There's No Place like Home

Summary: 1-shot. Sam's never had a home or so he's always believed. As he works to decide why having one is so important to Dean he understands that perhaps he's had one all along & just didn't understand why. *Curious/thoughtful!Sam & Supportive/protective/big brother!Dean* SPOILERS for 09x04-Slumber Party!

Warnings: Some minor language but that's about it.

Spoilers: Yes, a few.

Tag/Coda: 09x04-Slumber Party.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is written for fan enjoyment.

Author Note: The muse and plot bunny decided more brotherly schmoop was called for before I get back to other things so this is what they came up with. Enjoy and feel free to check up with me on Facebook under morgana07 to updates or just to chat.

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"'This isn't our home. This is where we work.'"

"'What's the difference?'"

"'I didn't have what you did with Mom and Dad. I don't know how to have a home.'"

Sitting on the bottom of the bed in his so-called bedroom, Sam Winchester stared at his hands while glancing around the nearly empty and sterile room in the Men of Letters bunker.

Sam had known he and his brother held very different views of the bunker but he hadn't considered how his view would affect Dean. Or at least he hadn't until the other day when Charlie was here and they were all in here watching Games of Thrones.

The younger Winchester had seen the way Dean had taken to the place shortly after they discovered it. It had both amused and pleased him to see how his older brother had actually made his chosen room into a real bedroom.

The queen size memory foam bed, the old dressers and desk with little mementoes of Dean's past scattered around. The weapons he'd lovingly placed along the walls plus the well-organized porn magazines while other things were just tossed haphazardly here and there but always could be found by Dean.

Dean had accepted the bunker as their home. His brother had even made the kitchen his own and was now making noise about upgrading the antique appliances to something stainless steel.

It was easier for Dean or so Sam guessed because his brother had had four years of normal. He'd known what it was like to live in a house with their Mom and Dad and be a normal child. Sam had never had that and the few times he'd tried for normal it had usually blown up in a way that made him leery of ever accepting or wanting 'normal' or a home.

He was happy with the bunker being just where they worked. He took as much pride in knowing the organizing of the books, documents, files and artifacts, or the ones they'd gotten around to looking at, as Dean did in his room or the kitchen.

Sam liked just thinking of this place as a workplace and not a home…or he had before he'd noticed the way Dean had reacted to his reasoning.

It had been just before the witch attacked and Sam had mentioned their parents and never having known what a real home was that he'd caught the brief flicker of hurt that crossed Dean's rugged face a second before the shield came down and all hell broke loose.

Neither Winchester had known what a home was since that November night back in 1983 when evil invaded their lives and everything good was wiped away.

"No, not everything good," he murmured to the silent room, frowning when he actually heard his voice echo back for the first time.

It might look like all the good had been wiped away the night their Mother died and their Dad took his sons on the road to discover what had killed her but as Sam moved to the closet to kneel down and pull out a battered backpack he reminded himself that so long as Dean was with him then some good remained.

For as long as Sam could remember it had always been Dean that had made whatever crappy motel they were in a home for him for as long as they stayed and that trend had continued from childhood to when Sam left for college and picked back up when they began to hunt together again.

It had always been his brother that had made sure Sam had hot meals, hot water and a roof over his head and even on the times when sleeping in the Impala was called for it had been Dean who had made even that seem good.

The Impala or Dean's baby as she was often called was the closest to a home Sam would ever admit to having since he was six months old. His earliest baby memories weren't of his Mom or even the nursery she died in but of his brother in the backseat of the '67 Chevy Impala.

"'They were never in fact homeless.'"

The quote came from one of Carver Edlund's last books, or at least the ones that Sam had read since he seriously needed to get his hands on the 'unpublished' ones to see just what the hell Becky had put online that she must have gotten when she dated the Prophet.

Sam knew Chuck had meant he and Dean were never once homeless because they'd always had a home in the Impala and he agreed with that. But as he dug through the bag that he hadn't touched in years to remove a few small items it was then that something else hit Sam with the force of a hammer to his chest and left him breathless.

They'd never been homeless because of the Impala. Sam had never been homeless because of…Dean.

Dean had always made a home wherever they'd been. He'd made Sam a home wherever they stayed, lived, or visited because he had known having a home, even one as dysfunctional as theirs, was important.

When Sam left Dean and their Dad to go to college in California he'd never added much to either his dorm room or the apartment he shared with Jessica because then like now it hadn't been home.

Now he realized why and also why his brother had looked so stricken when he'd said what he had. Sam's words had hurt Dean because his brother knew what Sam was only just now starting to understand.

Sam was never homeless because he had Dean.

Dean had always been Sam's life and Sam was Dean's life so home for them had always been where the other was so that meant…

"My home is wherever Dean is," Sam's head shot up to stare at the suddenly depressing room and knew what he needed to do. "Home is where the heart is," he smiled a little more. "My brother is here so home is here and it's time I guess I try to make it into one."

"Sammy!" it had been hours since Dean had seen or heard his brother and considering what was going on these days he didn't like it when Sam was this quiet.

He'd checked out the new garage to see if by chance his brother had gotten curious about the old cars stored there but had only found the trunk of the Impala open and rummaged through, which also made him curious since it was odd for his neat and orderly brother to go through the trunk of the car like a whirlwind.

Dean had stopped in to check on Crowley but the snarky demon clearly hadn't seen Sam since he hadn't made any of his usual comments.

The one storeroom that they'd gone through had also shown some signs of being gone through but again Dean had to wonder what the hell was going on.

When a search through the main room, the library and even his newly clean and reordered kitchen showed no signs of his brother did Dean finally take the hallway that would lead him to their bedrooms.

It was too early in the day for Sam to have gone to bed and if he was feeling bad enough to have had to lie down then Dean wanted to know.

"Sam?" he called, frowning a bit more and was just on the edge of panic when he heard a reply shouted out to him.

"In here!" Sam sounded out of breath and that just caused his brother to break into a sprint in his haste to get to the bedroom door. "Hey," he pulled it open before Dean could knock or barge in. "Sorry I didn't hear you sooner. The door was closed all the way and this place is really well soundproofed."

Narrowing his green eyes as he took in the flushed but excited looking face Dean was about to make a comment when something over Sam's shoulder caught his eye and he had to blink.

"That what you tore apart the trunk for?" he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not as he took in the creased and battered old Hello Kitty poster he'd bought for his thirteen year old brother one day as a joke.

He'd been joking the other day when Sam mentioned the poster but in all honesty Dean hadn't even known the thing was still in the trunk.

"Yeah, among other things," Sam shrugged, a little uneasy as he stepped back to allow Dean into the bedroom; curious if his brother would actually notice anything. "I'll put it back in shape tomorrow."

"Huh-uh," Dean's attention was on the room. The other day when he was inside it had a bed that felt like a rock, a single dresser, a chair and a table so the laptop could sit on it. Oh, he was sure there was slightly more than that but those were the key elements he'd picked up on.

It had bugged him and had been bugging him that Sam didn't consider the place a home like he did. He'd been considering trying to convince his brother that anyplace could be made to feel like a home if he cared enough about it to make it his own but he hadn't wanted another scene like he gotten the other day when it had hurt to hear Sam say he didn't know how to have a home.

The older Winchester had always tried to give his little brother some of what he'd been given for four short years. Even though Dean's memories of Mary Winchester were sparse he could recall the little things she'd done that had always made their house feel like a home.

It had been those little things and the much larger ones that Dean had always struggled to make sure Sam had growing up even when it was hard to do so.

He had thought Sam understood that and finding out differently had honestly hurt him a lot more than he was willing to say right then.

Now as he stepped into his brother's room he was a little shocked by the changes he could see. Aside from the battered old poster that Dean figured was Sam's way of needling him, he noticed his brother had dragged up one of the other mattresses that they had found in storage and could see it was softer than the other one had been.

The basic table was against the wall so one of the desks that had also been in storage could take its place. The laptop was sitting open on the desk along with an old antique lamp with Tiffany glass, a pencil cup with the usual desk accessories.

Another dresser was also in place with little pictures, a brush and comb and other things that Dean knew belonged in Sam's shaving kit were scattered on the top but it was when he noticed the old soccer trophy also sitting on the dresser that Dean felt a lump start to form in his throat.

It still wasn't much but he understood that in some way, for some reason, Sam was starting to give in and was moving his things into the room. The open shaving kit, the old soccer trophy from the one year his little brother had played, the pictures of them as kids or the few newer ones they had all out were signs that Sam was trying to make the room his own.

"Why?" he asked after another moment, sensing Sam's unease even from across the room; knowing his brother was waiting his reaction.

"There's no place like home like I said over Charlie coming back from Oz," Sam shrugged, running his fingers nervously over the black rubber bracelet he'd pulled out of the battered bag sitting on the new mattress. "Home is where you make it. I never knew how to make a home because I never had to…you always did it for me."

Dean started to turn when something caught his eye hanging on the Tiffany glass lamp on the desk. Even before he reached for it he could feel the burning in his eyes start.

"I never fully understood that regardless of where he lived, or where we slept at each night that I was home. You made sure I always had a home even though I didn't see it, Dean. I didn't see or get how much you gave up or did so I would have a little of what Mom and Dad had given you," Sam held his breath as he watched his brother's hand move to lift the black leather cord that held the bronze amulet off of the lamp and into his palm.

"I always had a home so long as I was with you. The four years at college had always felt so empty and the apartment never felt like my home because I'd never had to put out those little touches before. I didn't want to make it a home because something was missing and now I know what that was," Sam went on while wishing Dean would move or say something because now the silence was driving him nuts. "I didn't have my brother."

Dean stared at the amulet in his hand for a long time. He could still recall the day he'd been pushed to his limit by Angels and Heaven and had let it drop into a trashcan in some random motel.

There were still nights that he could wake up hearing the sound of it hitting bottom. He could still see the shock and hurt in Sam's eyes since the tiny amulet had always been a strength of their bond as brothers but Dean had allowed himself to lose faith in not only that bond but also his little brother.

He had regretted his act even after doing it but had been unable to correct it…until now. "You've had it since that day?" he asked in a ragged voice, emotions fighting to break the surface.

"I'd given it to you. You said you'd never take off so…I held onto the hope that one day you might want it back," Sam replied quietly, chewing his lip. "You never went through my duffel after Stull so when we got back together, when I was Robo-me, I found it and…still held onto it."

The fact that his soulless little brother who had flat out claimed not to care about anything or anyone had held onto the amulet told Dean more than any other words could have and he slowly turned to face his brother, green eyes shining with unshed tears.

"If I wanted to wear it, can I?" Dean asked, running his fingers over the familiar face of the amulet while keeping his eyes on Sam and not missing the look of relief that cross his face.

"It's yours," Sam nodded, unaware of how seeing his brother slip the cord back over his head to allow the amulet to fall back into its proper place would affect him. "I was just hanging onto it until you were ready to let it and me come back home."

The odd comment might have confused others but not Dean. He understood the hidden subtext behind his brother's soft words.

The day he'd lost faith in Sam, in them as brothers, was when he dropped the amulet and had stopped putting so much effort in making certain things were good between them or that Sam felt like he belonged. It was the day that Sam had lost a home he hadn't even realized he'd had. Now he was asking to be allowed to come back and it was Dean's turn to once again to give his brother the one thing he felt like he'd never had.

"You've always been home, Sammy," he murmured huskily, stepping forward to pull the younger man into a hard full hug and held it when he felt his brother shake. "Okay…bitch?"

Sam laughed before he could stop it but it had been so long since Dean had called him that, it had been so damn long since things felt right between them that it felt right to be called the normally insulting name that he relaxed into the hug before stepping back to meet Dean's eyes. "Yeah…I'm good…jerk," he smiled.

"I think you need memory foam and some more posters or something geeky in here," Dean broke the emotion in his usual way but Sam had gotten the unspoken message just by the way his brother's fingers squeezed the back of his neck. "Maybe paint it pink or…"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam growled, covering his smile as he sat on the much softer mattress to watch his brother prowl the room curiously.

It was another hour of Dean vanishing into one of the storage rooms, the trunk of the Impala or his own room before he was satisfied that Sam would be more comfortable in 'his' room.

He'd pulled some books from the library that had been in the Impala that Sam had once liked. He had found an old blanket in the trunk to help him carry in a few little things but when he went to get it to fold it back up Dean found that Sam's fingers had wrapped in the worn, faded material before he'd fallen asleep on the bed.

Taking a photo of his infant brother and their Mom from his wallet, he placed it on the stand by the bed alongside a photo of them as teenagers and one of them with Bobby.

Dean's hand laid on Sam's shoulder for a long moment as he watched his brother sleep and actually looked at peace while he did so.

"G'night, Sammy," he whispered, carefully arranging the too small blanket over his 6'4" little brother before stepping to the door with the memory of his brother carrying this blanket with him everywhere until finally their Dad had hid it in the trunk.

It had been Dean who would give it to his brother at night and then safely store it in one of their duffel bags in the morning.

Dean doubted if Sam understood that he'd always had a little piece of home with him every time he held onto that blanket because Dean knew if he looked close enough on the one ragged end the tiny embroidery of his brother's name and date of birth could be seen.

Mary Winchester had made the blanket for her second son and as far as Dean was concerned so long as Sam had this blanket in some form, then his brother would have a piece of their Mom.

"Welcome home, Sammy," Dean whispered, easing the door shut enough that he could still hear if Sam woke up since he was still worried about the recent blows both Sam and the Angel inside his brother had taken.

Stepping into his own room to fall back onto the memory foam mattress, Dean smiled a bit more before drifting off to sleep. "There's no place like home and for better or worse this is ours," he decided and silently hoped he could keep it that way for his brother regardless of what came next.

The End