NOT WINCEST. just love between two brothers c: got this idea watching a youtube video xD
Drop the attitude, Dean. Quit turning everything into a punch line. And you know something else? Stop trying to act like you're not afraid.
Sam Winchester remembered the night of his fourth-birthday like it was yesterday. It was storming that night in Kansas. There were tree branches scraping against the window and a dog was howling in the distance. He sat in his brothers' lap, curled up under his duvet. He wasnt all that scared, but he knew Dean was afraid of storms. Or, at least, thats what he told himself. The truth was, they were both frightened. He knew Dean would never admit it though. He wasnt four years old like Sammy. He was eight, and no eight-year-old admitted to being afraid of the scratching branches. And truth be told, most werent. But Dean Winchester knew what could be out there. In his mind, he replaced the dogs with werewolves and the scratching on the window with some equally horrid creature.
"You scared, Dean?" Sam whispered.
Dean smiled down at his brother, squeezing his hand. "Nahh, Sammy. Just a storm," he whispered back, his voice shaking lightly.
You're lying. And you may as well drop it, 'cause I can see right through you.
Sam smiled and rolled his eyes, pressing his face deeper into the soft blue fabric of his brothers AC/DC t-shirt. Thinking back on it, as he looked over at his grown brother, his green eyes shining bright as they argued, he couldnt actually remember if it was an AC/DC shirt he wore. It could have very well been his fathers' old Led Zeppelin shirt he had given him to sleep in.
You're scared, Dean. You're scared because you're year is running out, and you're still going to Hell, and you're freaked.
"So, uh, do you think dads' awake?" Dean whispered into the darkness, his arms tightening around Sammy as a flash of lightening illuminated the window, casting shadows across the room.
Sam shrugged. "Probably. I think he left, though." He didnt know where his father went when he left all those nights, coming home the next day, or the next week, covered in blood and scratches. Just work, Sam, he'd told his youngest son. At the time, Sam believed him. He wanted to believe him, no matter how much the little voice in the back of his head told him it was lies, it was all lies.
I know you!
Dean sat up, disentangling Sam from him as he moved to the edge of the bed. He cautiously slid his feet to the floor and stood up, pulling on his jacket as he did so. He motioned for his brother to stay in bed while he went and checked the motel parking lot for the Impala. Sam waited until he heard the door close then followed his brother, pulling his jacket on like he'd seen him do. It wasnt that he was copying his brother; he looked up to him.
I've been following you around my entire life.
Sam found Dean sitting on the curb of the lot, his chin in his hands and his feet tapping against the pavement below. Sam sat beside him, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. He wasnt there for more than five minutes before they heard a scream. Dean shot up off the curb and turned to Sam, a look of pure panic set in his green eyes.
"Go in side, now, Sammy," he demanded as he began to run around the side of the motel. Sam, being the curious four-year-old he was, followed his brother. Of course he followed him. He didnt want to be alone while it was storming out. He was wet enough as it was, his jacket drenched and sticking to his clammy skin.
He found Dean with a knife in his hand, standingby a man with a womans' purse in his hands. "Give it back," he demanded, his voice as rough as he could make it. The man smirked down at him, sizing him up. not a threat he decided and began to walk away. Dean kicked the mans' shin and punched his throat. Within seconds, the stranger was on his knees, purse forgotten by his side as he clutched his throat. Dean ran and picked up the bag, handing it to the lady who was leaning against the wall. "Come with me," He told her. And she did.
Sam followed his brother back to the motel and sat patiently while he let the woman use the phone for a taxi. An hour later, they sat alone in their motel room, waiting for the lights of the Impala to flash across the window, letting them know their father was 'home' safe. That was the night, Sam thought as he stared down his brother, the youngest Winchester started looking up to this brother.
I mean, I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So, yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this is exactly how you act when you're terrified. And, I mean, I can't blame you. It's just...
It had been a long time since his fourth birthday though, over twenty years. And as Sam stood their across from his brother, fighting back tears, he realized how much he missed that Dean. The Dean who would help defenseless people get their purses back, or help break up alley fights. The Dean who would hug him close and make sure nothing could get to him when it was storming or they were waiting for their father to return to the motel of the night. The Dean who, when their father would come home drunk, yelling on the phone, would give him his iPod and blast old rock music so he wouldnt have to hear it. He knew that now, Dean was sacrificing himself to save his brother, the only family he had left. But he wished he could get back the old Dean. The Dean ho acted like his brother, and didnt go on stupid, suicide missions.
It's just, I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again ...'cause... just 'cause.
Please, he silently added on, letting a single tear glide down his cheek.
Sorrysorrysorry this wasnt well written D: it was rushed. ill try to rewrite it or add more detail or something later cx review?