Sam had gone out shopping about fifteen minutes ago. Dean was keeping track. He knew that if he surprised Sam when he got home, Sam would try and cook dinner and they would go on another hunt for a couple of weeks. So Dean hoped that if he cleaned at least the kitchen the bathroom his, Cas', and Sam's room, then there would be a guarantee that they wouldn't have to go on a hunt.
And Dean called that a major win.
So, Dean had cleaned the entirety of the kitchen, all of the bathroom, and made his and Cas' room look at least semi-acceptable. Now, he was standing in the threshold of Sam's room. The door was closed. They had agreed that whenever the other wasn't there or they wanted some privacy, the door was closed. Otherwise, free range around the bunker for all.
He wiggled the doorknob and slid through, noticing how clean the room already was.
The bed was made, the edges of the sheets tucked between the mattress and the bed frame, the pillows stacked perfectly against the wall. The floor was clean, except for a couple of useless socks scrambled across randomly. Everything was perfect, just as it should be.
So, Sam had made it easy on him. Doesn't mean he doesn't have to do it. He quickly closed the door behind him, away from any prying eyes that would try and engage.
Dean grabbed the few socks from the floor and put them in the hamper near the mirror. Then he turned around and examined the room, to see if there really wasn't anything that he would need to do.
He nodded to himself, perfectly okay with his job well done, and turned to leave. But before he could make the move toward the door, he saw a leather-bound book stick its way from between the mattress and bed frame.
Dean knew that this would be a total invasion of privacy, but he couldn't help himself as he moved to sit on the bed and grab for the journal.
It was worn and beaten as if Sam had this for years. He flipped to a random page. There was no date. There was none on any of them, if as Dean flipped through all the pages. Not one date. Simply reflections on some people and aspects of his life that dean had never been smart enough to realize.
He saw random pages about their mom, Maggie, Jack, even Castiel. But as far as dean went, he had never seen one about himself or Sam.
Until he reached the very last entry in the book.
The top of the page was titled Dean. There was no premise, before Sam dove right into his entry.
Dean was kind to me today. Who am I kidding? He was always kind to me. He is always kind to me. Even when I was a snot-nosed kid who rebelled against dad at every left turn. Dean fed me, kept me from dying, suffering from starvation. I just wish that I could be good enough for him.
I knew leaving for Stanford was a good idea. I tried to save Dean and Dad from dealing with my deadbeat ass, but they just kept insisting. Well, Dad didn't. But Dean always did.
I always feel like I'm keeping dean from reaching his full potential. Keeping him from finding a woman that he'll marry and have a few kids with. Keeping him from having a normal family. But it always comes back to the fact that he doesn't want to leave me.
I don't know why.
Dean has so much potential to actually do stuff with his life instead of just staying in a bunker with an angel, a Nephilim, and his deadbeat brother.
I just wish that he would pursue more dreams then just hunting.
Dean couldn't keep reading. He just couldn't. He already knew what Sam was going to continue saying. Sam was going to continue talking about the fact that he wasn't good enough for Dean and that he just deserved t have someone better.
Which was entirely untrue.
He took the journal and left Sam's room, sliding the door closed behind him.
"Dean! I'm home!" Footsteps sounded and clunked down the staircase as Sam made his way into the bunker. He looked around, noticed no one milling, even in the library. Sam set the bags onto one of the library tables.
Footfalls could be heard from behind Sam and before he could do anything, Sam was turned in his spot and wrapped in a hug by his brother. Something hard pressed against his back. Sam quickly pulled away and noticed Dean held Sam's journal in his hands.
"Dean, where did you get that?"
Dean raised his head and held the book out to him. Sam snatched it from his hands and set it on the table behind him.
"I was cleaning everyone's room and I saw that sticking out from your covers. I didn't think it was anything, but I read my-"
Sam cut him off with a scoff and a shake of his head.
"You read my journal?" Sam whispered.
Dean shrugged and nodded. "I'm sorry, Sam. But I really appreciate what you said."
"I get it. Just don't read my stuff again." Sam tugged Dean into a hug.
Dean pulled away from the hug and kept Sam at arm's length before saying, "Sam, I want you to know, even though I don't say it enough, that I- I love you, and you are the greatest brother that I could have ever asked for."