A/N: A short fic about the saddest aspect of episode 5.12, "Swap Meat," which my family and I love most ardently.

On Their Minds

Sam shifted in his seat, still excited to be back in his own skin even though the body-snatching incident was behind them by a few days. It was just nice to be able to move his arms and feel the strength there, to breathe without having his lungs warn of potential crises, to be above everyone else's eye-level when standing. Before this, he'd even forgotten how happy he'd been when he'd gotten over his adolescent acne; now, that was something he wouldn't likely forget again.

Luckily (for both Sam and the teen witch), Gary hadn't done much damage during his stay--aside from a few questionable bruises and what Sam could have sworn was a bite mark. Then again, Sam didn't know all the facts, and the thought of what the frustrated virgin could have done was enough to--

"You okay?" Dean questioned, noticing Sam's shudder as they drove past yet another field and a trio of cows.

"Huh?" Sam glanced over with half a grimace. "Oh. Yeah. Just thinking."

Dean grunted apathetically in response and glued his gaze to the road, evidently not interested in hearing about Sammy's woe of the day. The sheer rudeness of this sent Sam's brain off in an entirely new direction. After all, the whole thing had been Dean's fault. Honestly, what kind of brother didn't realize he was hanging out with a fake sibling for hours?

There was no kind answer, so Sam posed the obvious question.

---

"Dean, I've been wondering . . . all that time you were with my body, how'd you manage not to realize I wasn't me?"

"I dunno." Dean answered with intentional vagueness, promptly irritated that Sam was pegging him for the "Gary took mah body!" episode.

"You were with him for, like, a whole day, and you didn't once think--? Did you even notice I was different?"

Dean gritted his teeth. If he had more than a GED, he could probably write a series of novels on the things Sam was too bullheaded to realize about his older brother, one of which was his acute awareness of everything Sam. Ever since Ruby, Dean wasn't about to let the kid lie to him again or play him for a fool; every inconsistency went right to his mental alert centers and sent out troops of suspicion.

But, jeez, the one time Sam had acted any differently than was relatively normal since freeing Lucifer, Dean hadn't been able to fault him for doing so. He had seemed so much happier.

In the comforting shape of Sam, Gary had given Dean hope, because whether or not Sam would admit it, the nerdy Satanist was the spitting image of his past. He was smart, rebellious, flawed, and so, so worshipping of the character Dean played when he wasn't busy toiling inside his head.

Against his will, Dean missed his little brother, and Gary had offered a replacement. How was Dean supposed to tell Sam he'd overlooked such sudden changes because it was easier to believe Sammy--his Sammy--was back?

"Uh, Dean?"

Even if he wanted to lay his feelings on the table like that, he didn't have the words, so Dean lied.

"Sure I noticed, Sam, but it's not like we've been real close lately. We don't know each other like we used to."

"Oh." Sam sounded surprised by Dean's curt tone and scooted unconsciously closer to the door, as if cringing away from a blow.

Dean refused to look over.

---

Days later, after taking out a particularly harmless and clueless pair of demons in Oklahoma, the Winchesters found themselves back in the Impala, and Dean was still mulling over his Gary complex with the radio playing on medium-low volume, Sam snoozing at his right.

It wasn't that Dean wanted all of that pubescent boy back in his life; it was just the dynamic. The big brother-little brother dichotomy was what he longed for, including all that open admiration and companionship.

Of course, when he thought about it like that, he remembered exactly what had tipped him off about the imposter in the first place, the simple statement that even Dean's denial couldn't pretend was Sam's secret belief.

When it came right down to it, Dean was not a good guy.

He'd killed people.

He'd tortured souls.

He'd probably do it all over again if he knew the angels would pull him out of Hell and take him back to Sam.

Still, it nagged at Dean endlessly, the possibility that Sam might see something in him that wasn't all bad, so Dean casually brought it up over diner food the next morning.

---

"Hey, Sam, do you . . . Do ya think I'm a good guy?" Dean questioned from behind a forkful of pancakes.

Sam snorted into his hash browns without thinking. "What?" he asked through a disbelieving grin.

Dean tensed visibly. "Uh, nothing. Forget it." He shoved the utensil into his mouth and stared anywhere but at Sam.

"Wait." Sam was often surprised by how great an actor Dean imagined himself to be, and sure, he wasn't terrible; but he wasn't good, either. Sam could see straight into the pain etched behind his mask. "Dean, you're serious?"

"Nope," Dean snapped around his maple-flavored bite.

"I didn't mean . . ." More than anything, Sam wanted to turn back time just a couple minutes; he didn't really think it was so much to ask if it would get that sunken look off Dean's face.

Dean swallowed thickly and watched his plate. "Don't worry about it."

Sam wanted to reach across the table and give Dean a very manly hug, to kick some sense into himself, to just force out the declaration, "You are a good guy."

But even though he loved his brother dearly, forgiving him his part in the Apocalypse meant forgiving himself, too, and he really couldn't do that, not even in words.

If Sam was going to keep on hating himself, they could be, neither of them, worthy of the label "good."

So, Sam kept that potential lie tucked away.

"Really, man. I was just messing around," he assured cautiously.

Jaw tight, Dean nodded his head, forcing his eyes up toward Sam's. "Yup." His defensive smirk wavered only a little as he agreed, "Me, too."