D/C: I own nothing. However, if anyone is under the illusion that I'm making money from this (and/ or am trying to claim I own these characters) and fancies suing me, I can assure you I'm as poor monetarily as I am at removing all British-isms from my US TV fics. (i.e. VERY poor!)

A/N: Supernatural has truly stoked the fic-writing fire in me. It's probably the strong characters, and beautifully crafted story lines (particularly the Kripke era) but it might be that there are so many untold stories in the Winchester's lives.

This is set weeks/ months before Sam goes to Stamford. Hope you enjoy.

'Sam, get your gun. We're going hunting.'

'Can't.'

Dean could already feel the argument brewing. It was getting boring now, a feeble kind of predictable. John would announce a hunt. Sam would refuse. They'd argue until nobody got their way, and Dean would find himself stuck in the middle of another boxing match of wills.

Whilst Dean couldn't understand his brother's reluctance to hunt, he'd long since given up fighting him on the topic. John had not. Even now, their father was limbering up for the latest mud-slinging showdown. He gritted his teeth and snarled with all the determination of a vengeful spirit.

'This isn't a discussion Sam. You get up from that desk, get your head out of that damned book, and get your gun.'

'I. Can't,' Sam replied, with equal determination. 'It's my algebra final tomorrow. I can't fail.'

'Algebra. You're great with numbers, Sam. You don't need to revise.'

Sam shot their father a look that suggested he didn't agree.

'Fine,' John scorned. 'I'll happily let you stay here and read your numbers.'

'You will?'

The brief flash of hope in Sam's eyes, pulled at Dean's stomach. just as soon as you convince me that an A in math is more important than a human's life.'

'Who said that it was?' Sam yelled, standing abruptly from his chair and sending it flying backwards. He wasn't the midget of the family. He towered over their father, and was as muscled and strong as any hunter. He was force to be reckoned with, and he clearly wasn't frightened of John anymore. He hadn't been for a long time.

'You know your problem, Sam, you're selfish!'

'No, you are! You'd rather take your son as back up on a "D grade" wendigo hunt than let him actually pass his exams. What are you afraid of, dad? Worried I'll run off to college? Worried I might actually do something with my life instead of following your stomping bootprints into this crappy so-called family business?'

'It's not so bad, is it?' Dean tried to reason, but both just glared at him. He quickly shut his mouth. These fights were becoming more and more frequent. The insults were becoming more and more brutal. The words were becoming harder to take back. And there was nothing Dean could do about it.

'You know what,' Sam said, glaring at their dad with the expression of a man who was about to utter one of those unretractable phrases, 'I'd rather die than end up a sad, lonely loser like you.'

'Come on, Sammy,' Dean groaned.

'It's Sam,' he snapped, and Dean felt the anger like a bullet. Once again he was getting caught with shrapnel from the crossfire, and he didn't know how to stop it. His dad, his brother; they were all Dean Winchester had, all he'd ever wanted. When they argued like this, it tore Dean up inside.

'It's okay, Dean,' John muttered coolly. 'Get your gun, we can take out this wendigo without him.'

John marched to the car, whilst Dean took his time to locate his gun. Conveniently forgetting to check under his pillow for a while, would give him chance to talk to his stubborn brother.

'You really made him mad, Sam.'

'I just want to revise,' Sam sighed, indicating his open books. 'What's so bad about wanting to get good grades, go to college, be normal.' Dean shrugged, and pretended to check his bedside table for the weapon. 'Come on, Dean, don't you want that?'

'A 9-5, a wife, some brats and neighbours over for a barbecue?'

'Exactly!' Dean could see the enthusiasm spark in his brother's eye.

'Can't picture anything worse, Sammy.'

'It's Sam,' his brother deadpanned, disappointedly.

'Right,' Dean nodded glumly, lifting his pillow and picking up his gun.

Every exam, every argument, every moping moment felt more and more like he was losing his little brother. He didn't understand. Dean had been so happy on the day John Winchester had finally agreed to let him drop out of school. Sam was different. Sam had always been different. But Dean had never not known how to communicate with him before. He fumbled around as he reached the door. He didn't know how to end this conversation. He settled on awkward motivational nonsense.

'You, er, you revise hard, you hear?'

Sam nodded, his brow furrowing deeply; it was becoming his signature look. Eventually, he managed to force out some kind words in return:

'Good luck with the hunt.'

'We don't need luck,' Dean beamed, holding up his favoured silver pistol. 'We've got guns!'

Sam raised a slight smile, and a breathy, almost-laugh, but ultimately, he looked sad and restless. Dean recognised the expression. He'd seen it once or twice before, just before he bolted for a few weeks.

'Hey, Sammy, you are gonna be here when we get back, right?'

'You kidding me?' Sam asked. 'Leave without dad's permission? I wouldn't dare.'

But Dean was sceptical, so he pushed it:

'Promise?'

'Dean!'

'Promise me, Sam!' he insisted. 'I swear to God, I ain't leaving until you promise that you'll be here when we get back.'

'You're being ridiculous.'

'Sammy,' Dean growled. He could hear John shouting at him from the car, yelling at him to hurry his ass along, but this was important. It felt important.

'God! Yes! I promise,' Sam half exploded. 'Are you done now? Can you leave me in peace?'

Dean looked over his brother again, really took him in. He couldn't help it. Despite Sam assurances, something felt like it was coming to an end, and Dean didn't think he had much time left with his brother. Something in his gut missed him already, missed how they used to be, but that would have to wait. John was calling, and the wendigo was waiting, and Dean couldn't spend his whole life worrying about his bratty little brother.

Thanks for reading!

Cwtch mawr! Big Hugs!

Sisi...xx