Everything was wrong, every damn bit of it. Dean hated his life, hated his father, was angry at his mother for dying, hated Uncle Bobby for always calling with new leads and god help him... he was angry with Sam for being sick.
No once since the horrific events of November 2nd, 1983 had Dean ever lost his composure. But during a bitter cold January evening the eldest Winchester child could no longer contain his anger.
At the tender age of eleven Dean had endured more in his lifetime than most adults would ever encounter, it's a wonder his breakdown didn't happen sooner.
xxxx
Dean and Sam hadn't lived in a real house since their mother's death and their obsessed father loaded them into the back of the car with nothing more than two little bags of clothing and some miscellaneous toys. Hitting the road hard and fast John put as much distance between them and Lawrence as he possibly could. From that time forward the closest semblance to a home the Winchesters experienced was either the Impala or short-term rentals.
The places John choose to stay in always maintained a consistent set of defining characteristics. Firstly, it had to be either a motel or an apartment but never a house. Secondly, whichever living accommodations he chose, it didn't matter, both were always dark, in ramshackle condition and above all, severely depressing.
John wasn't big on spending money for things he referred to as 'unnecessary creature comforts' and because of such, the boys often went without things they could use. Motels may have been John's preference of choice, but any outsider wouldn't think so with as much of a scene he would cause during the check-in process.
Between being frugal, stubborn and often almost completely broke, John actually made arguing for a room into an memorable art form.
'no. i don't want to rent a television, we're not going to be staying that long.
i don't care if i have children and what i do with my boys is none of your business.
all we need is two beds, a toilet, somewhere to cook and a phone.
what?... how much for a deposit on the phone?... i'll give you five dollars, no more, no less, deal? no? forget it then. christ.. you'd think you're MaBell or something.
i'll just use the payphone at the restaurant and you won't see a dime because you're not willing to compromise.
greedy ass bastards don't care about a single man with small boys.
just give me damn key...'
However, from time to time, whether by guilty conscience or absolute necessity, John would break down and get an apartment; and this was one of those times. Bobby Singer had given him a lead to an extremely complicated case and he calculated it would take several weeks to locate and kill the Havoc Demons, o he decided it best to rent an apartment.
Now all he had to do was find one in the right area and the right price.
xxxx
On a wintry and raining Tuesday afternoon in mid January, the boys found themselves spending the entire day in the car while their father looked through the classified section of a newspaper. They were parked in a small lot of a vacant store, but the pay phone worked and that's all John needed.
Typical of Winchester misfortune, the phone didn't have the protective cover of a booth so every time got John got back into the car he would grumble discernibly either about the rain or some thing Dean understood to be 'too much fucking money for that shit hole. what are they crazy?'..but Dean could of been wrong.
John wasn't happy about getting wet every time he had to make a call but Dean was enjoying the weather. He of course wasn't thrilled about spending the entire day in the back seat but found the constant sound of the rain pattering against the Imapla to be more than comforting. He liked the way the water sounded when it pinged off the car's steel body and the way the windows became fogged over inside. Dean decided to write bad words and draw dirty pictures on the back window, making Sam blush. It wasn't a day at Disneyland but it was a fun way to make time pass.
Returning from making another call, John shook the water off his jacket and said, "How god damn difficult can it be to get someone to answer a phone? I don't understand. Half the places I'm calling about no one is answering. I mean, this town is somewhere between hell and the middle of nowhere, so where is everybody at if they're not home?"
As he closed last year's copy of Hot Rod magazine, Dean replied, "So, we're in Detroit again?'
John turned in the front seat, the water on the vinyl seat making a distinct squeaking noise as he did so. With a puzzled look he stared at his eldest for a moment before speaking.
'"What? No Dean, this isn't Michigan. We're in Ohio."
With an innocence and honesty which can only come from a child, Dean returned the confused expression and replied, 'But, you said Detroit was a miserable, cess pit from hell located near bumfucked Egypt. Soo that means we're in Detroit right?"Not having the patience to explain himself, nor the proper frame of mind to revel in Dean's colorful answer, John replied with a heavy sigh. "Both places are horrible son, so does it really matter where we are?"
Dean reopened the magazine and sighed himself. "I guess not."
Silence weighed heavily in the car as nobody spoke for several minutes. The only sounds to be heard was the rustling of newspaper, rain pelting the roof and a small clicking noise of plastic toys against chrome as Sam played with his Army men. Both boys jumped when the quiet was suddenly broken by their father's shouting.
"Aha! This just might work! That is, if I can get someone to answer the phone. I'll be right back." John fumbled through his jacket pocket for more change before getting out of the car. By now Dean finally had all he could stand of being in the car and began to feel trapped.
"Hey Sammy. You wanna play a quick game of tag or something? I need out of here."
Sam looked directly out the window then at his brother and stated, 'Dad'll get mad if we do. It's all cold and wet n stuff Dean."
Always sure of himself Dean responded, "Nahhh.. Dad won't mind, really. We'll only do it for a couple of minutes and we have dry clothes right here." Dean reached down to a bag on the floorboard and presented a wadded up pile of wrinkled clothes. "See? Come on Sammy, let's go." Uncertain if it was truly okay but not wanting to defy his brother and the fact Sam too was tired of being stuck in such a confined area for so long, he agreed without another word of dissent.
Although the car was parked only fifteen feet away from where John was, he never saw his boys get out. Sam and Dean had crawled out the passenger side, which was opposite of where the phone was located and they began running around the parking lot behind the car. Dean decided he wanted to run further so he challenged Sam to race him.
"Ok Sammy. We're gonna run from here to the store and back ok? First one to touch the trunk wins. I'll give you a five second head start too. On your mark. Get set. Go!" The only time they made any noise was when Dean shouted go, but with the loud noise of the storm and John's attention distracted, he didn't hear or see them.
John was finally able to get a hold of somebody about the apartment he was interested in, causing him to spend a long time on the phone. So much time in fact, Sam and Dean were able to race four times. The store was at least fifty yards away from the car, so the boys naturally had not only worked up a sweat but they were completed drenched from the rain.
After John finished his call he started to return to the car just in time to see Sam and Dean running fast towards him.
"Jesus Christ! What's the matter?" John shouted as his hand snaked up under his jacket, wrapping tightly around the barrel of his pistol. Dean saw what his father was doing and was full aware of what the movement meant. He knew exactly where his father kept his gun and not wanting he and his brother shot, he quickly shouted.
"No! Dad! Don't! We're just playing! We're racing!"
Relief instantly washed over John, which quickly turned into anger.
"What the hell are you thinking Dean! It's pouring rain out here! Get your little assess back in the car right now!"
Wanting to defend his brother Sam started, "But Dad it's not all Dean's fault. I...", though his words quickly trailed off when he saw John's stern glare. As the boys walked back to the car, Sam had his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans, while Dean walked with arms crossed. Rain mixed with sweat causing locks of their hair to become matted and stuck to their brow. John noticed it immediately and began lecturing Dean for doing something so stupid as taking his brother out to play in the cold and rain to the point of sweating.
"Damn it Dean, look at your brother. He's soaking wet! You'd better hope to hell he don't get sick. You both look like drowned rats. You're the older brother damn it, you're supposed to look out for him. Now both of you, stop dawdling and get. in. the. car." Dean held open the door for Sam and as Sam crawled passed him he whispered, "I'm sorry you got yelled at. I wanted to play too."
Always caring about Sam's well-being despite what his father thought, Dean didn't want him to feel guilty for something which was solely his own idea in the first place. Quickly he searched his mind for something to say which would make Sam feel better. Elbowing his brother in the arm he told him.
"It's ok Sammy. I'm used to it. Besides, what's Dad gonna do to me? Stick me in the car for punishment?" Dean finished with his best false 'everything's gonna be ok' grin and Sam returned the smile right back.
John instructed the boys to hurry and get on some dry clothes. He told them he was able to secure an apartment over the phone but they had to go and take care of the paperwork before he could pick up the keys. "Really Dad? You got us a house?" Sam's voiced squeaked with excitement but before John could answer Dean did it for him.
"It's not real house Sammy. It's just an apartment." Dean suddenly began to experience an odd sensation; he felt as though he was being watched. Frightened, immediately he looked to his father to see if he too thought something was amiss. But when he looked towards the front seat, he realized his father was staring at him in the rear view mirror.
Although John was looking directly at him, surprisingly he didn't appear to be angry; moreover, the more Dean stared back, the more he realized he witnessed sorrow in his father's gaze. thinking he may have just hurt his dad's feelings, Dean smiled and said,"An apartments good Dad. It is. I can't wait to see it." John broke eye contact with his eldest and responded with nothing more than a long huff of breath as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
xxxx
The boys were made to wait in the car while John finalized everything with the manager. By the time he returned, the rain had stopped and night had fallen. Walking towards the Impala, John held a single set of two keys in the air and shook them, signaling his boys he was done. When John popped his head into the car he saw that Sam had fallen asleep sitting upright, his little head resting against the cool glass of the window. Dean looked at the keys, then to Sam and stated, "He fell out as soon we got here. So, is the place is ours?"
"For the next 30 days at least." John replied. "Ok then. We need to get inside. Grab as much stuff as you can, get the weapons bag first while I carry Sam in."
Dean's instinctive response was simple. "Yes Sir."
John had a rule when it came to determining whether or not a dwelling was suitable. He called it the 'Two I' rule. It had to be inexpensive and inconspicuous.
And like most of the crappy places the Winchesters stayed, their latest one room apartment was certainly was no exception. Actually it proceeded John's rule by half. To date, this was the most dismal place they had ever rented.
The interior was painted a sickly yellow. It had carpet but it was thread bare, with a strong musky odor emanating from it which permeated the entire room. It was furnished but only sparsely. Two twin beds lie parallel to the other, occupying most of the available space the tiny room offered.
A small kitchen lined the wall off and to the right of the beds. Truly it shouldn't have been called a kitchen, as it was much too small for that. It was more of a kitchen area. On each side of the sink were small counter tops, and a long cabinet with broken doors beneath. A round table with a two chairs was located near the foot of the beds and in the center of the room an old television sat upon the floor. The room adequately served it's purpose but for young children it could not have been more depressing and Dean instantly hated it.
xxxx
Dean and Sam had been fending for themselves for almost five days.
A faded yellow, butterfly-shaped clock alerted Dean to the fact three hours had passed since the wall heater had stopped working and the room had become unbearably cold. He glanced up at the clock again and realized only two minutes passed since the last time he looked, and it seemed in that small amount of time it had gotten even colder.
Curious what the weather was like, he wanted to look outside, but the only window was located high above the kitchen sink and he wasn't tall enough to see through it. Aware he'd have to use a chair if he wanted to look, Dean hesitated to unwrap his arms from around his chest, fearing the cold rush of air he knew would grip his body. While he debated whether or not to look out the window, a persistent voice nagged and echoed in the back his mind. It belonged to his father and he could hear John as if he were standing right next him.
'Cold, is cold, is cold Dean. It's not going to change just because you can see it.'
He knew the logic was right but no matter how pointless it may be he decided he was going to look anyway. As he peered out the window with anticipation, clinging onto a small hope he would see some sign of it getting warmer, his hopes were destroyed when he realized a thick blanket of snow covered everything as far as the eye could see. Without having any way of knowing the actual temperature outside-because of John's relentless training-he decided it must freezing or below. If it were possible, he fell deeper into despair as he wondered just how cold their room truly was.
"Geez it's cold. Too cold."
Immediately his thoughts turned to Sam. Sam had gotten sick the same day John left and wanting assurance his brother was warm enough he made his way over to where Sam lie sleeping. With his legs pressed against the bed, Dean leaned in close and stared intently at him. Although Sam was covered with every blanket the bed offered, he was still tightly curled into a fetal position. It was difficult to see with absolute clarity in the poorly lit room but it appeared he was shivering. As Dean stood watching he heard a low, odd grumbling sound and realized it was Sam's stomach.
With a heavy sigh under of his breath of '..christ. he's cold and he's hungry..', Dean gathered all the linen from the other bed and carefully placed them over his brother's tiny form. Obviously needing the additional warmth, without waking up, Sam grabbed for the blankets and pulled them close to his body. It was apparent he truly was cold and although Dean would do anything for Sam, at this moment no amount of brotherly devotion was going to stop what was about to happen next.
Actually, it was because of his love for Sam the next few moments even occurred at all.
xxxx
As he watched Sam shivering he looked around the dilapidated room with anger and disgust. There was an eerie stillness to it; an unexplainable emptiness which was utterly stifling. It made him felt as if everything occupying the tiny space was quickly closing in on him. Tears began to uncontrollably well in his eyes. He didn't want to cry. Wasn't even sure why he was, but he couldn't help it. He truly hated crying, despising how it made him feel.
In the past whenever Dean cried John would yell at him. 'Damn it, be a man Dean. Stop crying.'
John often told Dean, but never Sam, 'the act of crying is a sign of weakness and when you're weak you're not on the top of your game. Crying makes you vulnerable and people will take advantage of you when you're in that state.'
His father was of course right, but expecting a kid to understand was unreasonable; yet John drilled the concept repeatedly deep into Dean's impressionable psyche so hard that he never forgot.
More often than not Dean was left alone to watch over Sam and always with the same explicit instructions, 'watch over your brother, shoot to kill and don't think about stepping a foot outside', but he never told him how to handle anything which wasn't supernatural in nature. John never offered advice on how to deal with day to day situations, leaving that to Dean to figure out for himself. It was simply too much responsibility to put on the shoulders of one so young.
Tears no longer collected in his eyes but flowed freely down his round cheeks and with his father's disapproving voice in his head he became extremely upset with himself. Always desperate for John's approval Dean felt bad for going against what was expected from him. He believed each shed tear was a sign of failure as the son of a hunter, a Marine and John Winchester the man. Worst of all it represented his failure as a brother. Dean's thought process was, 'I wouldn't be crying if I was doing the right thing.'
So the more he cried the more upset he became. Each emotion fed off the other, like a rabid dog chasing its own tail in a viscous circle and Dean felt powerless to stop it. Disgusted with himself for breaking down, he paced the room like a caged animal while talking aloud.
"Stop it. Quit acting like a stupid, little kid. You're just cold. You've been cold before and you're probably gonna be cold again, 'sniffles', so just stop it."
Dean paced from the kitchen, to the table, over to the television then back to the kitchen again, tracing the same path many times. Claustrophobia encompassed him as the tight confines of the room did not afford enough space to move around. With each consecutive step Dean was losing every ounce of sanity and patience he'd ever had. He was breaking and there was no stopping it.
He reached up to grab his own hair but couldn't do it. It was cut to short-at his father's insistence-so instead his little hands went directly to the scalp and he dug his nails in deep. Even his breathing wasn't normal. It had turned erratic causing his mouth to become parched and his throat constricted painfully.
Suddenly the sound of a car door caught his attention so he ran over to the chair to look outside. He thought perhaps John turned off the engine and had coasted into the parking area as he had done so many times before. But when he realized it wasn't his dad he slumped down hard into the chair and buried his face into his hands. Subconsciously he rocked himself while hateful thoughts about his father ran through his mind.
'Dad. No, not Dad, John. Yeah. You're just fucking John from now on. I'm sick of this small, filthy, stinking smelly room! I don't want to be here anymore!" *sniff*
He wanted to yell. Wanted to rip the curtains down, flip the furniture over and break it into a million pieces. The thought of putting his foot through the television crossed his mind but he knew better than to ruin his only escape from reality.
Confusion, a propensity for destruction, hatred and fear coursed through his body fueling his rage. Anger possessed and guided his actions and he was no longer in control of himself. It wasn't until he saw blood trickling down his fist did he realize he had punched a wall. Not wanting to wake Sam, he tried to control his voice level but was unable to maintain constraint any longer.
"Why? Why does he have to be my responsibility? Huh? I don't know what the hell I'm doing! I can't raise him right! I-I just can't! 'sobs' He deserves so much better than this.. than-than me! And hella way better than you dad! Yeah right, call you dad. What a joke! 'sniffs' I'm so hungry my stomach hurts and Sammy is sick in bed and there's only one can of food left and he won't touch it cuz he hates Tomato soup! You stupid son of a bitch you know Sammy hates the stuff! I love it but that's what you leave us with? I'm not supposed to be the parent! I'm just a little kid! I'm not supposed to be his father, you are! I-I'm supposed to be his brother!"
Dean was now practically shrieking, his voice reaching high-pitched levels.
"I'm supposed to beat him in checkers and football and-and.. I don't know! Big brothers are supposed to take little ones out on Halloween, but hell.. 'sob'..,I'm to scared to cuz now I know what's really out there. I'm watching Sam shiver and shake so I gave him my blanket but now I don't have one and I'm freezing and, and and.."
Dean dropped to his knees in defeat, his voice now barely above a horse whisper. "I don't know what to do. I just don't. Damn it dad.. where are you?"
xxxx
"Dean? Is that you?" Shocked to hear his brother's voice, he wiped his face hard across the sleeve of his flannel shirt before he answered.
"Yeah Sammy it's me. I'm sorry. I had the TV too loud. Go back to sleep ok?"
Sam propped himself upon an elbow and stared at his brother. Dean could see Sammy's eyes were open and tired looking and although sweat accumulated upon his brow, he appeared less pale than previously.
Sitting down on the bed beside him Dean asked, "Feeling any better yet Sammy?"
"Yeah, a bit. Dean? What were you yelling about? And don't tell me it was the TV either cuz I know better than that."
"Nothing. The TV was on. Stop looking at me like that Sammy. Honestly! I said it was the TV and I meant it alright?"
Sam was hurt; not because Dean yelled at him, but because he knew his brother was lying. Upon closer examination of Dean's face Sam asked, "Have you been crying?" Jumping up from the bed quickly wiping his face again Dean hastily replied "No."
As he watched him pace around the room Sam tried to wait patiently for Dean to say something else, but became more than concerned when he just kept pacing without saying a word. Sam began to fear something bad may have happened that Dean wasn't telling him so he pushed for an answer.
"Dean?"
Sick of Sam's inquisitiveness, he snapped at him. "Damn it leave me alone! You're driving me crazy! Dad's right! You ask too many questions! He should be here soon to answer everything for you ok? So you just ask him, not me! I'm tired of it!"
It didn't take much for Sam to figure out what was wrong with Dean. With the maturity level no child of eight should have, Sam calmly stated, "You haven't heard from Dad yet huh?"
"No! No I haven't. That son-of-a-bitch is always gone and never comes back when he says he going to and and this room is driving me nuts and we're out of food, and you're sick and I can't call Uncle Bobby yet cuz you know how mad he gets when I call him too soon, and..and..just damn it!" Dean turned and kicked his backpack across the room.
Dropping to his knees again he began bawling.
Getting out of bed, Sam joined him on the floor. Slowly he put his arm around Dean's shoulder and felt him shaking terribly. When his arm fully connected with Dean's body he was more than surprised when Dean completely collapsed like a rag doll, bringing his head to rest in Sam's lap.
Never having seen Dean this distraught before, he wasn't sure what to do. Instinctively his hand went to his brother's head and he began gently, methodically caressing his hair.
"It's going to be alright Dean I promise. Dad'll be home soon. And I'm not so sick anymore. And I'm not even hungry one bit k?"
"Christ Sammy don't lie to me. I-I can't handle that. Promise me. Don't ever lie to me again ok please? We can't do that with each other. I know you're hungry cuz I'm hungry and I've been eating a bit more than you. That bastard n-never shoulda left food you don't like. Doesn't he ever think about anybody but himself?"
Dean was still crying and his trembling incessant.
"We can call Uncle Bobby! That's what we're supposed to do when Dad's not back. He'll get us some food Dean. It'll be ok. Please, please stop crying."
"I told you! Weren't you listening? I can't call yet! It hasn't been enough time! The rule is five days past a return date. Period. It hasn't been that long and I don't want that son of a bitch mad at me even more than he's already gonna be when he finds out you're sick!"
"Dean,"Sam began slowly, "you need to stop cussing so much. If dad knew how much you were swearing he'd be even madder."
"Fuck him. I don't care what he thinks! And he's not here to yell at me about it is he?"
Still lying in Sam's lap, Dean began punching the floor. And that's when Sam noticed his brother's hand.
"Stop it Dean, you're hurt! You're bleeding!"
Dean jumped from the floor, turned to face Sam and screamed.
"I don't care! I don't care if I'm hurt!"
Spinning around Dean went to the nearest wall and started a barrage of punches with both fist. "I hope I break my both hands! Damn it dad I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
I hate you!"
xxxx
Poor Sam. He'd never seen Dean like this. He wanted to make everything better and he knew Dean didn't really hate their dad. Sam and his already-too-mature-for-his-age logical reasoning figured Dean was more worried about the fact John hadn't returned home yet and that he was possibly injured or worse.
Trying his best to help he stammered out, "It's gonna be ok Dean. I know he's alright. He's just taking longer than normal. Or maybe the car broke. Or maybe he.. maybe..umm..umm. Just stop hitting things please!"
With blood trickling down swollen knuckles Dean turned to yell at him to shut up and stop telling him what to do, until he looked at him. Sam didn't look very well. Tears were in eyes but that was to be expected. What Dean didn't expect was how pale he'd begun to look again; and his face had a greenish yellow tint. Sam looked very ill and Dean felt horrible for him.
Instantly Dean composed himself and went to his brother's side. Sam was still seated upon the floor and as Dean knelt beside him he placed a hand across Sam's forehead. "Are you ok? You don't look so good Sammy."
Sam was slow to reply. "I don't know. All of a sudden I don't feel so good."
The heat from Sam's head scared Dean when he realized had a fever. "You're burning up Sam."
"But I'm cold. I don't feel hot, just really cold and.." Sam didn't finish his sentence because he suddenly began to vomit.
Dean stood up quickly more out of shock than disgust but remained beside his brother and watched as Sam threw up. Vomit ended up all over Sam's pajamas pants, hands and the floor.
"Oh god Sammy."
Sam looked up at his brother with wide injured eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Don't-don't be mad. I'll clean it up." But as Sam tried to rise from the floor he threw up again.
Every irate feeling, every ounce of anger and hate Dean was previously experiencing completely dissipated. He couldn't believe his brother just apologized for getting sick and now the only thing Dean could think of was taking care of him. Quickly he reached out, grabbed Sam by the arm and told him, "Don't be silly. I got it. You need clean clothes on you, so the puke can just stay on the floor. We gotta get you dry first."
Leading his brother back toward the bed he told Sam to sit down then began taking off his soiled pants for him. First the right, then the left leg, then he gathered the material into a ball and told Sam to hold out his hands so he could wipe the mess off.
Sam sat patiently in his underwear while he waited for his brother to finish digging through the bag of clothes although he was extremely cold. He didn't want to upset Dean anymore by doing anything which could set him off again. He appreciated what his brother was doing for him and didn't dare move.
Finding nothing clean but jeans and a sweatshirt, Dean said aloud, "This is all we've got. It'll have to do I guess." Dean dressed Sam as fast yet as gently as he could. Pulling the shirt over his head Dean stood back and looked at the generic clean up job.
"There. Better?"
"Yeah but I'm cold and I feel tired."
It about broke Dean's heart to see him looking so bad and knowing he had just thrown the world's biggest temper tantrum awakening his sick brother.
"You need to get more sleep. Here. Come here. Get in bed with me."
Dean crawled onto the bed pulling back the covers as he did so and patted the spot next to him. Without hesitation, Sam quickly followed his brother into bed. Dean sat half propped upon pillows with his arm extended and waited for him. Sam instantly went under his arm and tucked himself against Dean's side. Bringing Sam tight into his body he then pulled the covers high around both of them.
Sam's head rested against Dean's chest and although he could feel his brother's heart beating rapidly, he didn't say a word. Instead, he lay silent and concentrated on the methodical strumming of Dean's heart.
He knew Dean was still upset but reveled in the knowledge that no matter how angry Dean may get, he is always still there for him. Exhaustion hit Sam like a strong ocean wave and he started to drift in and out of sleep, then remembered Dean's injured hands.
"Dean!" he exclaimed. "We need to put bandages on those knuckles right away."
Dean had forgotten all about hurting his fists earlier and sighed when he looked down at one of his own hands.
"Naahh.. don't worry about it. I'll be alright. Blood turns to scabs. It's nature's instant Bandaid. 'Sides..I'm tough. Invincible like Superman. Sam began to protest but Dean wouldn't let him. He brought an index finger to Sam's lips and pressed gently.
"It's ok Sammy really. I don't want to move. I'm alright and all I want is for you to be warm and get some sleep ok? I promise I'll fix myself up later. Now shut up and go to sleep."
With a calmer stomach and being much warmer with the additional body heat, Sam began to drift off to sleep again, the sound of his brother's beating heart soothing him. With his last ounce of energy Sam replied, "Ok Dean. I love you."
Dean shut his eyes and patted him on the head. His only reply was Sam pushing hard up against his body and he could feel his brother's smile; a gentle snore soon followed.
Knowing Sam was asleep and couldn't hear him he finally answered back. "I love you too Sammy. I love you too."
~
Epilogue
Dean had lied about being angry with John.
Dean was good at trying to cover up things solely for Sam's benefit and Sam could always see right through his brother's act.
Sam knew everything that happened that night occurred not because Dean hated John and not because Dean was angry for having to take care of him.
It happened because Dean cared so much.
Sam was too young to understand how loving a person too much can make people behave but that's what he witnessed that evening.
It was the break down, freak out of an eleven year old because of loving somebody more than you love yourself.
-end-