he guessed, smiling a little.

Maybe… they could hope after all.

Another good ending... well as good as it can get anyway. As it seems I just can't resist :p

Ah well, the usual kind of stuff now I guess *gg* your reviews are the reason I'm writing, so please, PLEASE, leave a comment on your way out ^^

That was about it :)

Have a nice day... or night... or whatever *gg*
--Tanne