Title: Primrose Paths

Summary: 'You know in almost two years I've never bothered you. Never asked you for a thing.' Elements conspire to bring the boys back together again. Preseries.

A/N: This is just your standard issue 2 year interlude explanation. Its my longest story yet, definetly doesnt mean its my best, but I am kind of proud I could write so much :). I have to give a double thanks to Dana. Cause she did an awesome job of betaing for this story and my last story, and i forgot to thanks in my last story so dank u wel times two hun! She probably wouldnt want to be associated with that last one though, it wasnt very good. Haha. Ok so this note is about double the length of my story so im gonna stop now. I hope you guys enjoy the story. Please do the read and review dance. Thanks!

But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whiles, like a puff' d and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And reaks not his own rede.

Flakes of dirt cascaded out of Dean's hair as he raised his hand to take another shot of whiskey. The harsh liquid burned his throat as it trailed down his esophagus but this was the most alive he felt in weeks, months.

"Here Dean," his father offered him a beer and rejoined him in the secluded booth.

"Now, what was I saying?" John smiled lazily as he sipped his own sudsy brew.

"You and Mom had just flipped your kayaks."

"Oh, right right… well…" and his story continued, his voice booming jovially in the overstuffed bar.

Dean learned something tonight. It wasn't the fact that demons leave behind sulfur trails, or to always have your spare clips ready; his father was hilarious.

Dean laughed as his father depicted him and his wife bobbing in the water, going through the rapids, and then snorted as his father sang crude marine cadence. Sometimes Dean forgot that his father lived a childhood, got caught stealing a car, snuck out of his parents' house, wooed a woman, married her, loved her… sometimes it was hard to remember that his father was anything but a soldier on a mission, a commander of a battalion waging a deadly war. He forgot that behind it all he was a broken man. Dean sat back and chuckled at another anecdote, and grew a deeper respect for this man; felt the blood lines run thicker through his veins. Tonight, they were more than just family, they were two men drinking some cold ones after a long day, they were friends.

"Dean, I'm damn proud of you tonight. You really pulled through and saved both our asses back there." John slurred a bit.

"Even if you did have to play in the mud to do it," he chuckled leaning forward to rustle his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean felt some flakes fall into his eyes but all he could do was laugh.

"Thanks, Dad." He grinned.

John sat back and quietly drank his beer for a moment, taking in the dingy decor of the backwater bar, finally he stated, "I got a hunt to do in Mississippi, I'm gonna do this one alone, but I need you to take that rattler of yours to Bobby's and straighten some of the kinks out of it… this last hunt was a little rough on your baby, wouldn't you say?" John said, sobering up slightly, his voice taking on its normal gruff tone.

"Yea, you're right." And again they were just father and son.

John stood up, swaying a little. "I'm gonna turn in. You come back to the room when you're ready, Son."

With one final pat on the back, he turned and was lost in the sea of people.

Slowly, Dean crept up the winding dirt road to the one place that had felt remotely like a home to him since that night so many years ago. Even before the house came into view, he spotted single cars littered along the side of the road. Finally, the gray shingles peaked over the trees and he heaved a sigh of relief, comforted at the sight of something so warm, something so familiar.

Dean had barely crested over the last bump, when Bobby hastily appeared on the porch.

As he struggled to find a place to park the battered Impala amongst the car graveyard, Dean noted the newly added cars and grinned to himself as he thought, Bobby must have had a plentiful harvest this past fall. Dean finally parked his baby next to an obliterated sky blue Ford Taurus and a Buick Century which had one whole smashed in side. Ahh yes, it's good to be home.

Dean popped his trunk to get out his gear and then winced as the hinges begged for WD40. Grabbing his gear he turned to meet Bobby who was still guarding the porch as if Dean was an intruder.

"Bobby… It's just me, Dean," he called as he picked his way precariously over the various car parts that littered the yard.

"I know who you are, boy. What do you think you're doing showing up unannounced?" Dean picked up on Bobby's usual irritation, but this time it was off… something was wrong here.

As Dean made his way, he hoped he unnoticeably fingered his pistol that was located in his waistband attempting to make it look like he was scratching his hip.

"Bobby, when have I ever showed up announced?" Dean casually asked. Choosing his next words carefully, he questioned, "You. Uh. Good here?"

"Boy, get your finger off your trigger, it ain't like that. Get up here."

Dean sighed in relief and stood down… Now there is the Bobby I know. Dean took the steps two at a time, and found himself face to face with the older brooding hunter. He grinned down at Bobby, dropped his sack, and gave him what Dean liked to call a "man hug." Shake --Chest Bump -- Back Pat. Who said hugging had to be a chic's thing?

"It's good to see you, son." Bobby grinned back.

Dean leaned down, picked up his pack, and slowly turned to make his way inside Bobby's house. Bobby had planted himself in front of the door looking at the ground as if dumbfounded at what to say.

"Seriously, Bobby, what the hell is going on?" Dean lowered his voice a few notches "Is everything alright?" And then he mouthed. Do you need help?

"Dean…I… uh…Dean." Bobby finally made eye contact with him. "Your brother is in there."

Dean took a step back, and by reflex his eyes shot up to the door. "Sam?" he exclaimed.

Dean's memories swirled back to the last time he saw Sam. Eighteen. Defiant.

He sat on his bed as Sam rushed around their room hastily throwing a pack together.

"I just cannot believe, he would… doesn't he… he never… Ughhh" Sam stumbled over incoherent thoughts as he threw his trainers into his bag.

Dean tossed Sam's deodorant on his bed, and finally Sam stopped ranting for a second. Slowly, he looked up from the stick to his brother's face. "Thanks, man." He smiled sheepishly.

"Don't go, Sam." Dean pleaded his voice breaking more than he wanted it to with the strain of unshed tears.

"Dean, I have to do this. You know that. I never thought… I knew Dad would be mad but I didn't think he would disown me." Sam laughed humorlessly. "This is my only opportunity to get away, to do something more with my life and I'm taking it. I never thought I would have to decide between my future and my family."

"So you are choosing this over us?" Dean spat out.

"We need you so much more, man." His voice softened a little.

Sam grabbed his dictionary off his shelf, and finally zipped up his bag. He looked at Dean determination in his eyes. "This isn't goodbye, Dean." And with one fluid motion he was out the door.

Dean lay down on his bed listening to the receding footsteps of his little brother as he made his way down the stairs. He heard the creak of the door, and their father's final sentiments, "Samuel, go out that door and you can never come back." One final slam of the door and Dean's family was shattered in two, and tears slowly leaked out his eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about, Bobby? He's at Stanford."

"It's the middle of July, idgit… He's on summer break. What, you think he stays on that damn campus all year round?"

He had spent two Christmases without Sam, and on those days he imagined Sam at his roommate's house shyly sitting in the corner wearing a grotesque hand-knit sweater that his friend's mother gave him while his roommate bragged about him the genius he was.

He imagined Sam at Thanksgiving breaking the wishbone with his friend's little sister but being gentle so that she got the bigger half.

He pictured Sam at St. Patrick's Day experiencing his first green beer, and the perilous after effects on ones urine.

Summer though, it had been hard to picture Sam in summer. Summer had always been their time. Yeah, they managed through holidays together, but summer was when they got to find creeks to swim in, and drive with the windows down, and as kids write their names on the sidewalk with lightning bugs. The warm months were when Dean missed Sam most. So he liked to imagine Sam during these months in the library, preparing for the next semester, just being his Sam. Imagining Sam doing much else just added to the ache.

"I guess, I never really thought about what he was doing." Dean lied.

"I'm sure."

Dean nearly took a step into the house but then stopped himself. What do I say to him? Fear, hurt, and a twinge of excitement filled him. He attempted to sidestep Bobby, but again was blocked.

"Dean… I ain't gonna lie to ya," Bobby started slowly. "Sam and I went on a hunt almost a week back, and well…he didn't fair too well."

This day just keeps getting better, Dean thought to himself.

Bobby's eyes wandered to the forlorn car graveyard. "Damn, trixy shapeshifter got the best of both of us."

"How… how is he?" Dean blurted out gruffly, concern now outweighing all the other emotions flitting through him.

"He's a Winchester, so you know he'll mend, but he's definitely seen better days. Damn fool saved my life. I dunno what they are teaching those kids at them Ivy League schools, but I'm guessing it ain't common sense."

Dean smiled grimly at that. Self sacrifice was nothing he learned at Stanford, Sam picked that up homeschool style.

Bobby finally moved out of the door frame and raised his arm in a welcoming gesture.

"What? No other brothers of mine you have to confess you're stowing away?" Dean joked, hefting his bag a little farther up his shoulder.

"Ha. The world couldn't handle the ghoulish nightmare of having another Winchester boy in existence." Bobby chortled and patted Dean's shoulder as he passed.

Dean turned to head up the stairs, but redirected quickly into the kitchen thinking maybe a few more moments to gather his thoughts would be good before he saw his brother. As he tossed his duffle on the kitchen floor his eyes wandered to Bobby's living room and there on the couch was Sam.

As if reading his thoughts Bobby stated. "He is too long for those beds of yours… only fits on the sofa now."

He was lying prone on the couch, face turned away and nestled into the cushions. Sam's hair was considerably longer than the last time he had seen him. It was just a little past his ears, drastically different from the clipped looked their father liked them to keep, just another way for Sam to spit in the face of his previous military lifestyle. From here he could see Sam's left arm propped up on a pillow, casted in pristine white plaster and an IV snaked out from the back of his hand attached to a bag full of transparent yellow liquid. Dean's eyes traveled down his body and saw Sam was covered in several thick blankets, but the toes of his right foot were sticking out, and Dean noted the beginnings of an ACE® bandage wrapped around his foot.

Sam shifted and turned to face Dean. He took a step back, still at a loss of what to say to his younger brother, but when he realized Sam was still asleep he took in the image of his sibling.

Sam was thinner; his skin had a slight drawn look over his cheek bones. He had dark puffy circles under his eyes, a slight yellowish cast to his skin, and several long gashes mottled his forehead and cheeks.

Looks like a freaking banana, Dean thought.

Dean wandered back into the kitchen to where Bobby was measuring out coffee grounds onto a filter.

"You got something a little stronger than coffee, Bobby?" Dean laughed humorlessly.

"He looks a lot worse off than he really is, Son, don't worry."

"He doesn't even look like he should be out of the hospital yet." Dean plunked himself on a counter stool and scrubbed his hands over his face anxiously.

"Well, Sam somehow got wind that the doctors suspected his insurance was faulty so we high tailed it out of there." Bobby flipped the coffee maker on and turned to face Dean.

"What happened to you guys?" Dean asked, glancing back to his brother, not even sure if he really wanted to know.

Bobby leaned over the counter fiddling with the bill of his baseball cap. "Caleb had been researching several cases, and figured out the possible location of a shapeshifter. Cal got a lead on a different case in Georgia so he asked if we could take care of it."

"The thing was holed up in an abandoned mine, I guess it liked the cool, wet atmosphere. Anyway, we tracked it down… well, it tracked us down. We went in there blind not knowing at all where the thing was located. It was supposed to be a preliminary once over, the damn thing wasn't even supposed to be in there." Bobby leaned farther on the counter and finally met Dean's eyes.

"It was so dark and echoee in that place, you couldn't tell what was what," Bobby confessed.

"Somehow we got split up and next thing I know I'm cornered by the thing with a shotgun trained on me. Just as I hear the click of the shotgun, Sam comes and tackles him. I could feel the heat from the burning gunpowder it was so close." Bobby muttered and closed his eyes while shaking his head.

"Sam and the 'shifter toppled into a mine shaft. I thought… I thought he was dead." Bobby's voice broke and he turned to retrieve to mugs out of the cabinet. He solemnly poured the coffee, and slid a cup towards Dean.

"The shifter was killed by the fall, one of the pieces of wood that they had broken through had impaled him or something, I don't really know. I didn't take the time to look, quickest salt n' burn I think I've ever done." Dean smiled at that.

"Got the kid to the hospital as quick as I could, he had some broken bones, and internal bleeding and his liver was tore up. Well, I'm guessing you could probably tell that from the jaundiced look he's sporting." Bobby nodded to the couch where Sam still lay dead to the world.

"He's gonna be fine though, he has been awake and coherent a bit. The kid always looks worse when he's knocked out like that."

Dean had to agree. When Sam slept he looked 13 years younger, making the shallow cuts and bruising look all the more wrong on his sallow face. Dean also knew that Bobby had been glossing over the injuries, but truthfully Dean didn't want to know the extent of the damage. As long as Sam would mend nothing else really mattered. What was another scar to add to the innumerable list?

"Since you're here I'm gonna go take a shower." For the first time, Dean fully took in Bobby's appearance. He could see the weariness in his eyes and Bobby's shirt had some stains that looked suspiciously like chef-boy-ardee ravioli squares.

Bobby placed his empty mug in the sink and shrugged "I didn't want to leave him alone for too long."

Bobby trudged up the stairs, leaving Dean alone with only his coffee to comfort him. He looked around the kitchen hearing only the ticking of the clock and the whirl of the laundry machine. Finally, his eyes drifted back to his brother. Dean reluctantly padded his way across the kitchen floor into the living room, and scooted a chair next to his brother's "hospital" bed.

Sam began to stir shifting uncomfortably on the couch, and barely whispered, "Jess?"

Dean slid his chair back further. Jess? Who the hell was Jess?

While Dean had imagined his brother prospering in all aspects of school, being invited home with his roommate for Christmas, binge drinking on St. Patrick's Day, going to Easter Sunday service with his Christian friend, there was another life Dean had imagined for Sam…

Sam alone studying, too busy to socialize with anyone. Sam going to Denny's for Thanksgiving. Sam in his dorm room over Christmas break watching A Christmas Story three times in a row while getting sick on eggnog. Sam mid-July drinking milkshakes in a diner alone…

Dean would usually imagine Sam celebrating the same way he was, making the holidays feel less alone, making even the normal days seem not so dreary. Dean had always said he wanted the best for Sam, no matter what. But he knew that he selfishly still wanted to be the only one Sam came to when he did well in a class, or the person he wanted to experience green beer with, or who Sam asked for upon waking from unconsciousness.

Dean shifted back even farther. He couldn't do this. What would he say to his little brother… the man he didn't even really know anymore? Sam had made new friends, experienced new things, changed, and grown in ways Dean wouldn't understand.

Dean hastily got up out of the chair and headed into the kitchen to grab his pack off the floor, but next to the phone he spotted a pad of paper and a Sharpie. He slowly picked up the paper and began to scrawl out a note, shame filling him with every word he wrote. As he looked at the chicken scratch letter he balled it up and shoved it into his bag. "Chick flick,"Dean muttered to himself.

He looked at the now blank parchment and slowly twirled the Sharpie in his hand. Grinning, he threw the pad down and headed back over to his still stirring brother. Carefully shifting the casted arm, he neatly vandalized the snowy plaster with DEAN WAS HERE.

Sam stirred more, and Dean hastily recapped the marker, tossed it on the counter and hoisted his bag onto his arm. Without a backwards glance he strode out of the kitchen and as he opened the front door he heard a questioning, "Dean?" from the living room.

As he heard the familiar voice, his eyes pricked with tears and he began to close the front door when he noticed a pale figure hobble down the hallway.

"Dean!" Sam gasped. "What are you doi…. Don't go?" Sam begged eyes full of questions.

Blood slowly dripped from Sam's arm where he ripped the IV out of his hand and he still shone a yellow hue, but Bobby was right he looked a thousand times better upright and lucid.

"Sam… I… This isn't goodbye," Dean resolutely stated and grabbed Sam by the nape of his neck pulling him in for a soft hug.

Before Sam could even respond, Dean turned and gently clicked the door closed behind him. Taking a deep breath, he readjusted his pack on his shoulder and headed down the porch steps.

When he reached the safety of the Impala, he let a few tears escape and felt them drip off the end of his nose. Slowly he backed his baby out and turned to head back down the dirt road. He glanced in his rear view mirror for one last time but all he could make out through the dust was the top lining of gray shingles.

"This isn't goodbye,"Dean whispered, wiping the last tear off his cheek. And he pressed on, dust following in his wake.

-Fin-